Work Text:
Hellen worked as a freelance landscaper for various businesses around the Montreal area, happening to be on an early shift at the apartment’s exterior, when the first few rays of sunlight crested over to display something so beautiful in the sky above. She had always been a morning person; The smell of freshly tilled soil, rich petrichor wafting from dew-laden grasses, and the first few peeks of sunlight on her face were a sensation she reveled in almost daily with her job.
This dawn was like nothing she’d ever witnessed before, the colors otherworldly. She hadn’t heard any forecast about an aurora in their area, but she would enjoy this nonetheless. Weeding had been a laborious affair, and frankly boring, but she wanted to get paid. Doing it in the dim twilight while the city was still quiet was much more enjoyable than under the highest point of the sun at noon.
The tinges of warm sunlight perched on the edges of her senses, closing in like the most comforting hug from family long-missed. A sensation like nostalgia for things you never partook in, the pride of watching a child explore things for the first time, the wonder and amusement of a new experience. She closes her eyes, basking.
The sight was imprinted on her memory so strongly, it felt like her eyes were still open.
That’s enough of that. She thinks as she rises to her feet, starting to move her tools back into her truck. Her spine pops with the sudden movement after being still for so long.
I’m getting old , She grumbles to herself as she stretches, more joints joining the chorus.
Entering the building proper to receive her payment, she notices the front desk is… rather empty. Was no one covering the morning shift? Ah well , she could just get a coffee from the vending machine nearby and wait it out.
Her heavy work boots echo through the barren hall as she finds herself ruminating on the beautiful sights outside. Shame for those who missed it, but she’ll cherish that for a while. Locating the machine, she punches in an order for a black coffee, grumbling under her breath about the price. The owner of the building enjoyed charging out the ass for this thing, it seemed.
The paper cup full of that dark, scalding, caffeinated goodness is soon in her possession; and with that she traces her steps back to the front to bide her time. She wondered what was taking them so long, usually they’d give each other a “Good Morning”, they’d pass over the envelope with the agreed amount, and they’d tell each other to have a good week under the obligation of politeness. Rinse and repeat bi-weekly.
This minor of a disruption in her schedule grated on her a bit, she would’ve at least appreciated a “head’s up” about them being late, or out sick. Trudging over to lounge over some spare seating, she brings the cup of coffee to her mouth, intent on waking up a bit more.
It’s EXCRUCIATINGLY hot- the pain is almost blistering-
Her will is iron as she forces herself to not launch the cup across the room as she sputters, coughing and gasping for colder air. Fuck. She spilled some on her sweater. She sets the cup down, stomping off in a huff to find something to clean it off with. Should be a bathroom on this floor, at least. She hopes.
Her good mood is ruined as she’s forced to search for it, no sign indicators on any of the hallways she checks. There appears to be a person mopping down the way- a janitor. Steeling herself for human interaction, she approaches with consciously softer steps.
“Excuse me,” She pauses momentarily for a steadying breath. Just need to keep your volume even and tone gentle. “Do you know where I can find the restroom? Spilled some coffee on my shirt. Need to clean it off,”
“Oh, it’s right over there-” The Janitor points a few doors down, the peeling sign barely noticeable in the dim, flickering light.
They begin to turn, “If you got burned, there’s also a first aid kiT-” Their response is cut off by a scream when they finally face her, the employee reeling back in fear as they drop their mop with a loud clatter against the hard floor.
She’s confused. Yes, she was tall, but she wasn’t that hard to look at, surely?
“Are you alright?” She steps forward a bit, trying her hardest to show visible worry. It was already hard to express emotions, and her face felt even stiffer today.
“M-m-m– MONSTER-!”
The employee fled deeper into the complex, the cart of cleaning equipment all but forgotten about.
Hellen stood there, stunned. Something welled up in her chest, something unfortunately familiar. She quickly presses back down as best she can. It had been some time since someone had taken issue with her appearance, but this was something else entirely.
She lets out a harsh sigh, and storms over to open the bathroom door; continuing with what she was trying to do beforehand. Grabbing some paper towels, she moves to the sink, getting them damp and beginning to dab at the dark stains on her sweater. That expression of pure terror seared onto her mind, leaving her to wonder just what had made them react like that.
Setting the paper towel aside, she pulls up her sleeves, cupping her hands under the still running water to splash her face. Gripping the edges of the sink, she brings her gaze up to see-
Oh dear God-
She feels herself starting to tremble like a leaf, bringing her face closer to the mirror as if it would dispel like it were just a trick of the light.
Were those- eyes-?
Frantic hands reach up to feel over her malformed visage, feeling the hot, humid air between each quickening breath on her palms as her fingers skim over-
There were so many teeth-
She keels over the front of the ceramic, retching into the drain. She couldn’t even close her eyes to hide the grisly image of her meagre breakfast revealing itself once more. The lids were all but gone- and there were too many of them-
She could feel them shifting, moving under her skin in a coordinated motion-
Hellen throws herself backwards, ducking to hide from the piercing gazes caught in the reflection. She holds herself in a tight curl, fingers grabbing onto the roots of her scalp firmly as she struggles to wrestle her breathing into an even pace.
She shouldn’t- She NEEDED to get herself under control-
Panic wouldn’t help her, but her body refused to listen to her rational mind. She could feel the spittle exiting with each haggard cough and gasp for air, tears dribbling from even more ducts than the average body held.
She couldn’t even close her mouth anymore, it was frozen in that awful rictus grin. And her skin- that warped, almost hypnotizing swirl converging on her right eye-
She retches again, her stomach luckily now empty. She’s growing dizzy, beginning to slump onto her side against the cold tile. A small voice in the back of her mind thanks the janitor she just traumatized for cleaning it before this little breakdown of hers.
How would she get out without being seen like this? She had to get that payment still- she wasn’t going to leave without it, she still had to buy food-
Her tense body begins to slowly unwind itself as she brainstorms. She had a mask in her truck, belonging to her set of hockey gear. It certainly wasn’t the season for skating, but she always forgot to take it out once the winter months ended.
She wondered if her friends would let her play still, like this. Would they still want to be around her? Even she was afraid of herself at this point. They’d surely react to her now just as that person had…
Time passes, grain-by-grain, the only sounds echoing in the women’s bathroom that of gasping, wet, desperate breaths. She’s unaware of how much time passes before clarity finally returns to her.
I need to get back up. I can’t be seen like this.
Pushing herself up from the tile floor, she stands on two shaky legs, pointedly NOT looking back in the mirror. Her lungs expand with one final resolute breath, squaring her shoulders and straightening her back when she releases it. She must not let this conquer her.
I can keep going.
Moving to the door, down the hall, and out the front feels like a dream sequence. She distracts herself with thoughts about what seeds she should order for planting, this year and the next. What variants of her favorite vegetables should she watch grow from sprout, to starter, to their full adult form? Would the bushes and trees in her garden fruit, and would she be able to harvest enough before the birds came and stole them away?
She’s reached her truck again, at some point. The glovebox is easy enough to access.
The sudden acrid texture of smoke is impossible to dodge, her eyes watering. There’s fire on the horizon.
The face guard is in her hands now, its hollow gaze a familiar sight. Donning it grants a bit of relief, the mesh between the holes dimming her surroundings to a comfortable degree. Another deep inhale- it’s hard not to break into a coughing fit again. She turns her head up to the sky a second time.
Unfortunately, it’s still beautiful.
She wants to hate it, the beginning embers of loathing stirring in her chest, but she can’t bring herself to fully sink into that anger, not yet.
The streets had somehow become a mess in her absence, fleshy growths spiraling out of control, spreading across buildings like spider webs; and shambling, groaning figures had begun to march towards the noise of her slamming the passenger side door.
Shit-
She takes her pruning cleaver, an inside joke from within the gardening club she often partook in during her brief visits here, and swipes at a few when they get too close. It’s not long before she realizes she’s being herded away from reaching the door to the driver’s side, despite it being closer to the curb from where she parked.
SHIT-
Making a split-second decision, she decides to take her chances by taking shelter inside. She races to the entrance, each step like a thunderclap against the pavement as she wrenches open the door, slamming it shut behind her.
Speeding behind the front desk, she finds a lone ring of keys. Her urgency in trying to lock the entrance leaves her hands clumsy, the keyring almost slipping out of her sweating hands a few times as she fumbles to find the right one.
Click.
She finally guessed right.
Now what?
Something implored her to unlock the doors once more- let more come to see what’s outside. It’s difficult to shake off, but she refuses to let anyone else be changed like she was- she’d never forgive herself if that happened.
It doesn’t take much time at all to find things to block the front windows with, at least. Her mind certainly felt clearer when she did. Of course she’d end up so far from home during the apocalypse, that was just her luck. Stepping back to admire her handiwork for a moment, she gives a satisfied tilt of her head, before turning to stalk down the halls for someplace to crash. Being out in the open like this would be dangerous.
Beginning on the first floor, she begins to go down the rows, knocking and asking, knocking and asking. Most don’t answer, in her mind this is fine. She is a stranger after all.
Others, however, aren’t so kind. Various objects being thrown from open doors, hollow barrels poking out of the cracks of doors with fearful eyes failing to hold them steadily, verbal beratement- or outright attacks leaving her either running to spare the sapient minds that felt threatened by her presence; or messy fights, squabbling to survive against grotesque monsters.
She’s growing fatigued as she trudges up the stairwell. She doesn’t know it yet, but she won’t have much luck on floor 2 either.
Quivering voices telling her to leave them be; Scuttling legs lurking behind a door as if she couldn’t hear them pressing themselves against the peephole; one of the apartments is just plain boarded up; and a strange cloaked figure gives her a wide berth with no words exchanged between either of them.
It’s feeling pretty hopeless at this point. She wonders if she’d have better luck just camping out on the ground floor, or even lurking in the basement.
Floor 3 was her last shot. She had lost track of time a long while ago.
She’s approached a door muffling the sound of a child’s wailing and gnashing teeth; The rotting stench of corpses and old booze wafting out of what seemed to be a house party; The blood trail leading to a room full of the sound of static. No one seems to be left up here.
Just a singular door left.
A hesitant fist raises up, she’s contemplating even bothering with this.
I won’t know if I don’t try.
She hits it three times with her knuckles, before standing back. Looming right up against the door probably screwed her prior attempts, she realized.
“Hello?” A voice calls out from behind the door. She perks up, hand gripping her cleaver tighter in anticipation. “Hi. Open up. I need a place to crash. I got nowhere to go.” It was to the point, no room to have her words misconstrued. The door opens, to her surprise. A rather pathetic looking man gazes out at eye level, quickly realizes his mistake, and raises his eyes to meet hers. Greeting him is simple. She’s practiced what she’s going to say, anyways. Repeat the earlier question, keep him from getting off-topic.
She stepped into the light casted out from his apartment. “Hello. I’m Hellen. Can I crash at your place?”
His eyes darted down again, catching the glint of the knife she wielded. She watches him take a moment to think, throat bobbing. “...That’s a big knife.” His voice cracks.
She scoffs internally. That was the point. A pocket knife wouldn’t do anything against the robust stem of a full-grown plant, other than mutilate it. “Yeah. I use it to cut stuff.” She meets his gaze once more, almost challenging him to turn her away. The moment is tense, and she’s bracing for the worst.
His posture deflated in defeat with a sigh. “Come in.”
A blink. She’s surprised- there was no way in hell that just worked-
She shakes her head, best get inside before he can close the door on her too.
“What’s your name?” She asks, taking in the sight of the sparsely decorated space. It’s certainly a bachelor pad, but not one of the worst ones she’s seen by far.
The bedraggled man takes a moment to respond.
“It’s Sam.”
She finally had a clear objective in sight. Protect the person gracious enough to offer shelter to someone like her without a second thought. That was doable.