Animals and Attraction

Ramona

Five. That's the amount of figures that entered my line of vision - the first movement faster than a Loser I've seen in what I, incorrectly, assumed to have been at least a month. These survivors came from my left side, walking past a clothing store with Losers barking and clawing at the window in hopes of coming into contact with these five bodies of fresh meat. The group moved past them, only one sparing the ignorant Losers a quick glance.

Or maybe she was looking at the professionally dressed mannequins.  It was hard to tell from where I stood behind a magazine rack inside a barricaded Dischem.

The chocolate brown shaggy haired boy lifted his hand, resulting in the four behind him stopping dead. The Latino and Caucasian reached for their weapons, what looked to be a kodachi sword and a metal baseball bat. The African American ignored the obvious leader's silent command and pulled a handheld mirror from her blue jeans. Behind her, a raven haired boy carrying a powerful looking arms weapon, rolled his eyes almost out of his head.

My fingertips tingled and I left my mag-rack-post to find my camera. The moment was too perfect to be missed, so I snapped a few shots of the five strangers. Not bothering to shake the print that fell to the floor at my black biker boots. I took a profile shot of each and mentally named them.

The shaggy headed leader I named Snake, for the way he slithered through the mess of trolleys and skeletons of Losers and their blood and belongings. He fought like what I imagined a humanized snake would have. With unsettling ease, he pulled the dirtied katana from his black belt and fluidly swiped it across a Loser's rotting neck, decapitating it. He didn't seem to mind as its blood splattered across his caramel skin in an ugly pattern. His grey slacks didn't give him much room for movement and his dark sneakers squeaked against the tiles, yet he seemed to still glide around as a snake would. His strong hand moved to the wool trench coat he donned and dipped into his denim jacket underneath. He removed a posh hanker-chief and used it to wipe the crimson droplets from his face.

I took two pictures of the Caucasian man wielding the baseball bat because of his quick movements (and the first photo blurred).  He ran his hand through his short honey blonde hair and swung his weapon at a mannequin. The inanimate model clattered to the floor and he bared his teeth in what I considered to be a vicious smile. His random rage and hostile waddle made me only think of one animal. Bear kicked an empty water bottle with the toe of his red high top sneaker and followed Snake to where Losers limped towards them. His gloved hands tightened over his metal weapon and he flung at an enemy. I imagined he'd like to remove his red bomber jacket as it restricted his powerful movements.

"I like him," Little Red whispered.

I shook my head and frowned as I took a picture of the Latino. Her brown sandals seemed inappropriate for her warrior vibe. Her feline movements led me to thinking of a Cat, and so that's exactly what I called her. She lifted her unidentified sword (at first, I assumed it was a kodachi, but at closer inspection, it was not) gracefully and elegantly slammed it into a Loser"s forehead, an unladylike grunt of force leaving her chapped lips. Her swordsmanship looked professionally trained, just as Snake's did. Her tendency to follow bear closely, led me to assume they were more than just survivors. The loose she wore was beautifully spoiled with dried blood, but went unnoticed, as she was too focused on the task at hand, which seemed to be clearing a path. Her long, caramel legs moved fast but cautiously through the calamity of the New Orleans Shopping Centre. She tucked a stray piece of black hair behind her ear, to join the rest of her curls and wiped her brow.

Although Cat appeared dangerous, the African American Lioness had a more hands-on fighting technique. Her dark Afro shook as she made her way to a Loser stuck underneath a toppled over trolley weighed down with valuables. She removed two knives from her belt and rammed them into the already dead's soft skull. The close contact caused no defiled brain-juice to make contact with her shiny mocha skin or her beige cardigan. She stood up from her crouched position and chucked her reflection again in her palm sized mirror. Her curved form moved on and Lioness touched her chest lightly before exterminating another Loser.

The raven haired boy strolled past the overturned trolleys and mess of unfortunate Losers. His movements were smooth and sly like a Fox. He stopped short and poked a Loser with the nozzle of his gun, grinning sardonically when it failed to show any signs of life. Behind him, a Loser groaned. Fox turned to it and thre