I hit the deck; a door slams shut,
     and, after pause of still,
scratching, scrapes, a wild boar—
     the sounds I hear so shrill.
I'm heaving fast; the air so cold
     attacks my very breathing.
I'm overwhelmed with joy at having
     left those monsters seething.

The noise continues onward,
     as my heart abates its race.
My senses swoon, relief takes hold,
     a smile frequents my face.
Her voice is soft and cautious
     as she asks me for my name,
But when I shake my head,
     she smiles as if she feels the same.

"I don't remember anything,"
     I venture as I stand,
"I don't remember either,"
     she replies with outstretched hand.
When we touch, her skin is soft,
     much more than I'd have thought,
expectations that this harsh new world would
     crack and twist and wrought.

She looks confused as if she thought
     that I could be her aide,
as if I was the very product of a prayer
     she may have prayed.
As I stand unto my feet
     and strain my eyes to see,
Her eyes doth scour my persons,
     and she notices the key.

With lightning speed she strikes my chest
     and grabs the key I held,
My grip was tight but she was strong
     and broke my feeble weld.
"X" she says, "your name's now X"
     her fingers trace the glyph.
"Mine is Y" she breathes in sigh,
     and yields to posture stiff.

In the dungeons of this palace,
     with its grounds unkempt and old,
A treasure known as Y was here—
     such beauty to behold.
Her figure slight and dainty,
     with eyes of turbulent sea,
So deep that on inspection
     sends waves crashing over me.

She wears a dress of colours,
     a field of floral flowers,
Fauna that had flourished
     with the plenty April showers.
A simple pair of patent shoes
     reside on tiny feet,
The kind that all the children wear
     whilst running down the street.

Her hair parades her body
     like an army marching forth,
No hue or tint or colour
     to the South or to North.
Strands of black just flowing free,
     a river breaking banks.
Aside her porcelain features,
     where the onyx legion flanks.

Her age I'd guess at fifteen,
     nay sixteen if I must,
But though we met an instant past,
     my life to her I'd trust.
Something in her posture,
     a tell there to beguile,
But I would walk beside her
     for many mile after mile.

I realise that I'm staring
     and break my gaze away,
surveying current dwellings
     in an unsupposing way.
I see her bed like mine behind,
     the one I left just hence,
and just like mine the shackles there
     breed feelings odd and tense.

She's made herself at home here,
     and gathered things she'd need,
medicinal and practical,
     a dozen books to read.
Tom Sawyer, Enid Blyton,
     Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,
The Time Machine, Alchemy Reigns,
     and prose on tending soil.

A Modern guide to Nursing,
     from 1892,
King James' best translation,
     with spine of Prussian blue.
Construction for the Layman,
     a book of verse and rhyme,
Which surely was of comfort
     when she had to pass the time.

She watches me, I feel her eyes—
     does she think of me a thief?
But seeing that she's smiling
     fills my heart with such relief.
Her simper quite alluring,
     I turn to her and say,
"You must be rather learned,"
     but she turns her head away.

I see her blush, a burst of red
     and all at once I'm smitten,
I pray she cannot hear my heart
     now purring like a kitten.
"Stay, my heart" my head commands—
     it races unabated,
drinking of her beauty
     till his appetite is sated.

I wake myself, I recompose,
     and turn to face the wall.
I act as if my words had not been uttered—
     not at all.
The warning siren's stopped,
     although I know not for how long.
I'd lost myself unto her charms,
     so lulled by her sweet song.

The building shakes, my mind awakes
     and now I'm quite prepared.
Protection is my main concern,
     as evil's fangs are bared.
"Do what it takes" my heart now screams,
     commanding of my mind.
And between them make a contract
     that with blood is countersigned.

"Come" she says, and stows the key
     in centre of my palm.
Her voice so soft and soothing,
     brings me unrelenting calm.
She motions to the window
     which is covered bearing dark,
The shadows cast upon the floor
     with contrast greatly stark.

Adorned with locks, bolts and chains,
     her movements mechanised,
she opens up the window with,
     a ritual memorised.
Her tiny figure dances as
     she climbs through window bright,
and disappears from view into the
     newly dawning night.

Outside the air is thick and cold;
     inside my lungs, it claws.
A smell that's so repugnant that
     it suffocates my pores.
I hold my nose with fingers quick,
     but Y is quite ahead,
and, looking back, shouts,
     "Welcome X, we live among the dead".

Below in twilight sprawling
     is the subject of her greeting—
their shadows fading as their souls,
     from rotting bodies fleeting.
'Twas now I saw the scale of things,
     that filled my heart with dread—
A cartographic nightmare,
     swells the hordes of the undead.

We inch along the building's edge,
     so careful of our path,
aware that any faltering could
     incur a fatal wrath.
This route so often travelled,
     the black marks from her shoes
have marred the building's surface,
     like a never-ending bruise.

She climbs a wall-side ladder,
     and vaults up to the roof;
of her agility and speed
     she gives me ample proof.
But though her movement's quick,
     she also offers grace;
There is no sacrifice of style,
     despite her nimble pace.

And I, of matching age and build,
     though never highly trained,
could never hope to move
     with such celerity ingrained.
Has she been here confined that this
     is all she's ever known?
And all at once, deep down inside,
     a tiny seed is sown.

I reach the roof and wheeze a breath;
     she murmurs something witty,
and then I see the towering clouds,
     that bear down on the city.
Grey and purple, hints of green—
     but one thing is for certain:
the flashes from their innards,
     betray the mask of danger's curtain.

I feel the drops of water, and
     my nerves at once release;
impulse after impulse,
     like alarms that never cease.
"We have to move" she says at once,
     and I will not resist,
leaving bed and beasts,
     beneath a growing, soggy mist.

She pulls a rope and hoists a track
     that bridges building's gap.
Along its length she darts,
     and then I hear the thunder clap.
The things below make haste,
     confused with sonic apparition.
Dancing random patterns,
     whilst they comprehend cognition.

Y pulls from her pocket
     a rather curious device.
and aside it winds a wing like key,
     three rotations thrice.
She hurls the object from the roof
     to land in streets below,
slight to the right of where
     the demons seem to throe.

The clockwork springs to life at once;
     a mechanism starts,
coercing latent movement
     from the tiny metal parts.
A screeching sound surrounds us;
     the beasts seek new attention.
They swarm towards the racket,
     with the evilest of intention.

Shortly after ending its tirade
     of sonic form.
The small device shoots skyward,
     to avoid the undead swarm.
It twirls as it continues up,
     an angled arc acute,
and whence its apex reaches height,
     deploys a parachute.

"Quick" she shouts. My gaze returns
     to see her casting rod
and reeling in her screecher;
     she gives a signalled nod.
Distraction tactic now complete,
     she starts a quick descent.
Down ladder then she slides;
     Yet I so senescent.

On looking down I see her face,
     impatient to a fault.
I sense she isn't one to rend
     emotions to the vault.
I reach the bottom, in good time;
     my breath is hot and needy,
and, cramming in the oxygen,
     I satisfy the greedy.

We crouch behind some cover
     as the dead continue scouring.
On level ground, the odour
     reaches levels overpowering.
She scurries forth and I in tow;
     We reach a door so rusted;
padlock, hinge and handle caked with
     oxidation crusted.

A key she conjures, small like mine;
     it mates with partnered lock.
The tiny metal ridges with pin
     counterparts they dock.
It opens without moaning—
     something rather unexpected.
And inside I am ushered,
     to the unknown so directed.