You have to help.

You stare at your bike for several seconds, every fiber of your being says jump on the bike and ride, get dressed later, just get the fuck out. Yet you can't, you want to but you can't. The dude might be creepy but you know full well he will be torn to shreds if you run. Reaching into the saddlebag you pull out the two pistols, cursing when you realize you didn't load either one. Eyes flashing back to the door as you fight to find one of the boxes of ammo. Your fingers finally push enough aside as you feel the familiar weight of the ammo. Pulling it out you see .357 stamped on the white box. It takes a second to remember which gun is which before you yank out the little revolver. Thankfully your mind allows you to work the little latch and the cylinder flips out. One, two, three, you are stuffing in the bullets when you hear a howling scream from the door. Your eyes return to the building as you fumble to stick in the last two rounds. The zombie, walking dead being more accurate your brain insanely tells you, has grabbed the shop keeper and he is pushing back against it trying to avoid the bite he is sure is about to come. “Awe fuck.” You say as one of the last two rounds falls into place in the cylinder the other hitting the parking lot and rolling out of sight. “Please let four be enough.” You ask the night and run back to the building, the cement feeling so much colder as your heart, now pounding sends blood to your torso as if anticipating some horrible injury.

“Get it off of me.” You hear the man cry out as you level the gun and stare down the tiny sights. Sucking in a gulp of air you squeeze the trigger and, click, the hammer all odds to the contrary, finds the lone empty chamber.

“Fuck.” Is all you can say. Quickly you yank the hammer back with your left thumb and grip the pistol tight reading for what surely will be a shot, when the struggle decides to ruin your aim. Crack, the gun fires and the glass door erupts in a shower of broken glass. You see just as you pull the trigger the creature leans in, the clerk is pushing back with all his might, but the forward weight of the creature proves to be to much and he stumbles back falling to the ground hard on his back, and allowing the beast's head to drop just below the path of your first bullet. The clerk stops fighting and for an instant you are sure he is dead, but your shot did save him after all, for now. The creature rather than latching onto the poor hapless clerk, he looks up at the sound of gunfire and lets out a horrible howl, it's eyes burning a fire of yellow and black, as it stares into your soul. Boom, pieces of bone and skull fly as the gun bucks in your hands, the right side of the beast torn away from the powerful bullet. The creature isn't fazed, it springs forward arms lurching like the forepaws of some unholy beast. “Oh shit.” Again the gun bucks, as you yank the trigger back, but you didn't even allow for the gun to come back to rest, with no aim at all the bullet screams away into the night sky. The creature slams into you with the **** of a charging bull. Your lithe new body twists in the air, your right hip instantly swelling and filling with fluid as your body reacts to the impact. You let out a bark of a scream as you flip in the air as the creature spins to grab hold of you, but as you fly you are able to twist and while you land hard, your left hand gives just enough spring that you can carry on over and thankfully as you strike the ground, it is the grass along side the lot that catches your fall rather than the hard pavement of the parking lot.

“I am going to feast on your soul when I have finished with your flesh.” The beast lets out a howling laugh. Your eyes can't help but tear up with the pain. It lurches in your direction, now moving like more hound than man, black ooze dripping from it's mouth as well as the massive hole in it's head.

It is then that you realize that the gun is still hooked on your finger, it still has one last bullet, and the creature is so confident it isn't even moving fast. Wiping your right eye clean with one hand you level the gun and say, “Go back to hell.” The creature realizes a second to late that you in fact know just where to aim. The bullet doesn't so much as rip into the spot and blow it away, as it flows into the hole and snuffs out a candle. Somewhere else, some other place the rest of the soul of the beast feels the full impact, you instantly know, as the body simply flops to the ground as lifeless as it's appearance would make it. Clutching your side as you rise to your feet you hear two sounds that tell you it is time to go no matter what. The first is the wail of sirens of more than one police vehicle. The other is the inhuman howl of the monstrosity that is behind the building that birthed the horror you just dispatched. You more throw your naked body on the bike, stuffing the pistol, the errant bullet that had rolled to rest next to the new shoe box as well as the box itself into the open saddlebag and clack it closed. It doesn't latch as the box is to big, but it surely will stay till you can stop. Clutching what little clothes you managed to grab as you escaped, you fire the bike back to life once again and roll away. Hugging the rumbling bike you head away into darkness for about a mile before you pull off the road and into an open garage of someone's house you don't believe is home.

You aren't sure if you should close the garage door or not, but as you hear police sirens getting closer you go ahead and hit the little white button. The little light illuminates the empty garage as the door descends and you take the opportunity to get dressed as quickly as you can, wincing every time you so much as brush against or twist your torso. The tiny lime green top and snap up pants are all you managed to take from the dressing booth, but while this isn't a lot of clothes, you technically are dressed. Pulling the box from the bike you open it up to see what kind of shoes you managed to get. Looking inside you find a pair of strappy open toe sandals with a 6” wedge heel. “Better than bare foot.” You say as you strap them on your sexy little feet. Sitting there you can't help but get a little cold. Digging into the saddlebags you pull out one of the pretty much flattened sandwiches and a bottle of water and down all of it in under two minutes. Gulping down the water, you finish it off and stuff the remnants into the cast aside shoe box. Your side hurts, you really want to sleep, and seem relatively safe where you are, but if someone gets home... You are in someone's house after all. An hour passes while you sit there contemplating your next action, polishing off some fruit while you do. Finally you make a decision.