The foyer of the church was set up with tables full of incense, smiling church members handed out bundles free of charge to any and all that stopped by. Two doctors in white like the woman who had taken Mayme there stood outside an open door to the left that showed rows of beds and chairs with countless folk receiving the church’s medical aid. A dozen blood transplants happening in rows, slimy fat leeches were being plucked off the skin of others, miracle cures that supposedly aided with any ailments besides the dreaded plague were being spread over folk’s skin in rust coloured globs. A large open window sat at the very end of that room, making it so there was at least a little airflow to whisk the awful incense smell past Mayme as she entered. Instinctively she held her nose, and oddly enough, she was the only one in the room to do so. Her legs finally stopped as the pair got to the incense table, though the woman dragging her along did not want to stop— she wanted to go to a closed door just a smidge behind the table.

"I told you to follow." She hissed in a low tone as she shot a glare back at Mayme.

Mayme didn't move.

With a quick tug the doctor pulled the girl close. She whispered softly, "Look, leech. I'm willing to let you keep your dignity, if you resist I will not hesitate to cut you down where you stand.”

Mayme let out a squeak, her blood ran cold, of course she thought she had been found out before— but hearing it aloud stirred something in her. She pulled her hand back with enough force that she stumbled into the incense table, knocking it so hard it fell over and spilled its contents all over the floor with a deafening crash. Hundreds of little cracks seemed to echo in the room as a handful of incense sticks were caught by the lip of the falling table and crushed. Mayme could see the church and commoners alike were all speaking or screaming or something but all she could hear was the blood coursing through her ears in violent waves. Without a second thought, she ran. People and church members were gathered at the entrance so she hurried into the medical ward, knocking anyone and anything down in her wake. Broken blood vials, splattered remains of those once fat leeches, and medical supplies littered the floor behind her as she made her escape through the opened window at the end of the room. She threw herself out of it, falling flat onto the cobble stone outside. She struggled with her shawl and long skirt for just a moment before she stood again, but that moment felt like hours to the panicked woman.

The people did not know what the commotion and panic within the cathedral was about, they simply saw the church members begin to yell and panic ensued. Mayme was wrong. The yelling of 'leech’ and ‘abomination’ spur no one to action. No one had thought of the leeches of Sangmont in years, so instead of heeding those words the doctor screamed, they began to assume worse. They assumed perhaps a plague victim was turning rabid within the medical ward and so the folks surrounding the church began to flee en masse. Their screams drowned out anything the church had to say, and the stampede only served to carry Mayme along with them as she hurried into the crowd. She hopped from group to group and followed with no care where that led her— she just knew she had to get away. She never looked back, she just let her legs and strangers carry her through the cobblestone streets. Through twists and turns she had never once taken before. Unfamiliar streets that spat her out into more unfamiliar streets until she was deep within the town’s bowels and without any shred of direction.

Eventually she had shed her group and stumbled alone through the streets; she slipped into an alleyway and slumped against a wall. She slid down, out of breath and unable to hold back her fearful shivers as the adrenaline in her blood dissipated. Hot tears rolled down her freckled young face, but she was too emotionally drained to do anything about them. Her hands fell limply to the dusty stones she sat upon. It was cold and smooth, and ever so slightly soothed her. Her breath was laboured, but she was able to hold back the sobs and wails that wanted to escape her throat. Her eyes moved to the entrance of the alley she had retreated into. She waited, she expected the cold eyed woman to round the corner, but she never did. No one came for her.

Hours passed before Mayme could will herself to her feet once more.  She felt as if only an hour or so had gone by, however she was quite wrong. The sun was half way set and the sky was painted in quickly fading oranges, pinks, and reds. The streets were quiet, nearly empty bar a few souls scurrying home.

She paid very little mind to the signs, she was a shambling corpse attempting to drag itself back to the cathedral so she could go home. Only the warm colours of the sun set made her look alive. It gave colour to her pale skin, and brought out the blonde of her hair. It did not matter that her hood had slipped off now, nor did she even seem to notice. She didn’t know her way home from where she was, but that awful beacon? That looming tower at the centre of town? She could get home from there, no matter how terrifying the concept of returning to it was.

Unhindered, she eventually arrived at a main road. She stared across it, befuddled. The gate at the end was closed. Slowly realization began to swallow her until panic began to drown her once more. It was evening. It was soon to be night. She knew the main part of town went into lock down at night, sectioning off itself with large gates scattered throughout the streets to keep the rabble and ill at bay. Thoughts of the monsters that came out at night anchored her in a deep frantic horror, she began to make a b-line to the gate and froze as a harrowing screech sliced through the air. She sucked in a gasp, the situation made her feel as if she couldn't breathe. Her lungs burned as her whole body refused to accept the fact she was left out at night. She swallowed the bile forming in her throat and forced her wobbly legs to carry her onwards, even as her knees knocked together and nearly gave out.

She ran into the gate, slamming sideways into it with her whole body. It would not open for her. She tried to force her fingers through to pry it open, she tried to slip through the impossibly small grates, she tried to throw herself against it again, all to no avail. She couldn’t force herself to scream for help, so she kept banging on it. The barred door jittered and clanked against the frame like chains, but didn’t open. She was hyperventilating when she heard it, something behind her. She spun around on her heels and pressed her back to the gate, and in the dying light she saw it. The beady, soulless eyes of someone who had lost themselves to the plague. With bloodlust in his eyes and gnashing teeth he stared at her, he almost chirped with the gurgling sounds that emanated from him.

She had never seen someone afflicted in person. This thing was horrific. His skin had paled grey and was pulled as tight as a drum over his skeletal frame. His eyes sat in the back of deep sockets, bloodshot and dilated to the point the colour of his iris was completely devoured. Dark veins streaked across his body and seemed to crawl with each slow heartbeat. Every exhale sounded like a wet death rattle, as spittle seeped through his sneering yellow teeth and over his split, peeling, and blackened lips. He was hunched and his limbs twitched sporadically. As he stood still it was clear he did not move like a person. He was stiff, yet jittery— almost like a marionette.

He began to groan and tried to croak out things that could vaguely sound like words, but he only succeeded in rasping out nonsense as more saliva dripped from his mouth and down his chin.

A girlish scream cracked through the air, the very sound of it tore Mayme out of her frozen state. She was not sure if it had come from her or not, but it didn't matter. She reached around back and pulled her pistol out from its snug spot against her back. Thanks to the many nights of practice and bonding Mayme had with her mother, aiming and shooting with accuracy was second nature to her. The bullet tore through the monster. He staggered back, recoiled from the hit and bowed so he could steady himself with an arm. Dark red blood splattered over the light stone of the bridge, but most of it stayed caught in the beast's clothes. Wet blood oozed and gently glistened in the soft evening light. The beast screeched a horrid, pained, and enraged scream. Its head turned to gawk at its new injury. A hole in the chest. That was the last action it took before slumping to the ground, wheezing and convulsing for a few moments before finally falling still.

Mayme just ran, right past the corpse and back onto the safety of her alley. Once more, she was pressed against the wall. She shimmied over to peer down the street. Nothing followed her. She slunk deeper into the alley again and kneeled down behind a few barrels of God knows what. She once more simply sat there unnoticed. Surely a beast could sniff her out if one dared to wander by, but as far as she was concerned this was the safest place for her. She placed her gun back into hiding and sat with her knees pulled to her chest. Mayme covered her mouth with her hands and closed her eyes tight. She didn't want to cry out or wail, but she felt so helpless. As she fought her tears back, unbeknownst to her, an eye peered out of a partially drawn curtain. It stared at her for a long moment before the fabric was pulled closed.