The world was fever bright in his anger as he moved through the abandoned office with all the grace and silence of a bull, his head down, his jaw tight as the strangeness of the situation wound about him like vice. He had put it together by that point, but the absurdity of what his brain was telling him simply did not mesh with what Luther had come to believe as reality. He was fueling himself then on the idea that he'd perhaps blacked out and wound up here in this abandoned building he did not recognize, but he knew even as he attempted to fit that explanation into the facts as he understood them, that was not the case.
He had opened the door to exit his flat, and instead of finding himself on the London street, had instead wound up in some sort of posh hotel. When he'd attempted to go back through the door that he'd entered, he wound up here. It was possible that he was a nutter, probable even, that all the shit that'd happened with Zoe had broken something inside him, but it had not been his ability to rationalize or assess a situation. He wasn't crazy and this shit seemed real enough to him, so the only thing left to do was figure out what it was, and why the hell he was there.
He slowed as he began to notice the disarray of the office, and that while there was a bank of windows at the front, no light shone in. He paused a good distance back, still and silent and listening, squinting out toward the street when he saw things moving. They were the draggy, jerky movements he'd been seeing in movies since he was in short pants, and entirely unmistakable for that movies.
"Bloody christ," he breathed, his muscles tensing as he prepared to turn back the way he'd come as there'd surely been no dead people walking in that hotel, when he saw her. She was small and moving fast, but perhaps not fast enough. He could see the horde staggering toward her even if she couldn't, and he swore roughly as he pushed out the door and hit the sidewalk, running in her direction for all he was worth, his coat flapping behind him.
"Ay!" He called at her, then realized his mistake as a number of half rotted heads that were too terrifying to count turned in his direction.
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He had opened the door to exit his flat, and instead of finding himself on the London street, had instead wound up in some sort of posh hotel. When he'd attempted to go back through the door that he'd entered, he wound up here. It was possible that he was a nutter, probable even, that all the shit that'd happened with Zoe had broken something inside him, but it had not been his ability to rationalize or assess a situation. He wasn't crazy and this shit seemed real enough to him, so the only thing left to do was figure out what it was, and why the hell he was there.
He slowed as he began to notice the disarray of the office, and that while there was a bank of windows at the front, no light shone in. He paused a good distance back, still and silent and listening, squinting out toward the street when he saw things moving. They were the draggy, jerky movements he'd been seeing in movies since he was in short pants, and entirely unmistakable for that movies.
"Bloody christ," he breathed, his muscles tensing as he prepared to turn back the way he'd come as there'd surely been no dead people walking in that hotel, when he saw her. She was small and moving fast, but perhaps not fast enough. He could see the horde staggering toward her even if she couldn't, and he swore roughly as he pushed out the door and hit the sidewalk, running in her direction for all he was worth, his coat flapping behind him.
"Ay!" He called at her, then realized his mistake as a number of half rotted heads that were too terrifying to count turned in his direction.