Don’t look, don’t look the shadows breath,

Whispering me away from you…

Don’t wake at night to watch her sleep,

You know that you will always snooze…

Previously on Planet Terror…

“…be calm, sweetheart, while we figure out where those things are hiding, ok?” Helena brushed her lips lightly against Bette’s cheek.

Around them, the infected were closing in slowly. Wary now of guns, they took their time, and took advantage of the darkness.

Always at my back, I hear them…

Everywhere is pain. 

Agony rips across Bette’s shoulder, as a grinning, blood filled mouth, takes away part of her flesh.

She goes away, her mind fades.  A woman’s face is seen in the shadows. She moves back half a step and disappears from view.

A woman’s grave, still and silent, her stone threatening to fall flat.

“…margaret…”

Mother.

The name for god on the lips of children…the name ‘of’ god…no, it was ‘for’…yes, that was it. Silly movie, that was.

“…bette…”

Bette, a grown woman now, afraid, and nearing death—or so it would seem.  How strange this death felt.  How hungry she was becoming.

Beside her, the woman she will lose, just as she lost the one before.

The one before.  Now she hears her voice.

“…bette…its going to be ok. But you have to try…”

Tina’s blonde hair, in Bette’s hands now. Threads of it, still growing, still alive—how can that be?—intertwined with her fingers.

“…there’s a door, up above you…to your left…”

There.

To her left.

Above them, are the faces of the people they were supposed to save.  The people who are now saving them.

“…Bette…”

Voices fade in and out.  Her mouth feels strange, swollen. Her arm feels worse.  She remembers then…

She was bitten.

“…Bette, please try to wake up…we need your help for this…”

Helena.  Helena is alive.  Bette smiles in her sleep.

Relieved laughter comes from all directions. “Babe…up now…”

Slowly, Bette is made to sit up. “…don’t…wanna sleee…” her tongue is swollen, and she can barely speak.

“…concusion…”  She hears.  “You have to wake up darling. All right now, you’re doing fine.” Her voice is gentle. A cold cloth wipes sweat from her forehead, soothing and irritating her awake gradually. A tiny sharpness, among all of her other aches, causes her to wince inwardly.  They are sticking her with something, it would seem.