Brendon: A Fictional Narrative

Brendon settles on the floor, watching the door, for the next few hours, until the sky goes completely dark and a glance at his phone tells him that it 's almost 11pm. He has nothing better do do, and he doesn 't want to be looking the other way when it inevitably comes down. Despite his best efforts to brace it, the thing trying to get in isn 't tiring, isn 't giving up. It keeps throwing itself at the door, and he can see that the wood is going to give. He can 't stay here.

He 's on the fifth floor, room 511, and Dallon and Kenny are in 407 and 408, he thinks. He knows Spencer told him to stay put, but the door isn 't going to last long enough, and he 'll be dead before Spencer 's friend gets here. If he can climb down to 411 's balcony, the window sills stick out enough that he can get across them and go in through the balcony of 408, he thinks.

There 's blood smeared along the far wall, from the bathroom and towards the door, and crouched over a still body on the ground is a woman. She looks perfectly normal from Brendon 's view, but she seems to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye and turns to face him, standing. There 's blood coating her chin and cheeks, dripping slowly down her throat, stringy pieces of flesh stuck between stained-red teeth that she bares at him as she staggers towards the glass door.

She reaches towards him with viscera-covered hands, and presses her body against the door. Her hands scrabble at the glass, and her mouth opens and closes in what Brendon only can presume is frustration at the fact that she can 't reach him. He refuses to look beyond her, at the body on the ground, and instead turns and climbs back over the rail and onto the window sill. It 's slightly unsteady under his feet, and his hands are shaking, but it should hold until he can get over all the way.

The next room he encounters is empty, and he moves past it without stopping until he reaches the next, also vacant, room. He