Really, Nicolas had absolutely no idea what to think. For a man more than used to scheming his way out of bad spots, that was new.

Fuck. This isn't natural.

What was going on? He'd heard something on his car's radio about some flu, sure - some overactive reporter rambling on under a headache-inducing static. He'd turned it off, too soon... What was it - rabies?

He could hear the strange, animalistic growls and snarls just a few inches away, so loud and close even the wet undertone of gnashing teeth and blood splattering from a chin could be picked out. He'd seen the woman's face before diving behind the car he was currently plastered against, crouched, and the image was burned into the backs of his eyelids.

It wasn't so much the blood that soaked the lower half of her face, crusted on her lips and dribbling down toward her neck... it was more the glowing, beadlike yellow eyes stuck wide open in enraged, wild hostility. She hadn't seen him... somehow.

Oh, fuck.

Quickly darting green eyes to the side, he glanced down the row of parking spaces in the convenience store lot, a few other cars scattered here and there. Poking out from behind a particularly dusty truck was the tail end of his dark silver Fiat Barchetta, pristine and silent where he'd left it.

This store had been the first thing he'd seen for miles. The highway was supremely quiet, although all Nick had really felt at the fact was relief and little hints of relaxation. He'd rolled the top down, wind snapping the strand or two of dark hair that escaped his gel around, steering (not that the forest-entrenched road curved much) with his left hand while his right arm was tossed over the empty seat beside him, thumb rolling the singular ring on his middle finger...

"Why the hell did I stop..." he groaned faintly under his breath, so quiet he'd barely even said it. He started to shift his hands to get himself into a running pose, intent on bolting for his car, when a loud, gargled noise was suddenly screamed at him from the other side of the car.

"GGHHNNAAAHG!"

With slight surprise, he heard something crash into the car he was hidden behind - it even rocked a bit, jolting him forward before he'd planned. His dress shoes dug into the asphalt lot as he tried to catch his balance and steady his run, twisting his head to glance over his shoulder at the same time.

The woman was absolutely crawling over the car, head snapped up at a strange angle to stare directly at him with those unnatural eyes, teeth bared hungrily. She jerked her body up to try and get on top of it, legs kicking a bit madly, and her knee crashed through the passenger window, spilling blood in immediate rivulets down her bare, dirty shin.

It wasn't the pain that got her to react to it - it was the fact her leg got stuck, trapped there with glass impaled deep in her knee. She'd have to back off to pull her leg out... and her desperate, mad intent to get to Nick didn't allow her to do anything but try to go forward.

"Gun.. gun.. gun.. gun.." immediately became his mantra, looking away from the gruesome sight, feeling a little rise of panic in his gut and forcing it into a blank sense of anger instead. It was just under his seat, hidden in an unassuming box with very blatant claims of holding condoms.

It was much funnier to himself at other moments.

He felt the uncomfortable screeching of his heels as he skidded to a stop, catching onto the side of his sports car with a slight grunt. He vaulted the back, wincing as he was forced to climb over the seats, shoes undeniably scratching on the leather seats. (He couldn't help the thought from crossing his mind, even if he didn't let it slow him.)

Shoving his head down under the wheel, lying sideways in the car with the shift pressing into his gut awkwardly, he swatted the box out into the floorboard and ripped the top open. His Magnum came easily to the fingers of his right hand from where it lay inside, palm molding to the cool grip. The gambler twisted around to sit up, aiming between the seats with a perfectly straight arm just as the woman came running from around the truck beside his vehicle.

She'd broken her knee, it looked like... her gait was one-sided, blood covering her whole left leg, mixing in with the crusted dirt already caked onto oddly grey skin, but there was this feral determination that made her seem completely unaware of it...

BANG!

His bullet hit her right in the neck, likely crushing her spine, the force of it on her unbalanced body sending her torso toppling backwards and feet flung up infront of her. He heard her land with a thud on the asphalt, and waited out the desperate gurgling and scratching, flopping smacks as she struggled.

Then, as a very acrid scent settled into the air, something Nick hadn't noticed before - she fell silent.

"Well," he managed out loud, a sarcastic tone lacing into the words. "At least that was easy."

He realized he was panting then, chest heaving a little. The fact irked him, and he swiped his gun-holding wrist over his mouth in a short motion, other hand moving to open the door behind him.

The gambler crawled out of the sports car, letting the Magnum drop to the seat as he did, getting up on his feet and smoothing palms over his crisp white suit and the blue shirt underneath. The act relaxed him a bit, although the fact that woman - thing was dead certainly helped on its own.

"Alright, bitch... if you so much as speckled on my Barchetta, I'll run you over so many times you'll be rabies PASTE." He grumbled it, lowly, and though he found himself distinctly eager to make sure that exact thing hadn't happened, his car's sleek, silver haunch wasn't the first thing he looked at.

It was that damn corpse... and those still-open, ravenous, almost glowing yellow eyes. His nostrils flared a bit, forced to take in the nauseating scent in the air, clearly from her. It was almost like decomposition... (not that he'd explain how he knew that) But not quite. Like sour meat...

Slipping his ringed hands into the pockets of his suit, he walked over to stand just beside the sprawled, bloody corpse, staring hard down at it with a severe little crinkle between his eyebrows.

Something was seriously wrong.

He'd dealt with his fair share of crazy women, sure. In fact, plenty of them had leapt at him with that level of hostility, if not even more.

"Less blood." Again, to himself.

Since when did he start talking to himself, anyway?

Then he smirked with a slight growl-edged sigh, stepping back from the dead... thing. He came to the conclusion it wasn't exactly deserving of the moniker 'woman,' although what it was besides that was beyond Nick.

Suddenly figuring out what the shit was going on seemed a little more important than his initial plans for his trip into Savannah. Gambling the pants off inept tourists could wait... if there was something going around he sure as shit wanted to know what it was.

Maybe his road trip hadn't been such a brilliant idea after all.