Eaters (Book 2): The Resistance by Michelle DePaepe

uncomfortable incident, she really started to think about leaving. Unable to see the time on her watch, she waited for Yvonne to emerge from the dance floor orgy and hoped that she'd have danced herself out by now, so she could escort her safely back to her room then crash in her own.
    A young woman, skinny like a twig, with a mop of frizzy hair approached the table. She tottered on heels far too tall for even a sober woman to walk a straight line, and Cheryl noticed the shiny silver watch on her hand. Since she'd just realized that her own watch had stopped working, she tapped the woman's wrist before she passed the table. "Do you know what time it is?"
    The woman stopped and looked at her with doe-like, glassy eyes, then looked up at the ceiling as if she'd heard a strange howl echoing in the wind, instead of a direct question.
    "The time?" Cheryl asked again.
    There was a second of clarity before the woman looked down at her watch then shouted straight ahead as if talking to herself. "Almost midnight." Then, she slipped away, vanishing like she'd just stepped into some sort of portal that had appeared like a slit in the fabric of the revelry.
    Was it possible that the club was even more crowded now? The dancing had spilled out from the dance floor. Her isolated table began to feel claustrophobic as bodies began to pulse around her, swinging butts and flailing arms threatened to topple it with every gyration and swoop.
    She edged her chair back closer to the wall, hesitating before standing up and making a formal declaration to escape. After a man's knee jostled the table, tipping the rest of her water into her lap, she decided she'd had enough. The club didn't close for another two hours, and there was no way she was going to last that long without curling up in a corner and falling asleep.
    It was time to find Yvonne.
    If she didn't want to leave, Cheryl decided to tell her that she wasn't feeling well. Then, if Yvonne still insisted on staying… and possibly hooking up with someone …well…that would be her decision.
    Cheryl shoved her way towards the dance floor as the next song started. It began with a steady rhythm, a tribal drum beat. ONE—two—three—four—ONE—two—three—four—
    A strobe light kicked on, flicking on and off along with the beat. Every second became a freeze frame, a flash of frozen movement before the next slice of film.
    Something wet splashed her cheek. As she turned to her side, ready to scold the sloppy drinker, she realized something wasn't right.
    The party was getting way out of control.
    It wasn't just a little wild—it was turning into chaos. People were pushing and shoving, and standing on table tops, waving their arms in a mad frenzy. Their extreme dance moves were turning violent and obnoxious as people didn’t seem to care who they bumped into.
    Cheryl righted a toppled chair and stood on it to scan for Yvonne. Once she had the higher perch, she was distracted by a sight on the far right side of the dance floor where some people were thrashing around like they were having epileptic fits. 
    Then there were screams—
    There was a spreading pool of blood on the floor just a few feet away.
    It came from a pretzel twist of two bodies—a wraith-like man hunched over another figure, one that just seconds ago looked like he was doing some sort of vulgar grind against the cement. The figure on top with the balding head ringed by a cascade of stringy hair looked up at her. His opaque eyes and teeth glowed in the black light. A grinning skull with blood dripping down his chin, it looked like the face of a demon.
    She took a step backward and fell off the chair.
    Elbows and knees slammed into her head as she scrambled to get back to her feet. Once she did, it was hard to stay upright, because she was shoved from all directions. Some of the jostling came from people that were still dancing, oblivious to the dangers around them, while others were flailing about because they were