Chapter 10 #3
Lionel blinked at her and crouched in front of her again. He reached out to pat her knee, trying to be comforting. “I told you, I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, keeping his words slow to make sure she understood him. “I just want to know your name.”
She stared back at him without any reaction. Her cold eyes were difficult to read, but she had stopped trembling at least.
Lionel tried a different approach. “Are there others? Were you with anyone else?” When she didn’t answer, Lionel tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he prompted again, “Can you please tell me your name?”
“Don’t kill me.”
Lionel suddenly wondered if the woman didn’t know English.
It seemed like the only words she’d ever learned were “please don’t kill me.
” He kicked himself for not paying attention in Spanish class in middle school, French classes in high school, or German classes in college.
He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to remember even a single comforting word he’d learned.
“Bien,” he said, pointing at himself. The words didn’t feel right even as he said them, “Yo bien.”
The woman stared at him blankly.
He groaned, shaking his head. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said again, giving up as he got to his feet. He turned to walk into the kitchen, hoping that giving her something to eat might convince her that he was a good guy and that he wasn’t there to kill her.
Lionel startled when he heard the soft creak of a door opening on its hinges. He turned, eyes widening as he saw Mads in the doorway. The man’s eyes were narrowed, and the jab saw was held in his hand. “What are you-”
“Lionel!” Mads gasped, eyes snapping wide before he lunged forward.
Lionel barely had time to register the movement—just a blur of dark fabric and pale hands—before there was a sickening crunch.
The saw blade slammed downward, slicing into something behind him.
A shriek erupted at Lionel’s back, high-pitched and warbling, almost human but not quite.
The sound clawed at his eardrums, rooting him to the spot.
Slowly, feeling like he was trapped underwater, Lionel turned around. His eyes widened as he took in the sight: the woman—no, the thing wearing a woman’s skin—was crumpled on the floor. The saw handle jutted grotesquely from her throat, black blood pulsing out around it.
She thrashed, feet drumming against the floor, hands clawing at the air.
Her eyes bulged, glassy and wrong, and her mouth opened in a silent scream that stretched too wide.
As the dark blood continued to pour, Lionel watched in horrified fascination as her skin began to split.
Jagged cracks raced across her arms and cheeks, black lines branching like lightning until chunks of flesh peeled away.
Beneath was something slick and shifting—an unholy tangle of muscle and twitching limbs.
She hadn’t even fully transformed when Mads stepped forward again. Without hesitating, he yanked open a drawer, pulled out a long kitchen knife, and approached her in three calm strides.
Lionel flinched back, nearly stumbling into the counter. His heart slammed so hard it hurt.
“Don’t fucking touch him,” Mads snarled, voice dropping low and rough, more animal than man. He leaned in close to the creature—close enough for black droplets to splatter across his hoodie—and drove the knife down with a vicious stab.
The thing shrieked, a garbled, gurgling wail, and twisted violently.
Its distorted limbs flailed, scraping deep gouges into the wood floor as it tore itself away from Mads’ grip.
With a final convulsion, it staggered upright on limbs that didn’t look quite human anymore, and lurched out the apartment door, leaving a slick smear of blood in its wake.
For a moment, Lionel could only stand there, breathing hard, throat dry and raw. His legs felt weak, as if they might give out at any second. He looked at Mads, who was standing there with the knife still dripping in his hand, his chest heaving.
“Mads…” Lionel whispered, but the words died in his throat. Because in that moment, with dark blood speckled across his pale skin, Mads didn’t look like someone who’d taught high school chemistry. He looked like something that might terrify the very monsters they were running from.
Then Mads’ shoulders relaxed, his expression easing into concern as he turned toward Lionel. His eyes softened immediately, as though none of that violence had ever happened, and he reached out to cup Lionel’s elbow with a trembling hand.
“Are you okay?” he breathed.
Lionel let out a shaky laugh that sounded far too close to a sob. “I— I think so.”
Mads turned to him, rushing over to take his shoulders in his hands. “Are you hurt?” He asked quickly. “Did that thing touch you?”
“She… wasn’t a human?” Lionel whispered.
“She… was a creature?” He hadn’t noticed anything about her that was different from any other woman he’d encountered.
The creature they saw on their trip up to the ninth floor had all the limbs necessary to look like a person from far away, but the way it moved made it obvious it wasn’t actually human.
This woman, though, he never would have suspected anything. “How did she look so real?”
“They must be adapting,” Mads said. “Their only purpose seems to be to kill humans—they must have realized, with everyone hiding, that their best bet was to blend in.”
Lionel swallowed, his tongue and throat too dry to do anything more than choke. He was going to tell Mads that this was just like that old movie The Thing, but he knew the other wouldn’t know what he was talking about.
“Adapting,” Lionel echoed, staring at the door that the creature had escaped through. He rocked forward on his feet, walking over to the door to pull it open.
“Lionel?” Mads called after him.
Lionel ignored him and took off down the hallway, following the line of blood the creature had left behind.