Chapter 9 #4
Blake held out his trembling, bloody hand. “Please.”
Indecision flickered on the woman’s face. Another massive explosion rocked the room. Another wall crumbled, and more dust spewed into the air. Blake could smell ozone and gunpowder.
A thin hand reached through the toppled shelves and took his. Blake pulled, his bad shoulder screaming as he used it to wedge the shelves open enough for the woman and child to slide free.
The woman’s fingers were surprisingly strong for such a small person. She clung to Blake as he hobbled from the surgery suite, her nails digging into his skin.
Beaumont was braced against a doorway, shouting something toward the front. He did a double-take when he saw Blake, his pale eyebrows shooting up. He might have said something, but Alvarez’s scream cut through the static, and he spun around the doorway, his gun leveled.
Blake tugged the woman close as he took up Beaumont’s vacated position.
The front office of the vet clinic was gone. What once was a solid wall of brick and plaster was now a crumpled heap of drywall and rubble, rebar sticking up like fingers reaching for the sky. Insulation floated in the dusty air, rocked on currents from the ordinance slamming into the strip mall.
Alvarez darted across the street, nothing more than a smudge of black as he dove between two cars, a FUD hot on his heels.
Beaumont shot at it, the bullets pinging off its angular head.
The bullets didn’t do anything, but they distracted the FUD long enough for Alvarez to switch course, rolling over the hood of a car to get out of sight.
The car alarm shrieked as the FUD stumbled into it, the wicked pincers cutting through the car’s shell like butter. Alvarez got to his feet, staying low as he ran back toward the vet clinic.
Just as Blake locked eyes with him, the street exploded out from under him. Alvarez cartwheeled through the air, landing hard. Beaumont shouted, racing forward, leveling his gun toward the Handler.
It clicked and whirred as it unlocked and began stalking forward.
The twin-mounted guns tracked Beaumont, locking in on him standing over Alvarez.
The downed man was on his forearms, desperately trying to get his wits about him.
Beaumont opened fire at the Handler, shouting for Alvarez to “get the fuck up, NOW!”
The kid squeaked in terror, prompting her mother to let go of Blake to grab her. He looked back at them—the mother was squatting, holding the girl to her chest, covering her face. Her eyes were wide as she watched the battle unfolding on the street.
Blake didn’t have a weapon, not that one would do him any good. But he didn’t have to down the Off Formers, just buy them some time.
The car the FUD had run into was crushed like a beer can. Gasoline leaked out of the tank, spreading across the street. The smell cut through the dust and blood.
Spinning on his heel, Blake sprinted out of the vet clinic and up over the broken wall. The liquor store was in worse shape than it had been when they arrived. A small fire was crackling in the back of the store, flames struggling to get enough oxygen in the dusty atmosphere.
His boots skidded over the blanket of broken glass.
Blinking the smoke from his eyes, Blake tried to find a whole bottle, just one.
Half bottles and large pieces caught his attention, but it wasn’t until he saw a clear bottle nestled under a cardboard advertisement that he launched forward.
Falling forward on his knee, his fingers closed around the cold bottle.
Vodka sloshed in the glass as he worked on twisting open the cap.
Outside, he heard the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire and explosions. It was hard to focus. Sweat dripped into his eyes as his slick fingers struggled to gain purchase on the cap. He got it off, letting it fall to the floor.
Vodka splashed over his hand as he nestled the bottle in the crook of his arm and yanked his shirt up from under his hoodie, looking for the seam so he could rip it.
Even though the material was cheap, he couldn’t get a good angle.
Another shout followed by the unmistakable sound of the Off Former ordinance slamming into a building made him jump.
Adrenaline and fear made his hands shake.
Bending over in half, he bit into the fabric.
Grit and polyester squealed under his incisors as he tugged, shaking his head like a dog.
It gave, and he was left with a jagged strip of cloth.
Stuffing it into the neck, he turned to the fire.
Even though the flame was struggling, he could feel the heat from half a store away.
Listening to the crack and pop, he wrinkled his nose at the smell of burning plastic as he extended the bottle toward the flame.
He held it there until the shirt caught, the synthetic material catching quickly.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
The fire ate away at the cloth as he ran toward the front of the store, hand protectively cupped around the flame. As soon as he saw daylight, he took a moment to aim and then threw the bottle into the street.
His little league coach was rolling in his grave, but the bottle hit right in front of the Handler. Glass shattered, and the flame caught the alcohol, igniting quickly.
The Handler stuttered to a stop; its big body swaying as it peered down at the small fire. Blake could almost picture it curling its alien lip in a sneer at such a puny flame. Ten feet away, Alvarez and Beaumont were on their feet, guns up as they began backing away.
Blake didn’t wait to see if his stupid idea worked. He vaulted over the half-wall, backpack slamming into his back as he raced back to the woman and child. He grabbed her hand again and ran for the street.
She hesitated, no doubt wanting to stay in the perceived safety of the building. “We have to make a run for it!” he yelled over his shoulder, grip tightening over her wrist until he felt the bones shift. She relented just as the flames exploded.
The gasoline ignited in a whoosh of heat. It spread across the asphalt, licking up the pool until it hit the car. Clacking in irritation, the FUD began pacing the line of fire, as if it wasn’t sure if it could cross or not. Blake didn’t wait to see if it figured it out.
Alvarez and Beaumont booked it after him. Alvarez was curled over his midsection, but he wasn’t letting it slow him down. Blake let go of the woman so she could run more easily, desperately trying to remember the way to the truck.
With the street blocked, it wasn’t a straight line. They had to scramble over downed power poles and tangled lines, circumnavigate holes, and lurch over disabled cars.
Blake was over the hood of a car, turning to grab the woman’s hand when the car suddenly burst out from under him. Something struck his chest, and then he was flying backward.
His head slammed back into the asphalt with a sickening crack.
It was only the adrenaline that kept him from blacking out.
Blake’s vision swam as he tried to get his bearings.
The gray sky above him looked wrong, like he was looking at it upside down.
Blinking, he tried to get his legs to work, but nothing happened.
Reaching out, he laid a painful palm on the street below him.
It helped him to orient himself, and he was able to roll onto his front.
Out of the corner of his eye, near a rooftop, something shifted. He blinked the dirt from his eyes.
The backpack shifted, and Blake checked to make sure it was still on his back. Sluggishly, he thought it might have saved him from fully cracking his head open on the street. Grit and gravel stung the open cuts in his palm as he got his knees under him.
Where the car had been was a smoldering crater. Bits of the Off Former ordinance were valiantly trying to continue burning through the asphalt, widening the hole. Through the smoke and haze of heat he could see Beaumont and Alvarez getting to their feet.
Where were the woman and child?
Feeling sick for forgetting her, he got to his feet and wobbled toward the crater. His legs felt like partially cooked spaghetti, and he wasn’t sure if he was even fully straightening out his knees.
Through the smoke, he could see the FUD testing the flames. It pawed at the edge of the fire, claws sparking on the street.
He heard a sniffle and turned to see the girl standing over her mother. Her lank hair was hanging in front of her face, the oversized doctor’s coat flapping over her hands. Her mother was on the ground, groggily trying to push herself up.
Blake made to reach for her hand, but then he noticed the blood.
It pooled out from under her, spreading across the asphalt until it hit his boot like a speed bump.
The blood didn’t slow, only made its way around and through the treads.
It filled all the grooves and rents in the street. And more kept coming.
He dropped to his knees. Following the blood, he found a rip in her scrubs where a piece of car was lodged in her inner thigh
Blake’s stomach dropped.
The shrapnel had sliced through her femoral artery.
Behind him, Alvarez shouted. He glanced to see the FUD had made it through the flames, its claws clacking as it loped toward them.
A thin hand dug into Blake’s shoulder as the woman pushed herself up. She wavered but stood. Blake followed her up. When he met her eyes, he didn’t see any fear.
She cupped her daughter’s face, thumb wiping her tears. “I love you,” she rasped, managing a small smile.
She shoved the little girl at Blake. Her lip wobbled, eyes wet as she met his gaze.
“Take care of her.”
Then she was gone, dragging her leg behind her as she limped toward the oncoming FUD.
“Wait! Stop!” he shouted, but was drowned out by the little girls’ shrieking.
“Mommy!” she lurched forward. Blake barely caught her. She struggled against him.
“Lewis!” Alvarez called.
He watched the distance between the woman and the FUD close. She veered off toward a side street. The FUD twisted its head and changed course to go after her. Everyone kept screaming. Blake might have been screaming too; he wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t—
Blake was jerked backward by the backpack.
Alvarez had the handle, pulling Blake after him.
He stumbled over his feet, holding the girl against his chest. She was still crying, a hand reaching out for her mother.
Blake glanced back to see the woman disappearing around the corner, the FUD close behind.
He pushed the little girl’s face into his shoulder and ran.
Tyler already had the truck running as they came into view. They didn’t bother getting in; they just jumped straight into the bed. Tires squealed, and the truck rocked forward before they’d even landed.
Blake didn’t remember leaving the city. Or the conversations around him.
He was curled up against the cab, holding the little girl tight, trying to keep her warm.
She sobbed for a long time, railing against him with her small fists.
Eventually, she fell silent and slumped against him, her face sticky with tears.
Her hair whipped against his face as the city grew smaller.
He felt disconnected. Like he was looking down at himself.
His eyes burned, but he didn’t want to blink.
Every time he did, he saw the woman. Smelled her blood.
Felt her thin wrist in his hand. The harsh lines of her gaunt face, scabbed lips, her life bleeding away, and she still managed to smile at her daughter.
Why did he let her go? If he had just held on, pulled her with him to the other side of the car, she would be here. It would be her hands comforting her child. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel the guilt of yet another failure. He just felt nothing.
He had barely said anything to her, but she’d entrusted him with her daughter. Her whole world. Then, without a trace of fear or hesitation, she sacrificed herself for them.
And Blake didn’t even know her name.