2. Aliana #2
I don’t answer, instead choosing to load another bolt and trying not to think about how outnumbered we are. I need to focus on making this worth it…making sure Eon gets away.
I turn and take careful aim, and my bolt rips through the wing of one ugly bug before landing in the eye of its companion behind it.
Both fall, screeching.
There are still too many.
“Come on!” Chase yells.
“Hurry!” Lucas adds.
Both voices are behind me. I didn’t even realize that they’d run on ahead.
I turn and fly down the tunnel. I hardly feel the bottoms of my feet hit the concrete slab as I vault toward the shadows.
Clicking chatter starts up behind us as the night visions angrily decide on their next moves.
I smirk as I get close enough to give Lucas a nod, and the guys flank me as we hurry toward the far end of the station.
The concrete ceiling arches over us higher than I would have expected, at least thirty feet up.
Soon, I realize why. The faint outline of a frozen escalator to my left.
Multiple subway lines must have crossed here. This must be a hub station.
On our right, tracks lead into a dark tunnel that gapes open like a mouth. If we all go that way, the path will be narrow. And if the tunnel’s blocked off or caved in at any point, we’ll all be goners.
“Let’s split up,” I tell the guys, indicating the escalator and the additional floor of the underground train station. “You two up there—”
“I don’t think—” Chase starts to object.
“You can’t think, you mean,” I retort. “Just get the fuck up there.” I shove him and give Lucas a deadly glare. I’m not sure the other man sees it in the dim light, but I sure as hell think he can feel it.
I dart away from them, letting my boots clomp loudly as I head for the tunnel and sing out, “There was an old lady who swallowed a fly!”
I try to make as much noise as possible to draw the monsters towards me.
Lucas has a family to go home to. I don’t.
And while I’m not a Chase fan, he deserves a shot at becoming a better person.
If he dies now, he’ll just be a giant disappointment.
I double my volume and hear several night visions following me.
The chatter intensifies, and I hear the buzz of something trying to use their wings and slamming into the ceiling. Hopefully more of them do that. Traders are supposed to be some of the stupidest tongues.
Night visions don’t even compare to those monsters that can steal your body or invade your dreams. They’re low on the totem pole.
I hope I can use that to my advantage as I dart along an abandoned platform and try to put as much distance as I can between myself and the traders.
As I run, I notice that though the fuckers are chasing me, they aren’t trying to go very fast. I hop down into a tunnel, my knees sparking after the impact.
I shove a hand up against the far wall and use it as a guide in the blackness.
They let me get all the way to another station, wearing myself out.
I huff to myself, “They want to take me alive at least. That’s why they’re being so careful.”
It means I’ve got a shot.
I glance around this station. The wall is painted with the name Broad Street in flaking, graffiti-covered letters.
On my side of the track, someone broke out several benches from the waiting area and shoved them down onto the tracks.
No telling why. On the opposite track, across the station, there’s a lone subway car and the broken, violet web of what must have been created by a tooth.
The exit for this place has caved in. Light pours through the cracks between rubble, but there’s no way I’ll be able to take the stairs out of this place. I either need to run or make a stand.
My heaving chest tells me that more running isn’t possible just yet.
Make a stand it is.
I lift my crossbow and grab a bolt. I pinch one of my fingers loading it. Motherfucker.
Do better, Aliana, I tell myself as I shake off the sting, though it makes sense that I’m dragging. We left for this excursion before dawn, and though I don’t know what time it is, I’m pretty certain I just ran for an hour.
I vent my anger at my frail body by whirling around and pressing hard on the trigger.
A night vision barreling out of the tunnel into the open space of this station dodges sideways, and I miss, my arrow pinging off of one of the discolored tiles on the wall behind him.
Rage tints my vision because I shouldn’t have missed.
I shouldn’t have shot off so quickly. I was angry instead of measured. That’s two mistakes in a row. Dammit.
Its mandibles click together, which I swear sounds like a monstrous laugh from where I’m standing. Then it launches off the steps, and its wings flicker as it flies down the tunnel at me.
Fuck.
I turn, scrambling away. The benches piled on my side become steps as I parkour the shit out of them and somehow make it up onto the platform.
The night vision behind me flicks its wings but is smart enough not to fly.
I don’t look back as I rush across the station for the other track, my chest screaming in pain.
Oxygen, it yelps. More oxygen!
I shove another bolt from my quiver into my crossbow, and this time, I try to steady my aim before letting it fly.
Tension coils my muscles as I wait for the night vision to crest the edge of the subway platform.
If I can kill it and be down this side of the track before its buddies show up, I might actually make it away alive.
I suck in a deep breath just as its bulging black eyes pop up above the concrete. I slowly let my breath out and hold steady until its full head emerges.
I shoot.
Bull’s-eye.
Giddy disbelief fills me, and I turn on the balls of my feet, about to make a mad dash for freedom.
But the buzzing, angry click of at least half a dozen of the bastards suddenly fills the air. I take a split second to look over my shoulder as I run.
I’m too fucking late.
A group of the monsters has walked into the station. They’ve already spotted me. Goddammit.
My next best option is holing up somewhere.
I head for the subway car, hoping that I’ll be able to open and then slam shut the doors of the blue-striped metal tube and somehow barricade myself in there.
If I can get inside, then at least these monsters won’t be able to hover. And they’ll have to come at me one at a time. We’ll meet each other on a level playing field. Literally.
I rush over to the doors and jam my fingers into the seam between them, ignoring the skeleton inside.
That sight is all-too-common nowadays. Monsters aren’t known for burying the dead—their own or others.
In the resistance, we don’t typically have time for anything more than a quick circle gesture over our foreheads to ward off any bad, lingering spirits.
Bones have become as invisible and everyday as fallen tree branches in this violent world we inhabit.
The night visions gain on me while I’m fumbling with the doors. I have to sling my crossbow over an arm and use two hands to try to get the door unstuck. Adrenaline rides me hard, and my palms are quickly slick with sweat because the dumb things won’t budge. They’re as stupidly stubborn as Chase.
Finally, the doors yank apart stiffly. I shove my fingers between them and press unnaturally with all my strength until they squeal apart just enough for me to squeeze through.
Rust-colored dust coats my palms as I turn and try to edge them back closed.
Unfortunately, they slide easily now that I’ve broken the seal. Dammit.
Three night visions walk steadily towards me. A fourth cautiously circles to my left as I run to the opposite edge of the underground train car to take my stand. I wipe the rust flecks from my hands onto my pants and hurriedly turn so I can take up position facing that door, weapon ready.
A trader races through the doorway and makes the subway car wobble unsteadily as it climbs in, tucking its wings only slightly. It’s at least a foot taller than me. It turns its bug-like head in my direction.
I fire. A bolt bursts from my crossbow, and time slows as it zings toward the trader. The trader ducks, but it’s too big to completely evade my shot. The bolt rips through its wing with a sound like fabric shredding.
A hiss escapes the night vision. And suddenly, it’s marching right toward me, three arms extended, the other three yanking gloves from its hands.
In the middle of its ungloved palm, there’s a black spot that looks like a mouth for a moment before a brutal spike erupts from it—a white spike with a neon green tip.
That triggers my memory. Now, I remember that night visions are venomous. Nobody in the resistance knows exactly what kind of venom they have because we’ve never had anyone return after they’ve been infected.
I try to ignore the dirt devil that knowledge stirs up in my stomach, which becomes a stinging, whirling mess. I need to act first and act fast.
I grab my crossbow and use it as a bat, smashing it into the night vision’s side. It goes stumbling sideways into the skeleton perched on one of the seats. Its hands knock off the top part of the skull to the ground where it shatters. Only the lower jaw remains, bone curved in a sick smile.
I note the bits of skull aren't dissolving underneath the green slime that coats them like jam. So night vision venom isn’t acidic. I won’t be eaten alive if it gets me.
Somehow, that morbid knowledge spurs me on, encourages me to get closer. I lunge forward and then raise a leg to kick.
But two of its lower hands catch me. They’re still gloved, so I’m not poisoned, but it has got a solid grip on my leg. Reflexively, I bring my crossbow down on its lower left wrist. I slam the rail into the night vision, and there’s a satisfying crack as one of its hands goes limp.
My smirk is short-lived when one of its ungloved hands comes down on my calf. The green-tipped spike in its palm pierces right through my pants. It bites into my leg like a tooth, sinking deep. Burning.
“Fuuuu…” I don’t even get the entire word out as the world in front of me wavers before fading to black.