Chapter 28
Brooke
The siren explodes overhead, loud and mechanical, shaking the ceiling as red lights flash in time with the sound. Miles grabs my hand.
We run.
We bolt through the doors and into the night, our feet striking tile, then dirt as we plunge into the trees. The white fabric of my dress snags on thorns and branches almost immediately. Behind us, Elliot’s laughter echoes faintly over the dying siren.
Miles stays close beside me. His breathing is rough, steady only because he forces it to be.
“They’ve set traps out here,” he whispers as we sprint deeper into the forest. “Rope snares. Pits. Spikes. I heard them talking about it.”
I nod and scan the ground with every step.
“How far does the forest go?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” he says. “But we need to keep moving. That siren won’t last long.”
The blood between my legs stays warm, slowly soaking into the white fabric. The dress clings heavier with every step, making it harder to move.
I don’t know how much longer my body will hold out.
The second siren wails through the forest, vibrating through the ground beneath my feet and carrying through the trees without fading.
The sound marks the beginning of the hunt.
We run faster, pushing our bodies past what they want to give.
My lungs burn with every breath, and each inhale feels shallow and incomplete.
My legs shake as I force them forward, muscles screaming with fatigue and strain.
The hem of the white dress tears repeatedly as branches catch it and rip fabric away.
My shoes slip on damp leaves and loose soil, making every step unstable.
My chest aches with every breath, the taste of iron thick in my mouth as my throat dries out.
Jared breaks first.
He bolts forward, stumbling at the start before forcing himself into a run. Panic drives him harder, his breath ripping out in ragged pulls as he sprints across the ground.
“Jared, wait!” I shout.
He doesn’t stop. He runs straight between two trees, head up, lungs ripping for air, throwing everything he has left into speed. Branches lash at his arms. His shoes tear through mud and dead leaves.
He never sees the wire.
Piano wire stretches between the trees, pulled tight enough to hum. It blends into the dark like a hairline crack in glass.
Jared runs straight into it.
The sound comes first. A sharp metallic twang. Then a thick tearing noise.
The wire catches him across the throat.
His body keeps driving forward. The force of his sprint presses his neck harder into the line, and the wire bites deep. Skin splits open instantly. Muscle parts under the tension. The wire carves through him as his own momentum drags him along it.
Blood bursts outward in a violent spray, misting the bark and spattering the leaves.
A strangled choke tears out of him, cut short as the wire slices farther back. His airway opens. His voice dies in his throat.
His knees buckle.
He hits the ground, the wire snapping loose and vibrating between the trees.
His hands claw at the dirt. Fingers dig into wet soil as his body tries to process what just happened. His legs kick wildly, heels gouging into the earth.
His neck gapes open.
The front of his throat hangs in torn layers. Blood pumps out in thick surges. It runs down his chest, soaks into his shirt, pools beneath his face.
Blood fills his mouth and spills over his lips. His jaw works uselessly, eyes wide and unfocused.
His movements slow. One hand twitches against the leaves.
Then his body goes still.
Emma screams.
The sound tears out of her chest and doesn't stop. She freezes for half a second, staring at what is left of him, then runs toward his body without slowing.
“Emma, stop!” Miles shouts.
She doesn’t listen.
She makes it three steps.
An axe flies from the left and slams into the back of her skull.
The crack splits the air.
The blade punches through bone and buries deep, driving her head forward with brutal force. There is a sickening crunch as the metal splits through skull and sinks in.
Blood bursts out immediately.
It pours from the wound in thick, heavy streams, running down the sides of her face and into the soil. More blood pulses out around the blade itself, bubbling as it escapes from shattered bone.
A thin line of pink and gray matter seeps out from the split in her skull, mixing with the blood and dirt beneath her.
Her face hits the dirt hard enough to bounce once before going slack. Her fingers twitch once against the ground.
Then her body goes still.
My steps falter, and my stomach clenches violently as nausea surges. Miles grabs my arm hard enough to hurt and pulls me forward.
“We can’t stop,” he says.
Laughter echoes through the trees behind us.
We run deeper into the forest, weaving between trees and uneven ground.
The terrain dips sharply, forcing us to slow for a moment as our footing becomes unstable.
Branches scrape across my arms and face, leaving stinging lines and pulling loose strands of hair free.
Pain flares through my shoulder from earlier injuries, spreading down my arm.
My lower abdomen cramps again, making my breath hitch and my pace falter.
A low rumble rolls overhead.
The first drops of rain follow seconds later, sparse at first, tapping against leaves and skin. Then more come, heavier, faster, the forest darkening as the sky opens above us.
A loud snapping sound cuts through the noise of our footsteps.
Gunfire cracks nearby, sharp and close enough to make leaves fall from the branches overhead.
Miles grabs my wrist and pulls me hard.
We're still running when Miles sucks in a sharp breath.
“Brooke,” he yells. “Keep going.”
The crossbow bolt strikes him in the back.
The impact makes a dull, heavy sound as the bolt punches through muscle.
Miles gasps and stumbles forward, his steps turning sloppy as blood spreads across the back of his shirt. He tries to stay upright, tries to keep moving, but a second bolt hits lower in his side, driving in with brutal force.
The impact knocks him to his knees. He collapses forward onto the ground.
I drop beside him immediately.
“No,” I grab his shoulders, trying to lift him. “No, please!”
Miles coughs, rain mixing with the thick blood spilling from his mouth. It streaks down his face and collects along his jaw as his breathing turns wet and uneven, every breath visibly harder than the last. His remaining eye locks onto mine, sharp despite the pain.
“Brooke, don’t stop. Go!”
“I’m not leaving you,” I strain to pull him up. My hands slip. My arms shake. “I’m not leaving you!”
“You have to…You have to go now.”
“No,” I shake my head. “I won’t leave you here.”
He reaches for my wrist with shaking fingers and manages to grab it. His grip is weak but desperate, slick with blood and rain.
“Tell Alonzo.”
Tears blur my vision. I shake my head, breathing hard. I remember Mila on the floor at Amber’s house, bleeding from her chest, telling me to go while she was dying. I remember refusing to leave her. I remember how staying didn't save her.
Laughter echoes again, closer now, cutting cleanly through the trees.
Miles pushes my hand away with the last of his strength. “Go! Now!”
My chest hurts so badly that breathing becomes difficult. My throat tightens until I can barely force the words out.
“Miles, I’m so sorry.”
I stand up and run.
I don’t look back.
Branches strike my arms, shoulders, and face as I force myself forward. My legs feel weak and unreliable, vision blurring from tears, exhaustion, and pain. My breathing comes in short, shallow bursts that burn my chest with every pull of air.
Someone whispers my name from ahead.
“Brooke.”
Sarah crouches behind a fallen tree, her face pale and pulled tight with fear.
“I think I found the gate,” she whispers. “Come on.”
I run toward her, pushing my body harder than it wants to go. My feet slip on wet leaves as the rain starts to fall, heavier now, slicking the forest floor and turning every step into a risk.
The crossbow fires with a harsh, mechanical snap.
The bolt punches through the air and buries itself in the side of Sarah’s head. Her body jerks once, like someone yanks an invisible cord, and then she drops beside the tree without a sound, her eyes still open and empty.
“Sarah,” I gasp, the word tearing out of me.
Another click cuts through the rain.
The second bolt slams into my shoulder, driving deep enough that it feels like my entire arm explodes from the inside. Pain flares hot and blinding. The force spins me sideways and throws me to the ground, the impact knocking the breath out of my chest as the forest tilts around me.
Blood spreads rapidly across the shoulder of my dress. The bolt stays embedded. The pain is constant, radiating down my arm and into my chest in blinding waves.
I lie there, struggling to breathe, rain streaking through the canopy above as my vision swims. Footsteps move closer through the brush. Leaves crunch under slow steps as Asher walks closer. Rain darkens his clothes, plasters his hair to his forehead, but his smile stays easy.
He laughs openly now, the sound satisfied, like he has already decided how this ends. He stops a few feet away and kneels slightly, bracing the crossbow against his thigh as he reaches for another bolt.
“You did better than I thought,” he chuckles. “You almost made it.”
My shoulder throbs violently. The bolt pulls at my arm with its weight, sending sharp pain into my fingers. I writhe on the ground, trying to get my legs under me, but my body refuses to cooperate.
Asher slides the bolt into place. He watches his hands, not my face.
“You know what I like best about this part,” he says. “It’s when you stop begging and start realizing there’s no one coming.”
I drag in a breath that barely fills my lungs. My fingers dig into the mud, nails breaking as I try to push myself backward. My legs kick uselessly, slipping on wet leaves smeared with blood.
Asher laughs again and pulls the string back partway, testing the tension.
“You see,” he continues, “you don’t die right away with these. It just hurts longer.”
He takes one step closer.
That is when I move.
I slide my hand under my wrist wrap and force my fingers around the handle of the scalpel. Pain rips through my arm, but I don't stop. I pull the blade free and twist toward him.
Asher is still reloading.
I swing low and fast, slicing into the back of his ankle where the tendon is exposed. The blade cuts through flesh and tendons in one clean motion.
Asher screams.
His foot collapses under him, and he drops hard to one knee. The crossbow slips from his hands and hits the ground. He grabs at his ankle, blood spilling between his fingers as his balance fails completely.
“You fucking—” His voice breaks.
I don’t wait.
I crawl forward and drive the scalpel into his thigh. The blade goes deep. He screams again and swings blindly, striking my face with the back of his hand. Stars burst behind my eyes, but I hold on.
He reaches for my hair. I shove the scalpel in again, higher this time, twisting as I pull it free. Blood soaks through his pants.
Asher falls backward, scrambling with his good leg, trying to put distance between us. He drags the crossbow toward himself with shaking fingers.
I push it away.
He roars and lunges, grabbing my wounded shoulder. Pain detonates through my arm as he shoves me onto my back. His weight crushes the air from my lungs.
“I’m going to kill you—”
I bring the scalpel up and slash across his forearm. His skin splits. Blood runs freely. He recoils just enough for me to twist sideways.
Asher tries to stand, but his injured foot buckles. He crashes back down, grabbing at me desperately, fingers slick with rain and blood, his breathing ragged.
I drive the scalpel into the side of his neck.
The blade sinks in deep.
Asher freezes.
His mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
I pull the blade free. Blood erupts from his neck, spraying across my hands as I drive the scalpel into his eye. Resistance gives way. Blood pours down his chest and soaks into the dirt beneath him, darkening the ground as rain mixes with it.
His grip loosens, then his body goes slack and collapses onto his side.
I don’t breathe.
I wait. I watch.
Only when the blood stops pumping in violent bursts and slows into a thick, heavy stream do I let air back into my lungs.
I pull myself away, wincing as pain flares through my shoulder. I sit back on my knees, chest heaving, arms trembling. I tear the bolt out of my shoulder, teeth clenched as heat and pressure follow it free.
The scalpel is still lodged in Asher’s eye. I wrap my fingers around the handle and rip it out. Blood spills down his face as his body sags.
I wipe the blade on his shirt and turn toward the crossbow. I crawl, grab it, and hook it over my good shoulder. My arm screams, but my legs hold.
The forest stays alive with sound as the wind rises and the rain comes down harder.
I don't wait to find out who is still alive. I move forward, keeping one hand on the crossbow while the other stays ready.
I am done running.
I hear boots pound behind me. I turn and raise the crossbow, my arms shaking while pain tears through my shoulder.
Enzo bursts from the trees, stun baton snapping with sparks. He grins like he can't wait.
I step back, grab a bolt. My fingers slip from the blood and rain. The bolt drops.
He closes the distance fast.
I force the bolt into place and yank the string back until it locks.
Enzo lunges toward me.
I fire.
The bolt slams into his chest, knocking him forward with a guttural sound. He collapses but keeps moving, dragging himself across the ground with one arm while blood spills from his mouth as he reaches for the prod.
My hands shake while the pain in my wrist throbs.
I reload the crossbow, forcing my fingers to work.
I steady my aim and fire again.
The second bolt punches through his skull as he lifts his head, snapping it back. His body jerks once, then goes still.
I hold my breath without realizing it.
I lower the crossbow and stagger back, soaked through with sweat, blood, and rain.
Then I hear it, another set of boots approaching fast.
I spin with the crossbow raised, my finger tight on the trigger because I can't survive another fight.
“Easy,” a low, familiar voice says.
I freeze.
“Seth?”
My heart stalls, then slams back into motion as he steps out from the trees.
Rain slicks over him, beading on the black fabric, streaking through the blood on his skin and dripping from the edge of his balaclava. For half a second, he looks unreal, like something my mind creates to survive this.
Those storm gray eyes lock onto mine.
The forest disappears, and so does the pain.
“I’m here, baby.”