NINE #2
The tunnel narrows so much that Kaito is forced to turn sideways in places, his jacket brushing along the wall while his boots scrape quietly over concrete.
I can hear the pain he’s in with every breath he takes, even as he tries to hide it.
I can also hear when he almost stumbles and catches himself before knocking into me.
Because he’s being careful. Always careful.
It only makes the closeness that little more unbearable somehow.
I mean, if he crowded me, I’d actually know what the hell to do with that.
I’d throw a mean elbow, threaten his life, and maybe stab him in the thigh if the situation called for it.
Hell, if the universe was spicy enough, I might actually cut off a finger or two.
But this carefulness? That leaves me with absolutely nowhere to put the panic slowly building inside me.
I know he’s close because the tunnel is forcing the issue, not because he’s taking advantage of the situation, and the difference is crawling under my skin like a thousand ants have burrowed there.
Eventually, the tunnel opens into a wider junction with four paths splitting from it. An old map has been bolted to the wall, half-rotted under the grime and water stains, so I wipe it with my sleeve with a grimace.
With my nail-painted finger, I press against the map where we just were and whisper, “Clinic. Apartment block. Park facilities. Boiler access... wait. Park facilities.”
I tap the map twice, and Kaito asks carefully, “Think that will get us out of here?”
With a shrug, I answer, “It should do.”
And then a sound echoes behind us, the screech of metal scraping with force, and I wince. The maintenance door didn’t hold for as long as I hoped. Shit.
“Move,” I whisper.
And then we run. Well, I do my own version of running, which is more like an aggressive form of limping with determination and a heaping dose of ambition. Kaito remains close, matching my pace without once commenting on it.
The tunnel bends sharply, then slopes up, and all the while, my knee is screaming in agony, my lungs are burning for air, and behind us, something releases a high and awful shriek.
We keep going until an exit hatch appears ahead, built into a short stairwell of grossly green-painted concrete. The door at the top is chained, because why wouldn’t it be when the universe is set on humbling me today?
Kaito raises the pipe he still has clutched in his hand and says, “I’ve got this. Watch out.”
I step aside, and he slams it into the chain with so much force that my eyes widen slightly. The sound rings through the tunnel like a fucked-up dinner bell, and something behind us screams.
“Kaito,” I hiss.
“Yup, fully aware, thank you,” he grunts back, right before slamming the pipe down again.
The padlock cracks, but annoyingly holds, and I already know I’m going to have to do something I already hate the thought of.
I pull my gun from the holster, hesitating for only half a second. After all, I have one bullet left before the thing is rendered as useful as a paperweight. I hate this. I hate every single bit of this.
“Move,” I warn with no short amount of annoyance.
Kaito steps aside without argument, and I aim at the padlock.
“Oh. The subtle approach. I like it,” he snarks in a hushed murmur, and I would actually slap him if this wasn’t urgent.
Instead, I snap, “Shut up.”
And then I fire the gun.
The shot blasts through the tunnel and the padlock snaps, chains whipping loose with a loud jangle.
My ears ring instantly, my eardrums rattling in pain.
Kaito recovers quickly, kicking the door open, and daylight spills down the steps in blinding rivers of light.
Fuck me, it’s like being flash-banged, my senses fighting for their lives.
There’s no reprieve, though, because something fast suddenly rounds the corner below. I don’t look, because that would be a waste of time. I already know what it is, and my heart slams into my rib cage knowing what’s gunning for us.
Without wasting another valuable second, we burst out into the park behind the old public bathrooms, stumbling into wet, overgrown grass and cool air. I turn and shove the door closed behind us, and Kaito shoves the pipe through the handles like a temporary barricade.
A split second later, the thing inside slams into the door with a heavy thud. The metal jumps, but then it holds. For now.
I back away, breathing hard and the gun still smoking in my hand. My knee tries to fold in on itself, and I flat-out refuse to let it. Pride might be stupid in an apocalypse, but it’s also the only thing keeping me stable enough to function properly.
Kaito stands beside me, one hand pressed to his side while sweat beads over his pale face.
I look at him.
He looks at me.
For a moment, neither one of us says anything.
It’s weird, standing in the wet grass behind an old park bathroom while a Runner tries to turn the door behind us into a metal taco.
Weird that the world continues to move, Zeds still snarling and crawling toward us with rotten hands and hungry mouths, and yet, for a single breath, everything narrows down to the Alpha beside me.
To the sweat beading on his pale face, to the hand pressed hard against his side, to the way he keeps scanning the park instead of staring down at me, even though I know every instinct in him must be yelling at him to look.
Or maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m the only one whose body has hijacked all rational thinking, becoming a total embarrassment in the middle of an active survival situation.
Once more, my Omega lifts her head, all curious and soft and stupid, so I mentally clock her around the head with a saucepan, shove her into a Harry Potter-style cupboard, and lock the door before throwing away the key. We won’t be having any of this soft shit, thank you very much.
When the silence stretches too long, a weighted element joining it, I point at his bandage and grumble, “If you’ve ripped my stitches, I’m pushing you in a ditch and leaving you there.”
His mouth twitches. “Your stitches?”
Nodding as though it should be obvious and he’s simply not catching on, I inform him, “I installed those. That’s my handiwork, so that means they’re mine.”
“That makes sense,” he relents, amusement very clear in his words.
It makes me frown, and I point a finger at him. “Don’t do that. Don’t agree with me like that, because it’s weird.”
He raises a dark eyebrow. “Again, is this where I should argue?”
“No,” I answer automatically, my mouth moving before my brain can catch up.
“Then I’m running out of options here,” he tells me.
Unimpressed, I bluntly retort, “You could give silence a go.”
Kaito’s lips suddenly press together, but the amusement doesn’t once leave his eyes, and I hate more than anything that I actually notice.
Even more than that, I hate that I notice the blood darkening under his hand.
It’s not much, but enough to worry over.
The stitches might be holding, but the idiot jumped through a collapsed floor, fought a Runner, broke a lock, ran through a maintenance tunnel that was built too small for him, and then barricaded a door, all while injured because self-preservation seems to be a language he only speaks in casual conversation.
Hell, maybe not even then. I’m pretty sure he only knows a handful of words and wings the rest.
I step closer before I can overthink the action, and Kaito grows still. Not tense, exactly, but more like he’s bracing himself to make sure he doesn’t move wrong before he finds his body sprawled on the floor with my knife buried in his chest.
There’s that carefulness again, and it scratches at something under my ribs that I can’t keep ignoring.
“Move your hand,” I mutter.
His gaze drops to me, confusion swimming in his eyes. “Huh?”
“Your hand,” I say, pointing at it as though he might need a clue. “Move it.”
Slowly, he does as I demand. Of course he does it slowly, because the universe is very set on proving this guy’s manners are going to be a recurring problem for me.
Taking a deep breath, I lean in close enough to check the bandage without actually touching him.
There is blood, but it’s not a catastrophic amount.
The tape is still stuck down and the gauze is holding beautifully, even if a little red has seeped through, blooming across the fabric like it’s a tattling little bitch.
“You’ve pulled it,” I accuse, frowning at the blood.
His own brows furrow, and he asks, “Is it bad?”
I eye it again before shaking my head. “Nah. Not bad.”
A wash of relief crosses his face before he manages to hide it, and a niggle of interest crawls into my thoughts. It’s annoying, so I swat it away before muttering, “Don’t look so relieved. I’m still annoyed.”
“Noted,” he answers quickly.
My jaw tightens for a second before I say, “You need to stop throwing yourself off things.”
Kaito pauses. “I didn’t throw myself off anything.”
“You dropped into a basement,” I argue.
“All in the name of strategy,” he defends, and I glare at him.