FIFTEEN #4
Unbothered, he shrugs with a nod that answers her. “Can’t be helped. It’s a stress response.”
“Develop a quieter one,” she volleys.
“I’ve heard that suggestion before,” Ewan snorts, taking no offense. Takes a lot to upset him, and she’s not saying anything I haven’t said to him already.
Kaito interrupts, pressing a hand harder to his side while his eyes remain on her as he gently asks, “You okay?”
I watch as her entire body stiffens, the question doing more damage than the gunfire.
“I’m alive,” she answers.
“That’s not what I asked,” he pushes, raising an eyebrow at her. The action looks like it costs him, but he pretends like it doesn’t. Stupid or resilient. Maybe both.
The knife in her hand shifts, so I step in before his concern becomes a threat worth cutting through. “We need to move. They got the cargo. They’ll end up regrouping.”
The girl turns those startling pale hazel eyes on me. “That’s not my problem.”
“If they’re sweeping the buildings, it’s as much your problem as ours,” I counter.
She shakes her head only once, arguing back. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I’m very good at not existing in buildings asshole looters are sweeping.”
Ewan mutters, “Can confirm. She’s in the walls, the floors, maybe even the blueprints of the architecture itself.”
The masked girl points her knife at him, grumbling, “I’m still pissed at you.”
“For the hat?” Ewan guesses.
“For even daring to breathe next to my hat,” she agrees.
He nods like that’s perfectly acceptable. “Valid.”
I can’t help but study her then. She wants to run. I can see it lined through every inch of her body. She’s built for it. Every breath tells me she’s survived by leaving before anyone can decide if she’s useful enough to keep.
But outside, the looters have a part of the cargo. They shot down an entire aircraft with a military-grade weapon, even if it was crudely made. They’ve used Rots as effective weapons, and they want the pilot alive, meaning the helicopter carried more than just supplies.
And on top of it all, the girl knows something. Maybe not about the helicopter, and maybe not about the looters, but about surviving this shithole. About the dead. About how the infected move and about things the compound scientists would cut off their own legs to finally understand.
I look at Kaito. Rogue Alpha, injured, and protective without crowding. Still an unknown.
I look at the masked girl. Possible Omega. Violent, terrified, and clever enough to get into our camp and out again with the single thing she came for. A bigger unknown.
The old version of me would have locked down the situation long before now. Secure the assets, get everyone back to base, answers first and comfort later. The old version of me also got too many men killed by thinking control and safety were one and the same.
I breathe deeply through my nose. Cedar and leather fill my senses under the smoke, blood, rot, and fear. I take another breath to calm my thoughts before saying, “Those men aren’t just looters.”
The girl doesn’t bother answering, though I’m pretty sure she’s giving the wall a look as if she’s asking if it thinks I’m as stupid as she thinks I am.
Kaito looks toward the blocked door and nods. “Think you’re right about that.”
Xeon’s gaze meets mine. “They knew the helicopter’s route.”
“I mean, it's either that or they were just waiting for anything that would be in the air,” Ewan says, humor running thin now. “Either option is pretty fucking grim, if you ask me.”
The pilot decides then to groan, his eyes fluttering open for half a second. He grips tightly to Xeon’s sleeve with bloodied fingers and rasps a single word.
“Vector.”
He blacks out again straight after, and the name lands in the passage like a live grenade waiting to detonate.
The girl’s eyes sharpen. She knows it. Maybe. Or maybe she knows fear when it develops another head to worry about. Either way, the grip she has on her knife tightens.
Shifting my rifle higher, I look down the narrow darkness ahead and say, “Move. We find a different exit. Then we’ll decide who’s shooting who.”
“That’s comforting,” the girl scoffs.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” I tell her bluntly.
“Yeah, no shit, Scar,” she retorts.
Ewan makes a small sound at the back of his throat that makes me want to shoot him. “Scar. Oh my god, that’s going to stick, isn’t it?”
“Shut up,” I snap, and for once, the girl and I say it at the same time.
That earns us silence for all of three seconds before Ewan decides to be himself and whispers, “Wow. Team bonding over mutual bullying. If only the apocalypse had HR. Ooh, I’d write you guys up so fast.”
The girl looks like she’s considering stabbing him.
Kaito looks as if he might smile despite the bleeding.
Xeon looks tired down to his very bones.
And me? I look toward the dark passage, the blocked door rattling harshly behind us, the stolen cargo gone, and the dying pilot whispering a name on his tongue that means this whole shit show just got a truckload messier.
Because this ain’t a scavenger fight.
Not anymore.