TWENTY #3
“He needs antibiotics,” Xeon says.
“He needs a compound clinic,” Fletcher replies.
“He needs to stop being dramatic and tell us why assholes are shooting helicopters out of the sky,” I add, but the pilot doesn't reply. Rude, but whatever.
My arm throbs enough to steal my attention, and I look down at it. Blood has seeped through the bandage again, diluted pink by rainwater.
Kaito appears in the doorway and I tense. He doesn’t come in, though. He only tosses a clean strip of cloth onto the table near me. It lands next to my hand and when I look up, he says, “For your arm.”
Then he steps back out without lingering, without looking at my mouth, without any of the soft, meaningful shit. Just help and retreat. I hate him the most.
I pick up the cloth and stuff it into my pocket, because using it straight away would be too much like accepting care in public, and I have standards. Low standards, sure, but standards nonetheless.
“We need to move before the street below gets busy,” Fletcher comments.
“Transit station,” Xeon replies. “West skywalk leads there. It has covered platforms and lower access tunnels.”
“More people?” I ask.
“Possibly,” Fletcher tells me.
I pull a face and Ewan points at me. “That expression right there looks like you’ve confused people with fungus.”
“Fungus is quieter,” I mutter.
“Not always,” Ewan argues conversationally. “I met a very chatty mold once.”
“I’m begging you to have fewer stories,” I grumble.
“Nah, you’re not really,” he counters and, annoyingly, he’s right.
I don’t tell him that. Instead, I stand from the desk, only for the room to tilt slightly. It’s nothing dramatic, and not enough for anyone to grab me. It’s just a slow sideways shift that makes the edges of the table blur.
Bracing one hand against it, I take a deep breath, my eyes blinking rapidly.
Kaito appears in the doorway again, still not moving in.
Fletcher looks away first, deliberately checking the hall.
Xeon adjusts the blanket someone has wrapped around him.
And Ewan taps his headphones against the palm of his hand.
They all notice but none of them pounce on it, and it’s becoming quite the problem for me. I mean, if they pushed, I could fight. If they ordered, I could bite. If they wanted too persistently, I could call it danger and be right about it.
But Fletcher leaves warmth and pretends it has nothing to do with me.
Xeon changes the route and calls it sightlines.
Ewan gives me water and hides behind jokes.
And Kaito offers bandages by putting them down and leaving before I can turn kindness into a weapon.
They’re not acting like Alphas in the way I know how to survive, and that makes them worse, because it makes me want things I can’t afford.
A corner. A blanket. A sealed door.
A few minutes where I’m not the only thing standing between myself and the world.
Comfort.
That one is a bit obscene, but it lingers in the back of my mind like it has every right.
I gather the thermal sheet tighter for one more second before finally dropping it onto the desk, muttering, “Ready.”
Fletcher’s eyes drop to the sheet and then they flick back to the hall. “Let’s move.”
And so we move.
The west skywalk is narrower than the last one, but it’s definitely more intact. Rain lashes against the remaining glass, and Zeds have crowded the street below, drifting east, pulled by some distant metallic banging.
The sound echoes all through the city.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Doesn’t take a genius to spot a lure when they hear one, but it doesn't stop my stomach from tightening as I point out quietly, “That’s not random.”
Fletcher nods. “No, it’s not.”
“Vector?” Ewan asks, quieter now.
“Maybe,” Xeon answers, just as another bang tumbles through the street.
The Zeds shift harder east, and a path opens beneath us. Organized. Definitely deliberate. Because someone is moving the dead again.
I should focus on that. Instead, my body notices Kaito stepping onto the skywalk behind me, close enough for his scent to pierce through the panic, but far enough not to touch.
It notices Fletcher’s broad back ahead. Xeon’s quiet attention.
And Ewan’s listening silence. Four points. Four threats. Four anchors.
Nope. Nu-uh.
I grip my knife until my fingers ache, tearing my attention away from all four Alphas.
At the far side of the skywalk, I spy a transit station that waits, dark and half-collapsed. There’s an old sign that hangs crooked over the entrance, and it looks like it’s one sneeze from falling apart, but it’ll do as a temporary shelter.
There could be medicine there.
Maybe answers.
Maybe one more reason not to leave yet.
I keep telling myself I’ll leave soon.
At the station.
After the pilot talks.
After the rain stops.
After my blockers settle.
After NOVAC stops sounding like my father knocking from inside a locked room.
The list keeps growing, and that’s how I know it’s becoming the biggest lie I’ve told myself.
And still, I step through the broken station doors anyway.