Chapter 37 #2
Kang appeared at my shoulder, eyes blazing. His jaw was tight, the line of his scar standing out sharp against his skin.
“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, anger searing through the words. “You break from me again, you don’t come back. You’ll get yourself killed.”
I almost snapped back, but then I saw it—his anger wasn’t only fury. It was fear. Fear for me.
He followed my gaze to Stitch, to the old men still crouched behind the barrier. Understanding flickered. His eyes softened, the fight draining out of his shoulders. He shook his head, almost at himself, then looked back at me with something closer to resignation than rage.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered, voice low, but no longer sharp.
I only stared back, jaw set. “We wont leave them.”
His mouth twitched like he might argue again. But he didn’t.
Kang slid ahead of me, his Authority instincts taking over, scanning every angle as we cut toward the generator shed. Stitch stayed tight to my flank, dragging one of the old men with surprising strength, the others shuffling after like ghosts forced back into flesh.
The courtyard was alive with gunfire and screams, the sound bouncing off steel and stone until it became one endless roar. Every flash of light, every ricochet, was another coin toss with death.
We hugged the edge of the shed, smoke stinging our eyes.
The hum of the generators thrummed through the walls like a second heartbeat.
Kang kept his weapon raised, his back to us, jaw locked.
Every time I glanced at him, I saw the shadow of that earlier fury still burning under his skin—but now tempered, controlled, bent into something almost protective.
At the far end of the shed, the perimeter fence sagged inward, half-cut. A gap. A chance.
“We go now,” I whispered.
Stitch nodded, then dove first, dragging the nearest old man through. He whimpered, but she didn’t let go. The others followed, ducking low. Kang held the wire apart with bare hands, face twisted with the effort, eyes flicking back toward me.
“You coming?” he snapped.
I started forward—but the shot slammed into the fence inches from my head. Sparks and metal shrapnel exploded against my face. I hit the dirt, rolled, then shoved myself through the opening, dragging the rifle behind me.
On the other side, everything changed.
The noise of the yard dulled, smothered by the wall and smoke.
The ground turned to mud, sucking at our boots.
Stitch and the old men were already in the drainage ditch, pressed low against the concrete lip.
Kang came last, vaulting the fence like it was nothing, his landing fluid, predatory.
He fired a burst back over the wall, then dropped beside me, breath hot in the cold air.
We crawled along the ditch, each meter stolen under the hiss of bullets striking above. My arms shook so hard I nearly dropped the rifle, but adrenaline kept me moving. At the bend, out of sight of the yard, we collapsed into a heap of breathless bodies.
Stitch rolled onto her back, laughing and crying all at once. “We did it. Shit, doc—we fucking did it.”
I wanted to believe her.
But my brain was already calculating the next threats: drones, dogs, search parties. The Authority didn’t leave holes without filling them with teeth.
Kang’s gaze caught mine. His eyes were still sharp, but softer now than I’d ever seen them. “You’ never fail to surprise me,” he said quietly.
“Yeah well neither do you,” I shot back.
He smiled and it wasn’t cruel.
For a fragile moment, there was only breath and silence.
Then the shot came.
It was different—cleaner, heavier. A rifle built not for riot control, but execution. The sound cracked the air so sharp it cut the world in two.
Stitch jerked, her body snapping back, then collapsing into the mud. For a heartbeat she just stared, shocked, as if the universe had pressed pause. Then blood bloomed across her chest, fast and arterial, soaking her shirt in seconds.
I screamed.
My hands were already there, pressing down, trying to seal the impossible. Her eyes found mine, pupils blown wide. Her lips moved, wet with red.
“Doc,” she whispered. A bubble of blood popped between her teeth. “Guess I’m… the fresh meat now.”
The second shot chewed into the dirt beside my head, spraying grit across my face. I jerked up, scanning the ridge line.
That’s when I saw him.
Petrov.
Standing on a raised platform above the wall, hands folded neatly behind his back. His posture was perfect, military to the bone. He didn’t even hold a weapon. The shooter stood beside him, faceless in the haze. Petrov only watched—calm, detached, as if he were marking entries in a ledger.
Rage blinded me.
I tore the rifle to my shoulder and fired. Once. Twice. Three times. The recoil rattled through my bones. All wide.
Petrov didn’t flinch.
I emptied the magazine, screaming, every shot wild with grief. The rifle clicked dry. My hands slipped in Stitch’s blood, my face streaked with tears and dirt.
Kang yelled from somewhere behind me “You idiot, he wants you standing. Stay down—”
A third shot found me anyway. It tore through my shoulder, spinning me sideways. Pain exploded white-hot, then hollowed to nothing. My hands went slack, the rifle falling from my grip.
The world narrowed to a tunnel. Stitch’s body blurred beside me. The others cowered, clutching at the earth like it could swallow them whole. Kang’s face loomed close, eyes wide and burning.
He ripped his shirt, pressed the cloth to my wound, his voice breaking through the haze. “Stay with me. You don’t get to leave. Not now.”
I tried to answer, but no words came. Only blood and silence.
He lifted me—strong, unyielding—and half-dragged, half-carried me into the treeline.
My vision tunneled. Every heartbeat was slower, heavier, like a drum in water. Kang’s voice broke through the dark, fierce and ragged:
“Dee. Don’t you dare fucking quit.”
I tried to answer, but only blood filled my mouth.
Through the blur, I looked back one last time. Petrov was still there—perfect posture, hands behind his back, watching with the patience of a man who already believed the outcome was written. His eyes found mine across the distance. Unblinking. Icy. Certain.
Then the shooter lowered his rifle.
Petrov didn’t smile. He only turned away, as if I were already a name crossed off his list.
The world collapsed into black.