Endgame (Book 2): Alekhine's Gun

by W. A. R.

  She eyed him curiously. “Which means?”

  He shifted on his feet, suddenly anxious. “You have to look different.”

  She nodded, having completely forgotten yet another aspect of her end of the bargain…especially now that she had rubbed it in Adrian’s face what he had lost. “Oh yeah…haircut, hair color…”

  “Colored contacts…”

  “Where did you get colored contacts?” she asked and he shrugged, a light smile playing on his lips.

  “You can get anything nowadays if you look in the right place.” He shoved his hands into his pockets once again. “Take your time, bathe, do whatever you need to do…Michael will be along in a few hours.” He turned to leave and Amber slowly reached forward, eyeing the bags before her. “Oh, and if you need anything just…don’t be worried about bothering us. Come knock on the door.” And with that he left, closing the door behind him. She knew better, however; she knew they wouldn’t really leave her alone. Someone would always be watching. Amber stood there for a moment, completely unsure of what to do, what she needed to do. She felt numb and frightened. If she were honest, she felt as if she was going to break down and that was very well the case. She knew she didn’t have much longer before everything within her finally caved in and crumbled down. Still, she needed to accomplish what she could before that happened.

  Slowly, she grabbed the bags in one hand and cautiously climbed the stairs. As she did, every step was heavy and weary, uncertain. She trudged on, however, not letting herself go down in flames, not yet. As she reached the landing on the second floor, she saw a total of six doors around her. She sighed. There would be more than enough room for her people there. She turned and began investigating them one by one. The first one she saw was a pink room with a slanted ceiling, a full-sized bed, and a dresser. She closed that door and went to the one across the hall from it and it was yet another room just like the previous, only in brown. She sighed and went to the next, which happened to be a large bathroom, complete with shower and bathtub. The last three rooms were different. There was a large bedroom with a queen size bed and an office, or what was once an office, and finally, the largest bedroom. As she stepped in she felt a surge of relief. On the bed were her swords and Miles’s guns. Miles. Something stung deep within her then, an aching that had been there for weeks that had only intensified whenever the news of his death had reached her ears. She felt the tears coming and quickly, she took the bags and rushed to the bathroom.

  She stood in front of the mirror, the shower to her right, and she stared at her reflection. She hated it. It was the first time she had looked at herself in a mirror since before the outbreak and now that she saw what others saw she was disgusted. Her face was swollen and beaten from the fall, her hair longer than she remembered. Blood and dirt, among other things, covered her body and in her eyes she saw sadness and longing. She saw a faint glimmer of the woman she once was and she reached inside for her. Slowly, she eased out of her shirt and her bra, and after tossing them to the side, her eyes were still riveted to the woman looking back at her. A bandage wrapped around her shoulder, which she deftly removed, revealing the bullet wound while another wrapped securely around her abdomen; it was a wound she tried her hardest not to think of. She removed it as well. The wounds screamed at her and she winced as she reached up to undo her ponytail. She then removed the rest of her clothing before once again staring at herself. Tears filled her eyes as she traced her tattoo on her hip, her fingers then slowly trailing to each scar, the fresh wounds that began the story of her death. She traced every imperfection on her body, remembering how each scar got there, remembering the pain that accompanied each and every memory. This was a body that Miles once explored, that he once loved and caressed. Tears spilled over. He had kissed every inch of her that night, taking with the leaving of his lips the pain that weighed her down. Now, if he were alive, he would be disgusted.

  Quickly, she searched the bag for the scissors and…thinning shears?...that Riley had given her and before she had another thought she gathered all of her thick blonde hair into one hand and at the base of her neck she cut, she sawed at the course strands of hair until the bundle fell from her fingertips to the floor. She stared at herself, anger consuming her and she clenched her teeth, cutting at her hair, angling it, framing her beaten face. She was no longer Amber. Amber had the long blonde hair that came from her father, the same hair that Kyle had grasped with his tiny hands as she looked down at her newborn son; Amber had the hair that Shelly had envied and that Miles had tenderly run his fingers through as he had pulled her closer to him. Minutes passed by but she didn’t notice. She didn’t care. All she saw while she cut at her hair, while she put in the brown hair color, was who she used to be as compared to who she was now. She was a monster, she was twisted and she had committed horrible crimes against herself and her family. She had failed them all.

  Before long, she stepped into the shower, turning the water on and noticing the soap, the shampoo and even the razor that set on the shelves of the shower wall. She sighed in anger, anger because what else was she supposed to feel?, and stepped into the water, turning the cold down and reveling in the painfully scorching hot water. It burned her skin but that was alright because really, again, what else was she supposed to feel? She washed the color from her hair, the dye tainting the water, and she scrubbed every bit of dirt and blood from her overly sensitized skin. She shaved every inch of her body and cleaned the wound on her shoulder and her abdomen and when she was done she stepped out, a renewed woman. She quickly dried off with a clean towel…an actual clean towel…and put on her new under clothes. She didn’t want to know how they had guessed her size, and then she put on her new jeans and long-sleeved black and white shirt. Her socks and boots were next as she waited for the fogged-up mirror to clear, and finally her gloves and her weapons. She smiled a little at having her weapons back on her person, at having Miles’s guns at her sides. He was still with her in this way, still protecting her. She vowed that she would have his revenge. Once the mirror cleared she put in her contacts, taking away the ice blue eyes that had given her the only identity she knew, the same eyes that Miles had fallen so in love with, and finally she ran her fingers through her short brown hair.

  This was her, now, and she looked so very different.

  She hated herself and as she stood there, staring at this stranger in the mirror, she couldn’t take it anymore. She brought her fist up, driving it into the reflection that stared back at her. The glass spidered out before her, disfiguring her face as she stared at herself. Chest heaving, she rushed from the bathroom, going to her room, the room where her weapons had rested and she searched for the people that should have been there and the only item that she had the time to grab before going to that bridge. Only, they weren’t there. It hit her that she may be a bit maddened but she was alright with that because right then, that was how she coped with the overwhelming losses that were given to her. She tore the covers from the bed, jerked the dresser drawers from the dresser and then broke every fragile piece of furniture or decoration that she could get her hands on. She screamed with the agony, yelled really, and whenever she heard pounding on the door downstairs (Riley, she knew, had heard her), she turned to her window and opened it, climbing onto the rooftop and angling herself down to drop to the ground below. She didn’t want to talk to him because he wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t understand why it hurt so much and the only one that might have any idea how badly it all hurt wasn’t there. His footsteps pounded up the stairs and she dropped herself to the ground below, delving into the darkness of night without a sound, regardless of the pain that hit her as she connected with the hard ground. She knew what he would think, that maybe he would even panic, but she didn’t care about that then. She couldn’t bring herself to care about it.

  It was dark already? Where had the time gone? She didn’t care, she wanted to run. She wanted to be alone, finally, to ache and cry, to be angry and unreasonable because it
wasn’t fair…dammit, it wasn’t fair! She tried so hard to do what was right and it just seemed as if the only payoff for having faith and hope was that it got tested every day; she was pushed to the brink of insanity every fucking day and she just wasn’t sure that she could handle it anymore. Why couldn’t she have let them all know how much she cared before she was forced to do nothing but let them go? She had to run, and run she did. She heard Riley call her name in worry and she jumped to her feet, rushing away. Where could she go? The community was dark, blank and she didn’t want to search, she only wanted to hide.

  She ran to the warehouse. She wasn’t sure what took her there, and she didn’t care. As soon as she reached it, she let her fingers trail along the side of the metal walls searching for the handle that she knew was there. The lampposts that lined the streets then snapped on, as if they were switched on in response to her breakdown and her disappearance, and though her heart raced in her chest she let her eyes roam over the building before her. There was the door. With a surge of relief she ran towards it, the cool metal seeping in through her gloves and hitting her warm skin. It was cold out, the chilled air biting her lungs as she inhaled heavily. She slung the door open and rushed inside, closing it behind her. Only then did she let it hit her. She was furious, she was hurt, she was…what was she? She couldn’t find the right words to describe the piercing anguish that consumed her. There was no one in the warehouse, no equipment rattling with its movements, no squeak of shoes against the floor. The silence brought a sense of peace to her and she reveled in it.

  She stepped forward towards a punching bag and she hit it. Tears rolled from her now brown eyes and she felt a little satisfaction from the impact. She hit it again, grunting. Her people were gone and she was there, in the safety of this paradise alone while they still fought for their lives. She hit the bag harder and it swayed. Jackson…gone. She hit it harder, the fabric tearing at her tender and now bleeding knuckles but she didn’t care. Kyle…gone. Even harder and she began to cry harder, to yell with every punch because emotionally, she was in shreds and it hurt so damned much. Shelly…gone. Even harder, her wounded shoulder taking the brunt of the pain. She wanted it to hurt, she wanted to feel the agony because that was better than feeling nothing. Miles…gone. She breathed him, he coursed through her veins…she needed him, always had, and now there was nothing left of him but a rotting corpse somewhere hours away. She pounded her fists into a flurry then before collapsing to her knees, her weak hands trailing down the bag before she doubled over, finally releasing the extent of the pain she was feeling. She was, in every sense of the word, a monster: deformed to some, a prize to many and she hated it. She screamed, her gloveless fingers gripping at her short hair, and she rocked on her knees. The punching bag still swayed side to side, hitting her lightly but she didn’t notice. She only cried. She cried for the people she had lost, for the pain the rest of her family felt, and for the lies she had told. She cried for hurting so many people, she cried for Damien and his pathetic life, and she cried for Michael and his losses. She cried for the breaking of her own heart and it was completely unbearable. She couldn’t handle it but it was there and there was no running from it.

  She stayed this way, she wasn’t sure how long. She didn’t hear the sound of the door opening over her own cries of misery and she didn’t hear the exchange between Michael and Riley. She didn’t even hear Michael’s footsteps as he approached her. What she did notice, however, was the soft, gentle sound of music playing from her music box; the box that Miles had given her, the one she had taken with her. What she also noticed was Michael sink to his knees and pull her shuddering body next to his. She instinctively wrapped her arms around him, and his own arms embraced her. She noticed briefly how his own eyes were red and swollen from his own tears, but it didn’t matter, as they both cried fresh tears, both bodies sunk down to the floor in collapsed heaps of what once was. They held onto one another because it hurt far too much to even try to do it themselves, to endure that pain alone. He didn’t treat her like the wounded creature she was; instead, he treated her like a person, as who she was…and always had been. It only made her cry more. Her tears dampened the shirt across his chest and his tears wet her short brown hair. Not a word was said and they remained like this, struggling to accept the fates that were given them. In the end, however, it was still unaccepted and the pain, if possible, was even harder to bear.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Michael stared at the road ahead of him. It was a long, quiet road with nothing but trees surrounding him and for a moment he felt a comfort in this. There were no Biters in sight, and he figured that most of them were aimed towards their small community. He grimaced. They were slowly gathering more people, and they still had yet to name their town. He wasn’t sure. In fact, as he stood there, he realized that they were only gathering even more people. That was what he stood there waiting on in that moment. It was early in the morning, and he had left about an hour before to go wait on Amber’s people at the rendezvous point. He leaned back against the hood of his truck and ran a hand along the length of his face. His mind was overwhelmed and he hurt. He didn’t want to believe Justin as he had said that Miles and Shelly were dead but Brian was right there and he had not disagreed. His father…he was sure the man hated him by the time that he had died. But he had to be the enemy in his eyes. It was the only way that things were going to work to save more people. It was supposed have been the only way to save his father. Michael felt new tears spring to his eyes.

  He and Amber had stayed in the warehouse, drying one another’s tears and listening silently to one another’s agony. He had known that his father had survived when the outbreak occurred, but he had no idea where he had gone. He figured that Miles had gone looking for him but after that, he wasn’t sure. So, whenever they found these new people, and he saw Amber and Miles together, he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t let them die in Adrian’s community. He had no choice but to let Miles get captured and taken at the store and he hated himself for that. Still, he had done what he could to save them all without risking so many other lives and it had worked with the one exception, the most painful loss: that of his dad, his best friend. And so, after dawn began breaking across the sky, he had grown to know Amber’s unbearable pain and the love that she held for them all, especially his father. He was taken back through so many years of talks and witnessed accounts of their attraction. Even then, the memories brought a smile to his face. He wished the two of them could have explored their feelings for one another long before the outbreak. He had held her and she had held him until he had to leave to meet her people. She was again under Riley’s and Rusty’s watch and he hated doing that to her, but until he was certain, he had no choice. She was…alright…by the time he had left, and he had not told her where it was exactly that he was going or when he would be back. He was keeping that as a surprise for her.

  He looked up at the sound of multiple trucks heading his way and he straightened his stance, squinting his eyes to try and get a better view of the vehicles. A small smile crossed his lips as he realized that it was indeed Ryder and Amber’s people. Michael shifted on his feet as he watched them pull up to his truck, facing him. His dad would have been proud if he had known the truth. He would have been proud of him for saving them all, for helping them. He leaned back against the truck and crossed his arms, smiling a little as Ryder climbed out of the passenger’s side of the lead truck. The man looked Michael over with his dark eyes and smiled.

  “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Ryder exclaimed before stepping forward, holding out his hand. Michael chuckled and grabbed his hand, jerking him forward into a brotherly embrace. Ryder pat him on the back and Michael did the same.

  “You too, bud.” He commented back. And he meant it. Ryder had been a friend of his in college before the outbreak had occurred, and since then, the man had had Michael’s back. He was a brother, indeed. Michael shifted his eyes to the trucks as a few more men began climbing ou
t. These men were also…well, double agents, for lack of a better word. They worked for Adrian, but in reality they wanted a better life than one of fear as Adrian offered them. And so, most of them ‘died’ so to speak and now live in the community. They had faked their deaths, just as Amber had done, or had run away to escape their dictator. It had worked so far, although Amber’s death was a bit more…profound. He anticipated Adrian’s reaction whenever he heard that his prized specimen was dead. Hell, Amber understood her significance and she had played it up to Justin and those other men. It would only serve in angering Adrian and if Michael were honest, he was worried about how Adrian would react upon hearing the news. “They all alright?” he asked and Ryder smirked at him. Michael suddenly felt as if his friend was hiding something. He lifted a brow at the man as the others began pulling their captives out.

  “Oh, they are better than alright.” He scoffed playfully and Michael chuckled nodding as chains rattled and grunts were heard. Michael tossed Ryder a concerned glance and Ryder shook his head laughing. “And no, before you ask, we weren’t followed. We are all in the clear.” And that was Michael’s biggest concern as far as this plan went. In case of a situation as that of these people coming across the enemy, Ryder would have, of course, had to play it off as if he caught them all for Adrian. He would then have to take them to the compound and Michael couldn’t risk them telling Adrian anything if this were the case. Their blatant lies also helped establish that if they were forced to take these people to the other community, that Amber and a few others would have the chance of rescuing them still. He breathed a sigh of relief then.

  “Good. I guess that means…” Michael began, running a hand through his dark brown hair. Ryder finished for him, adjusting the gun on his shoulder.