by Jones, Isla
Just as I thought it, a pair of boots smacked onto the dirt beside me; between me and the RV. The boots were black, scuffed around the edges, with a leather rim. I recognised them instantly. Only one person wore Timberland boots; Leo.
He crouched down beside me, but he hadn’t noticed that I was under the car. His hands manoeuvred an assault rifle; he checked the clip. There weren’t many bullets left.
The faint sound of Leo’s cursing reached me. But it was overwhelmed by the sudden screech of a car. Curving my neck, I looked all the way behind me to the lot. The Jeep sped around the garage, tearing up dirt around it. It was our Jeep, with our people on top of it.
Survivors hung out of the windows, balanced on top of the Jeep, firing back. The deltas weren’t in the Jeep, I noticed. They were just survivors. A decoy, I suspected. But for what?
I twisted around—I caught Adam and Mac in my sight. They snuck up from the back of the roof, like tigers, smooth and silent. Before I could focus on them, a spray of blood splattered upwards, concealing them. Bodies tumbled over the side of the building. They had killed their own.
Someone ran out of the shop. I watched the woman’s boots move quickly, away from the gunfire. My gaze followed them around the back of the cars, and up—they passed me and ran ahead. I hoped it was Vicki. I hoped it was Vicki running to the restricted caravan with Cleo in her arms, keeping her safe.
People fell all around me. The driver of the Jeep lost control of the car; it swerved and came right my way. I screeched, and scrambled out from under the car. Leo spun around and aimed his gun at me. He lowered it once he realised who I was.
“Why are you still here?” he shouted, then swerved back around. The Jeep jolted over the bumpy soil; survivors threw themselves from the windows before it hit. The Jeep crashed into the pick-up truck I’d first hidden beside. Glass shattered; the driver was thrown through the windshield. I grimaced and looked away, hoping that the woman had moved out of the way in time.
My hand reached down for my handgun. As I wrestled it out of the holster, Leo cursed and threw his own gun to the soil. He was out of ammo. It was almost as though he’d read my mind—he turned to look at me before his gaze darted down to my hand; the gun in my hand.
My tongue darted over my lips. Should I give him my gun, I thought? But why should I? After what he did, I shouldn’t help him. Still, I couldn’t shake the feelings I had for him. Somehow, it hurt the most knowing that Leo betrayed me. Leo had left a deeper wound, a permanent scar, whereas Castle left a scab that would vanish over time.
Leo lunged for my gun. I reeled back and held it out of his reach.
“Get the fuck off of me,” I screeched, and kicked out at him. Leo huffed before he grabbed my legs and yanked me closer to him. He snatched the gun from me easily.
“Get behind me!” Leo switched off the safety, then spun around to fire over the hood of the pick-up. “And stay down!”
My eyes slitted and bore into his back. I wasn’t his puppet.
As he fired over the bonnet, I realised—Leo was unknowingly covering me. I got onto my knees and crawled to the rear of the car. When I reached the edge, I peered over the side. A bullet soared right by me.
I squealed and fell back. My legs kicked out, shoving me away, until my back touched Leo’s. Just as I smacked into him, he spun around and threw the gun away. “We’re out,” he said.
I pressed my back against the car and stared at the one in front of me. Through the window, I saw faded brown stripes. “The RV,” I said and pointed ahead. “There might be guns inside!”
Leo followed my finger to the RV through the window. He nodded, then looked at me. “Ready?”
I didn’t respond. I lunged forward and landed on my belly. Then, I crawled under the final pick-up to the RV. Leo trailed me closely to the other side.
Before I’d fully gotten out from under the pick-up, Leo was on his feet, racing for the front of the RV. I watched as he ran to the bonnet—where Charlotte’s limp body hung over the edge, blood pouring from her lips. There was a rifle slung over her shoulder. She hadn’t even had the chance to draw her weapon before she was killed.
I wondered, did Zoe kill her before the deltas even arrived? Had Charlotte taken her last breath while I’d been trapped in the caravan?
Leo didn’t spare her death a moment’s thought. He snatched her jacket and dropped himself to the ground. Charlotte’s corpse landed beside him, out of the onslaught of bullets. But the bullets were close—they zipped overhead, and pierced the walls of the RV. I could see through the little holes to the inside of the motorhome.
I climbed onto all fours to reach Leo at the bonnet. He tried to unhook the rifle strap from Charlotte’s body. Before I could make it to him, I was knocked to the ground. The air had been smacked out of me. My back arched; a hoarse, wheezing sound sucked through my lungs.
I rolled onto my back and blinked. Through the blur, I saw a soldier. Not one of ours. He had brown hair and a tattoo marking his neck. I flinched as he leapt over me, as if he hadn’t barged into me at all.
Leo turned to look at me. I coughed—but I couldn’t warn him. The soldier lunged forward and tackled Leo to the ground.
I heard the crack of Leo’s skull hit the ground.
28.
Perhaps that’s the moment I should’ve run away. Castle was nowhere in sight, and the brown-haired soldier had Leo in a chokehold. I could grab the gun from Charlotte’s corpse, cover myself in her blood and flee. Vicki had Cleo—I’m certain I saw her earlier, sneaking off to the restricted RV. I could steal it; I could free the ‘cargo’.
It would be the smart thing to do. It’s what I should have done. It’s what Summer would have done.
Instead, I crawled to Charlotte’s body and whipped out my knife. Leo had no weapons—I was useless in a fight, there was no way I could take down a delta. I didn’t even entertain the thought. I had to find another way.
When I reached the still-warm corpse, I bit down on the knife and grabbed her arm. With a groan, I shoved her over, pushed and pushed, until she rolled onto her front. Then, I took the knife and used it to saw through the strap of her rifle.
Before I cut through the strap, Leo and the soldier tumbled towards me. I swerved out of the way just as they slammed onto the ground, where I’d been sitting. My side slammed onto Charlotte’s crooked legs. As I pushed myself from her, I cursed and glowered at the pair of deltas. Leo had straddled the other, and let the punches rain down on him; the other delta shielded his head with his arms.
I looked around for my knife. I spotted it underneath the delta. He realised it was there too—his hand left his head and reached down to grab it.
“Leo!” As his name tore through me, I shoved myself forward and landed beside them. My hands shot underneath the delta, fumbling with the handle of the blade. My hand clasped around it.
I was knocked back.
I slammed into the side of the RV, white noise erupting in my head.
The soldier had punched me.
I crumbled beside Charlotte. A red river streamed down my left eye; drops of blood stung my eyeball. I squinted and lifted my hand to my forehead. My skin was hot and sticky; my hand came away with blood. My glazed-over eyes looked over my hand to the brawl. Leo had my knife and—I looked away when the blade sank into the soldier’s face.
Leo moved in a black blur. In a flash, he was kneeling in front of me, checking the cut on my head. His hand reached out to peel strands of my hair from the blood. “Are you ok?”
I swatted his hand away. “Fuck you.”
Leo shot me a smirk. His fingers coiled around my knife as he swept back to Charlotte’s body. He used it to saw the last strands of the strap. The rifle came off easy. As he cocked it, his eyes met mine. “Think you can stand? We need to take better cover, behind the RV.”
I frowned at him through the pulse in my forehead. It reminded me of the ache that comes before a migraine hits; the vibrations that dizzy your head and creep bi
le up your throat.
He made a hmph sound at the back of his throat.
Leo rested the rifle on the dirt before he rummaged through the dead soldier’s pockets; the one who hit me. As he searched for whatever it was he was looking for, he glanced up at me. “I’m not Castle.”
I made a face at him.
He didn’t look at me as he said, “I wasn’t using you. I did—I do care about you, Winter.”
I held the sleeve of my cardigan to my head-wound. “You’re the same—you’re both rats.”
Leo yanked a grenade out from one of the trouser pockets. He tucked it away in his own. Then, he turned back to Charlotte and rummaged through hers.
“You’re right.” I barely heard his voice over the gunfire. “But you’re wrong, too.”
“The only people who are wrong around here are you and Castle.” I pushed myself onto my knees and climbed over Charlotte’s corpse. As I settled on the other side of her legs, I glanced over my shoulder at him. “I hope your immunity turns on you—I hope you become a rotter.”
Leo stilled and looked up at me. The shock flashed in his eyes. The venom of my words ripped between us. He shook them off and loaded a handgun he’d found on Charlotte’s person.
I turned my back on him.
My hands pressed into the dirt as I leaned forward to look around the bonnet. I needed to get to the restricted RV. But as I gazed around the bonnet, a pair of legs blocked my view.
My eyes travelled up, and up, until I saw the face I dreaded most.
She had her gun aimed at me, and a savage thirst in her eyes. Her legs carried her forward, closing in on me. She was excited about it; exhilarated. She was once America’s Sweetheart.
“Rose,” I said warily, lifting my hands. “Don’t shoo—”
A sneer twisted her face. Her finger squeezed the trigger.
I jerked back.
My body reacted, but the pain was an echo. The bang blasted me into a fuzzy state of shock, knowing but not feeling.
I looked down at the place that throbbed, the place that whispered to me. A patch of crimson appeared on my sweater, ruby snaking through the fine fabric, reaching farther and farther out, until it became a circle of wet blood at my abdomen.
Dazed, I cupped my stomach and looked up at her.
I barely saw it happen—Leo jumping to his feet; running at Rose; smacking her head into the car bonnet. It was a blur, a shadow of memories. But I remember when he used my knife and rammed it into her throat.
She crumpled to the dirt beside me.
Rose became one with me—we were the same. We slumped there, leaning against the RV, facing each other. Blood stained us both. Her throat spilled it, it spewed from her lips like vitriol. It poured from my stomach, drenching my skin the colour of her name. We watched each other, waiting for the life to leave the other first.
Even as Leo ran to me; even as he tore apart my top to see the bullet-wound, I had eyes only for a dying rose. The tears leaked, rolling down her face; her body twitched. And then, the life drifted from her first.
She slumped, and I was left staring at her corpse.
*
Leo tied my t-shirt into a knot beneath my breasts, keeping the fabric away from the gushing blood. My lashes fringed my view as I gazed down at it, in a daze.
The bullet was lodged into the right side of my abdomen. I’d thought the wound would be bigger, given how much blood spilled out of it. It was only large enough to fit my pinkie-tip in it.
Leo used the knife to cut a strip of fabric from Charlotte’s jumper. He wrapped it around my stomach to bind my wound. “We have to get you to Vicki,” he said. “You’re losing a lot of blood.”
He yanked the make-shift bandage. A shriek surged up my throat; my back arched as tears leaked out of my clenched eyelids.
“We have to keep the pressure,” he said, looping his arm around me, using his free hand to hold the rifle. “You might bleed out,” he said. “So move fast, and don’t let go.”
Leo supported my weight; he crouched down and held me up as we trampled over Rose’s body. We crept around the front of the RV. Between the motorhomes, I’d expected to see Castle—I hadn’t seen him since Zoe let me go. What I did see, was the balding sergeant. If I hadn’t been so numb I might’ve screamed. His corpse was shredded, tattered, as if he’d been attacked by scissors and lawnmowers.
Leo jumped over his body and lifted me with him. Fire burned through my stomach as I landed on the dirt, even with Leo taking most of my weight. My eyelids fluttered, fighting to stay open. Leo wrenched open the door to the caravan and shoved me inside. I landed with a thud on the floor.
I pressed my hand to my gut and glared back at Leo. But just as my eyes touched to him, he was tackled out of the way. A soldier had lunged at him, a machete in hand.
The door swung shut on its own, and took the battle with it. All I saw was Vicki’s panicked face above my own; she called my name.
She spoke my name again, but I heard only the thrum of the battle outside. My name carried through the caravan, like a distant echo. Shivering, Cleo crept out from under the table towards me. She stopped at my head, and I lifted my hand to stroke her fur; the black quickly turned red.
With a groan, I looked down. There was so much blood.
Vicki’s hands were lathered in it; patches of Cleo’s fur had stained crimson; it spilled onto the floor of the motorhome. The warmth of it dampened my cheek as I glanced back at Cleo. She cowered, whining over me.
Vicki was speaking to me, asking me questions. I suspect she was trying to keep me awake, prevent me from passing out. I held on to the thin threads of consciousness.
I lifted my head and fixed my eyes on the bullet wound. Vicki pushed a folded sweater against it. The sweater was drenched in black blood.
My voice came out in a hoarse groan; “You’d think I’d be used to getting shot by now.”
Though her skin had turned a sickly white, Vicki smiled at me. It was a fearful smile, one that you should never offer a wounded person. It told me that she didn’t have high hopes for my survival. In that moment, I hated her for it.
The sound of my heartbeat laced through the gunfire outside. It became a melody of the apocalypse.
Thump. Bang! Thump. Bang! Thump. Bang!
Vicki reached for her medical kit. I listened the song speed up, rattling the caravan, until Vicki’s high-pitched screech suddenly destroyed the melody.
A cloud of debris blasted into the caravan.
Vicki scrambled for Cleo. She snatched the Chihuahua and dived under the table.
A spray of gunfire tore into the side of the caravan. Bullets shattered the glass windows; exploded through the cabinets that burst open. I was sprawled flat on the floor, gazing up at the onslaught.
The floor rattled. My body juddered with it. Blasts tore through the lot, reaching us—grenades, I thought.
It’s the last thing I remember before the black blood took me away.
29.
I fell in and out of consciousness. Fragments of memories collected in my mind; pieces of an incomplete puzzle.
The ruins of the cabinets covered the floor, glued to the linoleum with my blood. Shards of metal and wood rested on top of me. A scrap of glass stuck out of my wrist, oozing ruby droplets.
Vicki’s face flickered above me—moving back and forth. Her lips moved, she was speaking, but I don’t remember the sound of her voice. I’m glad for it. I’m glad that awareness had left me numb. Because when my head drooped to the side, my gaze strained to watch what she was doing.
A metal tool, similar to a pair of scissors, pried the bullet hole apart. A retractor, I think it’s called—it stretched the edges of my torn skin. Vicki fished tweezers around the inside of my stomach, searching for the bullet. She still spoke, but I saw no one else in the caravan. Was she speaking to me? Herself? Cleo?
If she was talking to me, it had no effect. The sight of the blood and bullet hole sent me spiralling back into darkness.<
br />
*
A metal dish sat beside my head. It was smeared in blood, and the tweezers balanced on the end. Cleo sniffed the bowl, looked at me, then sniffed the bowl again. It was an eternal loop that followed me as the abyss sucked me in once more.
*
Vicki thought I was an art project. A monstrous machine was gripped in her bloody hand. She pressed it against my wound and—she stapled me. Like one would do the corner of a document. Thick, heavy staples clamped down onto my skin. I winced.
Vicki paused and looked up at me, startled. Before she could speak, another had moved into my line of sight. Leo knelt beside me; his lips parted, as if he was talking to me. I heard only the eternal hum of white noise. He lifted his hand and held up a few fingers.
Behind him, Castle wrapped a bandage around his hand. He leaned against the remains of the cabinets. His gaze was on me; not a speck of emotion betrayed him in the bright green hues.
My eyes shut; they shut on the tears that gathered there.
*
When I woke up again, the debris of the caravan no longer surrounded me; my blood was gone from the floors. Someone had taken me to the bigger RV, the older one of ghosts from the past.
The bench had been ripped out of the wall. Someone had replaced it with a sofa-bed. I was on that sofa-bed.
Consciousness stayed with me longer this time. My cheek pressed into the pillow; Cleo licked the point of my chin. As I dragged my tired gaze around the RV, I realised we were moving. Leo sat in the driver’s seat at the front, steering our way through hell.
With her back to me, Vicki boiled the kettle at the kitchenette. Weariness had melted into her; her tired muscles slumped, her head bowed, her hands gripped onto the edge of the cabinet. She turned around to check on me. The redness of her puffy blue eyes was revealed.
“You’re awake,” she gushed, and scrambled forward. She climbed onto the edge of the mattress and pressed the back of her hand to my forehead. A genuine smile lit up her face, reaching her tired eyes. “Can you talk?”