Only The Saints (Lost Survival Series Book 2)

by David Tyne

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  We'd reached the car park of the Aquarium at long last, but the trepidation was already getting to us all. It was either that or veiled hostility, but I could barely tell the difference anymore.

  "W-What if Banks doesn't let her go?” Jamie asked, still stressing that the kidnapping was his fault. Harry bent down over the teenager, punching his own fist firmly against his palm.

  "...Then we'll make him cough her up! Don't worry, lil' dude. I never talked to Serah much, but that chick’s already saved my bacon more than once! I owe her a life debt, and it’s time to repay it!"

  As a handful of our group psyched themselves up, I should have figured Jamie and Harry would get along. They were like two peas in a stubborn, emotionally-unstable pod.

  My attention suddenly shifted to the quiet Tomás, who stood bathing in the blue-neon light shining from the Aquarium’s entrance. He threw careful glances at the door, where the uniformed attendant lady waited patiently for us to enter.

  Now that he was standing where I could see his colour, something seemed... different. I couldn't put my finger on it, but the more I stared at him with my quizzical look, the more agitated he appeared.

  "Umm,” he coughed, clearly trying not to fidget. “That woman you're all talking about... She'll be alright, won't she? Even if Mr Banks doesn't accept the money..." He looked pale, but it wasn't just that. He appeared to be thinner, taller... and then I noticed it.

  I almost freaked out, but I stifled my gasp by just enough. Stepping forward, I tried to drag Jamie and Beth subtly away from the stranger. He wasn't who we thought he was.

  "Are… Are you guys alright? Hey, bud?" The Hispanic hadn't said anything that would give himself away, which proved he was here for another purpose. I recalled one of the very first things that the musician said to me.

  "Tomás," I breathed heavily, everyone taking notice of my apparent state of alarm. "...Where's your guitar case?"

  He glanced wildly between Jamie and myself, trying to laugh nervously. "Aha... I guess I lost it? I can always find a new one, it doesn't matter."

  I closed my eyes, shuddering at the fake answer. "You said that case was your life... You said that you’d never leave it behind — but you wouldn't remember telling us that. Who the fuck are you, really?"

  Jamie inhaled sharply as he observed the imposter, confirming my suspicions. At some point after we'd separated in the hotel, the musician had been replaced by this phoney look-a-like.

  They were identical enough to be twins, although the differences were clear enough to recognise when he stepped away from the shrouding darkness and into the light.

  "You're the ‘brother’ he talked about… You’re wearing his clothes, so you must’ve swapped places with him back in the hotel. Why?" I was startled that I could let someone substitute themselves so easily without realising it. The man sank against the wall, defeated as the five of us stared in disbelief.

  "...And here I thought all Hispanics looked the same to you guys. The name’s Jermaine, and honestly, I had no idea that you were mixed up in one of Charlie Banks’ messes. If I knew, I never would’ve let my lil’ brother scam you like that."

  I wondered what he meant by that, but as the words began to process, the metal briefcase suddenly felt much lighter. I only had to peek once to know that the pile of cash that once sat comfortably inside had been jacked... most likely thrown into Tomás' guitar case.

  The imposter shuffled backwards, nervous as we all began to converge on him. Even outnumbered, he still attempted to explain himself.

  "H-He needs to pay off his debt with that money! There’s some bad people up North, business partners of Mr Banks… Tomás told me that he had a lead, a metal briefcase in the old hotel, so he asked me to buy him some time. I never knew there was a girl involved, believe me!"

  That open window, back at the hotel... Tomás’ look-alike must’ve slipped inside, right under the Harpy's nose. I would have been impressed, if I wasn't so furious at the musician and his snitching brother.

  Jermaine, who was without a doubt Tomás' twin, appeared genuinely conflicted about the heist. "He's probably miles away by now, you'll never catch up to him... All I can say, is that he’s not a crook. The only reason he betrayed Banks was to—"

  I didn't want to hear it. My empty briefcase smacked into his stomach, battering Jermaine backwards. I had to be restrained, snarling at the imposter.

  "Do you have any idea what you’ve done?! Serah could die in there!! She’s going to be... I can't... I..."

  My mind broke down, the last few hours taking their physical toll on me. Luckily, Harry was there to lead the charge, even if I wasn't willing to talk to him.

  "Okay, so this Banks bastard. All he knows is that he's waiting for a briefcase, right? We've got one. This can still work, we just need to make sure that Serah's safe before we hand it over. That’s when we grab her and run like hell, outta this damn town before he realises that he's been conned."

  Everyone nodded in unison; I’d nearly forgotten how fulfilling it was, to have a large group supporting each other. That being said, our numbers at that moment had unfortunately given us a false sense of security.

  Two seconds later, only five of us felt the blood splatter across our faces.

  Wiping the wetness away, I almost didn't realise for a second what it was. Where did it come from? I looked around, but no one seemed injured; the only abnormality was Millie's scream, staring upwards at the dark canopy of stars.

  Jermaine hung in mid-air, his broken arms twisted and contorted behind his back before being tossed aside. He dropped like a stone onto a nearby car, crushing the wind-shield instantly.

  Now I understood. The Harpy screeched as it attempted to pick the poor doppelgänger up again, but knowing he wouldn't survive another fall, Harry raced against it with his lucky switch-blade raised. The creature saw him coming and flapped its wings backwards, circling around Jermaine before sinking its fangs into his shoulder-blade.

  "A-Aaargh!!" The man cried in agony, collapsing to the ground. I joined Harry’s bold defence, swiping my metal poker at the bat-like beast as we drove it skywards, out of our range.

  "It... It bit me..." The Hispanic brother grazed his wound, trying not to wince. "I'm done for, you guys need to leave. Save your friend, before that man hurts her... and... tell her I'm sorry. If I know Tomás at all, he is too."

  With that, the frozen-stiff door attendant must’ve spotted the short interval of peace we had. Activating the door mechanism, she finally let our group rush past her and into the Aquarium's safety... away from the lurking inhumanity.

  I hesitated for a moment, but upon looking back, I saw that the twin’s eyes were already closed. He was gone, and would soon become one of the Lost.

  The glass door separated us from the Harpy's playground outside. Turning to face the mobster’s domain, I all but prayed that Jermaine hadn’t died for nothing.

  20 | Blood Rights

  Covered in Jermaine's still-warm blood, we all marched brazenly through the buzzing ballroom. I didn't even care about being noticed this time, ignoring the horrified upper-class that turned to gawk at me.

  It must have been almost two in the morning, and the party showed no signs of slowing down. I stumbled up the stairs and behind the curtain to head backstage, feeling the sweat drip from my palm and over the empty briefcase I was clutching desperately.

  Telling myself to get a grip, I knew that we only had one shot at this. If the boss didn't believe that we had his money, I firmly believed that he would gun everyone down in a fit of rage.

  It wasn’t because of how he manipulated Tomás into joining us, or his obsession with the briefcase. Banks simply reeked of organised crime; the way his suited goons followed him around without question, not to mention his carefree attitude when everything around him was being threatened.

  If it wasn’t apparent when I first met him, it was now. That man had created and thrived in his own version of damnation, l
ong before the dead came back to change the rules.

  We happened across the staging area once more, and found that the dressing room door had been left slightly ajar. Fixing my tie and clearing my throat, I felt Millie's supportive hand guide my back as I pushed it open. I was dumbfounded by what I saw inside.

  Mr Banks sat with his face planted into the make-up desk, his arms and legs bound to the chair he was tied against. His muffled cries for help only confused me, noticing that Serah was nowhere to be found. Not one for subtlety, Harry grabbed Mr Banks by the back of his flabby neck, growling into his sweaty face.

  "Serah Flowers… Where is she?!" Flecks of spit landed on Banks' face, unable to wipe them away with his restrained posture. All he could do was cringe away, shaking himself from side to side.

  "Watch it! Aren’t you the ones who put them up to this? Get me out of this fucking chair, you stupid brats!" Harry raised his neck up further, causing the man's skin to turn red.

  "What do you mean, 'them'? Who came here?!" Harry seethed hoarsely, clenching tighter.

  The gluttonous man flinched in anticipation of a punch, but peering through his one open eye, he uncoiled with a sigh. "I don't know, I thought they were all dead! Their lackey burst in here with a face as ugly as sin, blasted my men and started accusing us of random shit. When I came to, your lady-friend was gone! She did say his name, though... Mitch? Mitchy?"

  My ears pricked up instantly, and an entirely new fear washed over me. "...Mitchell? As in, Pastor Mitchell?!"

  The five of us charged out of the room, ignoring the panicked yelps of the still-chaired Banks. Millie spun around to Harry, only having heard tales of the Pastor’s insanity. "This is bad. Serah has a history with that creep, doesn’t she? Babe, you were with him at the O-Saint's base. Any idea where he would go?"

  Harry thought carefully for a moment, then shook his head with regret. "I didn't get too involved, only paid attention to that bastard Burkley. Mitchell though, he always looked up to him like he was a damn angel. If he found out that after all this time, everyone was being used by Telos... Who knows how that lunatic is gonna react."

  Before we could begin searching the hopelessly-large Aquarium, a loud crashing sound filled the ballroom. Uniformed attendants rushed inside, trying to escape from a certain panic tearing its way through the underwater corridor.

  It was here — the crazed Harpy soared high above the dance floor, circling the chandelier as it made ungodly screeching noises, carefully selecting its next victim.

  "Beth!! Jamie!” Millie commanded the two startled children, pointing behind her. “Get inside the dressing room... and do not open this door until we come back! Go!!"

  Once they were safely inside, she grabbed Harry's hand and led him off-stage through another low-key corridor filled with yet more fish tanks. I almost felt as though I was intruding, fleeing for my life in the same direction as them.

  The marine life on either side looked jumpy, darting away from us as we barrelled past them. I barely took any notice, not exactly in the mood for observing the variety of exotic colours and shapes on the other side of the glass.

  "Look!" I gasped, braking harshly to a stop. Lying on the floor was a single sneaker, identical to the ones Serah had been wearing along with her black dress.

  "They definitely came this way," Millie confirmed. Neither of us dared to think of what the Pastor wanted with Serah. A former O-Saint herself, she had been at the Medical School with Mitchell during the time they discovered the oddity with the virus and blood types.

  He clearly held a grudge against her for betraying him, not to mention Harry as well. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't hate all of our guts just out of pure association, or the simple fact that some of us had non-O-Negative blood.

  We steered ourselves around the corner, bursting into a circular room with an impressive balcony all of the way around — at the centre of which, lay the largest standalone fish tank I'd ever seen.

  Inhabiting this monstrous home was an equally-monstrous behemoth of a shark, with the most threateningly-incisive teeth I'd seen since that Fenrir wolf-like creature on the Forth bridge.

  Serah perched herself precariously over the edge of the tank, hovering right at the top. Her bare foot almost touched the water below, making it ripple slightly as the shark glided past patiently. There was a rather dangerous-looking staircase behind her, which would allow me to get up to the top of the tank, but it wouldn't be that simple…

  Pastor Mitchell had shed his red hoodie, holding it over the tank resentfully. He stood behind Serah, pointing a pump-action shotgun against her back.

  Another glaze of bite-marks matching the ones on his face ran all over his bare stomach and shirtless chest, even lashing across his back. It was a miracle that the man hadn't died from blood loss, although I did notice that his self-mutilation had cost him one of his nipples.

  He cast his hoodie into the artificial tank, letting it sink as the shark bit into the jumper, associating the redness for the colour of blood.

  "Daniel...!" Serah choked, trembling as Mitchell nudged her with the barrel of his firearm. "D-Don’t help me…"

  I planted my left foot firmly on the bottom step of the staircase, but I heard a tut from overhead. The Pastor cocked his shotgun loudly, the sound nearly making Serah fall.

  "Sharks truly are incredible beings. Didn’t you know? They can smell the scent of a single drop of blood, from over three miles away."

  Millie pulled me back, as though I was going to intimidate him in this delicate situation — she then proceeded to chew the temperamental man’s head off.

  "Let Serah go, you sick weirdo! What has she ever done to you?! Your BFF Burkley was the one trying to traffic O-Negatives, we had nothing to do with that! Why don't you go and harass him, leave us alone!!"

  Keeping true with the O-Saints and their tendency to ignore everything that Millie has ever said to them, the Pastor turned his attention to his own Brother Sergius.

  "You, Brother... You’ve turned your back on us, after one little setback? Could you not see what our angel has offered us?" He narrowed his eyes, and brushed Serah's short brown hair with his pus-infused hand. "Do you not see, that our goal was the only absolution for your sins... for driving your own lover to take his life?"

  Harry gritted his teeth, and both Millie and I had to restrain him before he could charge up the rickety stairs and get himself killed. "Say that again! I goddamn dare ya!!" The thug spat at Mitchell, who seemed to be revelling in his powerful position.

  "You two had best keep that thing on a leash. Otherwise, Miss Flowers here might decide to go for a little dive."

  Serah didn't even look around, transfixed on the shark fin that was almost circling her, toying with her feet. The armed O-Saint's face scrunched up, in complete disgust of everything that we ordinary survivors stood for.

  "You hear me, you blasphemous bitch? All of you could've ruined the new world! Unbelieving scum don't deserve to live in the first place!! The O-Saints are the only ones worthy of salvation, and you released those flesh monsters from hell onto us! If my Leader had not survived... Had he not been able to save the remaining Saints, who knows where the dirt-blooded human race would have led us!"

  Millie almost loosened her grip on Harry when she heard the Pastor. "That bastard is still alive, too?! I'm so sick of you lot!! All of your twisted ideals, they're filled with nothing but hate! I'm all for giving people a second chance, but... people like you, who live by condemning everyone else to death? You have no right to survive!"

  Mitchell stretched a wide grin in his usual, detached way. It was clear from the devilish look in his eyes, that there was no persuading him away from his revenge. The worst thing about it was that it had nothing to do with us — the man's mind was long gone, before we'd even met him.

  "Filthy wretch, I have the only right. God chose me, my blood, to carry the world on my shoulders. I will be revered as the next archangel... That is my reality!!"

&n
bsp; As Harry broke free, I saw no other option than to go all-out. The two of us climbed the stairs at a record-breaking speed, knowing full-well that one of us could be blasted away with that shotgun at any moment.

  I looked at Serah, still paralysed with fear, then back towards Harry with his switch-blade extended. Despite our differences, he was willing to sacrifice everything to help Serah.

  If I was going to die like this, I didn't want to keep my resentment towards him about Millie. I tried my best to convey that message through my eyes, and his firm nod gave me the recognition I needed before our potential death.

  Thinking about everything Harry and I had been through, our grief over Ian, everything suddenly collided together in an unexpected way. I was taken back to that day in the Medical School, when Ian received the stab wound that made him isolate himself in the cupboard, where he would eventually die.

  That same injury, there was now no doubt in my mind that it came from Pastor Mitchell. He was the root cause of Harry's rage, my guilt.

  The thought had never crossed my mind before, but now it was as clear as day. Harry appeared to have been aware of this the whole time, judging from the torment in his eyes — this was a man who was prepared to die.

  A loud bang erupted in the centre of the room and the staircase shook violently, bringing me to my knees. In that split second, I couldn't even tell whether I was hit, and I couldn't look up to check on Harry as my head cracked against the metal step.

  After the ringing had stopped, the only noise I could hear through the darkness was the desperate thrashing of the shark tank, followed by the most blood-curdling scream.

  21 | I’m Not A Bad Guy

  I stared up at the ceiling of the circular room; everything kept on spinning as the tiles grew closer and closer, until everything had gradually stopped moving. I heard a distinct clunking on the stairs, and a thin shadow came into view as it brushed the back of my head. Two fingers pulled my eyes wider, trying to check my pupils.