by Frankie Rose
Caius and Foster watch the whole thing with their heads in their hands, mouths open, eyes streaming tears. The survivors, the people of Freetown and the Sanctuary who escaped the madness of the last few hours with their lives, wander aimlessly through the streets, sobbing under their breath, searching for family and loved ones. A few find who they’re looking for. A lot don’t.
Caius tries to get me onto my feet, to move back inside the Det, but every time he comes near me my hand finds its way to my knife belt. I don’t want him near me. I never want him near me again. After a while he leaves and returns with James. The older fighter’s shirt is gone, and his shoulder and back have been bound to cover his wounds. Large black patches mark the material where his blood has soaked through. I refuse to look up at him; I continue to stare into the distance, unblinking, but I have very little choice other than to meet his eye when he crouches down in front of me.
“Luke’s fine.” His voice is low, a little hoarse from shouting. “His right arm’s broken, but he’s alive.”
Somewhere inside me something small and fragile finally breaks. I haven’t gotten up to look for my brother. Part of me has been afraid that he’s dead. Another part of me is so angry that he’s the reason why I didn’t kill our father. And that feels terrible. It’s not Luke’s fault. None of this is, I know that, but I’m not feeling particularly reasonable right now.
I slowly feel myself fall apart. The next thing I know, I’m in James’ arms, sobbing.
“That’s right. Let it out, kitty cat. Let it out. You’ve got five minutes.”
I try to get some air into my lungs, but it just doesn’t seem possible. Not with the weight of so much loss bearing down on me. In gasping pants, I ask, “Why five minutes? What’s—what’s happened now?”
“Not what’s happened, Kit. What’s about to happen.” He sits back onto his heels, pulling back from me slightly so he can look me in the face. I’ve seen James in many different moods, but I’ve never seen anything like this. He is bleeding compassion and murder, the softness in his eyes warring with a pure hatred so dark and terrifying I think I’ll fall face first into it and never be able to escape. “You have five minutes to get this out of your system, and then you have to be strong. You have to carry all of this, all of them. They won’t get through it otherwise. We have to see them safe.” He pauses. Narrows his eyes. “And then we’re going for him.”
I stop crying.
An instant void has taken the place of the harrowing pain that was crippling me a second ago. It’s strange—to be so full of something one moment and so absolutely empty the next. I hold my breath, waiting for the pain to return. It takes a while to realise it’s still there, only…it’s muffled under the blanket of a feeling much stronger. James has given me what I needed to pull myself clear of the blast zone of this awful afternoon. James has given me the opportunity for revenge.
“I don’t need five minutes.” I whisper. And then, my voice stronger, “I need to make them pay for this.”
James smirks, a cold and deadly smile marshalling his features. “Good girl, kitty cat. And you will, too. We’ll make them pay together.”