by Aubrey Rose
I never wanted him to kill. I never wanted him to be a murderer.
Nim is crouched low, his breath hot and white in the air. Blood drips from his claws and fangs onto the street. I feel his anger, his desire to kill. I know what he wants. He wants to protect me.
The man on the ground is gurgling, choking on his own blood. His hands move over his slashed throat helplessly.
I’m about to yell at Nim again, but the other soldier rounds the corner and sees us. His eyes dart down to his partner lying on the ground. I realize in an instant that it’s the man from last night, the patrol guard who gave me the chocolate.
Nim growls, his black fur bristling, his haunches tense. The soldier raises his gun, and fear tears through my whole body.
I throw myself at the soldier, coming up with a plan as I move.
“Help!” I cry out as I crash into him. I knock him off balance and his gun fires. I’m terrified that he’s hit Nim, but I can’t look back to see. My hands are against his chest, clutching at his arms.
The shock comes, again, through my body. It hits the soldier too, I can see it in his gold-streaked eyes. Something between us arcs hot and electric, and it makes me dizzy, but I can’t let him go. Nim needs to get away.
“Help me! Please!” I cry. The soldier finally gets his bearings and shoves me off of him, aiming his gun. I turn to look, fright choking me so hard I can’t breathe. But Nim is already at the end of the alleyway, darting off down the street.
The soldier kneels quickly at the side of the injured man. I don’t think he’ll live. Nim bit into him pretty deep. I watch him as he checks the dead man’s pulse, unable to stop myself from noticing his strong arms, his broad shoulders. I swallow my desire back inside. Now is not the time.
Then the soldier looks up at me, his face stricken with anger.
He knows. He knows what I am. I’m sure of it.
Chapter Eight
Cage
I have no idea what the Harlem Sector used to be like before the war, but it’s one hell of a shithole now that the war’s over.
New York City ain’t exactly famous for its nature, so seeing a place as overgrown as this area is… well, it just feels so strange compared to the area around my barracks down near Times Square. Thick ivy grows up the walls of the old brick buildings, insidiously creeping through broken windows and taking over the long abandoned apartments, and even the once-ornamental trees have taken on a life of their own. Their enormous roots rip through the sidewalks and tear holes in the already crumbling streets as they grow out of control along the curbs. Even the hedges decorating the tiny, iron-fenced yards tower over us now, gargantuan green monsters ten years overdue for a trimming.
I'd never admit it to my troops, but I'm really glad it's daylight right now. There could be shifters hiding all over the place up here and I'd never know it… not that I have a snowball's chance in hell anyway with this disgrace of a platoon.
"Stay in formation!" I snarl for probably the fifteenth time in as many blocks, and my ragtag bunch of Delta idiots hurriedly reforms their line. It'll disintegrate into banter and sightseeing again soon enough—you'd think these boys were a bunch of tourists or something. In a way, they really are tourists, though. They're so young that there probably ain't a single one of them that'd ever been to New York City before the war. I know I sure as hell hadn't.
I wonder what kind of infrastructure Central Command thinks they’re going to reclaim up here. This place is falling apart. I haven't seen a single person yet, thankfully. I don't want to be the one rounding up civvies and carting them off to Central Park on Christmas morning, so it's actually a relief to me that we've been assigned to shifter patrol. I'm going to just keep walking these boys in a circle until the Major calls us back to base.
We take a right turn onto 158th Street and carefully make our way straight down the middle of the empty road since the sidewalks here are too far gone to use. A grunt starts whistling in the back, and I belt him across the back of the head as I pass.
"Did I say you could whistle, soldier?"
"Um… no sir," he stammers, looking down at his boots and trying to match the rest of the platoon's cadence. It's a lost cause—it ain't like the rest of them are maintaining any consistent pace either.
"What's your name?"
"Private Briggs, sir."
"Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open, Briggs," I tell him. "Whistle again and there won't be anything left of you for the shifters when I'm finished. Got it?"
"Yes, sir." He swallows nervously, and I nod to him before continuing up the line to check on the other idiots I'm stuck babysitting.
I'd expected this area to be crawling with civvies after what I saw on the map this morning, but if they're here, they sure don't want us to know. I can't say I blame them, though… who'd want to deal with the military on Christmas morning? They're probably all inside with their families, sheltered from the harsh winter cold.
Man, this place creeps me out even in daylight. The bare, gnarled branches of the trees feel as if they’re reaching down, clawing at me, flailing hungrily as my platoon passes beneath them. I ain’t usually superstitious, but there’s no way in hell you’d get me out here in the dark. Not without my gun, at least.
My radio crackles to life every now and then with updates from the other platoons. They're finding a few families here and there, but so far, most of the buildings are completely empty. In my heart, I hope it stays like this and that there's nobody living here at all. I hope this whole damned sector's completely deserted so that we aren't wrecking anyone’s life on Christmas morning.
We loop around the block on 157th Street, and just as we turn onto Amsterdam to start our loop over again, a brick shatters the glass of a nearby shop and ruins our quiet, uneventful stroll through Harlem. A thin, almost emaciated looking boy with black hair dives out through the broken window with a bag of looted goods, and he immediately spots us and darts off down the street.
Before I can say anything, the Delta platoon chases after him.
I shout for them to stop and come to attention, but they ignore me. This is why Delta is the worst platoon to get stuck with: because I could beat them over the head with my orders and they still wouldn't listen to me. The Harlem Sector's all but abandoned—who cares what the boy stole? Looting doesn't matter anymore, but these morons are still chasing after him.
And this is how we all end up dead, my inner cynic chimes in, and I shake my head in disgust as I chase after my wayward soldiers.
The boy darts like an arrow down the street much faster than I'd expected given his bag of loot, and he’s easily outpacing my troops. I ain't the fastest guy in town myself, and I'm not going to be able to keep up with these idiots for much longer. I've always been more of the strongman type, better suited for barreling over things than dodging them. It made me a great linebacker in football, but it sure ain't helping me much today.
The boy ducks behind a dumpster and then darts to the left down an alley as the Delta soldiers run straight past him. The only one who notices is Private Briggs, and he breaks rank and disappears down the alley after the boy. Great. Now I have to choose between Briggs and the rest of my troops. I hate this platoon so much.
I choose Briggs. The others can take care of themselves, and even if they can't… well, I'll probably kill them for this when I next see them anyway.
The Harlem Sector was bombed twice during the war, and the wind's blown a decade's worth of thick, gray ash into the alleyway. The boy may be faster than I am, but there's no way he's going to shake me now since I can follow his footprints as clear as day. Briggs is getting winded, too, and I'm slowly making up ground on him.
The footprints veer to the right at the end of the alley and back out onto 157th Street again, and I sprint down the street after Briggs, who is just turning down the next alley over. I leap over an abandoned pair of shoes in the middle of the sidewalk and then do a double-take as I suddenly realize there's something very wron
g with the footprints.
They’re not human anymore.
The familiar oblong shape is gone, replaced instead by the pads of an enormous cat. That skinny little boy is a fucking shifter… no wonder I can’t keep up with him.
My brain can't decide whether to scream in terror or laugh in delight, and it eventually settles on a grim, silent excitement. This is my chance. I'm finally going to put a bullet into one of the monsters that killed Ben.
A single gunshot echoes through the street, followed close behind by the sound of someone screaming in pain. While I’m standing here getting all excited, Briggs is becoming that monster’s lunch.
I pull out my pistol and sprint for the next alley. Major Harkut’s voice crackles through my radio, but I ain’t stopping to answer him now.
The first thing I see as I turn the corner is the enormous leopard sinking its teeth into Brigg’s throat as he screams. No… scream ain’t the right word anymore. The noise he’s making’s closer to a choked gurgle now, and I’m surprised at just how strongly the sound turns my stomach.
The second thing I see is the girl from the Christmas food line, and it’s as if time suddenly stops around me. I recognize the brown, hooded brown coat, the tuft of dark hair flitting out from beneath the oversized hood, the sleeves so long they cover all but her fingertips... my gorgeous little thief stands frozen in place as she stares in horror at the carnage, and if she doesn’t run for it, she’s going to be next on the menu.
“Jones? Report in, Jones!” The Major’s voice pops and crackles from the poor radio reception, and the clock restarts as the shifter’s gaze snaps upward from its meal to me. Thanks for all the support, Major.
I level my gun at the monster’s head, and it hisses at me as it crouches low to the ground, powerful muscles rippling beneath its black fur as it prepares to strike.
Think you’re so tough, huh? Let’s see you outrun a bullet, I think, and—
“Help me! Please!” screams the girl as she suddenly leaps into my arms, knocking me off balance and sending my bullet through a nearby window instead of through the shifter’s skull. My ears ring loudly from the gunfire, and as the girl clings to me, something strange, almost indescribable happens. In an instant, my body burns hot at her touch as impossible feelings burst to life in my head. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but there’s a fucking monster about to kill me and all I can think about is how… intoxicating… this girl smells. Killing the shifter isn’t about revenge anymore—it’s about saving a girl I don’t even know but who I suddenly want to protect more than anyone else in the world. What the hell’s happening to me?
You’re about to die, idiot!
The thought yanks me back to my senses and I shove the girl away from me. She stumbles and then falls to the pavement in an undignified pile of arms and legs as I turn my attention back to the monster, but the shifter actually ran for it rather than attack me. In the time it took me to break free from the girl’s panicked embrace, the monster made it to the far end of the alley. I take aim, but the enormous black cat darts around the corner and disappears from sight before I can fire. I shake my head in disgust and lower my weapon.
I stare first over at the terrified girl crouching against the wall and then down at Briggs’ lifeless remains bleeding out and staining the pavement red. The silence is so thick you could spread it on bread.
“Jones! Report in immediately!” Major Harkut’s voice pipes in over the radio, shattering the silence. I slowly lift the receiver to my mouth.
“Captain Jones reporting. Contaminant encounter with Delta patrol. One man down, plus found a civilian,” I say. “Civvie’s safe. Private Briggs is dead.”
The radio goes silent for a moment, presumably the Major forgetting to hold down transmit as he swears at me in fury. He does that sometimes.
“Are you okay, Miss?” I ask, turning back to the girl. She’s staring off down the alley, watching the ash-gray leopard prints disappear into the distance, and she startles at my question.
“I’m okay,” she answers. She climbs to her feet and wipes the ash off her brown coat, her grimy hands little cleaner than the pavement itself.
“Do you have enough men to clean up the mess?” asks the Major. By mess he of course means Briggs, and if he wasn’t swearing at me before, he’s definitely going to now.
“Sir, Delta broke ranks chasing a looter,” I answer. “They ignored orders and scattered. I have no men at all—just a civvie.”
The girl scowls at me and I scowl right back at her. It’s her fault I don’t own a leopard skin rug now. The radio goes silent for a minute, but the Major is surprisingly civil when he speaks again.
“We’ll call the rest of your boys in and deal with them when they get back to base. Clean up the mess as best you can and then relocate the civilian to Park Sector North. Understood?”
“Forget it,” interjects the girl, stepping back from me and crossing her arms. “I live here and there’s no way you’re…”
“The civvie’s putting up a fuss over here,” I tell the Major, ignoring the girl’s outburst. “She doesn’t want to go.”
The girl shakes her head, the comically oversized hood flopping back and forth against her face. She takes another step back, tensing up as if getting ready to run for it if she needs to. Where’d her cane go, anyway? Last time I saw her, she had a noticeable limp and a metal cane, but she’s clearly as healthy as they get now. It was probably part of her disguise to steal food.
“Was that the civvie I heard in the background just now?” asks the Major.
“Yes sir.”
“We don’t have time to be dealing with insolent gutter scum,” he growls. “You sure she’s not going to come quietly?”
I glance over at the girl for confirmation, and she glares coldly back at me and shakes her head.
“Nope. She’s staying put,” I answer.
“Then I’ve got a change of orders for you, Jones.”
“Sir?”
“She’s radioactive trash just like everyone else in this city, and she ain’t worth the effort.”
“Sir?” I repeat, suddenly not liking where I think this order is going. I glance nervously over at the girl, her beautiful, blue-green eyes staring anxiously back at me.
“Shoot her.”
Chapter Nine
Bindi
Shoot her.
The words hit me in a sharp burst, echoing in my ears, and I am surprised by my own reaction.
I feel nothing.
The numbness flows through me and out, and a wash of sorrow takes its place and floods over into self-pity. How could I not pity myself? I am twenty years old today, and this is how I will die.
I could shift, of course. Try to kill this soldier standing in front of me. Try to run away. But I don’t want to be a killer, and I am tired of running.
Yes, tired. That’s it. I’m tired of all of this.
I look up at the brick buildings which seem to curve cavernous above us, although it’s well past dawn and the sky is a light gray; the clouds look like they’re glowing in the sky. The wind is blowing through the tunnel and I think of Kit and Nim, of the twins, of our den scraped out of a tunnel sitting under a pile of trash. I think of going home, and I am too tired. Nim can take care of them as well as I can. He will have to.
I find the soldier’s face in the blurred and dizzy world, and I fix my sight on his face, his eyes. Deep mines of gold. Summoning all my energy and will, I take a short step forward. He’s watching me intently, and I see the clockwork in his mind turning.
I reach out and touch his lips with my hand. The shock that runs between us when we touch is as thin and sharp as a knife’s edge. It subsides, but only into a heightened state of tension that keeps me on my tiptoes.
He breathes in, and I feel the rush of the chilly air come through my fingers.
My claws ridge the skin on the back of my hand as the energy flows through our bodies. It’s an electric hum, like one of Logan’s
experiments strung across the tunnel, something that takes my body and pulls, stretches every nerve so that I am nearly vibrating with the strain of it.
I could do it now. He’s vulnerable. But I want him to know what’s about to happen. I want him to understand.
His eyes meet mine and I see the light dawning in the flecks of his eyes. The clouds have broken and the sun is shining gold in two perfect circles. His lips relax and he breathes out.
The warmth, oh, the sweet warmth of his breath on my fingertips. Tingling shivers fly through my fingers, my arms, my body. His body under my hand.
I push myself up on my tiptoes and let my hand drop from his lips, steadying myself instead against his chest.
Do it now. Don’t think. Don’t breathe. Do it.
Tears are running down my cheeks as I tilt my head back and press my lips softly to his. The earth trembles, or maybe it is the electric arc pulsing as we touch, and I press against him and - do I imagine it? - he leans into the kiss, and desire runs wild and hot through every fiber of my being.
The world is flying around us as he deepens the kiss and I close my eyes, seeing nothing but brightness. My mind is gone, erased with light. My thoughts whirl too fast to catch. The ache to touch him is so strong that I almost cannot will myself to hold back. I think that maybe I will kill him with this desire.
Then it is over and he has stepped back, and all that are left are the ghost traces of something alive but hidden, hidden deep down in the dark gap of what used to be my soul, maybe. I touch my lips in astonishment. This is a part of me that I did not know existed. I am elated, thrilled, ready for death and aching to live. My heart! It pulses in my chest so large and loud that I think I will die already here, before the bullets pierce me. Die of this ache. Let this desire within me swell and take me under the waves of it. Let me drown in this ecstasy!
My first kiss. My last kiss.