Make it stop, please god, make it stop. I leave my place in the bedroom doorway and wrap my arms around Jose’s quivering form, as if I can stop him from falling apart somehow. He turns his tear-streaked face up to me. “There weren’t enough pills for me,” he sobs, his face crumpling in on itself. “I was going to cut my wrists, but there was a hissing from the vents, and when I tried, it was too late. My skin was too hard, it started healing right behind the cut, and then… I couldn’t even get the knife through. And so I went to the garage, to walk out into the sun. I couldn’t even manage that. As soon as it starts to burn, my instincts override my grief. This monster inside me, it’s too strong.” His voice is raw with the pain. “Lori… what have they done? What have I become?”
I debate telling him what happened, about how Kenzo released the virus into the ventilation, about how there could be a cure. But that means telling him that if they’d waited just a few minutes, his wife and daughter would’ve been here with him. The truth feels like a prison sentence, a punishment. Jose doesn’t need that, he’s been punished enough. Now he needs the comforting blanket of lies.
He reaches into the pocket of his denim coveralls, the seams split down the side. When he extends his hand to me, a knife gleams from his outstretched palm, his dried blood still visible on the honed edge. “Please, Lori… I just want to be with them.”
I can’t look away from the blade. There’s no doubt that it’s sharp enough to get the job done, if applied in the right way. These monstrous shells of ours must have a weakness. A chink in the armor, a crack between plates. But the scar on Jose’s forearm makes me waver. He only managed to get a few inches before it sealed over his attempt.
“Please,” he says again, before taking my hand and placing the knife directly into it my palm. He presses my fingers closed around the hilt.
“Jose… I—I don’t think I can—”
He begins shaking his head frantically. “Lori, this is what I want. What I need. Can you imagine the guilt I feel? I can’t live without them, knowing that their deaths were my own doing.”
I don’t need to imagine the guilt. It lives in my veins, cycling through me again and again with every beat of my heart. A sob rips from my throat, and I crumple in on myself. I drop my head into the crook of my elbow and let the grief pull me down.
Jose’s arms wrap around me, and together we sit there and cry. They say misery loves company, but I would do anything if it meant I alone had to bear this burden. Jose doesn’t deserve this. His family didn’t deserve it either, but at least they’re at peace now. They didn’t have to see their daughter transformed into one of these creatures.
And I know… if I don’t help Jose, someone else will. He deserves for it to be me. He needs his final moments to be filled with love.
“Okay,” I agree before my tears have even subsided. Before I can regret my decision. “I’ll do it.”
“Thank you,” he whispers against my shoulder. He squeezes me even tighter for a moment, and I can feel his relief. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
I’m not. I want nothing more than for this to be over. I want to open my eyes and find myself waking up on my squeaky cot in the dormitory, this whole thing one awful nightmare. Or even better, two years ago before my mom got sick. While we’re dreaming of the impossible, I might as well wake up a decade ago before everything went to shit. The sun is just how it used to be, and Mom, Dad, Brent, and I are living in our little bungalow with the white picket fence and a swing set in the backyard.
When I raise my head, however, I’m faced with reality. Cold, brutal, unforgiving reality.
Jose doesn’t rush me, even though his eyes betray how eager he is for this to be over. He keeps darting looks back to the bedroom where his family is waiting for him to join them. He just takes my hand and pulls me to stand beside me.
I follow him wordlessly. There’s so much to say, but I know it would all be for my sake, not his. I want to tell him how much I’ll miss him, how important he is. His death will leave a hole within me that no one else will be able to fill. This feels like I’m losing my dad all over again. I begin to build a wall around my heart, brick by brick. Maybe then this won’t hurt so much.
Jose lies down on the bed next to the smaller of the shrouded bodies, Rosa. He reaches under the sheet and clasps her tiny hand, turning his tear-filled eyes to where his wife lies. “I’m coming, my love. We’ll be together soon.”
When he looks up to me, I search his eyes for any doubt. There is no hesitation when he nods at me, no quiver in his voice when he says, “I’m ready.”
I don’t want to screw this up. I feel along his armpits, his neck. There isn’t a single tender spot in his hard flesh, no pulse points, no cracks. I reluctantly look down at my own body. I should know my own weaknesses. This body is mine, after all. If I’m going to live in it, I should take a good look. My own flesh feels like concrete beneath my touch. Impenetrable.
Even Jose had said that the monster inside him was too strong. And yet… it ran from the sun. Rippers are not invincible.
I look back to Jose and see the answer staring me in the face. His eyes, inhuman and yet still so familiar. I swallow my gasp. I can’t do this. I just can’t.
My apology is already on my lips, but Jose is nodding. “It’s all right. I’m okay, just… make it quick.”
I lean forward slowly and place the tip of the blade beneath his eye socket. “Jose, I—I love you.”
“And I love you, mija. Do not forget, the monster does not define you.”
Jose keeps his eyes open, staring his choice head on. I, however, can’t look. I close my eyes and push fast. There is little resistance.
I bite down on the scream threatening to take over. If I let it out, I might never stop.
I keep my eyes closed, while my other senses guide me. The knife is too warm when I pull it back, and my gorge rises. Jose’s choice, I remind myself. It was his choice. I drop the knife to the floor. Its purpose has been fulfilled. I reach forward and close his lids. “Be at peace,” I whisper, the only prayer I know.
I eventually have no choice but to look once more at my friend. Jose’s face is relaxed in death, untroubled. Free. I close my eyes from the vision of the man who was my friend, my family. He’s no longer alone.
I pull the sheet draped over his wife and daughter’s bodies until it covers him as well. And then I turn and walk away. Too cowardly to escape my own fate, too stubborn to submit.
Tap, tap.
The thirst gives me a little nudge to remind me that it’s still there. As if I could forget.
I deserve every minute of misery that my future chooses to offer. I hope death doesn’t wait too long to claim me.
5
Kenzo
This is like a graveyard… where all our past lives have gone to die. Ugh.
It’s basically just one big giant room filled to the brim with civilian possessions that the government deemed unnecessary. You know, those reminders of who we used to be. Military couldn’t have us comparing our past to the reality they expected us to choke down. It wouldn’t be good for morale… or for keeping us beaten down. Much easier to control a population when they have no hope left.
The emergency lights don’t extend this far, and it feels a little like being buried underground. I pan my flashlight across the scene before me. Everyone’s possessions have been sectioned off into different stacks of boxes and garbage bags, likely organized in some kind of system. Alphabetical by last name maybe? But as time has marched on, these barriers have begun to break down. The plastic is thin and brittle in places, evidence of rodents chewing through the boxes. A few of the precariously balanced towers have toppled over, mixing everyone’s belongings into a few big mounds.
I don’t even know why I’m here or what I’m looking for. Ellis told me to take what I need, but I have no clue what he thinks I’m going to find down here. If the government decided this stuff was unnecessary, then what useful items could I possibly fi
nd in this mess?
But as I step over and around the moldering clutter, a creeping chill begins to settle over me. This really is a graveyard, the only memorial a lot of people may ever have. Maybe I should say a prayer… or something? Not like any of these people were particularly religious. We have a small room that acts as a church, but at this late stage of the apocalypse, most of the compound members have given up on religion. Your prayers can only go unanswered for so long before you start to lose faith.
A crunch underfoot has me angling my light down. It’s a framed photograph, the glass broken. I groan when I lift my foot and see the smiling family portrait. Mother, father, and beaming toddler.
There’s no mistaking those blond curls. “Oh, Eleanor, I am so, so sorry.”
Shit. I close my eyes to their beaming faces. I need to get out of here. I can feel the guilt pushing in from all sides. These people, they trusted me to take care of them, to keep them safe. And I failed them all. Everyone either dead or turned. And it’s all my fault. The air feels suddenly thicker, harder to pull into my lungs. “No, no, no.”
I slam my hands over my ears to keep out the whispered memories. Gotta get out of here. I pivot, take two steps, and my foot snags on a garbage bag. I tip over, grateful for a soft landing… until a stack of boxes decides to join me.
The corner of a box catches me in the temple. Stars burst in my vision, but at least I’m too dazed to panic. In fact, being at the bottom of this pile could almost be comforting. It’s like a warm blanket, sort of. I rest my head back against a bag of what is probably clothes, and take a rest to let my head clear.
My breath sounds too loud in these compressed quarters, but it gives me something to focus on. Breathe in, breathe out, slow it down.
Where am I even supposed to begin? Looking at my current situation is like staring at the sun; I can only handle it for so long before I start worrying that I’m inflicting lasting damage. Okay, so if I set aside the fact that I am personally responsible for altering the genetic makeup of everyone in the compound… shit.
I saved everyone’s lives, essentially, so let’s hope they see it that way. And if I’m going to continue to keep them safe, that means potentially traveling north to this research facility. Howell seems to have the whole evacuation plan in place. I guess we put our trust in him for just a little bit longer. Wait, what am I saying? Trust?! Who am I kidding? I seriously don’t trust him as far as I could throw him, and he’s a big man… just sayin’.
But maybe we can use him just as he’s used us.
Okay. Step one, travel north. Step two, have them analyze my blood and find out why I’m not a Shredder too. I’m the reason for their disease, but maybe I can also be the cure.
I reach up to touch my temple where the box hit me. It’s a little tender but there’s no blood. Good, I can only imagine how that would go over with the Shredders upstairs. Probably not well. I angle the flashlight around and find that I can get out from under this pile with relative ease. As I shift a tilted box, the lid lifts off and the contents tumble over me.
“Oops.” I can’t even imagine trying to find one specific thing in here. But then something catches my eye, and I come up short. It must’ve fallen out of the box. It’s familiar…
I reach a finger out and stroke the object. It’s a pendant that belonged to my grandfather. It was carved from a shark’s tooth. I haven’t thought about this necklace in years. Hell, I’ve barely thought about my family at all.
My eyes trail over the rest of the scattered box contents. They’re all mine. I’m lying in a pile of my own past. Geez, I hope this isn’t foreshadowing. You know that saying about how you can feel someone walk over your grave? Well, this feels more like I’ve just jumped down six feet into my own future resting place. I quickly brush a hand down my arm, pushing those goosebumps right back where they came from.
Most of my old belongings are completely useless to me now. I was barely a teenager when we first came to the compound, so it’s probably just old baseball cards and a few books. And obviously the clothes in these bags won’t fit anymore. But maybe some of my dad’s clothes?
My dad’s been gone for almost ten years now, my mom even longer. She died before everything fell apart, and I’m somewhat grateful that she didn’t have to go through this hell. She was a delicate woman on the outside, but emotionally she was built like a tank. She was a military wife, and with that role came a fortitude like no other. She could’ve handled anything thrown at her, I don’t doubt it, but death seems like a small mercy for anyone at this point.
I thread the necklace over my head. The cool bone resting against my skin helps to ground me for what I’m about to do. I reach out and grab a random garbage bag and tear it open. “Oof, nope.” I don’t even bother digging through it. It smells like a rat’s nest. Next bag is furry with mold. The third bag, I hit the jackpot. The clothes inside smell a bit musty, but they were likely clean when they went in. They’re still folded. I rest a hand on the shirt on top. My dad probably folded this shirt, packed it away in this bag with the intention of returning to it when the world righted itself.
I wonder how he would’ve handled our current situation. The truth settles hard against me: if he were here, we probably wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place. I dash away a lone tear from my cheek and grab the shirt off the top. I rifle through the bag until my hand feels some denim. I whip out a pair of worn jeans. My dad’s weekend attire. Good enough.
I dress quickly in the dim glow from the flashlight and gratefully discard my gore-spattered scrubs and lab coat. Too bad I can’t have a shower too. I’m eager to get out of here, except that just means going back upstairs with the Shredders, and the mere thought leaves my gut twisting into knots. Nowhere feels safe anymore.
I grab a few changes of clothes for later and turn away from the graveyard of forgotten lives. I’m about to leave, my hand resting on the stairwell door handle, when a thought tugs at me. I wonder if I can find Lori’s belongings. Maybe something of her dad’s, something to help keep her grounded. Honestly, though, I don’t know if that would help or just make things worse. Her dad’s dead. Brent too. Her mother betrayed her in every way possible. Maybe she doesn’t need a reminder of her past. Maybe she just needs something to look forward to in the future.
And maybe in the future, she’ll need a reminder of her past.
I turn back to the chaotic mess and think logically. Her family was only recently moved out of the family units. The boxes would probably be in better condition than mine. And they would probably be somewhere near the front, because I honestly can’t imagine any of the soldiers trying to neatly slot her family’s belongings into an alphabetical order.
I scan over the boxes quickly and see a small pile haphazardly tossed off to the side. They almost look like part of the toppled mess except the boxes have still retained their shape well. I shuffle through the room and give them a poke to make there’s nothing nesting inside.
The first box is a bunch of kitchen supplies. The second, plates and glasses, smashed into shards when the boxes were tossed. The third, however, is obviously Lori’s. There are some old graphic tees and a few books. I pause for a moment, hovering over this box, a snapshot of who she used to be. I was ready to marry her once… if she would’ve had me. But as I look down into this box, I realize that I never really knew her at all. I’ve never seen her wear any of these clothes or read these books. I have no idea which of these items would hold any kind of importance for her. Everything looks like she just threw it into the box without taking any care. The second box I open is the same.
I rifle through everything, hoping for inspiration to strike. I dig through a box of clothes and pause when my hand finds something hard in the bottom. I pull out a framed photograph. Miraculously the glass is still intact, protected by the clothes wrapped around it. I’m not sure if it was intentionally wrapped to keep it safe, but I still cling to it like a life raft. It’s a picture of a happier time. Their
future is still filled with hopes and dreams. I barely recognize David in the picture, and not just because he’s actually smiling. His face is younger, fuller, and he doesn’t have years of guilt weighing him down. He’s willing to do anything for his family and doesn’t yet realize the cost of that love.
Judith is like a stranger, a ghost. I try to remember her pre-cancer, but even then, she’s not even the same woman. I never met this Judith. And now that David’s gone, I’m not sure that there’s anyone left on this earth who retains the memory of her. Brent’s goofy grin is just the same, and I’m grateful that he was resilient enough to retain his humanity through the worst of things. Children are more adaptable.
For all this, my eyes are still pulled to Lori’s face. I would recognize those eyes anywhere. She’s smiling a wide grin, showing off where she’s recently lost a tooth. I wonder if the Tooth Fairy came and left her some money under her pillow.
My heart clenches like a fist in my chest. I know that this is not the reminder of her past that Lori needs. This would only lead to regret and depression, and I refuse to be the one to cause that. But we might never come back to this compound. Hell, I really hope we don’t. We might never find the safety and salvation we’re dreaming of, but if we’re forced to return to this shithole, it means that this is as good as it gets. And I refuse to believe that.
I carefully wrap the photograph in my change of clothes. One day, maybe, she’ll be ready for this picture. And until she’s ready, I’ll keep it safe for her.
I turn toward the exit and stop in my tracks. Eyeshine reflects back at me, a stationary silhouette. My heartbeat stutters inside my chest.
“You’re taking too long,” Ellis says, stepping forward into the beam of my flashlight.
I blow out a breath. “Jesus, Ellis! You scared the pants off me!”
The Shade Chronicles | Book 2 | Predator Page 4