Chapter 22: Murderer Douchebag

Night embraced Hyde Park in a blanket of cold fog, broken only by the sickly glow spilling from the warehouse windows that the Crucible had seemingly taken over now.

Inside, metal clanged, someone screamed, and something thick hit concrete. Again. And again.

Even out here, the sounds of torture crawled beneath the skin like insects.

The infected paced the perimeter, silhouettes dragging themselves in lazy circles. Others hugged themselves, red eyes glinting in the muted light.

Warnings, if anything.

The Crucible ignored them like background noise.

A lone gunman trudged along the fence line, an AK slung against his chest, his breath fogging in the air.

His boots crunched on broken glass, his shoulders tight with exhaustion.

He looked like man who didn’t want to be here, but was here anyway.

He never heard me step out of the dark.

He only felt the cold steel alloy plunging into his throat.

His eyes went wide. A wet gasp escaped him.

I clamped my palm over his mouth instantly, dragging him into me like an embrace.

His body bucked, fingers clawed at my wrist, boots kicking at dirt.

I felt every desperate tremor rattle through both of us.

I stabbed again, hoping it was a vital area that would kill him instantly.

Felt the blade slip.

Stabbed again.

I felt the breath rip out of his throat.

“Fucking die—”

My whisper cracked in desperation, tears burning at the corners of my eyes,

“—damn you… please…”

He slowly went limp, weight sagging.

For a split second, I stood frozen, my body stuff as I waited, praying no one had heard.

The wind only howled, as if to call me out on the sin I had just committed.

The infected moaned at a distance.

The warehouse continuing to echo with someone else’s suffering. It sounded like Aubrey’s voice. Ragged.

That strengthened my resolve even more, yet—

Nothing about this felt heroic. Nobody told me that killing for the first time wasn’t like those call of duty assassinations. This was dirty, raw. Intimate in a twisted, disgusting way. I felt every inch.

Cold blood spread across my hands.

His final breath warmed my fingers for only a moment before fading.

I let his body slip into the grass and swallowed the bile that rose.

I never understood how Lila was able to do something like this without feeling like this, but now I was no better than her.

I had killed someone.

I didn’t turn fully— but just enough to catch Carl in the corner of my eye, the dim moonlight brushing the outline of his glasses and the trembling suppressed gun he held with both hands.

His breath hitched when he saw me looking.

Not with relief, not admiration—

Startled.

Like he wasn’t sure if I was still…me.

God.

Please…please don’t look at me like that.

For a second, something inside my stomach twisted into a tight, ugly knot.

I had blood drying on my fingers, on my wrists, under my nails.

Of course I looked like a monster.

Lila didn’t look at me. I didn’t look at her. We never seemed to be on talking terms, but something glinted in her eyes that I couldn’t put my finger on.

I forced a breath, wiped my palm against my jeans, and lifted my hand in a slow, controlled gesture— telling them all to move up in a quiet, tight formation.

The rustle of clothing, the soft clicks of safeties being checked, and shallow breaths filled the silence as the rest of the group crept forward from the warehouse’s crevices.

They followed my lead without question.

Not Carl.

Not the kid with the bat.

Not the two older men with scavenged rifles.

Me.

I didn’t ask for that.

But after their commander sold them out, after witnessing how emotional unstable Lila was.

after hearing my “In and Out” plan, watching me stab a man to death without breaking down, even when I was so close to—

…they had quietly decided that I was the one they were trusting to get them inside to rescue their people.

I’m just a teenager, damn it.

I shouldn’t be the one people stare at with desperate eyes, praying I knew what the hell I’m doing.

Because I fucking didn’t.

Yet, here I was.

They’d probably all die here if I never stepped up anyway.

I swallowed, shifting my weight as I moved to the edge of the fence line, peering through the fog toward the warehouse doors.

Once we found someone capable, someone trained, someone who wasn’t a fucking kid…

Things would go back to normal. They had to.

Or…that’s what I kept telling myself.

“Everyone get ready.”

I said quietly, eyes shifting to a woman holding a large bag.

I tightened the goggles around my face. So did the others.

Aubrey’s head sagged forward, a warm ribbon of blood sliding down her cheek before dripping to the floor. Her vision doubled, then came back into focus— just enough to see the punk woman crouched in front of her.

Liberty spikes jutted from the woman’s scalp like they only existed to mock her, each one catching the flickering light overhead. Metal piercings glinted across her face.

Aubrey exhaled raggedly and lifted her chin, defiant even as her wrists strained uselessly against the duct tape biting into her skin.

“Eat a dick… bitch.”

The punk woman’s smile crept across her face like something perverted and feral waking up.

“There she is,” she whispered as she leaned in. Aubrey could smell cigarettes on her breath.

“Still got that stupid mouth on you after all this time.”

She tapped Aubrey’s cheek lightly, mocking, almost affectionate in a twisted way.

“You still really think your friends are coming to get you?”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

“Even after the blondie took off without you? I could tell you two were close.”

Aubrey didn’t blink.

The punk woman laughed softly, straightening.

“But you know…I hope they are,” Her voice slowly lit up. Aubrey’s bloodied gaze hardened.

“Really. I want them to try. Because when they do…”

She snapped her fingers.

“…then things can go out with a bang.”

Aubrey’s breathing hitched, but she still didn’t break. Her gaze drifted past the punk woman—across the dusty machinery, the cables snaking messily on the floor, until her eyes landed on Cherie.

Standing by the door, her arms crossed— expression stone cold.

She didn’t look away.

Aubrey felt something dark burn inside her. anger, betrayal, something acidic and melting. She was part of the reason Aubrey and the others were in here in the first place. Even through the blood stinging her eyes, the hatred in her gaze was unmistakable.

Cherie shifted uncomfortably under it. Just a twitch, but she saw it.

Aubrey smiled, faint, bloody. She was glad the woman was feeling every inch.

She turned her gaze towards Terri. They hadn’t even touched her.

The psychological torture of this whole situation seemed to be enough.

As her gaze lingered longer, she slowly saw a glint in Terri’s eyes. One akin to hope.

She had to be loosing it.

But then—

BANG.

Everything went white.

Crucible gunmen, the punk girl, and everyone else alike were blinded, ears ringing. Pain hammered through Aubrey’s skull, splitting her focus into shards of light and sound. The acrid scent of gunpowder stung her nose, mingling with the coppery tang of blood.

Her body jerked instinctively, muscles tensing as the blast reverberated through the concrete beneath her boots. Dust and debris fluttered in the blinding glow, coating her skin and clothing in a haze.

I dropped to one knee, my hands covering my ears tightly.

A high-pitched ringing clawed at my skull. The fog in the warehouse turned into a blinding haze, smoke and sparks dancing in fractured beams of light.

Through my goggles, I noticed the groaning, disoriented bodies scattered like rag dolls— the punk woman, Aubrey, the blonde girl, Terri, some of the other captured from camp, the crucible gunmen.

Smoke stung my eyes.. For a second, everything slowed as I almost forgot to move. But then— a thought shot though my mind despite the carnage.

Get them out quick.

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