Hello, readers!

Man, I took out some redundant fluff in here but it's still pretty long . . . I guess that's okay! It's not THAT long. Just a little above my average. Still, hopefully, I cut out what wasn't necessary. The last thing this fic needs is more filler lmao. All that's left is the epilogue! Hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as (or more than) I did writing it hehe. Shout out to Citrine Nebulae, who beta'd the previous draft of this. And, of course, a shout out to my patrons Toby and Tonya! They're the real MVPs.

~ Crayola

Chapter Thirty-Five

The Gallows

All I wanted to do was scream, scream until I couldn't any longer. Scream until everything else went away and it was just me, in the dark, yelling until my soul left my body.

But that wasn't in the cards for me. I couldn't do anything but keep—swallowing.

Or choke. I should have let myself choke but damn it all, my body wouldn't let me. It fought to take the burden being forced upon me, fought to keep me breathing and prevent my gagging. Prolong my death.

I wagered the Hybrid wasn't going to let me have a choice in the matter, either.

With my thoughts growing ever fuzzier and my lungs burning, the strength was seeping from my limbs. My will to live was failing quick. The Hybrid lacked the air sacks the facehuggers had to keep me from suffocating. Milliseconds became hours as darkness threatened to sweep me up—and then everything stopped.

The Hybrid went rigid. Her tusks dug into the back of my scalp, then suddenly released and she threw herself off of me with a shriek. A cloying, coppery taste replaced her invasion and I wheezed out a wet gag.

Then, for the first time in what seemed like days, I took a deep, gasping breath that sent me into spasms as my ribs threatened to crumble into dust. The added weight of the Hybrid had almost collapsed my entire chest cavity, and now I couldn't catch my breath.

Coughs racked my body. Tears streamed down my face and I almost passed out from the agony. Somehow, I clung to my consciousness and rolled once over the gravel-covered, soaking rooftop until I was on my stomach, hacking up my own blood. I clawed at my chest with one hand, the other propping me up on my elbow. Nausea swept over me and I dry-heaved a couple times, trying to crawl away from the awful alien stamping her feet next to me.

Two.

I couldn't wrap my head around it. I should have been glad it wasn't as many as I'd seen with the waitress, but was that really anything to be glad for?

One was too many.

Despite my physical fatigue, injuries, and disgust, I managed to flip myself over and spotted Wolf grappling with the Hybrid, lit up by the construction lights behind me. He had his blades wrist-deep in her back, trying to drag her away from me, but she had dug her heels in and refused to leave. Thankfully, they were dead-locked a safe distance from me.

She had chosen to let go over dousing me with her blood and killing the things now inside me. Desperately, I wished she hadn't. I was even grateful that Wolf had taken the risk.

With a solid kick to her back, he sent her stumbling forward a step or two, ripping his blades from where they nested by her spine. Before she could turn on him, he held up his plasma cannon—the one I had tried to give him—and point-blank blasted a hole in her head the size of a basketball.

Her body remained upright for a few prolonged seconds, and Wolf left her to fall and strode toward me, each pace filled with purpose.

Never before had I been so happy to see him. I kept my eyes on his wrist blades, eagerly awaiting the sweet embrace of death. All I could see was him running me through with them; putting me out of my misery. Like he had those on the ship. The men and women stuck to the walls, incubating their own personal demon.

Like I know was.

However, when he neared, the blades slid away into his gauntlet. My heart dropped into my shoes I realized that hadn't been his intention at all—how could he hesitate?

Do it—do it—you need to do it—

Speaking was beyond me. I could barely draw a breath to fill my lungs let alone form words.

As he kneeled by my side, the weight and realization of what had just happened hit me like a truck. I sat up and grabbed my chest, tearing at my collar until I could scratch at my skin, determined to dig into my own chest and neck to rip the parasites out with my own hands.

Held-back sobs clogged my throat. Adrenaline kept me lucid through the pain and fear, but only barely. Wolf grabbed my hands to stop me from inflicting more wounds on myself and hooked his arm around me. I hadn't noticed, but now that he was so close, I realized that was missing his mask; it had likely been dislodged in the fight.

Water pooled around me where I was stretched out, partially held up by Wolf's strong, scaly arms. Though I attempted to scramble away from the black carcass next to me, my feet only slipped in the water and Wolf was an unmovable wall, keeping me in place.

Part of me was still wary of him. Wary and hopeful. If anyone would keep me from suffering this ill fate, it would be him.

But was I ready? Was I ready to—to—die?

At last, I found my voice: It was muddy and hysteric. Speaking burned my throat and tore at my chest, but I was able to find my words.

"No, no, no! No no no no!"

Well, I found one word.

Panic squeezed my heart like a python, constricting my battered ribcage and making my stomach churn. I gasped and clawed at my abdomen with one hand, the other scraping around to find Wolf's arm in an attempt to pull myself upright. My mouth worked like a fish out of water and I fought to ignore the taste of bile and blood at the back of my throat.

All I could think about was Jess, curled up on the floor while one of those monsters chewed through her sternum. Of the soldier who helped me escape, bucking and seizing on the wall. All the blood—pain twisting their faces —the sound of them taking their last breaths—the squealing—crunching—

That is going to be me.

What do we do?

It took me several excruciating heartbeats to realize I hadn't vocalized the thought. My jaw bobbed and for another brief spell, I only managed a strangled sound before I found my voice at last.

"What do we do?"

In the end, I wished I hadn't spoken: my voice was shrill and hoarse in my ears, slicing through the sound of rain pelting around us. Through the downpour and darkness, I could barely make out Wolf's features, but it was his heat that drew me in, the strength that he promised.

My nails dug at the fleshy part of Wolf's bicep. He inclined his head toward me, his mandibles pressed tight over his mouth. His brow was furrowed, his muscles tense and coiled. Vibrant green blood mixed with the rain and I remembered: he was hurt, too. Had been for a long while, through hell and high water.

I wished I could be as strong and infallible as he, but true dread had sunk its fangs into me and my body was at its limits. It tore at my insides and drew fresh tears to my eyes. The rain was a blessing in disguise: it concealed my open weeping.

It was too much. All of it was just too much.

Every part of me not entrenched in panic was revolted at how human I was.

At last, Wolf made a move. With a growl, he swept me up into his arms. I held tight to his shoulder, choking back sobs and gripping the front of my shirt with one hand. My eyes scanned his face, looking for some kind of answer. There was nothing there, nothing that I could read, anyway. His expressions were too foreign. Were his mandibles pressed in anger or concern?

"You can't—you can't let this—you have to—please—please—put me out—ki—" Hysteria won and I babbled at him, trying hard to ask for mercy but unable to utter the words. My throat burned and made my voice thick. Each syllable was a kick in the teeth, each breath drawn was a betrayal to myself, to the strength I wished I had.

The rain poured without relent as he moved me to the edge of the roof. I wished the weather would swallow me whole or tear me apart. Anything would be better than this.

Yes . . . yes. Throw me over. Drop me—it's high enough.

It wouldn't be pretty, but it didn't have to be. It just had to work. It just had to be enough to end my suffering.

Once he reached the roof's end, though, the ship's cloak was dispelled and it shimmered into view. I let out another despairing sob. Why won't he just end me?

The ship spun around, the door opened, and Wolf leaped across the three-foot gap to land safely inside. He let me down while the ship closed up and headed away from the building—it vibrated and shifted, making me lose my balance. I tried to hold on to him so I wouldn't lose my pillar, my rock, but he pulled away with a gentle command.

"Wait—wait. What are you doing? Where are you going? Wolf—you can't let me—"

He put his hand up to tell me to stay, but I didn't want to.

I didn't want to be alone.

However, when I tried to follow him and beg him to use those blades of his on me, my legs refused to move. I attempted a step and my knees buckled; I dropped to the metal floor like a rock and could do nothing but stare after him.

I'd forgotten how hot the ships his kind used were. The heat had already chased away the chill from the rain, but I couldn't stop shaking. I was certain that I would rattle myself into pieces at any moment. My hand was permanently balled into a fist, gripping the front of my jacket and shirt until my knuckles turned white and my palm stung. I still had my broken hand tucked against my body, taking short and shallow breaths.

It was hard for me to figure out what was worse, the things inside me or what was going to come next.

Not the—god help me—the birthing but what Wolf had to do. He could have done it right there, in the rain, but he hadn't. He could have easily pierced my heart or tossed me over the edge of the roof—but he hadn't.

Why? Why? Why?

Fuck, he could have even left me on the rooftop to die from the missile strike. Why would he bring me aboard the ship? Perhaps his honor wouldn't let him cut me down without putting up a fight. Maybe he meant to have me battle him and lose in a dignified battle to the death or whatever.

There was no way. I could barely make my legs take even a single step.

As I was thinking of dueling to the death with him, I realized that I had left behind my blade. The one that I'd used back when I was in high school. The one that Wolf had kept for me all this time. It had been knocked from my grasp by the Hybrid, and then—and then I'd forgotten all about it. I'd left it behind with . . . with . . . .

Oh god. Devon.

Jesus, why wasn't he there with me? Why had I sent him away? He would have made me feel better. He would have known what to say, what to do. He would have had any number of platitudes and inanities to say and talk me through this.

Then I remembered.

My pistol.

With my hand shaking, I reached for my belt and unclipped the holster. I checked the safety, looked in the chamber. One bullet inside, a full clip loaded.

When I closed my eyes, I saw the police officer. I saw the flash of the muzzle firing. I heard the sound of their bodies hitting the floor, saw the blood pooling underneath them. My lip quivered and I raised the gun to my head.

If he won't do it . . . then I'll . . . .

Before I could finish the thought, the ship lurched and I was thrown against one of the walls, my sidearm dropped along the way. Over the various sounds of the moving ship, I could hear the faint concussion of an explosion and my heart almost stopped altogether. The town . . . the citizens . . . all gone.

Groaning, coughing up more blood, I tried to pick myself up. My arms refused to support my weight and I slumped back to the floor, face-down on the metal. I couldn't even reach for my sidearm, scant inches away from my fingertips.

With a heavy, painful grunt, I used my elbows to drag myself across the floor toward my gun. Even the small amount of pressure against my chest sent blinding agony through my entire body, making my vision go white. Fine. I didn't need to see—I already knew where my gun was.

When my fingers touched the grip, I willed myself forward another millimeter and pulled it closer. However, a growl met me and I was hauled up onto my feet, the gun left behind on the floor. I cried out in pain and Wolf loosened his grip, but didn't let go.

He demanded something in his language and it didn't take a genius to know what he was asking. It was something I heard him say often enough— something like "what are you doing?"

"Just let me die!" I wailed, doubling over and wheezing from the effort of saying even that much.

Wolf stared at me. He had donned a new mask, and it made me realize an important thing: I could breathe the air on his ship. I hadn't had a single issue since coming aboard—well, besides the broken ribs. This whole time I'd thought he'd been flying the ship or something, but he'd been adjusting the life support system to suit me. The ship must have been on autopilot, flying in any direction to escape the nuke.

Should have just let me suffocate.

"Please," I muttered, slumping as exhaustion finally caught up with me. My head was swimming, my chest on fire, and he wouldn't let it all end. "Just . . . let me . . . ."

Wolf cocked his head to the side and regarded me for a moment, then picked me up like a doll and carried me through the ship bridal-style. All my strength had left me, so all I could do was go along and hope he knew what he was doing.

"What are you going to do?" I asked meekly.

He carried me through a set of doors and into a small room with nothing but a handful of canisters that looked big enough to fit a large man—or, perhaps, a Wolf-sized man. Wolf had been muttering and clicking to himself the entire walk over.

Maybe he'd been trying to talk to me. I hadn't been paying much attention: my mind was a million miles away, imagining all the things ways this could have gone right—only to have it fucked up by a god damn alien desperately in need of a sexual harassment seminar.

Then, finally, he said something that I could understand. In choppy, gravelly English, he told me, "You . . . be okay."

I looked up at him with a screwed expression, wondering if he'd said the wrong thing. He wasn't looking at me, however, and merely brought me over to one of the pods.

After appraising them with a critical eye, I looked up at Wolf and asked, "What is it for?" in a raspy whisper. They didn't look like any kind of magical surgery machines, and I had a hard time believing he'd have one. Mostly because he didn't seem like the doctor type.

Ignoring me, he shifted my weight so he could free up a hand and he slapped his fist against the glass casing, popping open the container. He dropped me down and unceremoniously ushered me inside.

The inside gave me just enough room to turn around without knocking around the walls, and I spoke out in a complaint. "Hey—wait!"

He growled in exasperation and gently pushed me back inside when I tried to come out. I let out an undignified, pained squawk and the glass slammed back down in front of me, encasing me inside. A new wave of fear, this time at the unknown, threatened to take over and I leaned forward to push my hands against the glass and watch him punch commands into the glass itself. It was firm, and I couldn't push it open.

There was so much I wanted to know. He definitely meant what he said earlier, but I still couldn't believe it.

"What is going on?" I huffed, grimacing. In a moment of stupidity, I slapped the glass with my bad hand and I recoiled, clutching it to my broken ribs and making everything worse.

Wolf moved his fingers across the window as if he was typing. I couldn't see the display, so I figured that it was only in a spectrum visible to him. I pushed my good hand against the glass, hoping that the heat from my palm would disrupt his work long enough so that I could get some answers.

"What are you doing?" I begged to question.

However, my attempts didn't seem to delay anything he was doing.

At last, when he turned his attention to me, he spoke. His English was broken and rough, but I could make out the meaning of them without much struggle. He must have really wanted to make sure I understood what he wanted, considering he had never spoken to me in English at length before.

"Sleep," he told me.

My mouth gaped in confusion and I shook my head back and forth slowly. "You . . . are you going to . . . ?"

Fix me?

I didn't dare say it out loud and simply fell back. There was no way that was the plan. I wished he could offer more, wished that I could ask more, but I didn't want any false hope and he wouldn't be able to explain through the language barrier. I knew I was lucky enough to get the words he had given me.

No. I'm being euthanized.

Wolf wasn't going to give me a bloody death. He was going to let me just . . . go to sleep.

That, I could live with.

He put in one last command before taking a step back. I let my hand drop and I swallowed a cough, trying not to make my discomfort any more terrible than it already was.

All I could do was wait for the gas, or . . . whatever they used to lull me into a forever sleep.

At that moment, my thoughts went to my mother, to my father. To my sister and brother. A black car would pull up to the house, then the agency would deliver the news and all my family would have left to remember me by were pictures and a folded flag and a "we're sorry".

As my personal coffin was lifted off the ground by unseen machinery, I knocked on the window and Wolf brought it back down to look at me. If he could even see me through the glass.

"Wolf, don't . . . whatever happens to me," I started, pausing every few words to catch my breath. "Whatever . . . becomes of me, please just . . . just let Devon know that I'm okay. They'll, they'll probably declare me dead, anyway, but so long as . . . one person at least thinks that I'm okay, then . . . then I'll be alright."

He stared at me a moment, then let out a breath that made it look like he was deflating.

Then, he started the machinery back up and I was swallowed up into the wall. My heart started to pound when I realized that I was sitting in unyielding darkness, but I closed my eyes tight and tried to realize that it was all I had to look forward to now. All that was left for me.

Nothing but the black void of nothingness.

The capsule—which I was certain was actually a cell—was slanted back so I wasn't quite standing but nor was I lying back. It was solid and unyielding: as if comfort hadn't even been considered in the design. As I felt around and fought for a good position to be in, I found restraints.

Whatever this thing was, it was meant to keep someone inside. To keep someone prisoner.

In my wiggling and pained throes, I managed to smack the back of my head against the wall. If it was meant to keep someone prisoner—then it was probably meant to keep that someone alive. If that was the case, what was the plan?

After a moment, the answer came. I became aware of a faint hissing sound from all around. My breathing became even more labored with a medicinal aftertaste left on my tongue.

He was going to drug me.

So, exactly what I had thought. He was going to put me to sleep. In a portable jail cell. For them, it was probably a sedative that knocked them out. For me, it was probably a lethal gas that would put me down.

It didn't hurt to breathe—well, any more than usual. Whatever the gas was, it wasn't burning me or causing any other responses. It was heavy, like trying to breathe in high humidity, but it was also mostly familiar to when I'd gone under for my surgery. So, at the very least, it wouldn't be unpleasant.

Except for the broken ribs, the broken hand, the burning in my pride, nervous bleeding in my brain.

My lip quivered and I turned on my side, wrapping my arms around myself. I couldn't quite curl up into a ball, but I had just enough room to double over.

Now that he couldn't see me, and now that he might not be able to hear me, I let loose. I released every pent-up emotion that I had saved up to save my dignity and composure. As much as my shattered chest would allow, I wailed and screamed.

Not even the sedative being pumped into my capsule could quell the sobs wracking my frame. Only the effects of the drug slowly calmed me down, subduing me and forcing me into a semi-conscious, torpid state of whimpers and sniffles. It didn't stop me from thinking about everything I regretted now that I was at death's door.

I should have called my mom a little more often. It was a small solace that, in those early moments, I'd realized that I was never going to see her again. I'd called her—one more time—to tell her I love her. To hear her tell me she loved me.

One more time.

Everything had gone so wrong, though. I'd always thought I'd have a little bit of extra time before Wolf and I disappeared into the sky.

It had all been planned in my head. After we'd successfully eradicated the remaining bugs, I was going to say . . . something, anything, to Devon. I hadn't really thought that part through. In my perfect world, he and Wolf would have been getting along fine and we could have all—laughed about the whole situation together.

Then I would have called my mom again. I still hadn't hashed out my speech, but I was going to improvise something to let her know that I wasn't coming home or calling again.

But it would have worked out.

All my loose ends tied up. All my worries and fears cast aside. I could have followed Wolf on his ship with nothing holding me back. The future would have been waiting, warm and welcoming and everything would have been . . . fine.

Fine.

Because this was what I'd wanted.

. . . what I'd told myself I wanted.

The Hybrid had ruined it all. The government had ruined it all, with their "nuke the site from orbit" mentality. Everything had fallen apart. There were too many loose ends. Too many regrets. Too much had gone wrong.

And the future was now cold and rigid. I wasn't ready to leave yet. I wasn't ready to disappear off the face of the planet.

My thoughts started to turn to static. I'd exhausted all my energy into crying, and the sedative had free reign of my systems now. Though I wasn't quite suffocating, I could tell that Wolf had upped the dosage when I hadn't immediately passed out: the air was even thicker and a stronger, sterile taste coated my tongue and throat.

Well, I was done with fighting. I was done trying to be strong. I wanted this last moment of weakness, this last moment of emotional upheaval.

I dug my fingers into my chest again, though the gesture lacked power. My muscles were relaxing, my mind fading. The pain left me and I could take deeper breaths.

Good.

Let oblivion come.

If I was lucky, it wouldn't ever let me go.

After taking a few more deep breaths of the sedatives swirling around me, oblivion came—and for a long, long time, I was gone. Swaddled in darkness, cradled by the void, and . . . this time . . . for good . . . I had nothing weighing me down.