Chapter 25 – Night of the white wolf

The room of black and white. Stillness, as if the oxygen itself was stagnant. No vibrations, no movements, no sound. Complete silence. Thoughts, so many in his head, a whirlwind of thoughts. Footsteps echoed across the room, louder with each next. It was Annabel, he didn't have to look to know. Who else would it be? She was back, ready to play again. After his confession from last night, after he gave up the location of the refugees, or former location, depending on whether Abby led them out of Seattle, Annabel disappeared without a word, probably to tell Isaac. And now she was back, to play her game in which she was always a winner.

Ben sat in a chair with his head bowed, staring at the floor, bloody beneath his feet. The black shorts he was wearing were old and torn in several places, as was his black t-shirt. It was an outfit she gave to him when the old woman was completely torn. Completely black, contrasting her white attire. Staring at his toes, which were still bloody and without toenails, Ben didn't seem to feel any pain. Neither in the legs nor in the arms, nor in the hips nor in the back. Not anymore.

"Bennie." Annabel spoke officially, as if announcing some news. "We are under attack. A horde of demons is relentlessly attacking us at the main gate. With the lack of soldiers, we couldn't keep the streets clean like in the past. Our brave soldiers are caught off-guard."

Lack of soldiers? What's she talking about?

He pretended not to hear her, but when he thought about it a little, what if she was just an apparition? Maybe she wasn't real at all, and the months spent with her might have been a mere dream. What if he woke up now at his house in Jackson and Emily made him breakfast and said everything was fine.

What a bunch of nonsense.

"Do you believe rumors and superstitions?" she asked, rummaging in her cart by the chair. "A long time ago, I heard that if you eat someone's heart, you'll eat their soul. Of course, that person has to be alive during the ritual, right until the point when you cut out a piece of heart and eat it. Chew, chew, chew, swallow! Eat their soul so they become a part of you forever."

He was motionless, as if he was dead. There weren't any signs that he was listening to her.

"I did it once! When my mother cast me out… I came back for her, yes I did. I did. I ate her soul, she's a part of me now. Forever. Does that mean I'm the Prophet of the Seraphites?"

The question seemed to amuse her and she picked something up from the cart and approached him, stroking his head, but Ben didn't move.

"My love… we've been through so much already." she explained, her voice sad. "The bond we share, it's something unique, never seen before. We belong to each other. Forever!"

His right hand gripping the metal rose toward Ben's fists, which were chained in front of his body. Click. She unlocked the padlock of the chain that bound his arms, then knelt to unlock the padlock of the chain that bound his legs. The lack of chains on his arms and legs was an unknown feeling. The weight he no longer felt was something completely new. With a clang, she threw the chains aside and squatted in front of him, embracing his face with both hands.

"I think that… we don't have to play anymore." she rolled the sentence over her lips somehow. It seemed she was reluctant. "As much as I want to play with you… You have to make sacrifices for those you love, Bennie. I will speak to Isaac, you and me can play with others. Together!"

He looked at her, her face beneath his. So smooth and angelic except for the scars around his mouth. She was actually beautiful, her skin milky white. She was all glistening in her white clothes. And then Annabel smiled at him genuinely, the way you smile at someone you truly love. Then she leaned in to kiss him.

Ben's eyes widened. He opened his mouth widely and Annabel screamed. She bounced away and fell on her back, clutching her face convulsively as blood flowed between her fingers. Ben spat a disgusting piece of meat out of his mouth and looked at the pathetic creature in front of him. His back was stiff, his legs numb, but he stood up. He stood up!

"Why?!" she screamed as he wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, still feeling the taste of raw human flesh. "You bit me!"

"My bad." he whispered as she slowly rose to her feet, lowering the bloody hands that had soiled her crystal white dress. The hole in her right cheek was awful to look at, but it didn't shake him a bit. Not even a little bit.

Her face was furious, but it softened as soon as she looked at him a little better. "Perfection. You're a work of art. You're perfect. I changed you. I made you the way you are!"

He looked at her with expressionless eyes, not feeling the fatigue and pain he had felt constantly for the past few months. Some unseen energy gave him strength.

"Never leave me, Bennie. Never leave me! NEVER!" she screamed and stumbled upon him, the knife appearing in her hand. She was extremely fast and swung her blade wildly like the real lunatic she was.

"You're mine! You're mine! You're mine! You're mine!" the knife cut his arm several times, made holes in his black outfit, but he didn't feel it. When he got tired of her, he stopped and stood still as if frozen to let her approach him. She stabbed the tip of the knife into his chest, then stopped abruptly, as if she had done something she didn't want to do.

"Do you love me?" she asked with teary eyes.

She was shorter than him, barely reaching his shoulders. He lowered his head and their eyes met again. The wound on her cheek was bleeding wildly, but she didn't seem to feel it.

"Do you love me?" her voice was angry, and she pushed the knife deeper into Ben's chest. He didn't even move. "I'll hurt you, Bennie!"

"You think I'd call this pain?" His voice was calm when he grabbed her wrist and pushed the knife deeper. Then he slapped her with the back of his hand and pulled the knife from his chest, feeling the warmth in the area as blood soaked his shirt. The wound wasn't deep, but it still bled thoroughly. Annabel stared at him from the floor with her eyes wide open, but those were not the eyes that preceded one of her insane whims. Those were eyes of fear.

"After everything I've been through, do you think I'll feel any of this?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks, making a bloodstain where there was a lack of flesh. "Do you love me? It was so beautiful. I've never been happier. I'll never let you go. I won't! I won't! I won't! I won't!"

Ben just watched her as she protested, then he dropped the knife, walking up to her to pick her up. He lifted her to her feet and placed her right in front of him. She wasn't heavy at all. It was more surprising that he was able to pick her up considering weeks of torture and constant sitting in the chair. His muscles were unaccustomed to movement.

"Do you love me?"

He watched her in silence for a long time, and she watched him. Ben placed his palm where he had bit off a part of her face, then stroked her hair. The smile that lit up her expression was full of hope. Their foreheads touched, and she grinned.

"You're bothering me." he whispered in the end.

She kicked like a fish on dry land when he grabbed her and threw her into the chair, immobilizing her arms and legs with chains. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and then she laughed. She cried and laughed, then cried again.

"Bennie, why are you doing this? You're going to hurt me, aren't you?" she gasped between tears, not paying any attention to the wound on her cheek. "Why are you so quiet? Say something!" Then all of a sudden, she twitched and stopped moving, sitting still as if frozen, staring at him with her eyes wide open.

"You bit me!" she screamed the accusation, as if remembering a distant memory. After all, she was crazy.

Ben stood above the cart with Annabel's "toys". He eyed the tools which she used to torture him over and over again. Large pincers, pliers, knives in various sizes, needles etc. So many to choose from.

"Hey!" she screamed again. "You bit me!"

Ben turned his head and looked at her, all chained up in the chair, just like he was. "You said you wanted to eat me, to devour me. If I ate you instead, would it be that bad?"

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

Her voice became just a muffled noise to him while he weighed the tools in his hand, looking for one that would suit his needs the most. He decided to go with the pliers at first. Some distant pain was throbbing in his right hand that lacked nails and half of the ring finger when he gripped the handles of the tool, but he didn't pay much attention to it.

She was still screaming, but he just looked her over without even a tiny bit of pity. Annabel indeed looked like an angel. But every angel was fully capable of being a demon, and he learned that lesson well enough. He was the victim of that lesson. But he understood.

Open is open. Voice in his head whispered. Open to light is open to dark. You cannot take one without the other.

Annabel's urge to torture, as much as he tried to understand her in the past, to get in her head and find some traces of reason, he understood now. After everything happened, he understood. All that was left for her was her wickedness. Nothing else.

Look at her. She's pathetic.

She is.

Torture her. Have your revenge. Make her pay for everything she's done to you.

She'll pay.

Make sure you enjoy it.

I will.

Ben took her left hand, eyeing it with such interest, undecided with which finger he should start. He held her hand in his, gazing at her darkened fingernails, remembering how his fingernails used to darken after regrowing, after each torture.

"Bennie, are you going to play with me?"

Head tilted, his eyes widened with excitement and thus the game began. He tore the fingernail of her left point finger with such ease and she screamed. She screamed, and she giggled. So loudly did her voice bang in his ears, its high-pitch was driving him crazy. But he couldn't let her know that, oh no he couldn't.

"It huuuuuuuuurts!" she cried, giggling between gasps. "But it feels sooo goooood."

It didn't take too long for him to finish with her hands. Then he switched to knives and wrote his name on her skin. Voice in his head was going crazy, screaming from pleasure he felt from torturing her. He truly felt it. The pleasure. Something he didn't feel in a long time. By the time he was finished with the game, he cut off all fingers of her left hand and half of her right. Achilles' tendons of both right and left leg were cut, and she couldn't walk. He had no idea how long they played together. She was a disfigured, crippled mess. He never touched her face, he wanted to keep her pretty, just like she did with him.

Annabel lost her consciousness twice, but he made sure to wake her up, each time more rough than the last. Her eyes were red and swollen from tears, but she still giggled. She looked at him, as if she was begging him for something, but that something was not mercy. Just when he was thinking of new ways to torture her, she froze him.

"Thank you." Annabel sobbed. "I've never been truly happy until I met you, Bennie."

What?

She nodded, "Yes. I'm truly happy. You make me happy."

The fact that she enjoyed all of it just enraged him even further. She enjoyed the pain. She wasted his time. The fury was visible on his face. He parted his lips, revealing gritted teeth like a wolf that was about to attack. His left hand clutched the knife tightly.

"I lov-"

Annabel couldn't finish her sentence when Ben slashed her throat open. She gurgled, trying to speak, to say something, her eyes teary, swollen and red. She tried to speak, but only blood leaked out of her mouth, dripping down on her white dress. Her head tilted backwards, and she exhaled for the last time, air whistling through the opening in her throat.

Ben stood, dumbfound, staring at the corpse on the chair. Milky corpse that was painted red. He tilted his head. She was oddly beautiful the way she was. The way she was motionless and red. Then he looked at the knife in his hand. It was bloody, just like his fist. He was sure his fist would be shaking, but it wasn't. His eyes went back to Annabel again, realizing that she was dead. Dead.

She's really…

She is. You killed her. You ended her.

I did.

"If you eat someone's heart, you'll eat their soul." he quoted her words. "Eat their soul so they become a part of you forever."

Ben never performed the ritual and ate her heart, but he was eternal part of him now. Annabel took so much from him. Nothing will ever be the same. He won't be the same. Just the way he tortured her… Few months ago, that would be something unthinkable, inexcusable. Yet, he enjoyed it.

Annabel was finally dead, but it was far from over. There were others. Others that had to die.

The main base of the WLF was in a huge mess. Disorganization reigned, and people panicked in every direction. Parents dragged children, young people helped the elderly, soldiers hurried to the main gate, which was under siege by the infected, trying to break in. Infected at the base, it was a danger of the greatest intensity, meaning that WLF's hold over Seattle must have weakened.

The wind howled, piling up snow in drifts. Ben walked straight, trying to ignore the cold that crept inside him, squinting his eyes to be able to see. So many footprints in the snow, hundred of them. His bare feet were numb from the snow, but the desire for revenge pushed him further.

Ben was mostly ignored in all this commotion. However, he managed to attract a few curious gazes and raised eyebrows because of his torn clothes, bare feet and his hair. He'd understand the look of his clothes, but why were they staring at his hair? Yet, even those who noticed him would mostly return to what they were doing in the commotion.

Kill them.

Kill them all.

Every last one of them.

Ben's first destination was the dungeon. Only two soldiers were left to guard it, as the majority protected the gates. What were the odds, those guards proved to be those who brought Ben oatmeal and fish soup. Oatmeal was a closer target, but his stocky build and strong arms were too much for Ben to handle bare-handed. Thus, he chose an easier target. Fish Soup was reckless and didn't pay attention to his surroundings. Ben sneaked up and strangled much weaker and thinner Fish Soup, taking his pistol and a military knife.

Oatmeal screamed when Ben appeared in front of him. His scream was long and loud when Ben shot him in the knee. Stocky man collapsed on the cold floor, holding onto his blown knee.

"Don't kill me!" jailer begged. "Don't- wait, I know you! I know you!"

Ben gazed at him in silence.

"You're that guy that doesn't kill, right? The one that saved those Scars and trespassers. You shot me in the knee because you spared me, right? Right? I have family, man. Come on, please."

Oatmeal's next scream was cut short when Ben shot him in the eye and took the key ring that hung around his belt. Prisoners grabbed the metal bars and shouted as he walked between the cells, eyeing those who were held captive. They were nearly starved, their clothes were torn and old. Yet the fire in their eyes that was dormant now burned brightly when Ben murdered the jailers. The fire that would set ablaze everything and everyone that wronged them.

Ben pushed the key in the lock of one cell and twisted it, opening the door. Man inside was one of the largest men Ben had ever seen in his life. Prisoner was towering over him, and was probably muscular as a bull in the past. While he retained his height, albeit in a bit of a hunched stance, man was skinnier. After all, the food jailers gave out to prisoners was never that good to eat long-term, mainly because of small portions.

"Will you fight for me?" Ben asked the man who towered above him, long black beard and hair hiding majority of his face. "Will you help me to destroy them?"

Man simply nodded and walked out of his cell, followed by Ben who proceeded to unlock the other cells. The dungeon was full of prisoners, trained to be quiet so as not to disturb the guards and each other. But now, everyone was shouting, screaming, and yelling out of excitement. Excitement that they'd finally be free, even if that meant their deaths. Many of them were tortured, some by Annabel herself, before she devoted all her attention to Ben.

Never again.

When he unlocked the last cell, Ben noticed prisoners, now former prisoners, gathering in the central area of the prison, which had enough space to hold all of them at the same time. There were about seventy or eighty of them, he didn't count. Enough to take on the WLF by surprise. They all stood and looked at him, unusually quiet, as if awaiting for further instructions.

"My name is Ben." he said calmly. "I was tortured by Annabel. You all know her, even if just from the stories."

Prisoners stirred, whispering something to each other. Some of them giggled and grinned at the mention of her name. Ben wondered about his neighbor cellmate, wondering if he was still alive and there with them.

"I killed her."

What followed was a river of laughter and angry remarks, but the man that towered above everyone else punched the table, and everyone quieted down. Ben noticed that the quiet giant made a crack in the middle of the wooden table. He was strong, perhaps too strong.

"Find something to fight with." His voice was calm and nearly silent, but they were listening. They were listening. After all, the man who was tortured by Annabel, survived, and killed her in the end, was not a man to be trifled with. "Kill everyone who opposes you. If you kill those who are unarmed, and anyone who can't fight, I will kill you myself. Slowly."

Silence that followed was a proof they took his threat seriously. Then, the prisoners raised their hands and began to shout his name. He took his time to take a good look at them. Scars, trespassers, criminals, many of them were tortured and brought to the brink of madness, and there was only one thing in their minds; kill. Three men approached him. One had scars on the edges of his mouth.

"It's you. It's really you." man with the scars said. "We thought you were dead. You look… different."

Ben raised an eyebrow, but almost went speechless when he recognized him. The man was one of the refugees Ben saved before he was captured. Just like the other two. "Why are you here?"

Did they find the refugees? Did they find them because of me?

"After you were captured..." said the man next to him. "…we wanted to save you."

"And to avenge those who died with you." added the third prisoner. He was just a boy, barely seventeen years old. "My brother was in your squad that day, when you were captured."

By the look of them, they were tortured, but not by Annabel at least. They still seemed to have their sanity left intact. Unlike someone I know…

"You shouldn't have come after me." he said strictly. "Where are the others?"

Former Scar smirked, "That girl that you sent to us, Abby, came with several others. She took them out of the city to take them to Santa Barbara."

"She's a Firefly! She said a new life awaited them in California, a new beginning."

"We wanted to save you and go with her."

Refugees are safe? Thank god, he sighed and closed his eyes, feeling relief.

"Ben." said the youngest of the three, his eyes teary. "My brother really believed in you. In what you did. "He died for you. I don't want his death to be in vain."

Ben nodded to him and placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "It won't. Your brother will rest easy after we kill those who murdered him. Washington Liberation Front will fall today."

The boy nodded insecurely, and Ben turned to the others to give them the final instructions. When several soldiers came to check the source of all the noise, the prisoners ambushed them, killed them and took their weapons. But the majority of the prisoners were still unarmed. And there was only one place where they could fully equip themselves. The armory.

Once they emerged outside, they weren't met with much of the resistance. Majority of the population was retreating to the interiors, leaving mostly soldiers and others who could fight to defend the main gates. Many soldiers were posted up on the walls, shooting at the infected from above, picking them off one by one, unaware that the prisoners had escaped. Ben knew it was just a matter of time before Wolves ended the infected threat if they kept their defenses tight.

Shock and confusion exploded once Ben and others were noticed, recognizable by their torn clothes and rough faces every prisoner had. Two soldiers who led the evacuation stopped in their tracks, with eyes wide and jaws dropped when they saw them, remaining still until Ben opened fire at them, obliterating the soldiers. However, that seemed to have caught the attention of others, and soon after, roughly two platoons rushed down from the walls to engage them. They didn't have much time to get to the armory, and majority of the prisoners were still unarmed. As they pushed through the crowd, Ben grabbed the collar of an older man, stopping him in his tracks.

"Armory? Where is it?"

Man squealed in his grip, and Ben had to point the gun at his face.

"Western wing! Over there! Please let me live!"

Ben dropped him to the ground and ran towards the west wing, a rain of bullets swishing through the cold air at them.

The west wing of the base was rather poorly defended. The wolves never expected the prisoners to be released. As soon as Ben and the prisoners stepped inside the west wing, the small complex of corridors, the unpreparedness of the soldiers guarding the armory cost them their lives. They thought the danger lurked only outside, not in the inside, clearly oblivious to the fact that prisoners got free.

Armory wasn't exactly a spacious room, but the guns were many. Compared to the Scars who mostly fought with crafted weapons, Wolves were much better armed. Pistols, hunting rifles, semi-automatic weapons, shotguns, pipe bombs, military bows and crossbows, knives, machetes, all at one place. Each prisoner could carry a pair of rifles and there would still be as many weapons left inside. Ben restocked the ammunition for his pistol and took a hunting rifle. He was very proficient with it, and he also no experience with semi-automatic weapons. Luckily, his shorts had two pockets in which he could store some spare rounds and clips, but not too many. To have such weapons at his disposal filled him with a sense of security.

Looking at his group of prisoners, it was a strange crowd of men and women, wearing ancient, torn clothes, and a few of them even body armor - at least few pieces that were left - armed to the teeth as hatred for the captors flashed in their eyes.

"They're coming at us!" one exclaimed, clutching the shotgun tightly.

Carrying death in their hands, prisoners readied themselves and waited until the soldiers got close. Then they charged outside, opening fire at the ever advancing soldiers, eager for payback after long imprisonment.

The formation of the Wolves dispersed when the gunfire exploded in the corridors of the western wing, as prisoners fired at them from a dozen different weapons. It was carnage that ended quickly, and prisoners prevailed in the first skirmish with the soldiers, though with nearly half of them dead. Many died in the initial fire, on both sides. Ben's fingers throbbed painfully as he pulled the trigger of the rifle repeatedly. That giant of a man from the prison followed Ben in his footsteps, displaying such strength that Ben wondered if he could split a grown man in two.

He looked around and saw almost half of the prisoners dead. Many of those who were not dead were wounded, and the bulletproof vest saved the lives of all who wore them. Those who stormed outside first had it worst. Ben knew better than that and waited for the first wave of prisoners to set off.

"If we continue like this." said Scar, "They'll kill us like rabbits."

When he said that, many stopped and looked at Ben, as if seeking advice or waiting for an order. He scratched his head with a fingerless hand and tried to think of a possible solution.

"We have to make a diversion. We can't face them head on." he explained, wondering for a moment why they put their hopes in him. I released them, but that does not give me the right to issue orders to them. Yet…

Peering out the window, Ben watched the soldiers deployed outside, on the walls and under the door, holding the formation firmly. It was a pretty good defense that could repel any attack - from the outside. Apparently, they expected that two platoons were enough to wipe out the escaped prisoners, so they focused all their efforts on the infected. Several dozen more unarmed people were outside, who were still in the evacuation phase.

"Hey, big man." Ben called to the giant. "Wanna end this?"

Man nodded and repeated the shotgun in hands. He was a quiet one, never uttering a word.

"Follow me."

The soldiers of the Washington Liberation Front were focusing their efforts on reinforcing the main gate, a tall wooden structure, with thick pillars. Twenty soldiers defended it. Just like Annabel said, he noticed an overall lack of soldiers. I have Abby to thank for that. In Ben's head, his plan was good. They just had to wait for the prisoners to attack the soldiers from behind. When a group of bloodthirsty maniacs flew out of the west wing, two men – stacked with pipe bombs from the armory - used the distraction provided to them to approach the main gate.

He tried to figure out how many pipe bombs would be enough to wipe them all out. Five, six? Less? He weighed one in his hand, measuring its weight and how far he needed to throw it. The bomb was basically a piece of pipe, filled with sharp objects, blades or other shrapnel, also filled with explosives that set it off. Two men nodded to each other and threw the bombs, four of them total, one at the time.

Ben knelt when the bombs exploded, shattering the bodies of soldiers and piercing them with countless blades. Their formation crumbled and those who survived, barely a half of them, scattered from the gate. Those who survived were gunned down by the prisoners. Without anyone to reinforce the gate, the wooden structure cracked and broke down further with each push by the infected on the other side.

With a loud crack, gate finally broke down, and they poured inside. Runners, clickers and bloaters charged at everyone who was close enough to them. People panicked more than ever, and hurried the process of evacuation, while Ben and the giant cautiously removed themselves from danger. The infected clawed through anyone unlucky to be in their way.

From a safer distance, Ben observed the bloodbath. Everyone was killing everyone. But he felt nothing in that moment. Not a thing. Even when a bloater tore a woman apart when it grabbed her. Does that make me a monster?, he asked himself as he shot both the infected and non-infected that came his way. If it does, it's their fault. Not mine.

The central part of the football field, which was turned into a market, became the main point where the battle took place. The soldiers from the walls tried to regroup and repel the infected and prisoners, while providing protection to the unarmed who evacuated, into the interior of the northern part of the base which was barricaded and well-protected. Whoever approached recklessly would be showered with bullets by soldiers. Ben also noticed dogs, many dogs, joining the battle for the first time, but he remembered their participation in smaller battles in the past, reminding him of his white furry companion.

It was an all-out war between the infected, prisoners and the Wolves. Everyone against everyone. Prisoners killed the Wolves. Wolves retaliated and fought off the infected at the same time. If there was time for calculations, infected were gaining the upper hand, advancing through the stadium, mowing down everyone that stood in the path of the horde. They were numerous, yes, but their numbers were still limited. There didn't seem to be as many infected as Ben had initially anticipated, but there were enough to make his next plan work. And then, it came. The monstrosity from ground zero, the creature Ben called a rat king because of its conjoined bodies. The term was fitting, since the original meaning stood for rats whose tails were intertwined and bound together. It was a fitting term indeed. For long time he wondered if it was dead and did the WLF kill it.

Rat king towered above other infected, even bloaters that threw spore bombs, infecting everyone upon the impact. The bastard was extra resilient. Guns had no effect on it, blades should not be even spoken of. Explosive loads and fire could hurt it, yet even that firepower didn't guarantee the kill. Ben remembered the encounter in the hospital a little too well.

Followed by the giant, Ben retreated to the armory, intent on stacking enough firepower on himself. Three flamethrowers were available, free to use. Big guy that followed in Ben's footsteps seemed strong enough to use both at the same time, and just the sheer thought of him blowing fire from two flamethrowers was amusing. Main force of the prisoners remained outside, but a smaller number followed the two back to the armory, including the Scar and the young boy.

"Use explosives and flamethrowers only when necessary. I'd rather save it for the rat king." He explained to prisoners that gathered around him, still feeling weird for giving out orders. While he saved the refugees, he did organize raids and attacks, but it never like he was ordering someone in the literal meaning of that word.

"Rat king?" Scar asked, scratching his bald head.

"That monstrosity outside. But don't attack it just yet."

Former captives exchanged confused glances.

"I can use it to our advantage. Wolves have barricaded themselves in the interiors. Their main force might be outside, fighting the infected and us, but if they lose their footing, the interiors that is, they'll be surrounded and obliterated."

The boy who expressed his hopes in Ben opened his mouth in shock. "There are civilians inside, people who don't fight."

"We just need the rat king to break the barricades, to pave a path for us. Then we kill it. Two birds with one stone, eh?"

Armed to teeth, former captives found themselves in the heat of battle once again. The fighting was still at its peak. Screams, gunshots, explosions came from every direction. People fell, infected fell. It seemed there was no end to the slaughter. And to look at the rat king, the mightiest of the infected, the epitome of the world's end, and witness the destruction it caused was a terrifying sight, but Ben had to face in once more, no matter the consequences and fear that ate at his guts. There was only one way to win the battle and destroy his enemies. Shotgun recoiled heavily in his arms as he fired at many of its heads, located on both sides of the torso. It didn't hurt the rat king, Ben was aware of that, but he accomplished what he intended. He got its attention. A mixture of furious moans, screams and screeches came from half a dozen open mouths and the rat king charged, perhaps too fast for a creature of that size and weight.

Ben sprinted towards the interiors, dashing through both the Wolves and prisoners who now held the line together against the huge numbers of infected. His feet slipped outwards on the wet and red snow as he rounded the platoon of Wolves, the cold evening air shocking his throat and lungs. With each footfall a jarring pain shot ankle to ankle, finger to finger, the reminder of weeks of torture. It was right behind him, and the barricades blocked his path. People around him split as if creating a path for them, not a single one of them daring to stand in the path of the rat king.

About a dozen soldiers stood behind the barricades, the wooden constructions that forbade the entrance to the interior of the stadium, corridors and rooms beneath the stands. If Ben attacked the barricade head on with his followers, he'd be shot down like a bird. But with a rat king behind his back, soldiers focused their fire at the monster, not aware that their wasted bullets did no damage.

In the last moment, Ben twisted left his ankle aside, and dug his heel deep into the snow as he changed his direction by taking a sharp turn to the right. The rat king was neither as versatile nor explosive as him, and it crashed right into the barricades. Wooden construction broke down like a fragile plastic toy. The moment the barricades broke down, prisoners with flame throwers and bombs emerged from the armory, raining fire at the infected.

A wall of fire was set ablaze when the prisoners lit the infected. They burned as if they were soaked in gasoline beforehand. The market in the middle of the habitat burst into flames, swallowing dozens of people and infected who found themselves inside. Still, it was rather one big confusion and Ben couldn't fully comprehend the events that surrounded him. Yet, there was one certainty and it was the rat king that murdered the soldiers that guarded the barricades with their lives.

"Yo." he greeted the spawn of hatred that stood tall in front of him. Another furious roar was directed at him before the rat king charged into the final showdown. Ben's eyes widened and he threw two bombs beneath its feet, the explosion damaging the flesh to the bones. With the lack of muscles, it was slowed down but far from dead. Its numerous hands reached for him, but he ducked and rolled over behind it, placing another bomb beneath its feet, the last one he had. The explosion sent the rat king on his knees, but the bastard was still moving and oozing with might.

Orange snakes of fire rose high in the air, illuminating the evening sky. Flamethrowers turned out to be a rather good choice. They only had to burn one wave of the infected, and the fire would spread easily through the densely crowded runners, clickers and bloaters. The fire easily reduced the numbers of the weaker infected, but the bloaters were resilient.

For a while, Ben danced around rat king as war raged around him. His strategy consisted mainly of dodging and luring it at other infected and soldiers which rat king tore apart with terrifying ease. Once again, rat king rushed at Ben, stumbling on its path of destruction. Ben was cut off by a loud noise behind him. He turned and saw a dozen clickers, in their stiff movements, running toward him across the clearing. Ben started cursing when he heard screams from the other side - and infected came from there as well. They came from all sides, slowly surrounding him and the rat king.

The prisoners, led by that big guy, rushed towards Ben, forming a dense formation. The horde of the infected was getting closer, and then the prisoners pelted them with fire and explosives. Hands, feet and heads flew in all directions, spraying everything with blood and organs. The rat king continued to attack, even under fire. Although, it seemed a bit slower as it burned.

Three flamethrowers spat fire at the monster until they ran out of fuel. Afterwards, the fire was continued with rifles and pistols, shooting at arms, heads, legs, bodies, until the rat king finally collapsed. Not even the might of the rat king was enough to help him against the firepower of such weapons. And even then, they continued to shoot, stopping the fire from time to time to resist the occasional attacks of the runners and clickers that remained.

A sea of black blood formed beneath the rat king, soaking Ben's feet as he stood beside the corpse. He must be dead, he thought, watching him. He didn't feel sorry for the creature that lied beneath him, but he wondered what it felt like to be trapped in that mass of meat for over 20 years? And not for the first time did the considered the possibility of people retaining thoughts as they lost the control of their bodies to the infection.

Ben looked around, noticing that the battle was coming to an end. The market in the middle of the field was still burning, the side buildings under the walls, the animal pens, everything was destroyed. The numbers of the infected decreased, and both the prisoners and the Wolves killed them off before turning on each other once again. In those brief moments, they fought side by side, and when the infected were repulsed, they remembered who the real enemy was..

Before he knew it, Ben was walking toward the interior, followed by half the surviving prisoners. There were still those who remained inside. Those who wronged him and those who hurt him. Connor was not outside, neither was Isaac. Inside, he found frightened people who gathered in the hallways and rooms, watching the prisoners, bathed in blood, march inside victoriously. Most of the WLF soldiers were killed, and those who remained were mostly outside.

Many were scared, but not all of them. There were those who wanted revenge for the fallen brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers and children. They blamed Ben for what happened, and with a good reason. These men and women offered the last resistance of the WLF, daring to attack Ben and the others. They didn't survive, and Ben made an example of them. Everyone who got in his way will share the fate of the dead, he thought he made point straight. He walked over the corpses of the fallen, realizing how easy killing had become for him.

Is this how revenge feels like? If it is, I can't wait until I kill Isaac.

He had to kill three men to learn Isaac's location, but once he did, he decided to go alone. Isaac stood by the wide window, staring at the stadium, at the battle that was in its finishing phase, last rays of sun as sunlight disappearing in the western sky. He watched with his hands behind his back, his back turned to Ben. Isaac turned around on the sound of the door closing, and saw him. The older man watched him for a few moments, then his eyes widened in horror when he recognized him.

"You're alive."

Ben nodded and looked around to see if there was anyone else. Last thing he needed was an ambush, but he hoped Connor would hiding somewhere, healthy and strong. When he made sure they were alone, Ben blocked the door with the chair feeling pretty disappointed, all while aiming at the old man that stood on the opposite side of the room.

"Where's Connor?" he got straight to the point. "I didn't see him outside."

Isaac shrugged. "Fuck if I know. Look at what you've done."

Ben's grin was wide, ear to ear. "I won."

"This isn't our only base."

Ben's grin was getting wider as if that was even possible, "Your main force is here, your population. Once this base falls, which will be soon, you will lose everything."

Isaac took a step forward, but Ben fired a bullet between his feet. He had more than enough ammunition to waste on the leader of WLF. He was surprisingly calm given the situation he was in.

"Abby deserted us, as did twenty of our best soldiers with their families. That traitorous bitch. She often came to visit you. Your doing?"

Abby essentially made WLF weaker when she took the best soldiers with her. Was the discontent that conspicuous that the best soldiers deserted the faction? Wolves clearly haven't recovered from the casualties of their last war, and Abby just made them even weaker.

Ben giggled. "Yeah, it is. This is my doing too. I let the prisoners out, and the infected in."

Walking slowly, Isaac sat in an armchair in the middle of the room. Ben even let him pour himself a glass of whiskey. He drained it in a second. There was defeat in his eyes. His work, his people, his faction, depending on how one would call it, would be erased soon. Washington Liberation Front, the force that conquered Seattle from the government, was being destroyed from within.

"She broke you." he said and poured himself another glass. Smirk adorned her face. "I guess she breaks even the best of us."

"No." he said, wide grin slowly fading away. "She just made me see the world for what it is."

"Same shit."

"Any last words?" Ben asked, aiming at Isaac's head.

Isaac sighed. "There are good people among those outside. Remember what you did."

"There were good people, sick people and children among the refugees, and among the Scars. Family that saved me… they were good people too. So spare me of your crap."

Isaac shrugged, "Just finish this."

The dark-skinned man with the gray hair managed to look him in the eye for one last time before Ben pulled the trigger. The body of the WLF leader leaned back in his chair and remained motionless. Leather armchair was painted red by his blood. Ben stepped forward, his aim still steady. He gazed upon the corpse for a while, and then emptied the clip, pulling the trigger even after he went out of bullets. It felt good to obliterate him, to make him unrecognizable. It felt so good to finally fulfill his revenge. Ben took a deep breath and ran his nail-less hand through his hair, slicking it backwards. The feeling of satisfaction was gone too soon.

When he made it outside, the sky grew darker, but the battle had ended. The prisoners killed off the last of the infected and executed Wolves who didn't surrender. Most of them surrendered, aware of the battle that they lost. The main base of the WLF became one large incinerator, blackness left after a fire that was quickly extinguished due to cold weather and falling snow. Washington Liberation Front was no more. Its leader and army were gone. Scar and teenager stood above the corpse of their companion, mourning his death. Many eyed him suspiciously, some of them with malice for destroying their home and lives, while others nodded to him with respect.

Ben walked over the corpses, holding a pistol with no bullets in his left, aware of its uselessness. He stopped in the middle of the field, in the center of the stadium and looked around himself, when the realization struck him like a truck moving at full speed.

Bodies. They were cold. So cold. Just like dolls over the snowy grass, limbs at awkward angles and heads held in such a way that they couldn't be sleeping. Who will bury them and weep salty tears onto their graves? Who will send them away with a love song and kiss the breeze that carried them haven-bound? Corpses of the infected gave out a different feel. Their bodies lied like ghoulish mannequins, looking as if a special effects team had worked over time for some horror movie, but that smell… that smell could only come from recently slaughtered animals. In that case the animals were human and their corpses still warm, the blood thickening but not yet dried on their human waxy skins and torn infected faces.

You did this. This is all on you, the voice mocked him. You killed them all, your thirst for revenge.

The thirst for revenge was like a rat gnawing at his soul, relentless, unceasing, it could only be stopped by the cold steel of a rat trap, a trap he would devise himself. His need for revenge was like an abscess on the skin of the soul that could only be cured by the cruel sharp steel point of revenge. Festering like a septic wound, and the only effective antibiotic was cold hard revenge. Savage. Spiteful. Unforgiving. Just like with Annabel. Brutal. Callous. Satisfying. Empty. Pointless. Excessive. It appealed to his twisted and dark sense of humor.

They had to pay for what they did to me.

What started months ago was finally over. His task, his oath was fulfilled. The people who ruled Seattle with an iron fist were now dead. And that was all because of him.

But why do I feel so empty?

The wind that howled like a wolf in the night of the full moon calmed down, replaced by a stillness of a winter night. Snowflakes fell down in a slow motion, and Ben shivered, suddenly feeling the cold he was so resistant to. He felt everything, every cut, every burn, every missing fingernail and toenail and a finger of the right hand. Every memory, thought and days that were lost. The pistol fell out from his hand, landing in the snow.

They're dead, a true realization came through. They're all dead because of me. There were children among the corpses. A boy, leaning onto his mother, was lying motionless in front of him. His face looked so peaceful, as if he was sleeping. He hadn't seen him before, but now he couldn't take his eyes off of him. Snowflakes carefully fell downwards, providing a blanket of cold for his lifeless body. The words his father said a long time ago repeated over and over in his head. Let your mercy embrace everything.

Mercy? I'm sorry father, but I couldn't.

He accepted what he had done. Voices in his head. To Ben, they felt like different personalities altogether, and he had to try his hardest to shut them down. It's over now, he thought tiredly and looked away from the body. They're dead, and they're not coming back. I'm not one to blame. This wicked world is to blame.

A man approached him, a former prisoner. He was very tall and muscular, although skinnier because he was starved. His face looked sick and bony, but he had that certain strength in his eyes. Compared to others, he seemed more sane and stable.

"Soldiers are dead. Infected too. We didn't kill those who surrendered. A few others tried. I ended them." he explained, his voice as deep as a canyon, and his words slow. Ben realized that was the first time he heard the giant from the prison speak, starting to think we has actually a mute.

He nodded to the giant. "You did good. What's your name?"

"They call me Big Paul."

"I can see why, Big Paul." Ben said and smiled. The moonlight reflected the structure of Big Paul's face, and he seemed even scarier than he already was. He was towering over Ben, who, compared to him, looked like a child. And when you add a dark full beard and long uncut hair, he looked like a barbarian from one of those comics Ben used to read when he was younger. His presence was enormous, and the true meaning of strength radiated outwards from him.

"You freed us from their torment." Big Paul said, gazing around himself at the corpses, frowning upon seeing dead children. He held a bloody cleaver. "We owe you our lives. You led us to this victory. Will you lead us again?"

Lead them. Make your own world. Tear this one apart!, the voice in his head ordered. And he felt that urge. The urge to open up and give in to what the voice in his head was saying, aware of the consequences that would follow. He wanted it so badly. Then he would be completely free, with the people behind him, people he led, even if they were crazy. But still, even after everything, months of torture and hell, there was something he wanted even more. Even his revenge wasn't important anymore. He killed Annabel and Isaac. Connor could live for all he cared. After all, the brute was just a pawn in a bigger game. Ben looked up at the sky, gazing at the countless stars that shone bright in the darkness that swallowed the world.

"We could stay here and make the city ours or we could go to Santa Barbara, to that friend of yours."

Friend, huh? Ellie would've killed me if I ever called Abby my friend.

Ben shook his head, "I can't lead you, Big Paul."

I'm not a leader. I'm just a guy.

"What will you do, then?" the giant asked. "Where will you go?

Looking up at the sky, he saw the same moon floating there. It was the same moon from yesterday, and the day before. The same moon floated above a certain settlement in the Wyoming mountains. He was tired, so tired.

Ellie…

His lips curled into a sad smile, "Home, Big Paul. I'll go home."

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