THE CHOSEN ONES — PART 4
Even with the apocalypse underway and a lot of shit under his belt, Troy'd never been in this position before, never at the receiving end of what was supposed to be burdened with fear.
He absorbed Nick's advice and fixed a mistrustful look at the door as it swung open. He hadn't made it back to his spot. Fact that seemed to go unnoticed by the people who'd come in and fussed over Nick.
It took everything in Troy not to drive himself to his feet and ram them when he saw them inject Nick. Sure, Troy'd get one or two and it would hurt, but his hands were still tied and Nick appeared to be out of it completely.
No use.
He wouldn't be able to back Troy up.
Troy shook when the woman bent to check his restraints, not out of fear as Katie had done for most the day, but out of pure rage and a want to kill so strong it was practically blinding.
She muttered condescending praise and then left with her men and Nick.
The instant the door snapped shut behind them, Troy started to work on his wrists. He rolled onto his side, trying to contort his legs — his too long legs — through the loops created by his arms like a monkey, until eventually they were in front of him and he was able to grip the strip with his teeth and tighten it further.
It hurt like a bitch. Pain was just pain, though, once he was able to switch himself off from it and tune it out, it was easy to navigate around it and control.
Thankfully, Jeremiah had taught him that from an early age. One of the few useful life skills he'd gifted his black sheep son.
The rest was even harder, and for a time, Troy was sure his strength wasn't up to sniff; and then the hard plastic gave, snapping with a release that was adrenaline-charged and had him thank his friend in murmured prayer.
Troy jumped to his feet and peered out of the side of the grimy window. He didn't see Nick as he'd hoped and there only appeared to be one vehicle left. He could hear two voices outside but could only make them out partially as they spoke about what was to come and what was expected of the ritual's success once they'd cleaned up loose ends. Troy guessed they meant him. He was the loose end – the distraction.
He shifted from the window with a low growl, being careful not to shake the trailer or make noise as he moved around the room in search of a weapon with which to defend himself.
They'd taken his.
Before long, Troy dismissed the notion and opted to head out back, popping the latch on a window above an unkempt double bed at the back of the trailer facing toward the forest. He patiently waited to hear if they'd heard him, and then slipped out into the dirt, dropping into an immediate crouch that hurt his knee, crawling as he'd done before in search of the rifle he'd tucked beneath one of the trailers.
He hadn't been probing very long when an angry voice called out, "He's gone!"
"How the fuck can he be gone?!"
"The fuck must I know? Find him!"
Troy closed a hand around his rifle and smiled to himself maliciously as he crawled beneath the body of the trailer, undisturbed by what was probably housed under there. From his vantage point and as they rushed back and forth between the trailers, he could see that there was only two of them. And a dog. A Fido that they tried to use like a bloodhound but had no scent to follow.
Troy drew the .50 sniper rifle beneath his chin and zeroed in one of the men's ankles. He didn't hesitate to pull the trigger.
It blew as if it had never been part of the man's body and his scream tore through the air, stripping the silence, sending the dog he'd been holding onto in a frenzied howl of terror.
"Jesus Christ!" his companion yelled, the shock of his face unseen, his knees and legs barreling to grab his mate in a weak attempt to pull him to safety or where he suspected the bullet might have come from.
Troy pulled the trigger again, indifferent as he watched the second man's knee explode. Like the dog, the man howled, crying so long and so hard that if there were dead in the area Troy expected them to be on their way. Only the man didn't think like that and instead of thinking rationally began to shoot wildly.
Troy waited it out. The dog had run away.
When Troy heard the distinct click-click-click of an empty clip, he shuffled to the back of the trailer where he'd crawled in and slowly crept toward the two, rifle raised and centered on their chests.
The first one he'd shot had his gun up, while the other tried to reload. Troy pulled the trigger again and the first man's head exploded like a ripe melon. The second cursed and his features paled, his fingers fumbling to free up the clip on his gun. Troy rushed toward him, delivering a hard kick to his hand, sending the gun he'd been clutching skittering into the dirt.
Troy'd established that there wasn't anyone else with them but he immediately crouched anyway, weary that maybe the commotion would bring the sect back from wherever they'd run off to. Only no one else came.
"Where'd they take my friend?!" Troy hissed.
"Fuck you!"
Troy rose up on his haunches just enough to point the barrel of the rifle against the side of the man's temple, forcing him to look at his partner's splattered brains, practically pushing his nose into it like a disobedient dog who'd done his do on the carpet.
"You want to end up like that?"
The man went stiff and Troy let him go just enough to see the look of contempt in his eyes.
"Go fuck yourself!" the man spat.
Why are people just unwilling to cooperate today?
Without thought or any cause for turning this into some stupid verbal debate and battle of wills, Troy flipped the gun and brought it down on the man's mangled leg like a club repeatedly.
Nick was gradually surfacing from the depth of some dreamless nothingness, awareness of his body being numb and cold seeping into him with every passing second. His pulse was beating in his temples, the light was too bright, even though he saw there was already pink in the sky shining through the canopies. The earthy smell of the forest soil and plants seeped into his nostrils, somehow becoming too strong. He tried to sit up, but his head swam dangerously. He lay back down, waiting it out. He felt biblically tired. As though there was not a moment in a month that he sat or lay down. Not a minute of sleep or rest. His head felt swollen and full of cotton candy, thick and sticky.
A branch cracked somewhere, making him jump. The sudden shock cleared his mind a little bit, spurring the thinking. This had to be it. The hunt. The final stage for him. There was an endless forest around him, no gaps, no clearings. Just an endless army of trees surrounded by bushes and shrubs and ferns.
Another branch cracked. Nick thought he heard a cough.
He had to move. He had to find a weapon.
A brief survey of the ground didn't bring him any good news. There were no sticks good enough, no rocks, nothing. He scrambled to his feet, staggered a few steps, wincing at how a twig snapped under his foot. He picked a direction and started walking. The tip of his shoe caught between some roots, almost sending him down on his fours. He balanced – barely – his arms flailing, and then he saw something that froze the blood in his veins.
It caught the evening light, gleaming silver amidst the fallen leaves. A bear trap.
They had put out bear traps. They had prepared the hunting grounds.
Swallowing hard, Nick turned to see a dog. It came out of nowhere behind him. It stopped, barked, then growled at him, its head lowering like that of an angry wolf. Nick slowly backed away and around the trap; the dog crept forward, getting angrier. There were people hurrying there. Nick could hear them coming. He had no time to linger, he had to run.
He jerked, pretending to be choosing a moment to dash away, and the dog barked, snarling, the drool dripping from the bared fangs.
He drew in a slow breath, his heart thrashing in his throat, and bolted. He didn't look back, but the metal snap and loud, panicked yapping said all he needed to know. He won this small round.
The next ones would only get harder.
Nick picked up his pace to put as much distance between himself and the voices behind him as possible.
They tried to make Alicia sit down once back inside the tent, but she refused, shaking their hands off her with an air of annoyance. Everything felt off, weird, like tiny electrical currents running through her body at random with no predictable pattern.
No one seemed to mind her wandering, but everyone else continued to stand as well, guarding, watching.
"What does it feel like?" the brunette girl asked, her eyes wide.
Alicia didn't know what 'it' was but felt as though she was the one supposed to provide answers.
"The floor is waves," Alicia murmured, gesturing to the ground because it seemed important that everyone understood. The waves were making her walk funny. She was uncertain where it was safe to plant her feet. No one else had the same problem.
"She is somewhere between our world and the next," a familiar voice said. They all turned to the entrance to look at who had just arrived. It was the older lady from before, the one with the deceivingly kind eyes. The leader.
She approached Alicia slowly, arms outstretched as though they were old friends about to embrace. Alicia backed away, lightly colliding with the makeshift altar in the center of the room. It was very pretty. And the fabric covering it was soft. She ran her hands over it, exploring, picked up one of the flowers, rubbed it between her hands. Nothing looked like how it was supposed to. Everything was bright and shiny, such vivid colors it was overwhelming to look at.
Alicia grabbed one of the red apples.
"Don't do that," someone warned, but the Leader held up her hand to still them, smiling at the Clark girl, encouraging.
"It's okay."
Alicia took a bite. The crunchy sound reverberated through her skull, making her feel as though she was chewing gravel. But the taste… It was glorious. She had never tasted anything so sweet. She ate greedily, moaning her enjoyment until the fruit, much like Nick's face earlier, darkened and changed. It rotted before her very eyes, squishy and worm-infested.
Alicia gasped in horror and let it fall to the ground. And then her thoughts were back on Nick. Nick. Nick. Everything was Nick.
They were going to kill him. They were going to kill her brother. And she had done nothing to stop them.
She was crying again, without sound, tears running freely down her cheek as she stared at the altar in front of her. At the flowers that were wilting, the rotten apples… and that shiny, sharp knife.
She snatched it and everyone around her tensed noticeably. Some looked angry. Others scared. They were all holding their hands out as if to soothe her, as if they were trying to talk her off a ledge. Alicia didn't like how they were closing in on her, so she brought the knife to her own throat, pressing it to the skin.
Everyone froze.
"I want Nick," she said, her voice trembling a little. "I want my brother."
"Child, put the knife down," the Leader said calmly. "Please, don't hurt yourself."
The men from outside had come in. They looked confused, not knowing where to point their weapons. The leader waved them down and they lowered their guns.
"I. Want. My. Brother," Alicia repeated, trying to focus her gaze on the Leader, but her eyes refused to fully cooperate.
The Leader nodded.
"Alright," she said. She was the only one moving now, and she did so very slowly, cautiously. "The spirits will lead you to him. Do you feel them? Hear them speak to you?"
Alicia frowned, searching her own senses. She felt something, for sure. But she didn't know what. And she heard… She only heard green.
"Do you see them?" The Leader gestured to the air around them and Alicia's gaze followed her movements, observing carefully.
And there they were. Like tiny fireworks without the frightening sounds. Colors sparkling in beautiful displays all around, dancing, twirling, soaring like birds.
Alicia smiled, then laughed, in awe at the near intolerable beauty the spirits were gifting her. "I see–"
The woman started forward suddenly, and Alicia's heart jumped in fright. The knife slid away from her throat and she held it out like a sword, burying it in the Leader's chest as the woman made to wrap her arms around Alicia. Instead, she stilled. As did Alicia. They stared at each other, both equally surprised, equally shocked. Blood soaked the front of Alicia's dress, unpleasantly warm against her skin.
Then the woman fell.
Everything happened very quickly. People burst forward to tend to their fallen Leader. Someone shoved Alicia out of the way and she landed hard on her side. It should have hurt her ribs, but it didn't. She didn't feel any pain at all.
Still clutching the knife in one hand, Alicia scurried away, drawing her knees to her chest as she watched people run to and fro the wounded woman, the mere chaos of it all making her head spin.
Troy was breathless when he stopped abusing the stranger's leg, a limb tenderized and hanging on by no more than bone. Troy had a lot of rage to work off.
"That doesn't look good," he reprimanded unsympathetically, turning the gun in his arms again, letting the handle rest on the ground between his knees like a crutch. The man stunk as he'd vomited on himself.
"Where. Are. My. Friends," Troy repeated and gripped the man's chin, providing him with a slap when his eyes rolled. The tears were falling and the prisoner was shuddering as he tried to breathe.
"F-fuck y-you," he choked out pathetically.
All things considered, Troy had to give it to him. The man had endured a lot and was still trying to hang tough. Troy lowered a hand to the man's leg and slipped his fingers into the open wound, ripping another scream from his victim.
"Oh, G-God! P-Please s-stop!"
Troy didn't and wouldn't until the guy gave him the information that he needed.
"T-They're a-at t-the r-red t-tent!"
"Red tent?" Troy repeated, stopping his assault but refraining from removing his fingers buried inside.
"Y-yeah," the man added, speaking past the tears and crack in his voice.
"Where can I find that?"
The man gazed at his broken leg and at Troy's bloodied fingers buried in the ugly gash. Troy's lips turned down in nonphysical gesture of a shrug and he removed them, wiggling his fingers in playful supplication.
"I-It's in the forest. Twenty minutes d-drive from h-here," the man stated, calming down, his own hand moving to apply pressure to the limb above the wound. He looked pallid and close to death.
"East? West?"
"South," he murmured, unable to keep from crying.
Troy eased the strap of the rifle back onto his shoulder, undid the belt on the man's pants, earning a look of fear and then confusion as he wrapped it around the tortured leg above the pus of flesh to stave the blood flow. The man winced and expelled another sound of pain as Troy secured the hook. When done, Troy broke away from him to retrieve their weapons and the bullets the stranger dropped during his struggle to reload. He slipped them into the gun, filling the magazine, sliding it into his pocket and then grabbed a hold of the man to hoist him off the ground. The man screamed at the sudden movement, begging Troy to stop, hobbling on one leg as Troy dragged him toward the awaiting vehicle and dumped him into the passenger seat.
The poor bastard looked ready to pass out.
"Hang on just a bit longer, bud," Troy ordered, patting him at the cheek roughly, shifting his legs clear of the door. The man's eyelids fluttered, his head lolled and whatever was still in his stomach came out in a gross swash of chunks.
Troy moved to the driver's side and set the rifle down in the middle against the man's leg. The man didn't have enough strength to use it against Troy and even if he did get his hands on the trigger, there would be nothing much he could do with it that would make a dent.
Troy drove around the trailer, past the dog cowering beneath it in much the same fashion he himself had earlier, and headed for the weapons he'd hidden in the trees.
They were still there as the group hadn't gone up that far.
Troy threw them in the backseat, gave the man another nudge and demanded him to stay awake, and then followed his whispered and broken directions to the tent.
The thickness of the forest turned out to be illusory. Very short-lived. Soon enough Nick ran out to a vast opening with just shrubs. He bent over, catching his breath, half wishing to just drop dead already rather than having to endure so much pain with every gasp of air.
It seemed to be a slope. He was at the base of the mountain. He estimated the lake could be on the other side of it. He couldn't be sure, but there was no time to dwell of guessing games. He had to move.
What wouldn't he give for one infected! If they had more dogs, it would have helped. If not – who knew, it could help, anyway.
He sucked in another meek breath and forced himself to run. It was getting harder up the slope, and the dust in his wake was reluctant to settle. He had to pick his steps and be careful to be closer to bigger bushes in case he needed to drop down and still.
And soon enough, he had to. One of the hunters ran out and surveyed the slope. Nick stilled on the ground, barely breathing. His pulse was so loud and nauseating in his very skull he thought he could pass out or get a nosebleed. The hunter started toward him, still looking around. The sun was setting to the west and didn't obscure his vision. He had a handgun on his belt, as well as a knife. But it was a crossbow cocked in his hands. Some weird instinct told Nick he wasn't aiming to kill him with one shot. They had some nastier plans. It was bad.
The bright side – if you could call it that – was that it was not a gun. And reloading took time. Nick had to dodge just one bolt, and then… Then, maybe…
The hunter crept closer, holding the weapon ready. His trajectory went past Nick with just some stupid few yards. Just a few yards of hope he wouldn't notice his prey.
He did.
Adrenaline shot up Nick's head, and he didn't know how he rolled out of the shot. He felt it wheeze past his side, touching his shirt. Nick flung himself at the hunter before he put the next bolt in. Although, the man was quick. Nick had to give it to him. He was yelling something, but blood was rushing in Nick's ears too loudly to make out anything other than white noise.
Nick socked him one in the jaw, then yanked the knife out of his sheath. The man swung his crossbow, catching Nick in the side of the head. Nick went down against the shrubs, seeing stars of sparkling pain.
High on adrenaline and despair, Nick saw the man's legs and dashed for them like a snake across the dusty ground, stabbing the knife into his calf.
The man cried out; Nick yanked the blade out and into the man's ribs. The hunter made a gurgling sound, dropping the hand with the crossbow, but gripping it still as he slumped against a bush.
Nick twisted the knife, pinning him down, then stabbed him in the chest. The man's eyes bulged; he emitted a wheeze with some weird questioning tone, and stilled.
Ignoring exhaustion, Nick pulled him off the bush and to the ground between the shrubs. He put on the hunter's belt, sheathed the knife, and tried the crossbow. It wasn't too heavy, but Nick didn't need to carry it around. He unclipped the arrows and continued up the slope.
Fighting the protesting pains all over his body and the agony in his chest, his mind went to Alicia. Nick wished that whatever they planned for her wouldn't start before the hunt was over. But he couldn't know it.
He shoved the arrows in one of the thicker bushes on his way up.
No one was paying attention to Alicia anymore. Even the men with the guns had rushed to their leader's side and left the entrance completely unguarded. It felt like a trick. Like someone would strike her down if she dared to try and make it outside. But Alicia made a dash for it, anyway. Everything was so loud inside the tent, there was shouting, crying. So suffocating she couldn't stand it.
She pushed herself off the ground and ran for the door.
Outside the air was cool and soothing. She breathed it in greedily and stumbled into the dark forest. She didn't run anymore, even if she felt she was supposed to. Because all of a sudden moving her legs became increasingly difficult. Like wading through water.
Alicia stopped and looked around, surveying her surroundings in the dark. The marquee was close. She could see it clearly from where she stood. But no one had yet emerged from it.
The knife was still clutched in her hand. She tried to let it go, but couldn't. Her fingers had stopped working. There was blood on her dress and on her arm. Lots of it. She reached out to touch it, smearing the crimson substance onto her skin. It was so pretty. In the dark it looked almost black. Shimmering with tiny sparkles. Like the night sky itself.
Her head fell back so she could admire the stars up above. They twinkled, winking down at her. She winked back. It was the polite thing to do.
"Drop the fucking knife!"
She turned to face the owner of the voice. It was one of the men from the tent. He looked angry. There was blood on his clothes as well. But they didn't sparkle. His gun was aiming at her legs. They always aimed at her legs. They didn't want her to die. Yet.
"I can't," she said truthfully, shaking her hand experimentally. Her fingers would budge.
He continued to aim his weapon her way as he closed in on her, and when he was close enough he grabbed her wrist with his free hand, squeezing so hard she thought her bones would break.
Like magic, her fingers unfurled and the knife fell to the forest floor.
He huffed a sigh of relief and locked his arms around her, hauling her back towards the tent with the gun pressed to her side. It seemed playtime was over.
Inside, the chaos had subsided. The Leader was propped up against a mountain of pillows, one hand clutching the place where her knife had hit her. It looked more like her shoulder than chest now. Someone had patched her up.
Despite everything, she was still smiling.
"The spirits are testing us," she said. "And we will be found worthy."
This time Alicia was forced onto the altar, and handcuffs fastened to the table-legs themselves were clasped around her wrists and ankles, keeping her prisoner. She didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit.
They were fifteen minutes into the drive and on the homestretch to this infamous red tent when Troy's prisoner faded out for the final time. He'd been in and out of unconsciousness the entire way, unable to take the jostling of the dirt road despite Troy's feeble attempts to keep him alert.
"Dude!" Troy yelled, pulling the car over just a couple of miles shy of the bend on the corner the man told him he'd have to veer off of. That's when it gets tricky, he'd said. "Wake up!"
Troy prodded him in the shoulder, pressed two fingers to his pulse and then punched him for extra measure, his head bouncing off the window, settling at an angle that would be killer on his neck if he wasn't dead.
Troy climbed out of the car, skimming the setting to make sure none of the thirty or so sect followers were lurking in the bushes or trees. The car wasn't so much a problem as Troy himself was. They were expecting these two, after all.
He opened the passenger door and yanked the body the rest of the way out and away from the wheels to roll it down the small incline into the foliage below.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Until he wakes up.
Who knew, maybe he'd be of some use, after all – eventually.
Not that Troy had twenty minutes to wait.
Nick's victim's body wasn't out of his sight before he was out of breath and in need of another break. Nick slipped on the ground, his legs crossed, horribly tempted to just lie down right there and let himself drift off to whatever fate there was after he did it. There was Alicia to find, and Troy, but there was also his body that was completely done with all his shit and wanted to pass out, period.
He also would kill for a sip of water. There was nothing of the sorts around, but if his estimation was right, on the other side of this stupidly high mountain, there might be water. Even if it was the lake he would have to get to. There was also the cabin. Henry.
He forced himself to get up. It was the hardest thing he had done that day. In the corner of his vision, there was something, and he sought it out.
Dust. A puff of dust behind the trees down at the base of the mountain he was trying to climb. It had to be a car. Nick looked back, up toward the top that had been his aim, then back down at the car. The odds were it belonged to the very people he was running from. He'd killed their dog, and another one of them, and they just might be done with his shit same way his body was refusing to follow orders. They might be starting to cheat the whole hunt idea with arrows and tracking. Nick was barely able to outrun a person, let alone a dog. And if it was a car, he could as well lie down under its tires.
The dust was settling. Seemed like the car had stopped. Nick began to walk down. It was blissfully easier, and he barely cared if they would spot and kill him. He relied on pure luck if he had any left about him. Being killed would also count for that.
Seeing no other than Troy at the car shocked Nick. He'd been doubting his sanity for a while now, but this was truly too lucky to be real. Nick trotted down the rest of the way – he hadn't done much progress up the slope, anyway – and raised his hands when Troy turned and almost pulled his gun on Nick.
"Hey, hey, it's me!" Nick bent to catch his breath, and looked at the body by Troy's feet. "Who's your friend?"
"One of the crazies. He was giving me directions to find you guys. He died." Troy peered over Nick's shoulder as he bent over, almost hopeful that his sister was behind him. "Didn't manage to escape with Alicia this time, huh?"
Unfortunate.
"Anyone else out there?" Troy asked retrieving his rifle, scanning the hillside. He didn't immediately see anyone but the hairs on the back of his neck were on end.
An instinctive warning that they could be watched from somewhere.
Troy gently nudged Nick toward the side of the car, where at least if they started shooting he'd be shielded by the frame.
Nick propped a hand against the hood of the car, taking a wary gander at the body – there was no wounds on his head – and back at Troy.
"There's a hunting party on my tail. I killed one, but there are many. I haven't seen Alicia. Do you know where she is?"
"She's at the red tent. Unless that's where you were running from? My guide only managed to get this far but he said it would lead off the corner of the road into the left."
Troy removed the gun with the newly packed clip and shoved it into Nick's free hand.
"If it moves, you shoot it. They don't give a shit about your life, Nick, and they don't listen to reason. Don't bother trying to talk them down. Just take care of it. Take care of Alicia."
Troy scuttled away from his side and moved to the back of the car to grab the weapons bag. Nick looked unsteady on his feet and Troy knew he could do with water, but if people were, in fact, after him, there wasn't time for that.
He needed to be vigilant and focused.
They both did.
Troy removed the loose rifle bullets and slipped them into his pocket, observing that they were the last and that he was going to have to find more.
The red tent.
It sounded ominous and just as fucked up as Nick's whole day was. He didn't want to get into associations and shoved the thought away.
He put the gun on the hood, unbuckled the belt with another one and the knife. After a moment's consideration, Nick pulled the gun from the belt, checked the ammo, and tucked it into the waistband on his back, covering it with the shirt.
"It's a big forest, we can wander here for a week and never come across any tent," he said. "She doesn't have a week. And they know where it is. I'll have them take me there, and you can follow."
Nick squeezed Troy's arm in a mute thanks, and started walking back the way he came. Back to where he thought the hunters were searching for him.
Troy knew time was of the essence and that it was the smart move to have the crazies lead them where they needed to go, but why had Nick been running to begin with? Had he not been at the tent? Did he escape or was this all part of their ritualistic game? How could he be sure they wouldn't just kill him?
Troy fought down the impulse to call out to him, to get him to stop and think about what he was doing, and then moved to his haunches next to the car, forcing himself to trust that Nick knew was he was doing. He sat with his back against the frame, the rifle poised at his side so he could keep an eye on his friend through the scope.
As soon as Nick was back among the trees, he felt he was going up a slope. He didn't notice that before, when he was running for his life, but could appreciate now that it was easier to do going down.
Now, however, it meant more effort from his body that was already screaming and begging to stop.
One of the hunters came out of the bushes, his crossbow trained on the boy. It happened too fast for Nick's tired brain to register properly, and it was just like they appeared in magic shows – out of nothing. At the same time, one more was behind him. In the back of Nick's mind, it occurred to him they were combing the forest in a line, possibly to squeeze him in the middle of a circle.
Nick dove sideways and rolled, dozens of painful firecrackers exploding in his bones and muscles as he did. An arrow wheezed and hit something in the spot where he was, either a tree or the ground. Nick pulled his gun, aimed without thinking at the figure behind him, and fired. It hit the man in the chest with a small red explosion. The man gasped and started falling back.
Nick turned to the other one, and he was already shooting his crossbow. Nick had no time to move, just jerk a little sideways as though struck by an invisible fist. The arrow cut a deep gash in his shoulder as it wheezed by. Nick fired; the man dropped the crossbow, gripping his stomach, slumping to his knees.
The one Nick shot first seemed still where he lay, so Nick went to the second one. The man trembled, his face sweaty. He was in his early twenties, and it was a damn shame. The same vision reflected in his eyes as it was in the women Nick saw in the trailer with Alicia: Nick was the rabid beast in need to be put down, not them.
"You… won't get away," the guy grunted, and flashed a surprising bloodthirsty smile. "They'll… get you… and her… it was… promised."
Nick pulled his knife out and stabbed it in his chest.
The guy's eyes bulged, he gurgled, blood spilling into his mouth and spattering his lips. Nick pushed him to fall on his back; he slipped off the blade as he did. He sobbed once, twice, and stilled.
Refusing to dwell on any thoughts, too tired to do it, anyway, Nick picked up his crossbow with four bolts, then took more from the other dead fella. Nick left the guns for Troy to get if he followed, and trotted off, further toward where he ran from an hour ago. He thought of the guy he killed on the slope. He must be up by now. Nick should have told Troy about him, but on the other hand, there was enough space between them for Troy to see him first.
It wasn't long before Nick was surrounded, and before Troy could comprehend what his friend was doing, Nick rolled and shot someone. Then another. Troy had no idea when to mediate and before he could give into the instinct to floor the guy who'd nicked Clark with the arrow, Nick had taken care of it himself.
Only, if Troy didn't know any better, he'd have thought Nick was playing with them.
Troy glanced behind him to make sure none of these so-called hunters had spotted the vehicle and decided to investigate why it was parked in the middle of the road unattended. That would have been the smart thing to do – the practical thing – in a war zone. Troy assumed that Nick heading back toward them threw everyone off guard.
Troy followed after him and kept at a safe distance to not be spotted.
More men appeared from the treeline to cut Nick off, stepping into the fray like gutless cockroaches. Troy could see the satisfaction on their faces, the victory, and toyed with the idea of wiping it off their mugs. He knew that if he pulled his trigger, the noise from his gun was far greater than that of a simple handgun and that if they were, in fact, close to the red tent, they'd give themselves away.
Although it killed him, Troy waited to see if Nick could handle them and then collected the weapons left behind on the two bodies he'd tended to first. Both were dead and would be back in less than twenty if Troy's calculations were correct; he could already hear another whining nearby like a hungry dog.
He was being drawn by the gunfire.
After a quick glance at the scenery at his feet and the singular figure trying to navigate the mountain, it wasn't hard to figure out what Nick was trying to do and why he'd intentionally avoided the final killing blow.
He was raising himself an army.
Troy smirked with pleasure at the realization, raised his gun again and continued on, sticking close to the trees once it started becoming denser and easier to hide.
While Nick waited for the next hunter to find his way to him, he caught his breath a little and studied the crossbow. It wasn't too hard to shoot and hit the target - not much harder than a rifle, he imagined - but the reloading was what got the previous men he had killed. Nick had one shot with each he was going to meet. He couldn't afford to screw it up.
He did a bit, however, hitting the next man in the right shoulder. The hunter cried out, but didn't drop his crossbow and took aim, grimacing as he did.
Nick dropped his and pulled the gun, ducking on one knee. The bolt went over his head; his bullet left the man's intact, busting in his solar plexus in a splash of red.
The man was still alive when Nick came up to him, trying to say something. Nick didn't extend the courtesy to listen, stabbing him dead in the heart.
His legs were shaking, threatening to give in when Nick straightened up and looked at the bloodied knife.
So tired. So tired he felt a bit of envy for the fallen men. They could rest. They didn't care. They were done.
Nick made to yank the arrow out, but then didn't. If he saw the blood on it, he was going to be sick.
He picked up his claimed crossbow and turned to go... and froze.
Another dog was barking, calling out to its human masters where to find him.
Nick's hand weighed a ton when he produced the gun. He hated it. Hated himself. Hated the dog that had to come here and added poison to his already impossibly shitty day.
When it darted for him, Nick took it down and walked by, his jaw aching as he tightened it.
As easy as it was to hide, it wasn't easy to stay that way. Nick was fighting but he was taking a lot of strain and it would only take one person with extra strength to take him down for good.
If that was their aim.
Troy couldn't tell at this point. Nick wasn't giving him the space to figure it out and they weren't holding their punches.
Even so and despite the numbers, he was doing a decent job. Not that Troy was shocked. He'd noticed that potential in Nick a long time ago. Even if Nick downplayed it and pretended that it wasn't there.
'It's not a negative, Nick, poets kill the same as any other.'
When he put down the dog and started moving again, Troy cast a look behind him to make sure the dead that had been trying to waddle his way up the incline was still trying. And he was. Only now he had company. Hm. That was new and definitely faster than most.
Maybe it's because they were thinner?
Troy shook off the urge to dissect, the macabre interest, and started after Nick again, grabbing a handful of rocks and anything with some weight to throw at the dead, forcing them to stay in tight and in motion.
Nick took a bit to the right when he felt the slope was getting tougher. Perhaps that red tent was on the top, or somewhere close to it, which he doubted. They had plenty of time to find the perfect spots, and he was certain they had.
He found a nice hiding spot behind a thick, dry, fallen tree and allowed himself to crouch behind it waiting for the footfalls to come closer. There were two of them, conversing in hushed voices. He didn't hear what they talked about, nor cared much. It was to his advantage that they didn't seem to spot him yet. It was a bit far for a crossbow, he presumed as he aimed, but he had little to no choice in the matter. He wasn't going to come out before at least one went down.
A part of him was scared he couldn't force himself to get up at all. He was pushing his limits even before he went back in his tracks after meeting Troy.
His arrow managed to pierce the hunter's side. He stared down at it, bewildered, automatically gripping it to pull out, but then the pain caught up, and he uttered a cry of mixed hurt and anger. The other one's eyes had already settled on the tree Nick was hiding by when Nick reloaded and raised the crossbow again.
The hunter shot first; Nick jerked sideways, almost falling on his ass. The arrow sliced another gash in his already bleeding shoulder, maybe deeper this time. It was like a red-hot rod pressed to his skin. Nick hissed and raised the weapon, aiming while the man reloaded. He was quicker, more experienced.
Nick's bolt missed entirely, and the hunter was already cocking his crossbow to shoot. Nick rolled behind the tree, pulling the gun. He probably had one or two bullets left, but that wasn't the worst part. It was the sound. However, at this moment, the odds of not doing it were worse.
Nick lay on his back along the trunk, waiting. The crossbow emerged, the hunter's face sweaty and red with adrenaline and impending triumph. Nick's first bullet hit the weapon in the man's hands, sending the arrow wheezing past Nick's temple in half an inch. Nick's second shot hit under his throat.
The man made a "gah" sound and went down.
Nick dropped his head, willing himself to get up. He felt like he was about to pass out.
There were more coming, he practically felt it in the ground beneath him. He could hear the steps, the voices, even the dogs barking, like it was some royal hunt and somehow the times had crossed in this damn forest under the rapidly darkening sky. The rational part of him knew it was not real. But it spurred him up.
Nick peeked around the trunk, and immediately an arrow struck the wood next to his face, splinters flying. When he rose from the crouch, the wounded man sitting against a tree emitted an exasperated sound. But Nick could see he was scared to die. He knew this was the end of the road, and his shots missed. He had no energy to reload, his hand still squeezing the trigger on the crossbow, his other pressed to the wound around the arrow sticking from his side. Blood oozing into the white sweatshirt.
"You son of a whore," he said through gritted teeth. "You'll die, they'll catch you and your blood will spill all over her, and you'll be sorr—"
The shot was deafening. It thundered in Nick's skull long after his eyes rolled. Nick tossed the gun. His crossbow was left lying behind the fallen tree. Nick didn't need them, anymore.
The next clearing, he remembered. The dead dog still lay caught in the bear trap. He had no time, there were footfalls of at least two others somewhere close by.
Hissing with effort, Nick pushed the trap jaws apart and shoved the dog's carcass away. He released the trap and dragged the dog into the bushes. Then picked a spot close to where the trap had been initially and lowered on his knees, pushing the trap apart again. He remembered from somewhere that those traps were supposed to just hold the animal. Either way, his plan was flawed and rotten, but the only one he had.
Gritting his teeth as he held the trap open, Nick put his leg in, and as gingerly as he could, he let the trap close. The metal teeth pressed painfully into his calf, but it was nothing compared to what would have happened if he stepped into an armed one.
He settled on the ground and cried out faking pain. Partially, it wasn't really faking.
It was a hunter in his thirties who came out to see him. He aimed the crossbow at Nick approaching, a gloating grin stretching over his face.
"Well, well, look at that," he teased, finally cocking the crossbow to his shoulder aiming up. A small comber of relief brushed through Nick. "Not so smart now, are you? Not so fast, either. And know what? I got my prize."
He crouched, gripping at the trap's jaws, then looked Nick in the eye, his smile slipped off. He pushed the trap halves into his leg slowly, enjoying Nick's pained grimace.
"If you make me shoot you and lose my clean win, I'll make sure you regret being born before you die, you got it?"
"Take it off, I won't run," Nick grunted honestly. "I can't run anymore."
"Good," the man said, and pushed the jaws open.
Nick barely faked the limp when the man led him, holding a blade to his back to sink it in his kidney if Nick jerked, his other hand gripping Nick's shirt on the scruff, pushing him forward. They met another hunter who seemed bitterly disappointed. He pulled a gun and shot three times up. A signal. He accompanied them back.
The altar beneath Alicia was uncomfortable. So were the metal cuffs around her wrists and ankles. But they were nothing compared to the horror of what was happening around her.
There were people here, not the unfamiliar ones from before, but others. People she knew. Had known. They were wandering the tent, looking at her with empty, hollow eyes, their skin peeling and rotten.
Matt. He was the first one she saw. She barely recognized him. His whole jaw was missing, his tongue hanging down his throat like a macabre dead slug.
And there was Travis, his stomach open, bowels pooling out of the gash on his abdomen.
Jake stalked in the background, a bullet wound oozing blood right between his eyes.
There were others too. The people from the cellar. Liza. Chris. Dad.
He was right by her side, staring down at her, his face crushed, his neck twisted in a horrible and impossible angle.
Alicia wept, trembling so violently the table itself shook.
When the women from before came to release her, when they brought her out of the tent and away from the dead, she was grateful.
There was a bonfire outside. Big and bright like the sun itself, and she marveled at how much beauty there still was in this world.
Then the Leader was in front of her again. She gave her the knife Alicia had hurt her with before. Someone had cleaned it. Alicia's fingers wrapped around its handle and she tried to follow the direction the Leader was gesturing. There were more men here now than there had been before. They were smiling at her, but their faces held no warmth.
There was truly a red tent. It looked ominous as hell. The same disappointment Nick read on the guards' faces. The three armed women also guarding the tent seemed happy. The fire was already tall and crackling loudly.
More women came out of the tent, all wearing white dresses that hinted on some medieval pagan style, there were red blotches on some. A spike of worry went through Nick's mind, especially when they led Alicia out. Her front was soaked in dried blood, but as she was led closer, Nick thought it was probably someone else's. Which was still bizarre.
Alicia seemed scared and disoriented. Not herself. Was it shock? Nick never saw her in a shock like that. But they had never been on a sacrifice before where they had to be the ones cut down.
When two young girls emerged from the tent leading a middle-aged woman, Nick realized whose blood it had been. Her shoulder was wrapped in some bloodstained fabric, but there was a blissful smile on her face when she saw him.
"Finally we get what we have been promised, my dear ones," she announced, gently pulling her arms from the girls' hold. She staggered a little, but her smile never faltered.
Nick realized her smile scared him more than all the hunters that had been trying to shoot him all this time. There was no space for any reasoning in that smile. It was the walking doom. No other truth than theirs would be allowed.
One of the women placed a knife in her hand. The handle was fancy, glistening with orange specks of fire raging behind Nick's back. A double-edged ceremonial dagger, no less.
Two women placed their hands on Alicia's shoulders, one of them wrapped a hand around his sister's wrist, guiding her hand to accept the knife the older woman who had to be the leader of this madness offered.
"Go ahead, child," the smiling leader said tenderly, stroking Alicia's hair. "Release him. Set him free and welcome the spirits. They will set you free."
"Oh god," Nick breathed, both scared and disgusted, as he watched Alicia's face, wondering if she even saw him, or knew who he was. Her face was a kaleidoscope of emotions that barely made sense to her mind.
"Go on," the Leader said once more and someone gently nudged Alicia toward one of the men. He wasn't smiling at all. He was scared. It was Nick.
She staggered towards him until she was right up close. No one stopped her. No one got in her way.
At first she was filled with elation at the sight of him, comforted, soothed, but… he looked awful. So tired, even worse than when she and Madison had hunted him down in the gutter after he'd ODed.
She started crying again, silently, and whispered: "Nick? Are you dead?"
Could he be? Was this all a trick? Were they just trying to break her heart?
Anger rose in her like a stoking fire, her expression changing from one of sorrow to pure hatred.
"Release him, child," the Leader called from behind her, her voice excited. "Do it now!"
Anticipation moved through the crowd like an electrical current as Alicia raised the knife. They were hungry. They wanted blood. And she'd give it to them.
Like before, she brought the blade to her own throat and turned to face the older woman, screaming her rage.
"Give me my brother! NOW!"
Watching Nick take care of everything and then set himself up to get caught made Troy feel helpless. Madison was bad and as Troy'd come to learn it was best just to pull the pin on her, but her son was revealing himself to be an entirely different class of viper. As he settled the bear trap around his ankle and played the damsel in distress, Troy genuinely felt pleased they were on the same side. Not that he hadn't before. Like a father witnessing his son's first homerun or a friend helping another friend get laid. Troy never had the chance to share in any of those moments but he assumed that, for the spectator, it felt oddly close to pride.
The dead groaned behind him and, for a moment, they tripped over one another like three babies. Not for the first time in as many months, Troy was forced to wonder what kind of sick joke the man upstairs was playing. How was it that these things, these clumsy bastards struggling to right themselves, teeth clamping at air in attempt to eat his flesh through inches of hollow space was somehow responsible for the downfall of humanity?
He rolled his eyes and pelted another stone in the middle of one of their foreheads.
Their frenzy started anew, giving them more energy, allowing them to grip at the uneven surface and to find a slight medium of traction as they chased him. Troy stayed one step ahead of them at all times, stopping when they struggled in part to help them up the rest of the way and to make sure they kept pace with Nick and his captors.
When he reached the outskirts of the red tent, he was only five minutes behind, six wasted stronger and Alicia was screaming, distracting the people circled around her like hyenas, most demanding that she set Nick free.
While Troy tried to get a decent look of what was happening, one of the wasted had shuffled up behind him and attempted to take him down. Troy brought up a knee and shoved him away, kicking him toward the back of the pack, watching as he sailed like superman and lost half of his face to the fine grit.
It didn't slow him down much.
Troy side-stepped the rest of the troop fluidly, no longer making racket as he did before, nudging them away when and if they got too close, letting them be taken by the noise coming from the mob like steady flowing tide.
They were no longer interested in Troy.
No sooner did one take a bite out of their first victim, no sooner did Troy slink to the ground and follow it up by putting a hole in one of the sect members, using the trees and the frenzy of the dead as a means to camouflage.
It wasn't just shock, Nick reckoned. The more he watched her closely, all the buzzing crowd of people falling away to the back of the scene, the more he saw she was on something. Something heavy. It didn't seem to be a pill, unless they found some LSD. He had no time to skim through options, however.
He didn't even have it in him to respond when she asked whether he was dead. Such horror and grief that reflected on her face, he had never seen in her before. It was so profound it scared him even more. He felt the air whoosh out of him as though he went down a rollercoaster loop. He only found his voice when she put the blade to her throat, threatening the women.
The smile dimmed on the leader's face, she raised her hands to calm Alicia, but Nick's sister was too deep into hysterics. She didn't see two guards behind her, and they twisted her knife-wielding hand away from her throat and turned her back to Nick.
His pulse jumped as he realized they were going to force her hand, and – high or not – it would stay with her if they succeeded. Whatever he would say now, though, would be lost in the haze or heard wrong. She looked too unfocused and shocked for him to hope for clear perception.
He drew in a sharp breath, wincing at the orange splash running across the blade like a sunlight blaze. The tip pricked his chest when the first scream pierced the evening, and the crowd worried like a stormy wave. The leader pulled Alicia away from Nick and closer to the tent as the white-dress women bunched around them like bodyguards.
One of Nick's guards rushed toward the screams; someone started shooting. The dead wheezed and roamed among the living, arms stretched and grabbing, teeth clattering and seeking flesh to sink in.
The man who stayed to keep Nick kicked his boot into the backs of Nick's knees, making him fall on them. The cold muzzle of his gun pressed into the side of his neck.
"What the fuck is this," he muttered, his hands shaking – either urged to take action, or out of fear. "What the fuck is this…"
Nick felt lightheaded. The fire blazing, all the screaming and shooting made his head hurt. The volume was shifting from low to loud in his head, and he felt sick. He felt tired. He felt like the reality was wobbling around him.
All Alicia knew was that the women were too close to her, making it hard to catch her breath. She was suffocating and needed to get away. She pushed against them but they didn't budge.
The Leader tried to wrap an arm around her and Alicia shook her off, slashing ahead of her with the knife still clutched in her grasp. The women broke ranks as the blade carved into flesh. Alicia couldn't tell which of them she had struck or how badly they were wounded but she didn't waste her chance at freeing herself, slipping through the newly open gap.
"Benjamin! Get her! Keep her safe!" The Leader shouted over the eruption of noise.
A new set of arms locked around Alicia from behind, hauling her away from the mass of people, one hand secured around her throat, the other peeling her fingers open and forcing her to relinquish the hold on the knife.
"Matthew, bring the boy! The ritual must be completed!" The Leader commanded again as the brute called Benjamin wrapped his other arm around Alicia and turned as if to defend her body with his from potential stray bullets.
There was chaos and blood everywhere.
A sight that Troy'd have reveled in in the past and absorbed to the fullest until he was drunk and giddy – only now the outcome was different. He'd never had anything to lose before.
Jake had rarely been involved in these scenarios.
Troy searched and found both his people amongst the mob, one of which got swallowed by a crowd of women who were weaponless, wide-eyed and acting like a human shield against the dead. The way they fought, smacking at the thrashing bodies trying to claw at their flesh, Troy could tell that, as a whole, they hadn't dealt with the wasted much and hadn't learnt their weaknesses.
Another advantage. However temporary. They couldn't all be idiots or that far gone into the insanity – someone – somehow was going to deliver a hit and the light was going to click on.
Troy focused, found Nick, and pulled the trigger, popping the man named Matthew's head like a zit. He waited a beat, made sure Nick was okay and wouldn't fall victim to one of Troy's cannibalistic soldiers, and then scrambled to his feet, reloading, using the trees as line-backers, keeping an eye on the leader and the grizzly bear holding Alicia.
The bordering dead turned to Troy, engrossed by the gunfire and its lingering energy.
Without pause Troy delivered a hard kick to his chest and sent him sprawling. The dead awkwardly scrambled to his feet and like a kid took immediate interest in the nearest attraction.
One of the girls who'd been caught by Alicia's flailing knife. She was gripping her forearm, trying to stave the bleeding and then she was screaming, bits of flesh being ripped from her neck and stomach with cruel desperation. Someone tried to save her, to shove the dead, and they, too, got caught, snared by this unfailing trap that was easily navigated like human dominos.
Troy raised the gun and prepared to kill the man holding Alicia captive when suddenly something or someone slammed into him, knocking the rifle from his hands and his body to the ground. Ignoring the pain, Troy scrambled forward on hands and knees and turned around to receive the person who'd tackled him again. Kicking and punching, using everything that was around from sand and rocks to fight dirty.
A shot rang right over Nick's head, exploding in echo inside his skull. The muzzle on his neck jerked and fell away.
Like a man in a dream, Nick looked down and saw it in a loosened grip of a corpse. He took it and forced himself to get on his feet. His head was splitting, his muscles screamed agony, and everything around him danced in weird blinding colors, blurry and bright like some devil's party.
He tried to focus, seeking anything familiar in the raging crowd of the dead chasing the living and adding more to their numbers as they did. Two were wrestling in the dirt, punching and kicking and rolling, and not three yards away, there was a dead man waking up. The fighting couple was what spurred him to move faster.
Nick's hand with the gun was too heavy. There was no way he could lift it. No. Freaking. Way.
He looked at the fire that seemed to have grown taller and louder, a blaze of hell itself, and released a shaky exhale. It was getting harder to put the pieces of thoughts together to make sense of whatever was going on in his head. He didn't know it, but it was the advantage – the only one, the last one he was going to have that night.
He turned and took down the dead before he could place himself the third on the squabbling duo. The corpse fell on them, nonetheless, in a splatter of brain and blood. They jerked apart for a moment, and Nicks glimpsed Troy. His next bullet went through the neck of the other one.
Nick turned to the screams behind him. A hulk of a man struggled with one of the girls… and she had Alicia's hair. Alicia's face.
Nick trained his gun on him. The hulk snarled, his bear-hand squeezing Alicia's throat as he held her against him like a shield.
"Drop the gun, you shit," he commanded. "Or you'll hit her. We don't want that, do we. She's way too nice to die, ain't she. Drop it. Now."
His own gun lowered to her thigh.
"I'll shoot," he said. "No kiddin'. No leg – better access." He sneered lewdly.
Nick saw he wasn't joking. It was not a thought but an instant knowing, an instinct of reading body language, as ancient as people themselves. He had no more capacity for thoughts. Or stamina – that was an alien concept, altogether. Nick would lower the gun, and chances were he wasn't raising it again.
Alicia's eyes were full of terror and fire. Her face a mask of dancing orange that gleamed in her tearful eyes.
Nick dropped his hand and watched the hulk take an aim at him. Deep down, Nick welcomed any rest that was coming after the muzzle flared.