A/N 250 reads?!
WHAT
Ily thanks for reading this!
Don't kill me for the name. You'll know what I mean when you get there.

I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you
-Gavin Mikhail, The Night we Met

Dan

"If you want to stay undead you might want to go back to your slimy old leader and pretend you saw nothing." Mark hisses at the boy. "What kind of a name is 'Borg?', anyway? That's a stupid name, even for a zombie king."

I grit my teeth in frustration, so beyond toleration for Mark's impulsiveness, which somehow manages to surpass even mine. He's right, he does put his foot in his mouth when he gets stressed. I feel a horrified knot in my chest as I watch the boy's eyes narrow, clearly he's taken great offence. We've barely freed our arms and he's already caught us. All he has to do now is sound the alarm, and just like that, we'll both be dead.

"Do you really wanna be like that," the boy growls angrily, "when I'm in control of the balance of your life? If you'd stop being so goddamn dense, you'd notice that I'm trying to help you."

He can't be much older than nine or ten. His pale, bony frame is dressed in a faded red jumper and jeans, both incredibly baggy on him, his undead status causing him to lose weight. His hair is a mop of curly brown and his round eyes are the telltale silver. His cheekbones are sharp and he has a button nose. If he wasn't acting so intimidating he could almost be cute, but he's clearly very angry. So far he's kept his voice hushed, which is a good thing for us, but the second he draws any attention I know we'll all be in big trouble.

I have to admire the way he stands up to Mark. Any normal kid would be crying under his withering look, but the boy just stares, waiting impatiently for him to grow the fuck up and push his pride aside. I certainly am, and when I remember where the boy came from, I only feel more inclined to listen.

"You're that kid in the crowd, aren't you?" I hiss lowly before Mark gets the chance to breathe another word. He looks positively pissed, partly because of the boy talking over him and partly because I've interrupted. I'm so beyond done with him already, just my luck that I'm stuck in this situation with him out of everybody. "You gave me back my gun."

The boy nods, unimpressed. "Wonder if maybe I should've. I'm sticking my neck out for you here, thought maybe I'd get some appreciation."

Mark starts up for the second time and this time I physically clamp his mouth shut, cutting him off midsentence with a slap of my palm. "You want some appreciation, maybe tell us who exactly you are and then I'll-"

"-Nothing." I interrupt flatly, and he glares at me with a white-hot gaze. "Shut the fuck up."

The boy smirks at us, saturating in our anger as I roll my eyes. I don't know what his motives are for doing me this favor and I feel like it's going to come at a price, no one goes to this much of a length without expecting something in return. I try not to think about it too much, if necessary we can ditch him as soon as we escape the cage. It's sick and it's heartless but that's probably what we have to do, there's a reason Phil is known as the likeable one in our duo and I'm not. I stare silently at the boy until his smile fades, then set about figuring him out.

"Why are you helping us?" I ask him pointedly, my eyes never leaving his face as Mark shifts around irritably, as if just itching to butt in.

"Don't ask questions." He retorts, glancing around quickly to see if anyone is watching. "My name is Dil. I became a half-life because one of them bit me. After I turned they renamed me, and that was my new name. Borg is our leader, I don't know what his name was before that. Now do you have any other stupid questions, or are you gonna let me actually help you out?"

My eyes narrow. It seems too easy a resolution to our plight, almost too good to be true.
"We don't know that we can trust you." I point out.

He groans in frustration, throwing up his hands. "I'm keeping quiet, aren't I?!" he huffs, crossing his arms. "I haven't told anyone that you've untied yourselves, I gave you back your gun. If they saw me do that, they would've killed me. What more do you need?!"

"I don't know," Mark says lowly, "Maybe some proof that you're on our side."

"Oh trust me, I am." He deadpans, looking Mark right in the eye. It's strange to see a wispy child communicating this way, driving each point home by forcing us to acknowledge him. I loathe the display of superiority. "My life for the past year and two months has been a living hell. The confederation gave us this bit of land to settle on as an intruder-free home, away from all the normal corpses. Every few months or so the family dragged in another human in all beaten and bloody, initiating the ceremony and biting their necks to turn them half-light."

The family, he calls them. This tribe discarded their names and discarded their sanity, associating only with one another now. Despite this insistence that he wants to escape, he seems not to notice that he speaks as though he rightfully belongs to them.

"So what makes us any different?" Mark challenges.

"They're waiting till tomorrow to initiate you. They want to send a message to the confederation first, they're supposed to let them know if they stumble on anything important. Supposedly your friend here is something special."

"You mean me." I state numbly. Whatever a bunch of lowlife savages see in me I could hardly care less, but it does mean that my condition has bought us some time. I listen more aptly after that.

"Yes. But don't ask me what they're seeing, all I know is that you smell different. I don't know if you know this, but half-lights are like zombies, they can detect the scent of living blood. You still smell like you're living, but there's something slightly off."

"Fantastic." I say, because I could honestly give less of a shit. "Is that all you have to say? If you're not helping us Mark will go back to trying to get us out of here."

"I also saw your friends, they were down at the base of the hill, they're trying to think of a way to get to you."

That gets my attention. A warning voice reasons that he could just be bluffing to see if I have companions hiding in the trees, he might not even know anything. I try to keep a neutral expression on my face, because the alternative is the possibility that help might actually be near. Or at least, that's what I plan on doing.

"You mean Phil," I exclaim before I can stop myself. He smirks upon being given a name, and I realize instantly that showing so much enthusiasm was probably not a good idea. I've basically just revealed one of my major weaknesses, my eagerness to be returned to my friends. Actually it probably confirmed that we were indeed working together, up until now Dil, as we now know him, could only speculate. So much for that. When did I become so easy to read? I will myself back into a more familiar mask, he won't be getting much more information out of me.

That loveable bastard must be out of his mind right now. If he's plotting a way to fight through sentient zombies after roughly hitting his head, he literally must be crazy. I pray silently in my head even though I don't believe in the supernatural, asking I-don't-know-who to please keep him from trying to get in here. I know he's not stupid, but I'm not sure that him and Marzia could match against all these people, not when they're so massively outnumbered. Then there's still the wolves to contend with, they don't go down as easy as the people.

"No questions, but do not let them come in here to help us." I say quickly, and Mark actually backs me up for once, nodding in agreement.

"Ooh, have I found a soft spot?" Dil murmurs, smiling up at me with those wide silver eyes. "Look, I'm not a messenger, I just want out of here."

"They'll provide us useful backup, having communication with an outside source," Mark points out. "They're useless if they come blundering into here and wind up dead."

He considers this, fiddling with the leather strap that functions as our lock. He drops his hands upon remembering he's not supposed to be here, at least not in the fashion that he's doing. He wipes all expression from his gaze in a way that reminds me painfully of myself, and I wonder if this is what I must seem like to a stranger. He doesn't want his gaze to be read. He's being closed-off, and I guess he has a good reason for why. His face is now unreadable, but he does sound fairly convinced.

"It's a boy with black hair and a girl in a jacket and vest. They must know who you are because they almost tried to follow me when I stole your gun. Almost dove right in here, if I hadn't have seen them they definitely would have been dead."

So they're very, very close. My eyes snap up almost as if I'll suddenly see Phil waving at me from the trees, but the foliage is still undeniably black. All around me in the twilight I can hear wind making branches and leaves rustle, the night coming alive with forest sounds. I don't like the idea of us all being so vulnerable, there could be a hundred zombies lying in wait or absolutely none for miles around. Even if by some miracle we managed to get around both the tribes and the zombeasts and escape, who knows what we'll encounter if we run off in the night.

"All right. I guess we trust you." I say finally, Mark glancing at me sideways like I need to get help. A half light in the distance tosses a pile of logs onto the bonfire and I cough as my lungs are assaulted with a cloud of smoke. I still keep my eyes on Mark though, my faith in Dil wavering on a fine line.

"You don't trust anybody." He supplies, upon seeing my prompting look. "What makes you think this kid is anything special?"

"What makes you anything special?" I retort, pointing at the centre of his face. "on two occasions you pressed a gun to my forehead. I think I'd sooner take my chances with the boy."

"Just tell me what your name is, and then I'll help." Dil cuts in quickly, stepping slightly away from the cage. A group of half-lifes amble by without even glancing at us, perhaps Dil is largely ignored like some sort of lower rank. He still tries to remain casual, not wanting anyone to notice something's up. He sidesteps into the shadows, the glint of silver eyes the only way the others would be able to see him.

"Fine." I huff, not seeing how this makes any difference. "It's Dan."

"Dan," the boy muses softly as if my boring, common name is a point of fascination. "I don't know how much of my past I can really remember, but I think that was my Dad's name too."

"How wonderful, Dan." Mark says sarcastically, "Maybe you're the father."

"That's not funny." Dil snaps, as my eyes narrow and my hands fold over my chest. "He looks like a teenager and when I turned I was ten. Don't forget me and my parents were real people. My parents are probably dead."

A stony silence falls for a moment and I can see the instant regret on Mark's face. He looks between us stubbornly and turns his head, looking far too absorbed in fiddling with the lock on the door.

"Oo-kay, never mind." He mumbles. "We have an escape to engage, lets get us out."

~~~

The plan is fairly simple. Dil's going to go converse with Phil and Marzia, with a message from us basically saying that they need to stay away. Lie low and stay up on the hilltop, while he lets us out of the cage. He's half-zombie so he'll be going by his senses, seeking them out by their living smell. None of the other half-life's know there's another living person around, the smell of their flesh will just be interpreted as ours.

He's going to lead us halfway down the path and then to the treeline, and then we have to run. He'll be close behind us, making sure we follow the proper passage and don't cross paths with any of the wolves. It's not that large of a break between the way we came in and the trees, even if the cell is on the opposite end of the camp from where we came in.

What's interesting to me is that he's never attempted this in the past with other prisoners. When I ask him about this he doesn't comment on it, just shrugs his shoulders noncommittally.

"Nobody else have ever been this much of a fighter." He states. "The family has never kept anyone for being special, and you have something that the confederation wants. Maybe it's something that could be used against them. I just want to get out of here and never again call this place home."

He leaves to find Phil and Marzia about fifteen minutes later, and I'm finding it hard between the lateness of the hour and the pain in my head to keep my eyes open. My nerves are on a wire though and I sit straight up and stiffly, impatient on the floor of the cell, waiting for Dil to come back. I've told him to be careful what he says to our friends, to make sure that he lets them know he's with us.

It's strange that Dil and the others in the tribe call themselves the 'family'. If he wants no part of them, wants to dissociate and escape with a random pair of beaten up strangers so badly he's willing to risk his life, why is he using such a term of belonging to refer to them? I wonder if  family has taken on a new meaning since the old world died. Maybe it isn't what I think it is. I wonder how many real families are even left.

Mark and I wait in a tense silence. It's clear that he's still angry at me, I'm not exactly pleased with him for questioning my trust when I don't even trust him in the first place. I still feel slightly threatened by his instability; he's already warned me that he might bring about my death. I'm steadily giving up hope that I'll ever be able to get along with him. He seemed to care when I looked like I was on the brink of death, but now that I'm conscious and speaking again he's just like he always was, how everyone else always is with me. Indifferent, irritated. It's not like I care at all but I still haven't forgiven him for what he said to me that first night. I feel guarded against him, and all I can think about now is that he better keep himself from saying something like that again.

The teasing mood has all but dissolved, the satisfaction of breaking our bonds earlier washed away. I watch anxiously as the half-lifes stand gathered at the bonfire, the only real source of light now that the sun has gone down. All around our cage there is nothing more than an inky blackness, punctuated occasionally by spots of grey.

"You're bleeding." Mark murmurs suddenly, looking up from below his red curls with arms crossed firmly over his chest. He's sitting with his back propped against one of the wooden cell bars, looking impatient and irritable even with the purple bruise shadowing his left eye. I lift my hand to my forehead and wince at the sting when my thumb comes in contact with the raised, broken skin, feeling my fingers come away slightly wet. Dammit.

"That happens when you get smashed in the skull by a piece of splintered wood." I mutter, using my dirty sleeve to wipe the blood away.

"Act all high and mighty if you want. I'm not exactly thrilled to know that this was your final decision."

I continue rubbing in circular motions, frowning at him confusedly at first because I'm not sure what he means.

"Would you like to clarify that, Mark?" I ask flatly.

"That Borg guy must have hit you harder than I thought." he muses. He laughs, but the sound is dry, devoid of humor. "This is crazy. You're trusting our lives to some kid who claims he wants to help us. He's been living with these half-lifes for over a year of his life now. For all we know he could just be playing with us."

I shake my head, turning my head to face in the opposite direction. Not for reassurance, there was nothing reassuring about watching the half-lights come and go around the fire, but simply because I didn't trust myself not to say the wrong thing. Mark has every reason to be uncertain. But it's looking like our only option. We can follow through with whatever plan Dil has and possibly get a chance at getting out, or we can be bitten by half-lights in a horrific tribe ritual and either turn or die. It's not just a potentially bad option, it's our only option.

"You do want out, I assume?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the flames.

"Of course I want out." Mark protests hotly.

"Then listen to him and do what he says." I snap, my words tight. "I don't believe that he's playing with us, from what I can tell the leader likes to be in total control. I'm sure that if someone broke a rule around here they'd just kill him, I bet it's pretty typical."

He shakes his head. "I would have been content to take my chances, try to get us out on my own."

"Well." I sigh, "If this all goes wrong then that's exactly what you'll get to do."

Mark immediately launches into replying but I ignore him for the most part. My thoughts have been distracted by a scene at the fire. A man is aggravating two of the wolves, cackling as they begin to fight, snarling and snapping. It's a large grey wolf and a smaller, tawny one, and they leap and tear at each other with relentless movements, without the ability to feel pain they are doing nothing more than gruesomely massacring each other. I can't say that I'm unused to the appearance of exposed flesh, I've killed plenty of zombies and seen many wounds in my time, but it's difficult not to feel anything as I see the sickly man goading on these once-beautiful animals.

There's a lot of blood. I almost wish one of the others will stop him now because the big one is winning and I assume that the attacks will only stop when one of them is dead.

There was a lot of blood after the crash in Little Bremerton. Phil still has a pale scar on his forehead from where a shard of glass from the shattered windshield gave him a nasty cut. We both probably needed hospital, but of course that never happened and we were left to wince in pain whenever one of us accidentally put pressure on a bruise. There was more blood once we had to fight through the zombies. Getting out of the gully on foot was perilous to say in the least, and despite being dead zombies are gruesome to fight because their skin is so fragile and they're still filled with blood.
I saw even more of the stuff in the days after, so yes, the sight of blood isn't nearly as disturbing as it used to be. But it still sets my nerves on a painful wire. None of the half-lights are doing anything. Some are even gathered around to view the spectacle. It makes me sick.

Borg is outside of my vantage point. I can only see the group of people standing around him, animatedly conversing while the rest of the tribe, about twenty or so people mill around the flames or watch the fight. Some people are flailing their limbs in what looks like dancing, but for all I know they could just be insane. Laughter and muffled voices echo in the night, the smell of the lake heavy in the air and the black, rippling water reflecting the stars. Mark has stopped talking now that he has proven his point, although he might just be sick of me and could be ignoring me in frustration.

I look back over at him and see he's also turned away, watching the battle between the animals with a frown. I take in his shorter height, his muscles that are admittedly much more impressive than mine, having been a skinny uni kid in my regular, pre-apocalypse life. I look at the hair dyed red on the curly swish on top of his head, the black on either side giving a good indication that it was his natural hair colour before it was dyed. It's clear that it's been a year, the red is fading and the ends are a paler almost-pink. I wonder if he'll ever get the chance to dye it again. A strange fascination, especially at a time like this.

The tension between us is palpable now, and yet it amounts to a whole lot of nothing as I end up waiting silently. We don't say any more to one another after our brief argument, I feel pins and needles in my leg from the dragged out time of disuse. I'm oddly antsy, imagining Dil meeting with and talking to Phil. I haven't the slightest idea how he's going to react to his story or his proposition, and I long for my crowbar as I unhappily toss the gun from hand to hand. It's not that I don't know how to use a gun but I prefer the metallic extension, multipurposeful in its uses and good for close combat. With a gun you rely on ammo and range, and I have high respect for those that can use them, but they're not what I like.

It's also getting cold, too. Luckily it's not too windy but I pull my knees closer to my chest to avoid shivering in the breeze. This is taking so much longer than I expected, or maybe it's just because there's nothing going on, so the minutes feel like hours. I'm grateful that the half-lights aren't leaving anyone to guard us, not even anybody near to sound the alarm. I'm still listening to the snarling wolf fight about ten minutes later, even after all the half-lights have lost interest in viewing the attacks.

Then without warning Dil comes crashing through the brush, so loudly I'm surprised no half-lights come charging over to investigate. I jerk to a standing position and take a step backward, surprised by the sheer force of the entrance. Behind me I hear Mark fall back against the bars with a muted thud and a curse, caught completely off guard.

I narrow my eyes to glare at Dil, my voice snapping out in the most irritable whisper humanity has ever witnessed as he shakes twigs and leaves out of his hair.
"Think you could do that any louder?! You're going to get us caught before we even manage to make anything happen!" My heart is still racing and I place a hand on my chest absently, trying to get it to calm down. The loud beating is making it difficult to think straight.

"Sorry." He huffs, a frown etched on his face. He looks offended again and I do feel some remorse. I hadn't meant to sound so cross, the nerves of the escape and the stress of dealing with Mark were not a good mix for my impulses. "Nothing's gonna happen ever if you keep bringing it up like that. Try not to talk so loudly about our ideas, you never know when someone might be listening."

He's right of course, there could be a lurking half-light stationed for this exact purpose, to listen to mine and Mark's conversations, but I honestly hadn't taken them to be that smart, intuitive enough to employ a guard or a group of wolves. They seem more like confederation puppets, doing favours for the scientists in order to gain the right to live and land to be sadistic and ritualistic on. I intend to ask him, as this could be important to know.

"Never mind that." Mark cuts in quickly. "Did you find Marzia, and Phil?"

Dil nods quickly, apparently anxious to shift the topic.

"I found your friends, they were definitely not in the mood to talk long. Especially not once I told them you wanted them to stay back."

"What did they say?" I ask eagerly, already hungry for any kind of contact with my best friend. Funny, how you don't realize how much you rely on someone until they're barred from you while you're swiftly approaching death. Non-consensually, even.

"Well at first they wanted to kill me, I think. Then I told them I was with you, I had to use your names because they didn't know whether or not to believe me."

"Which is great and everything," I interject, earning me an irritated glare. "but are they all right? Can Phil stand up fine or is he still hurt?"

Dil tilts his head and frowns at me quizzically, looking annoyed that I haven't appreciated his efforts enough yet. "What are you, his mum? Yes, he's fine, stupid. How else would he have been able to talk to me? They want you to know they're good, but they're all anxious now that they know you're a prisoner in our camp."

"Not into the idea of waiting, were they?" Mark mutters appreciatively, keeping his voice low.

"Uh, no. There's been a slight change of plans."

Something about the way he says it, so slowly and deliberately, it makes me uncomfortable, just the slightest bit on edge. If there's one thing I've always been good at, despite what many would infer because of my seeming lack of interest in conversation and my distrustful nature, it's reading other people. I know I'm not well-liked by anybody, I know I'm closed off and distant, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. I can tell when someone's lying. There's a shift in their tone, a change in the way they carry themselves. I know it's dark and that could be why Dil isn't meeting my eyes, but I'm wondering if he doesn't have something to hide.

"A change of plans?" I reply cautiously, trying to read his expression. He won't be able to see well at all, I know because of Cat that zombie characteristics make your eyesight terrible at night. That must be why all the half-lights are gathered at the fire, it's probably the only way they can see without a torch. Deterioration of the corneas, lack of oxygen to the brain. He's enough a zombie that the unfocused glances may have some excuse, but he had no trouble demonstrating the natural impulses to look at the speaker earlier. I wonder what's going on.

"I got stopped on the way back in by a couple of the older guys. The Wolf Guards, Borg's got them in the bushes along the perimeter in case you guys happened to have backup after all. They don't know about Marzia and Phil, but they probably assumed you had help, since your packs had so much stuff." He explains.

"They told me to stay back at camp and keep an eye on you guys, funny enough. Borg was gonna have me do it because I can scream really loud and sound the alarm if you guys escape. Joke's on them anyway, that's for sure."

That part sounds pretty good, but he seems to be glossing over the important facts. Why isn't he going in-depth into what exactly his conversation with our friends was about?

"So you've met with Phil, and he knows what we're doing?" I ask, looking down at the boy purposefully to intimidate him with my height. It's not normally my style but I feel like something's off.

"Um...sort of." He evades, slipping out a serrated blade from his back pocket. He hurriedly shuffles over to the leather loop tying our door shut and begins sawing away, bringing us one step closer to release. The blade draws back and forth in rapid motion.

Back.

"What do you mean sort of?"

Forth.

"I mean he...knows we're coming."

Back.

"You did tell them they had to stay back right?"

Forth.

"I told them."

Back.

"So where exactly are they then?"

Dil pauses. "Waiting?" he replies, but it's less of an answer and more of a question. I feel a knot of dread in my gut and sink down so that him and I are level.

"Dil. You better not have gotten them involved." Mark exclaims, finally making the worrisome connection that I've been dwelling on. He'd said that they hadn't wanted to stay back. I hope it doesn't mean what I'm assuming, but I always assume the worst and in this case I'm actually pretty sure that it does.

Snap.

The restraint breaks and Dil slips the material out from between the door and the cell bar, drawing back his hand and glancing surreptitiously to assure that no one has seen. This also conveniently allows him to look away from us, fiddling clumsily with his hands until he pulls open the door.

"Come on." He says tightly, standing stiff out of nervous anticipation. Even as a half-zombie, he's still wired with the reflexes of fight or flight.

"They aren't nearby are they?!"

He shakes his head, then freezes. His eyes focus on the fire to the left.

"Shit." he spits, making me start a little at hearing such a small voice utter a curse so harshly. His eyes look to the fire, and I see that we've caught a person's eye. Their horrible eyesight obviously prevents them from squinting and making us out in the darkness, but I means someone's thinking about us all the same, and we don't need that.

"Time to go." Mark says quickly, stepping out of the cage and following Dil back towards the woods. I'm not about to let the subject drop, and I hesitate as my first foot steps its way out the door. I feel a deep wave of fearful anxiety, and I try to push it back as I stride free. If they see us now, we're dead. But then again if we stay here, we'll be worse then dead.

My companions are making their way into the woods, Dil doing so a little clumsily as his limited vision distorts the way. "They better not be in there when we get inside," I hiss, now worried about the danger they're in on top of our current predicament.

"Lets just say we planned a meeting spot." Dil interjects. "I'll let you know when we reach it. Now come on!"

I look back to the fire where the dogfight had been going on and see the grey wolf with its hide in shreds, strutting around as if nothing happened. They tawny wolf lies abandoned in a gruesome pool of blood, no longer even discernible as a zombeast it's entirely dead. Just as I predicted, the fight has ended, the dead one the loser. That's the last thing I see before I whip around to face the front, sprinting a short distance across open dirt and ducking under sharp, leafy branches held back by Mark. Then we're plunged into darkness, and I can only trust on my instincts and my companions' retreating backs to guide me free.

We run as if our lives depend on it, and in a way I suppose they do. Twigs crack under our feet and leaves brush against my leg more audibly than I ever thought possible. Tall trunks rise out of the ground on all sides and the needled branches scratch my exposed arms. At one point Dil even falls, drawing a scrape across his elbow that he doesn't really feel.
"Dammit. Nothing ever heals when you're half dead. I'm gonna have that forever."

He says he's arranged a meeting spot. I'd been worried that he'd brought Phil and Marzia with him, it's bad enough that they'll have to join us along the way. I don't want the half-lights to see them, can't risk them getting caught.

I step over a fallen log and pull Dil to his feet. If he's gonna be leading us, he needs to be vertical and we need to move quickly. God knows how long it will take for the tribe to notice the cell door hanging open in the aftermath of our erratic flight. It could be hours, it could be minutes.

"I told them to meet me by the clearing where the family captured you. On the opposite end, though. Down by the pines." Dil huffs between breaths.

I feel a little bit of relief as he tells me this, reassured that they didn't try storming the camp at least. "So ideally," I ask, "we'll see them right as we come out?"

"Yeah."

As I walk I glance back surreptitiously, jumping at any unnatural sound. The rustling of the foliage and the snapping of my friends' feet on the stick-covered ground muffles everything around us, so if anyone in the camp has made any indication that they've noticed our disappearance, I haven't heard it at all.

The distance between the outskirts of the camp and the hill we came down from is not that far. It takes us so much longer because half-lights are patrolling in some places, torches held in their hands and eyes keen with alertness. It feels like and unfair advantage that they feel neither cold nor sleepiness. I'm grateful that their eyes don't see well. What's making me nervous is that there's no sign of the wolves.

Dil takes us around a corner and suddenly we find ourselves at the side of the hill. A half-light guard wanders along the opposite treeline, another man standing stoically with his light glowing several paces away. He stops abruptly and we all take a step back, moving back so that we're well-hidden in the shadows.

"Where's Phil and Marzia? I thought you said they'd be here?" I hiss, glancing around in concern for where they are.

Dil's eyebrows crease, his face turned down in concern.

"I did..." he mumbles.

I move cautiously away from the boulder concealing us to peer into the darkness behind us, calling out in a whisper so the guard doesn't hear.

"Phil," I whisper, trying to make out any form in the black. "Phil?"

I hear rustling and the snap of a branch, see the tangled outline of leaves and brush being pushed to the side. The black is pierced by a warmer glow, as what I presume to be my friend's flashlight makes it way out from behind his concealment.

Dil grabs my sleeve warningly, pulling me back even as I go to greet my companions. "Keep your voice down, Dan!" He hisses at me. "There's still a ton of other people around."

He's only managed to utter this sentence and turn around before a crash sounds behind us and Dil is seized by the wrist, a meaty half-life hand yanking him down. And the face I see at my eye-level is gaunt and dead and, more importantly, not Phil.

The area floods with orange light. I rush forward to help him only to get intercepted by a wolf, Mark colliding with my back as several torch-wielding half-lifes surround us and the beasts flatten their ears back, threateningly snarling. They aren't touching us but they won't let us get away, and it only gets worse when I see the emerging figure of Borg.

The escape failed. We're trapped.

He saunters over lazily, with a look that resembles calm the same way a grey sky does before raining down lightning like brilliant fire. Barely concealed anger, a look of perplexed irritation at the spectacle that is us. His eyes find the half-light child.

"Dil, I didn't put you in charge of taking the scum to the backwoods. Why didn't you sound the alarm when you let them loose?" He asks, his words slow and level, but each word scolding out from between clenched teeth. "Answer carefully, or I'll tear off your arms."

Dil glances from Mark to me guiltily, fighting weakly against the man who's pinned back his hands. Borg steps deliberately over and pinches the boy's chin between his thumb and forefinger, yanking skyward so that he's forcing him to look up. Dil looks so tiny, cowering under the leering glare of the older man. His expression is terrified, and I can see his mind working fast. I stare at him imploringly, trying to instill some bravery with my eyes even though my reassuring abilities are shit. We can still get out of this. I look right at his silver irises, full of what must be obvious desperation. A man clamps his cold hands on the insides of my wrist and I yank it away, whipping out my gun and daring him to try.

Dil suddenly jerks his head away, refusing to look into my eyes, and my mouth drops.

"They broke away!" He squeaks frantically, voice high and spilling out words. "They escaped and I tried to catch them. I didn't have time!"

My hands clench into fists.

That little fucking liar. He's throwing us under the bus to save his own skin. Borg glares at him angrily, and the half-life holding him raises his fist.

"You'd better hope that's true," he says silkily. "I don't like liars in this place."

"It is, I got knocked down by him." He says, nodding right at me. He pulls down his shirt to expose his grazed elbow, the one he got stumbling past the trees in the dark as I make a sound of protest. "They put up a fight!"

Mark looks at me incredulously, realization sinking in that we've been massively betrayed.

The man seems to buy his story, or perhaps he doesn't but enjoys the excuse to further abuse us, rounding now on Mark and I with pale, bony fingers curled around his plank, twitching eagerly with an itch to attack.

"Is that so..." he muses delicately. "Now what would have made you want to try and leave? Don't you want to be part of the family?" The half-lifes around him all shift their silver-eyed expressions into mock-pouts, jeering at us as Mark and I look back at them with a glare.

I shake my head defiantly, Mark just refuses to respond at all,

He stares at us expectantly as if we're inclined to give a response. I know he revels in our fear and suffering and would be delighted if we were to plead or protest. But  I have no intention of doing that. We remain defensive and motionless and he very quickly grows impatient, I try to swallow but my throat is tight and dry.

"Well I guess you've made your own decision." Borg growls at us, fingers curling and uncurling around his plank of wood. "Not willing to wait til tomorrow? I guess your ceremony's happening now."

He nods to the man holding on to me, and I stare him down even as he lifts his light. He looks to Borg for approval, and my stomach sinks as I try to twist away, not missing the nod of the leader's head. I fire the gun in my captor's direction, blood spraying as I manage to shoot a hole in his cheek but all it does is make him mad. He twists my wrist painfully and the gun drops out of my hand, leaning down as Borg hisses angrily.

"Oh no... you shouldn't have done that.."

Only moments later I feel a torch being held close to my flesh, the flames not making contact but the burning sensation still very painful. I fight to keep from making a sound but a pained gasp escapes me all the same. I grit my teeth as my eyes water from the heat.

"You little shit!" Mark explodes, screaming at Dil. "You liar! Tell them the truth!" The boy looks up at him with a deadpan expression, shaking his head minutely and then looking away.

I hear his fist collide with someone around him with a cracking thud, as he yells profanities and takes on some half-lights, dodging their eager bites. "DAN!" he shouts as the flames dip down again, but I barely hear my own name.

"The confederation won't mind if you join us." Borg drawls darkly. "Once you turn you won't be able to feel pain ever again, so forgive us for a having a little fun." His smile stretches all the way across his thin lips, the sunken eyes and sharp, spaced teeth like something out of one of my nightmares. "We can bite you and burn you, make you make lovely sounds and spark excitement in the puppies. I do wish it was easier on your end, but you aren't allowed to escape. And look what you did."

Dil is cowering behind the legs of one of the men, and his guilt and horrified state is not missed by his counterparts.

"Aww.. what's wrong, Dilly?" he warbles in a disgustingly sweet tone. "Don't like to see the prisoners in pain? My, have you gotten soft. Would it bother you if I did-"

He directs the tip of the plank into my shoulder, and this time I do scream as pain erupts over the bone, I sink to the ground just to get away from it. "-this?" He finishes loudly, and Dil only whimpers in reply.

Borg places a hand on my chest, his hand echoing back the rapid beat of my heart.

"It's beating so quickly." He breathes with a grin. "Do you sense I'm above you? Am I feeling fear?" His tone is evil and excited, I can't get myself to stand, my arms feel weak and I'm breathing rapidly from the pain.

"I'm not afraid of you." I choke, clenching my teeth and jerking from his grasp.

"The weak are meat and the strong do eat." Borg singsongs, promoting a wave of enthusiasm from his companions.

My fingers dig into the muddy grass if the forest floor, my throbbing shoulder making me waver.

"Just let us out of here." I spit angrily. "We can't give you what you want."

"Hmm.." he hums amusedly, "I can tell by the way you say it. You don't even know what it is. It's fun when they bargain though, it makes the process so much more interesting."

He sneers at me with a crooked grin, raising his plank to hit me with the ragged, bloody end. All around him the other half-lights are cheering, ecstatic to see me on the ground just ready to be taken out. He's done this a dozen times before, he knows how the victims react and what the spectators want to see.

It's true, there is no way for me to know what it is from me that they seem to want. I want to get out of this but am too proud to plea with them, much good it'll do Mark and I anyway. I know that here and now will likely be the way I die, when I'm reawakened I'll be a half-light like Cat, the only difference being I will have gone insane. If I'm going to do it I'll do it with dignity, or at least as much as I can muster after being caught mid-escape and betrayed so easily. I make the decision to defiantly stare at Dil, hoping to at least make him see what he's done.

The first hit comes sharply, making me sink low to the ground as the ragged wood strikes the centre of my back.

The second one hits my shoulderblades. He's not even hitting me all that hard, it's like he's mocking me with his control. My arms give way and I instinctively cover my head, trying desperately to protect both it and my neck.

He draws back for the final blow. A half-light holds Mark back, they're going to knock us both unconscious, deliver the deadly bite and turn us too into half-lights, the tantalizing prospect of escape no more than a minor setback.

Borg grins at me for a second longer and I brace for impact. I see him raise the plank and close my eyes, not wanting to see it happen. I hear the whoosh of the weapon through thin air, the crack that is the sound of impact.

But the pain, it never comes.

After a few heartbeats of confused, tense nothingness I reopen my eyes, seeing Borg's silver eyes widen before he's slumping limply to the ground, an axe buried in the back of his head. The hit is perfect, the blade has hit him right in the centre of his skull, even a half-light can't survive destruction of the brain.

I look from the slender hands of the ax holder to the area of impact, staring dumbly at the blunt tip of the actual axe.

It only takes a moment for me to recognize the owner, his pale face contorted in fury until he locks eyes with me. Brown eyes meet startling blue and I gasp upon seeing my best friend, adrenaline pumping in my chest and his eyes widening, the dead half-life leader crumpled at his feet.

For one terrible second, there's nothing but silence. Phil yanks out his weapon with a sickening sound, stepping forward cautiously and reaching out to help me with a rapid motion of the hand. I forget where I am and reach, our fingers only inches away.

Then the place is in an uproar, the half-lifes screaming as they surge forward from all sides. I feel hands grab me all at once, and I can't do anything but watch as Phil is yanked away.

A/N
I PUT THIS OFF FOR SO LONG IM SORRY
prepare for chapter spam to make up for it though, this was the only chapter I was uncertain about getting right, pretty much four chapters after this has either been completed or nearly completed. Feel free to leave feedback, I'd like to know what you'd like to see happening.

Or if you're writing a phanfic. (Or other fic too, actually.) I'll read it. just comment and let me know. #sponyourself

~Aly🌙