CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HARRY DREAMS THAT NIGHT. He dreams of old faces left far behind. Of his mother and sister and a girl who once meant everything to him. Riley, was her name. He dreams of the time they took a midnight walk to the park when Rylie's father came home drunk. It was a usual occurrence, but it never hurt her any less.

The two lay in the grass, her head on Edward's chest and his arms around her small frame. The stars sparkled above, seemingly for her. Edward liked to think they were reassuring her as much as he was. That everything will be okay in the end.

"You won't live in that house forever," he'd tell her.

"I can hardly last minutes there," she'd reply.

That particular night, Rylie had said the most random thing she could: "Are you going to join the military, Ed?"

The tension was high between countries, and drafts were being called. It was always a worry of Rylie's that he would have to go away, but surely such a thing wouldn't happen to him. They tried to avoid the conversation--or at least, he tried.

"You know the answer to that," he said quietly, pulling her a little closer.

"What if you have no choice?"

"Rylie, let's talk about something else."

"No." She sat up, her palm splayed on his chest to hold herself up. Her eyes were wide and fearful. "The draft is getting closer to us, Ed. Monica's brother was taken the other evening for the war, and she's only two states over." Monica was her best friend who'd moved the year prior because of her father's job offer.

He sat up to face her, taking her cold hands in his. "Hey, it'll be okay. Monica's brother is ten years older than me, Rye. They'll want people with experience."

"No," she whispered. "They'll want young people who are more capable of adapting. More capable of fighting."

He lifted a hand to swipe a tear off her cheek. "Stop doing this to yourself."

"I can't help it. I'm a worrisome person."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering for a moment longer than usual. When he pulled back, she was full-out sobbing. "Aw, come on, Rye." He instantly embraced her tightly, smoothing her hair down.

"I won't be able to bear it," she murmured into his shirt. "I can't go home every day with him, and then not have you around to keep me from going insane."

"Rylie, hey." He tried to pull her from his chest. "Hey," he said firmer, gripping her chin yet still remained gentle. He stared into her eyes so she could see his honesty. "That's not going to happen, all right? I won't let them take me. I won't leave you, Mom, or Penelope, okay? You can't let it trouble you so much."

She sniffed loudly, dragging her hands through her dark red hair, hazel eyes gleaming. "I can't do it," she reiterated, averting her gaze.

He knew what she meant. They'd had this conversation a handful of times before.

"Rylie, don't you dare start thinking that way again." He tilted her chin to meet her eyes again. "Even if the draft does happen here--which it won't--you're not a quitter, you're a fighter. Don't let that bastard tear you down. Don't give him the satisfaction."

"Edward--"

"Promise me, Rylie. You know I'll never forgive myself if you go back to your old ways, so promise me."

Her bottom lip trembled. "I don't want to break a promise."

"Then don't." He cupped her face, desperate. "Let your promise motivate you from breaking it."

She laid her forehead on his. "I promise," she said, barely audible.

He kissed her. So fierceful, the two were left panting at the end of it. But there was passion in that kiss, and there were a thousand promises and unspoken words. If the draft happened, if he were forced to leave everyone he loved behind, he would cherish moments like these. He would want Rylie to remember how much he truly, hopelessly loved her. From the beginning of their relationship two years ago until the day he died.

Then the memory was no longer a memory when he pulled back and saw a different face. A slimmer face from malnutrition and fighting for survival daily. A completely different appearance of brown eyes and brown hair. There was no softness in her features, but stone-cold anger and determination. She looked at him with eyes so dull, his heart ached and his lips parted.

But he had no time to question the switch as he heard a distant scream.

***

Harry jerks awake immediately, shaking the fogginess of his memory away. He's on his feet and running down the hall within milliseconds. His feet take him to the master bedroom where Maxie had been placed earlier, still unconscious. However, she is very much conscious now.

Micah is the next person in the room, then Evelyn and Michelle. Maxie's face is blank but her eyes well with fear as she stares at the wall across from her.

"Maxie?" Evelyn treads carefully, taking a cautious step towards her. "Maxie, it's Eve. Remember me?"

But Maxie either does not hear her or ignores her. Her head stays straight and her eyes remain wide. Her voice is but a whisper when she says, "He's coming."

Harry stretches his hearing at this, and indeed, he hears the sound of marching footsteps--hundreds of them. A fair mile or so away, but quickly getting within close proximity. Evelyn looks to him in panic.

"It's too far for me to hear," Micah says, somewhat annoyed as his brow furrows. "What is it?"

"Doctor Stevens," Harry whispers, his stomach knotting. "And he's got an army."

Micah curses under his breath while Evelyn says, "We need to get out of here."

"He'll catch us," Micah tells her. "He'll scour the ends of the earth to catch us."

"But we can buy ourselves time," she snaps.

"There's not enough time in the world to escape him."

"At least I'm trying to save everyone."

"You think I want everyone to die?"

Michelle intervenes their bickering. "Enough," she says softly but firmly. "I am with Eve on this one. We need to leave as soon as possible."

"I'll go get the kids," Evelyn says.

"Wait," Harry mutters, a hand on her shoulder to halt her. He listens harder, his frown deepening. He inhales sharply. "He's surrounding us. Men from every corner of the street and woods are closing in."

Evelyn groans, then shouts a nasty word and leans back against the wall, rubbing her temples.

Harry looks to Maxie, who still stares with her eyes bulging and her lips parted. What had the doctor done to her to allow her such knowledge? He's about to ask what else she knows, but she speaks again.

"We will all be taken," she whispers. "He will enslave us all."

"Eve?" A small voice comes from the doorway, Robbie and Caroline standing in it holding hands, absolutely terrified.

Evelyn purses her lips. "We'll be okay, kid." But everyone can hear the lack of hope in her voice.

"Do we surrender?" Michelle questions, now crying silently.

Evelyn clenches her jaw yet it is Micah who answers. "No," he says, surprisingly stern, angry even. "That asshole has taken too much from me. I won't give him my life--or any of yours. We won't win, that much is obvious, but I'd rather die trying than surrender to a coward like him. I won't allow him to ruin my life any longer."

"We can't have Harry fight," Evelyn says suddenly, making Harry raise his eyebrows. "He'll go crazy and damn near kill us instead of the actual enemies."

Harry looks at her apologetically, but she averts her gaze. The nail indentations on her neck are still so painfully clear. He hates himself so, so much.

"We need him," Micah argues, a bit begrudgingly like he hates to admit it. "And if he goes batshit crazy, then dammit, we'll let him, because he's our best weapon."

"He's not a weapon," Evelyn snarls.

"Whether you like it or not, he's the most destructive weapon on the face of the earth," Micah hisses back.

The two hold an intense stare-off, both gritting their teeth.

Harry steps forwards and uses his index finger to turn Evelyn's face to his. Her eyes soften, but fill with dread. "I have to," he tells her. "He'll have to kill me himself before I allow him to touch you or Robbie, or anyone else in this room."

"You can't control it, Harry," she says quietly.

He doesn't know how to answer her because he knows she's right. He settles with repeating himself: "I have to."

It is an answer to both her worries. He has to fight and he has to control it. He must control the raging beast inside. Let him go ballistic on all the experiments trying to take her away, but heaven help him to protect her. To protect them all. He wants to believe he can gain control. He wants to believe that he can tap into the darkness and not fully sink within it.

He wants to believe it because he must.

Micah snaps his fingers. "I have an idea. If they're coming from all sides, then at least we can delay them."

Harry squints curiously.

"What is sitting in nearly every inch of this neighborhood?" Micah prompts.

Harry says in realization, "Trees."

"We knock down a few trees and buy ourselves some time," Micah says. The two of us together can push down a tree so large, it'll take a handful of his men to remove it." He looks to Evelyn. "There's a shed out back between the buildings. Maybe there's something useful in there you can use to add some defense."

She nods, then says, "What do we do about Maxie?"

"I'll watch over her," Michelle offers.

"No one goes out of this house," Micah says. "Understood?"

More nods, even from the two children.

He gestures to Harry. "Let's go, psycho."

Harry's eyebrows furrow at the name, but he shrugs to himself and follows the experiment out the front door.

They use their inhuman speed to find a boundary, and once they feel it's far enough but not too far, they find a tree to push down. Harry ventures a little deeper into the woods to find a large one, and together it's like snapping a twig. They haul the huge piece of wood back to the road, dropping it straight across, the ground quivering beneath their feet from the impact. The two end up making a large, tree-formed circle around a small portion of the neighborhood. They stack trees upon trees until they're satisfied that it will take a while to break through.

It's such an odd tactic, but Harry is convinced it might just work. For a few minutes, at the very least, which is as much as they can hope for.

"I hear them now," Micah mutters as they begin walking back towards the condos. "Damn him. Damn him all to hell."

Harry says nothing as Micah continues ranting to himself. There is nothing he can say to make any of this better.

But then he hears another sound, different from the stomping of feet. His heart falters as the engine rumbles through his ears.

"No," he breathes, turning to stare back the way it's coming from, over their recent wall of trees.

"What?" Micah whirls around, too. "What is it?"

"An industrial ship," Harry tells him. "One that will plow through all of that wood in the time it takes someone to blink."

"Why bring such a thing with them?"

"For transport."

"Because he plans to capture us all."

Harry considers this before answering. "He plans to capture Normals. We, however, probably have a more permanent solution."

Micah meets Harry's eyes, red on red. He barks a humorless laugh. "He wants to kill us."

"We've both failed him," Harry says, acting as if he hadn't seen Micah flinch at the insult. "Therefore, we are no longer of use."

"Oh, I'm going to enjoy ripping his intestines out and shoving them down his throat."

"That's incredibly graphic."

"It's the honest truth." Micah's fangs appear when he growls. "I'm tired of that bastard underestimating me."

"Why do you care what he thinks?" Harry asks before he can stop himself.

Micah scoffs. "I don't give a damn what he thinks."

"You're lying. His opinion has always mattered to you."

"And it never did to you?"

Harry stifles the anger that begins to rise. "I did what I needed to so I wouldn't be beaten every day."

"We all did," Micah snaps. "But the only effort he ever noticed was yours."

Harry gapes at him. "I received lashings and brain tampering just as the rest of you had." However, he knows deep down that the others received the same punishments much, much worse. It isn't his fault that the doctor had preferred him, though. He had never wanted the attention to begin with. But he had punishments the others were never given. Terrible ones.

Micah jabs a finger in Harry's face, his eyes a dangerous dark red. "You were treated like royalty compared to us. Last I recall, you were never forced through lashings six hours straight. When we all got sent to our cells early, you got seconds at the dinner table. You have no right to say you suffered as we did."

Harry growls, warningly.

But Micah doesn't get the hint, too busy blurting all the irate words he's held back for so long. "You are a disgrace to us," he spits. "You are nothing but a coward and the doctor's lapdog--"

Harry punches him before he can stop himself, then grips the collar of his shirt and slams him down onto the pavement. "While you and the others quarreled with each other, he forced me to kill innocents. When he offered me 'seconds' when you all went to sleep, it was only his code for another kill. He locked me in a room covered in blood with three victims, and he wouldn't let me out until I gave in. I went absolutely mad every single night. That's only a fraction of the trauma he put me through."

Micah struggles to get up, but Harry shoves him down again, so hard he must've scratched the back of Micah's head on the pavement because blood trickles from it. He does not care. "Don't you dare," he growls, right in Micah's face, "say I never suffered."

He lets Micah struggle a little more, then pushes himself off the self-pitying experiment. His breathing is erratic, the darkness creeping up his veins to his heart. He tries to fight it. He tries to even his breath.

A sudden warcry from over the nearest tree wall, then the wood splinters and rains down upon them, the industrial vehicle shrieking. About fifty experiments are sent in first.

Micah and Harry exchange a glance. Micah spits blood out of his mouth.

They may despise each other, but here on the battlefield, they are allies.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, they let the experiments get closer before diving into the soon-to-be massacre.