CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EVELYN STARES AT THE man who returns with bloodied knuckles and fiery red eyes. She clenches her jaw, her hand falling to rest on the hilt of the dagger she has with her instinctively. Micah looks completely enraged, and yet, she can tell he's in the process of calming down. What got him so pissed him, and how pissed off was he before he came back? She almost doesn't want to know the answer to either question.

Almost.

"What happened?" she asks as soon as he gets close.

"They're taking people," he confirms. "All of them."

"Well, what happened to you?"

He averts his gaze from her as his nostrils flare. She frowns, but figures pestering will only make him lash out, so she leaves it alone. She glances at his hands again, now realizing the blood is simply dry and the cuts have already healed. She'll never be able to comprehend that. It's fascinatingly terrifying.

"What now?" Michelle interrupts, cradling her son's head in her lap as she sits criss-crossed on the shoulder of the road.

Micah drags his hands through his hair and walks in a circle.

"He can't stay like this for long," she continues, tears welling in her eyes. "He needs shelter where I can care for him properly."

"I'm thinking," Micah snaps, so crudely she flinches. Even Evelyn cringes. He catches himself and groans, more to himself than to everyone. "I'm sorry," he grumbles, but it's clear that he means it.

Evelyn notices Harry lingering in the middle of the pavement. He's squinting, but she can't tell if it's from pain or from him listening to something. She doesn't really want to approach him anyways, truthfully. She doesn't understand where they stand right now. First he said he'll kiss her again, then he stepped away from her. She's never understood men, never had a boyfriend to learn.

This isn't even important. The world is literally on the brink of ending, for Christ's sake. The last thing she needs to worry about is pretty girl problems from the world before chaos struck. She needs to stay focused.

She has another kid to save.

Every time she turns around, someone gets taken or there's a fight or--

Her train of thought cuts off when she pushed to the ground, forced into a position where her hands cover her head and she crouches. Harry presses himself on top of her, the reason for her sudden collapse. She hears it then. The gurgling and moaning of the beasts-gone-wrong. She tries to take a peek, but Harry's chest is hard against her shoulder, ensuring she can't move. That's when she hears the next sound--the sound of arrows whipping through the wind.

When Harry finally rises, he nudges her off the side of the road and turns to face the oncoming group. Evelyn's eyes widen when she sees four arrows lodged in Harry's back, but he's unfazed as he and Micah simultaneously dive in for the battle. There's a good twenty of them, all missing limbs or bits of skin that show their bone structures. It makes Evelyn gag, but the stench of them is worse. Rotting flesh that hasn't had a decent scrubbing in God knows how long.

They attack in groups like they migrate, almost like they know that's their only chance of winning. Evelyn can't imagine they have any intelligence at all, but they surely can't be all brain dead if they're able to hold their own like they currently are. It might just have to do with the fact that they are all broad-shoulders, buff-chested men, though.

Michelle shrieks to Evelyn's right. Naturally, she leaps to her feet and snatches her dagger from its sheath. She can't do much, but Michelle can't move with her son unconscious in her arms. She's completely vulnerable sitting on the ground.

"Robbie, you and Caroline go back inside!" she yells, gesturing to the building they hid in when the hover car went by. He nods rapidly and takes Caroline's hand, joining Maxie who still lays motionless behind a shelf.

Evelyn slips in between Michelle and the oncoming beast, her dagger slicing across his throat with a swift movement. He doesn't try to stop her. But her wound doesn't stop him. Blood begins to spill from the deep cut, yet somehow he still stands. He grins, wickedly, and grabs her elbow while she stares in shock and horror. He tosses her aside, his eyes trained on Michelle's son. Evelyn shakes off her stupor and jumps onto his back, tugging at his short blonde hair. He fumbles to reach for her, but she's careful to lean away.

She rips the blade through his throat again. And again. And again until his head is completely severed from his neck. His decapitated body falls in slow motion, and Evelyn barely catches her footing in time. She still has his hair in her grip as his head dangles. She has to swallow down bile as it burns her throat.

Michelle cannot stifle the urge, though, and she stretches from her son just enough so she can vomit without getting any on him.

She hears footsteps behind her and whirls around, swinging the head as if it were a club. She smacks a beast in the face with it. She chucks it at him like a basketball, startling him enough that he stumbles backwards.

Right into Harry's arms.

Harry wastes no time. He sinks his monstrous canines into the savage beasts' neck and doesn't pull away until the creature stills completely.

It was the last beast and everyone saw the kill.

No one moves.

Harry's eyes are the darkest red Evelyn has ever seen. Blood--so much blood-drips off his chin onto his white hospital shirt. An unnerving grin is on his face, looking utterly unnatural with his many teeth. His eyes level with Michelle, who sits directly in front of him. He takes a step forwards, licking his lips disturbingly slow. Like he's savoring the taste.

Micah catches him off guard, throwing them both to the ground. Micah presses his knee into Harry's back, pulling both his arms up to make his escape harder. Harry growls viciously, snapping his jaws. His escape should've been near impossible, but it looks as easy as rolling over when Harry does it. He pins Micah to the street, the blood from his chin dripping onto Micah's cheek. He growls again and he sounds so... animalistic.

So monstrous.

A shudder involuntarily runs down Evelyn's spine.

However, if Micah is afraid, he doesn't show it. He growls back, digging his nails into the skin underneath Harry's chin. It makes him draw back just the slightest, but it's enough for Micah. He removes his nails from Harry's chin and shoves them instead into the side of his neck. It must be a spot where the nerves are, because Harry's body instantly paralyzes. His eyes gleam murder at Micah, but he cannot move.

"Now," Micah snarls, pushing Harry back to get to his feet, all while maintaining his control. "Don't make me lose my temper."

The ravenous hunger and rage in Harry's eyes is so painfully clear.

"Eve," Micah says, shocking her. She hesitantly steps forward. "You've snapped him out of it twice now."

Her lips part. "I-I... I've never seen him like this."

Micah doesn't dare take his eyes off Harry's. "You have to try, or I'm going to be forced to do something neither of you will like."

He'll be forced to kill him.

Evelyn swallows. She hadn't realized there were tears in her eyes until they begin to sting. "I don't know what to say," she whispers, hardly able to glimpse at him.

"Try," Micah repeats, firmer this time. "I can't hold him forever."

She gives herself a mental slap in the face, attempts to pull herself together. She shakes out her hands as if it might give her strength, then she walks to Micah's side. She tries to ignore the pungent smell of blood reeking from him. Micah manages to step to the side so she's face to face with him. She doesn't understand why it hurts so much, seeing him like this.

"This isn't you," she says aloud, which she intended to say to herself. She struggles to hold his stare, but she wills herself to. His eyes flash, like he's fighting it again. Like he sees her as Evelyn and not prey.

She lifts her hand and subconsciously pushes his hair back, her fingertips grazing his forehead. She doesn't know why she did that. She's glad she did--his eyes steadily get lighter. "Let him go," she whispers, and Micah only hesitates a moment before doing so. The sound of his fingers discarding from Harry's neck makes her cringe.

Harry does not move, as if he is still paralyzed. His eyes remain on hers, growing a shade lighter with each passing breath. She flinches when she sees movement, but it is only his hand rising slowly. He halts with her timid gesture. Then his eyes soften completely, and as if he had been suffocating, he falls to his knees and chokes on air, gasping. She kneels, and he looks up at her. She's at a loss for words when she notices tears streaking through the blood on his face.

"I can't," he whispers, voice still hoarse but thick with emotions. He repeats those two words over and over, letting his head hang shamefully.

***

After the slaughter, they were forced to find camp somewhere else. They backtracked their steps, back towards the lab, and found an abandoned condo that looked fairly safe. As safe as you can get these days. The furniture is still intact, and there is even leftover canned goods in the pantry. Not much, but enough.

While everyone settles in, Evelyn finds the bathroom. She's lucky there are rags left in the cupboards, along with a few towels and some hand soap. She grabs a rag, squirts a small portion of hand soap on it, then uses a little water from her canteen. She's glad she hadn't forgotten it. It goes with her everywhere.

She goes to Harry, who is fearfully remaining on the front porch instead of entering. He doesn't argue when she wipes the blood off his face. She tries to hide her distaste by biting the inside of her lip, but a few nose scrunches slip by. He doesn't acknowledge them. He can't look at her directly.

She manages to get it all off, albeit there's a slight red tint around his mouth. His shirt is still drenched with it. She hasn't checked any of the rooms for clothes. When Harry still says nothing, she turns to walk away. She has nothing to say, either. After today, all she wishes to do is lay down and sleep for a few days, months, maybe even years. But first, she needs to get Sasha back.

His voice rises, barely above a whisper, and stops her in her tracks.

"You should have let Micah kill me."

She doesn't answer. Doesn't turn around. Doesn't know if she agrees or not.

"Please don't stop him next time."

She purses her lips, sets the rag on the porch railing and folds her arms across her chest. Protectively. She faces him. "You've made it this far," she says, searching for promising words she can't quite say. "You can do this, Harry."

His head in his hands, he pulls at his hair. "I can't." Those two words again. He hadn't stopped mumbling them earlier until Micah pulled him to his feet and told him we needed to go before more showed up.

Then Evelyn realizes he still has four arrows sticking out of his back. It's almost laughable, if it weren't so dire. "Shit," she mutters. "You never let us pull them out."

He lifts his head at the subject change, then shrugs. "I forgot they were there."

"You don't want me to pull them," she reiterates.

He shakes his head silently.

"It'll be quick."

"I deserve it."

At this, she sighs. "Come on, Harry. You have to give yourself a break." She strides over behind him, gripping the base of the first arrow in his upper right shoulder. "Ready?" She yanks it before he answers. Catching the injured off guard is always easier.

But Harry doesn't even flinch.

Not that she truly expected him to.

She pulls the other three out, then her jaw drops. Before her eyes, the skin begins pushing itself back together, nothing but thin lines for scars left behind. In a daze, she runs her fingers over the smooth skin, impressed. How the hell is such science possible?

"Your hands are colds," Harry says, bring her back to reality. She jumps back as if he'd burned her. "I don't mind it."

"No, I shouldn't have... Sorry." God, she's such an idiot.

He turns around, grabbing her wrist before she can pull it back to herself. He stares at her face while she watches their hands slowly intertwine. She looks back up to him, and he presses their foreheads together.

"You are the reason," he whispers, eyes shut. He gives her hand a small squeeze. "I would have given up a long time ago."

"You can't," she says in a soft voice, matching his quietness, his tenderness.

"I can't," he echoes, but this time, there is an entirely different meaning in the way he speaks the two words. Not defeat, but promise.

"I don't know what else to do."

"There's nothing you can do."

"I want to help you, Harry."

"You already are."

She considers this a moment, considers their hands locked together and their foreheads connected. "I would hug you if you didn't have a blood-soaked shirt on," she says, attempting to lighten the mood. She can't take so much seriousness in so little time.

It works. He smiles. It would look like him were it not for the additional teeth. She's still happy to see it. "And I would kiss you if I knew I wouldn't hurt you."

"You have to get over that, you know."

"Maybe when it happens."

Her cheeks flush despite herself. "That's enough mush time for me today."

She tries to back off, but he tugs on her hand and brings them back together. "Are you scared of it?"

"Of what?"

"Romance."

She scrunches her nose.

"I'm killing my throat right now. The least you can do is answer me honestly," he half-teases, half-means.

She licks her lips, avoids his eyes. "I guess," she mumbles. "I've never had it."

"Well, lucky for you--" He pauses and she gives in, meeting his gaze. There's amusement in his red irises. "--I happened to be very romantic in my old life."

She groans, rolling her eyes and shoving his shoulder, a clean spot where no blood hit. "That's it. I'm going to sleep." But she smiles when he chuckles.

Romance is so out of place yet so inevitable in this world. Locke had been right months ago when he said you can't have an apocalypse without a romance story weaved in.

Maybe one day, she'll understand why the world is so obsessed with love.