chapter twenty
CHAPTER TWENTY
HARRY IS ACTING MORE controlled than he feels. Externally, he is merely breathing heavily and fighting the urge to snap his teeth at the nearest flesh. Internally, however, he is a raging beast banging against a steel cage. Ravenous, irate, demonic. The bars of the cage are gradually bending, gradually weakening. He cannot stop himself from caving in the bars entirely, not forever. The fact that he's made it this long still half-sane is a miracle.
But seeing Evelyn. Seeing her cry and worry and breakdown... Seeing her trust him, even in his deranged state of mind. It's helping. It's really, genuinely helping.
He's using all of those things for sanity. For control.
It's hard, though, as he dives into the bloodbath, to remain level-headed as so much gore fills his nostrils, encouraging the monster. He tries to focus majority of his smell on Evelyn's scent, though not so vanilla anymore, sweet all the same. He tries to keep his eyes on her to ensure she's still there, still with him. He tries to zero-in his hearing on her heartbeat only, to ensure it's still beating, still wild. With all of his attention trying to remain solely on Evelyn, it's keeping his head a bit clearer.
But it's making fighting a lot harder.
He can't look at Evelyn too long, and he can't deflect blows and dodge oncoming attacks fast enough. The more experiments that are able to pounce on him, the angrier he gets. The more control he loses. He wants to tear them all limb from limb, drain them lifeless with his unquenched thirst. He wants their blood stained on his hands and face. He wants to stand over them with that satisfied tingle of victory. He wants to--
He growls viciously as two experiments take him down together. Blind rage overwhelms any logic he may have at this point as he gets to his feet again, his hands clawing at the both of them. He grips either behind the neck, smashing their foreheads together once, twice, three times until their heads are completely bashed in. He maintains his clutch on one of their neck's, slinging their body around into another brave ambusher, swiping their feet from under them. He hears another approaching behind, and he whips around fast, too fast for them to process. He fists the experiment's hair, exposing the neck so he can easily rip at the flesh with his teeth.
It's not enough.
He tosses the dead body aside, reaching for another.
It's not enough.
Frustrated and hungry and utterly enraged, he snatches body after body, literally sucking the life out of them. He doesn't count how many he kills. He doesn't particularly care.
It's still not enough.
There's suddenly a cry unlike the others, a higher pitched scream. He turns to see a girl, baring her teeth and swiping a puny blade. She's knocked to the pavement, kicking off bodies that try to hover her. Blood is all over her, all around her. All in his nose, churning his stomach. So much blood. His sensitive smell is starting to give him a headache.
She screams again, this time in agony rather than a challenge. It seems to break something in him. He watches an experiment grab her dagger, plunge it right into her stomach. It hardly takes him a breath to be next to them, to tackle the experiment to the ground. His hands move of their own accord, scratching his face, gauging at his eyes, clawing at his throat. A different kind of rage settles in his stomach, a heavy stone that steadily sinks. He gathers enough of his wits to push himself off of the torn-away corpse. He isn't sorry for the face that looks only of red flesh and pieces of revealed skull. He should've done worse.
But there are others venturing near, whiffs of her blood flooding their noses.
He stands at her side, clenching his fists, growling in warning. Some back off. Most do not. They figure since they outnumber him, they can defeat him.
However, none of them have promises to keep or trust to ensure.
Before he can jump in for the fight, though, there is another voice shouting at him, "One of us needs to tend to her wound and keep her breathing!" It's 752, covered in as much blood as he. Panic blanches his skin.
Harry is more equipped to fight, so he nods to Evelyn for 752 to nurse her. He snaps his teeth at an experiment who dares too close, and glowers at the rest. About fifteen stand in front of him in a face-off. He holds his ground at Evelyn's feet, waiting for the first fool to strike.
When four strike at once, he does something he swore he'd never do--he releases the monster inside from its cage.
Anything to protect her.
And he knows 752 will do what he has to if worst comes to worst.
***
"Don't close your eyes, Eve," Micah says firmly, gripping her chin. "Keep your eyes on me, all right?"
She mumbles something, all of the blood loss exhausting her. There's a pool of it around her middle, soaking the back of her shirt. There isn't much Micah can do except pull the dagger out and bandage it tightly. He grabs the hilt and yanks quickly, causing a pained cry to flee Eve's lips. He pushes two fingers into the wound to clot the blood, then uses his other hand to rip off the hem of her shirt.
"Eve, open your eyes," he growls, tapping her cheek.
She struggles to oblige, but it's clear that she's trying to.
"Come on, stay awake."
He tears a piece of his own shirt off, a small portion of fabric to shove into the hole the dagger made. He replaces his fingers with the material, then winds her strip of shirt around her stomach, tying it as tight as he can. His mouth waters as he catches a glimpse of her blood on his fingers. He ignores the terrible, carnivorous urge that's practically suffocating him.
More and more experiments continue to flood from all sides, and 748 takes them on as best he can--which is with incredible strength and accuracy. He's a maniac beast fighting, shredding flesh, snapping necks, ripping at their throats. It's remarkable how he's yet to lash out on either Eve or Micah. He maintains an eerie alertness of where Eve is, stepping around her body to assault oncoming experiments. He never gets too close, he never gets too far. He dances around her while battling ferociously.
Micah gently scoops her into his arms, pushing to his feet. "I need to get her inside," he says over the screams of agony and warcries.
A curt nod, and 748 is shifting positions, creating a path through the thick mass of bodies. Micah can't believe 748 is still standing, still breathing calmly as if he's merely jogged a block or two. A flare of jealousy snakes up his spine, heating the back of his neck.
That unfathomable power and endurance should be his.
He doesn't realize he's tightened his hold on Eve until she softly whimpers, her wound crushing against his side. He instantly loosens his grip, trying to keep his thoughts on anything but his unfortunate luck.
Micah slips into the fence onto the porch, then calls to 748, "I'll come back out to help, just hang in there."
748 grunts in response, pushing against two experiments attempting to take him down together. He bashes their skulls, a trick he seems to have picked up recently and really enjoys. Micah stops himself from gaping, from envying, and bursts into the house.
The house is silent, no doubt from their small group hiding, but Michelle pokes her head out of the master bedroom's closet door when Micah lays Eve on the bed.
"What happened?"
"A dagger. I think it might have punctured an artery. She's had a lot of blood loss," he explains quickly. "Are there any medical supplies here? A first aid kit, maybe?"
Her lips tremble. "No. I checked already and, of course, those were probably the first things to go."
He grumbles under his breath. "I tried to clot it, but it's pretty deep. You have a medical background. Is there anything you can do?" He doesn't mention that he probably knows everything she does, simply because he wishes she knew more. That something can be done.
She shakes her head. "I'll have to look at it, but there isn't much I can do without proper supplies."
Micah curses loudly.
Then a quiet whisper silences both of them.
Eve's eyes are hardly open, her lips are barely moving as she repeats herself, "Keep the kids safe."
Micah sits on the edge of the bed. "I don't want to make a promise I can't keep, Eve."
"Please try."
"Of course," he whispers.
But she isn't finished. "Where is Harry?"
Micah clenches his jaw. "Still fighting. There's an endless mob of them that keep coming from all sides. We won't last much longer."
She scrunches her nose, whether in pain or annoyance, he isn't sure. "Dammit," she mumbles. Then she actually tries to sit up.
"What are you doing?" he asks, pushing her carefully back down.
"I can't die until I see that bastard die first," she says with surprising force, though her voice is hoarse.
"Eve, you can't do anything in this state. Look." He gestures to her legs. "Your leg wounds are starting to ooze, you've got a hole in your stomach--you're useless." He doesn't use the word harshly, only honestly.
"No," she says. "No, I have to do something."
"Eve, you've done your part. There's nothing else you can do. Nothing any of us can do, for that matter."
She looks at him with suddenly wide eyes, and tears streak her cheeks. He's never seen her cry so much--he's never seen her show any weakness at all until today. "I thought once," she starts, then takes a deep, shuddering breath that makes her flinch with the ache of it. "I thought once that I wanted to die." Her tears flow harder. "But I don't. I don't want to die, Micah."
He wishes he could tell her she won't.
He wishes he could tell her she's stronger than death, but in the end, death is inevitable. And she's faced it too many times now to win again.
There are some battles that can't be won.
***
I can't win.
Deep down, he admits this to himself. He knows he will wear down eventually. He knows they will only continue coming. He knows he's terribly, horrifically outnumbered. He knows the monster is taking over, leaving bits and pieces of Harry left behind.
Exhaustion slowly creeps into his arms and legs and jaw. Frustration drives him as he takes down one body just so three more can take its place. He feels blood running down his arm. He can't tell if it's his or not. He doesn't know if any of the blood soaked in his clothes or covered on his mouth is his or his enemy.
He knows who he is, is wrong.
He knows Evelyn will die.
He knows it is all his fault.
He hates himself.
Hates, hates, hates.
The never-ending rage he seems to feel is what keeps him upright, keeps him alert. As the newer, less experienced experiments are wiped out, the stronger ones fill in the space with weapons apart from their bodies being weapons themselves. Harry manages to snatch one of their swords, and it makes the fighting a little easier, a little more tolerable. He can jab and swipe and not get so close this way. But the sword is heavy and holds more weight than he'd like.
Still, he jabs and swipes, jabs and swipes.
Still, the bodies fall and more replace them.
He's backed into the porch steps, protecting the house with all of his might. But there is a back door, and there is an entire semicircle of land that he cannot protect. Every area to the sides and back of the house are completely open. Though most experiments flock to a fight and prefer to take on their chances with him, any smart creature would creep around back to get what they really came here for.
Assuming the Normals are what they really came here for.
He doesn't know what they want, why they're here.
He only wishes they'd leave.
His breath begins to get shorter, his arm begins cramping with the muscle it takes to slash the sword. He gets caught up in his oncoming tiredness that he leaves his right side exposed. He's tackled to the grass, a bad position to be in. He's entirely weak on his back. He tries to kick at them, tries to get to his feet, but they've all crammed in now to keep him down. They know he's an extraordinary opponent, and they're working together to take advantage of his abrupt vulnerability.
Three scratches down his cheek. A kick to his stomach. Someone fights him for the sword while another stands on his bicep to make him let go of the weapon. He's angry as ever now, and he's able to break a few of their ankles, able to push them away. But the crowd is so dense that it doesn't matter.
Nothing matters.
Then there is a loud horn blown, and the experiments all freeze, albeit a few wrestle to keep Harry pinned.
The horde parts and--Harry snarls.
Doctor Stevens walks up with a smug smirk. "Lift him."
It takes four experiments to get Harry onto his knees, and two more to keep him there. More animalistic than human at this point, Harry gnashes his teeth at the doctor, growling threateningly. One slip up from any of these men holding him down and he'll have that bastard's neck right between his canines.
"All you had to do was obey," the doctor says, clicking his tongue scornfully. "I gave you everything, and still you abandoned me. Still you fight against me. We are family, my boy. You cannot escape fate."
"You're no more than the dirt beneath my feet," Harry spits, gritting his massive teeth.
"Now, don't be like that. I've been so generous towards you." The doctor kneels in front of him confidently, but remains a smart distance away. "I don't know what went wrong. You were so willing in the beginning. To save your sister. Penelope, wasn't it?"
Harry growls, another warning.
"A pity she had to die so soon. I really did consider sparing her, but after she and your mother drilled into your head that the war was wrong, you became difficult. I had to get rid of all of the obstacles to keep you in line, you know. It was not out of cruelty, my boy. It was out of affection, to prove to you that you could be so much more than they let you."
Harry tries to lunge, but shackles are suddenly placed on his wrists. Heavy ones that drop his arms to the ground behind him, the chain just as thick, if not thicker. The doctor isn't taking any chances this time.
The bastard smiles at him. "Let's not make this any more difficult than it has to be, all right? Now, considering you mauled half my army in front of this house, I'd bet money that that's where you're keeping her, hmm?"
Harry doesn't react, doesn't give him the response he wants.
"Or did you get her to run before I showed up? No matter. I'll find her, nonetheless."
He can't help but to ask, "What do you want with her?"
"The same as I've wanted with you," he says, standing straight again. He glares down at Harry in disgust. "A commendable soldier."
He glares back.
"She's shown potential," the doctor adds. "She's taken down some of my men far too easily, and two of my best seem to deem her worthy. She already has the skills, but imagine her like one of you."
He doesn't want to. He doesn't want to see Evelyn transformed into something horrible, something incapable of saving. He doesn't want to see pain in her eyes or distaste on her face when she looks in a mirror. He doesn't want her to be tarnished with such a gruesome fate. He doesn't want to see that small flame inside her flicker out.
"Yes, she'd be remarkable. Perhaps a better student than you, 748. She already feeds into the darkness. She only needs that small push of motivation to be unstoppable. I can truly take over the world, then." He grins, looking up at the sky. "Ah, what a lovely thought."
Harry figures it's his only chance to keep her from seeing the same torture he has. "You're too late," he says, holding the doctor's stare as the man looks to him. "She's already dead. Your men killed her."
The doctor's lips curl, just the slightest, enough to tell Harry that his plans have faltered. "Nonsense."
Harry cracks his own wicked smile, the darkness and madness beginning to consume him. "She's dead," he repeats. "You can't have her. She's dead."
The doctor huffs then snaps at his men, "Take him to the ship. I'll deal with him later."
Harry can't stop repeating those two, haunting words, "She's dead. She's dead, she's dead, she's dead."
Yet as he's being hauled away, the words get softer and his grin fades and his heart aches and his stomach plummets. A lump clogs his throat as the words become a whisper, a terrible truth he does not want to face.
He can only hope that 752 has done a better job than he at keeping her safe.
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