(sorry this is late, I sort of had to graduate high school... and my birthday is today--may 30--so I've been a little swamped lmao. this is such a shitty chapter, I'm sorry. I'll try to post again tomorrow. love you all xx)

CHAPTER THIRTY

NICOLA GLANCES OVER HER shoulder when she hears footsteps approaching. Harry gives her a disgruntled look that she acts like she didn't see.

"You were eight minutes off," she remarks.

Harry doesn't reply as he chews his bottom lip, staring over the edge of the gate. He can see Nicola's crowd of men gathered and ready, armed to the teeth, but that doesn't comfort him. He's never satisfied before a fight. He never lets himself get hopeful because once you get hopeful, it all comes crashing down. He'd rather stay grim and suspicious as opposed to jinx their chances.

"Our odds?"

Harry really wishes she didn't try to make conversation.

He sighs and remains friendly. "About like they always are: hard to tell."

"Hmm. I sense you aren't telling me everything."

"How many men do you have?"

"Down at the gate alone there's fifty."

Harry snorts. "I hope they're tough."

She cuts her harsh glare to him. "Tougher than they look. I don't allow cowards into my ranks."

"Cowardice has nothing to do with strength," he says, shrugging indifferently.

She humphs, clearly in disagreement but doesn't bother to argue. "Can you tell how many there are? I heard them saying you're some sort of miracle."

Harry scoffs are that. "A monstrosity more like. But I do have better senses." He turns to walk off, then says over his shoulder, "There's going to be two waves. The first will be a piece of cake, but I suggest your men stay humble. The second is going to be a group they've never dealt with before."

She blinks. "What do you mean by that?"

He doesn't have time to explain, so he simply shouts, "The worst of the worst!"

He has somewhere to be, after all. She'll understand what he means soon enough when she sees the deformities stagger into view.

In the meantime, he's piecing together what's really happening here. Yes, partly a rescue mission like Micah suspects, but it's much more than that. Besides, there's more than one hostage being held at this camp. The doctor isn't the only prisoner with allies.

He needs to see Wolf.

***

Wolf smirks despite how terrible he looks. With a busted eye that's taking longer to heal due to the lack of food he's been given and dried blood staining parts of his body, he looks two seconds from collapsing. It's obvious Leo's men have been enjoying the torturing stage. After all, Harry understands they have aggressions to let out on this man, who's taken so much from so many people. Still, the sight of him makes Harry cringe in pity.

He knows the horrors of torture far too well.

"I knew this would happen," Wolf says smugly. "You need my help, don't you?"

Harry grits his teeth. "I need you to call them off."

Wolf barks a horse laugh.

"I'll free you in return. But you have to call them off first."

"Not gonna happen," Wolf replies with a chuckle, hoisting himself up onto his feet. He grips the bars of his cell, which are wrapped with barbed wire. "I'd rather rot in here than spare all of the pathetic lives in this putrid camp."

Harry matches his stare, unwavering. "Your men will die just as easily."

"Yes, but mine are more likely to win." Wolf tilts his head. "Did something change about you, 748? Wait, wait, don't tell me... Hmm... Ah, you got rid of those teeth, didn't you? I'm betting you aren't as tough anymore. Especially if you're so worried about this attack."

Fed up and annoyed that Wolf is wasting his time, Harry reaches through the bars and grips the man's shirt collar. He yanks Wolf towards him, which causes Wolf face to slam against the bars. Wolf groans in pain though he tries to stifle the sound.

"I don't have time for this," Harry snarls. "Tell me the phrase to call them off."

There's always a phrase or a word. It's code, and how they could tell friends from enemy during the war.

Wolf grins, his fangs flashing. "You know I'm not going to tell you."

Harry does know that, and that only pisses him off more.

He releases Wolf only enough so the experiment can take a step back, then he grabs the man again and slams him against the bars twice as hard. When he lets go for good, Wolf stumbles away, clutching his head while muttering profanities.

"Have fun rotting," Harry growls before storming back up the stairs from the cellar, clenching his fists to hold his temper.

Save it for the battle, he tells himself, but he can feel his mood changing swiftly despite how badly he fights it.

He must look angrier than he thinks because a guard he makes eye contact with immediately staggers away with wide, terrified eyes and his jaw agape. Harry tries to control his breathing, closing his eyes while he takes deep breaths. He doesn't think it's working. He wishes he were anywhere but here. That Evelyn and Robbie and Sasha and all the rest were anywhere but here.

Well, the kids won't be here. That's good. Erik and Locke should already be a mile away with them at this point. He trusts Erik and Locke to protect them. He tries to calm his anxiety with the knowledge that the two will keep them safe.

"Harry!"

His neck practically snaps when he hears the soft, young voice. His eyes nearly pop out of his head. "Maxie, what are you still doing here?"

She breathing heavy, and when she reaches him she hunches over with her hands on her knees. "I couldn't... I needed to..."

"You don't need to be here," he snaps unintentionally, still battling with the rage inside him. He grabs her shoulder and forces her to look at him. "Leave, Maxie."

Maxie blinks at him, uncertain who this Harry is she's facing. "Harry, I just--"

Maxie suddenly takes a step back, staring at him in shock. "What's wrong with you?" she whispers, her voice trembling.

That seems to snap Harry out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into. He feels his face soften as he stares back at her, instantly letting her go. "Maxie, I'm sorry. I didn't..." He drags a hand down his face. "I'm worried."

She nods. "I get it. You should be."

He frowns. "Did you have a vision?"

She swallows a lump in her throat. "That's why I came back. It's going to get bad, Harry..." She looks over at him. "Really bad."

She takes his hand and begins to lead him towards the front of the camp, which is where he had been heading anyways. He doesn't know what he expects to see when they arrive, but he certainly hadn't been anticipating the mass of bodies pressed against the front gate. Nicola's men are freaking out, slicing their swords and aimlessly firing their weapons. Hands are reaching through the bars of the gate. Dozens of hands. So many hands. He can see the deformed faces. He can smell the decay.

He can sense the overwhelming fear that circulates through the camp.

That puts him further on edge.

"Aim for the throat!" he shouts, frustrated that the group is barely even looking. They're wasting their ammo and they're energy.

Evelyn is already there, shouting the same orders Harry is. Max picks up the echo, running down the line so everyone hears. The Turned are everywhere; at the gate, along the fence, still staggering from the woods. He imagines they might even go on for miles, if Wolf is as determined to kill off everyone as he seemed.

Harry sees an arrow fly from above. He looks up. Killian is standing on top of a roof with a bow and a bucket of arrows. The two make eye contact and he nods approvingly, causing Killian to smirk a little. Harry then looks around for Micah. If Killian is here, Micah is bound to be nearby. He finds him easily a fair distance down the fence, reaching through and snapping necks. Harry is pleasantly surprised to see him working beside Gavriel.

"The gate is caving!" someone screams.

Harry looks and, indeed, the front gate is creaking as its hinges start to break. Harry rushes forward, pushing back against it with the rest of Nicola's men. Some of them slide away from him while others thank him for the help. With his advanced strength, he's able to hold it upright, but not for long.

"Start picking them off," he commands. "Aim for the chest, throat, and head. Anywhere else won't kill them."

He's surprised when so many of Nicola's men listen to him. There are still the few who exchange looks with each other, like they aren't sure if they should follow his orders. That's fine with him. Most of the men are wise enough to listen.

"What's wrong with them?" he hears a younger man ask nervously while simultaneously sticking one in the throat with an arrow.

Harry doesn't answer because he doesn't know how. How is he supposed to explain what happens in a time like this? It's better if they don't know that he's the cause of these monstrosities. It's fangs like his that created these flesh-hungry demons. He can't quite bring himself to speak up. Besides, he's trying to gain their trust, not give them more reasons to despise his kind. To despise him.

"Harry!"

It's Gavriel calling him, and suddenly Harry has a flashback of being on the battlefield. They were America--Arizona, he thinks--and Gavriel was being outnumbered by enemy soldiers. No matter the experiment's strength, dozens of guns aimed on him with jabs from numerous swords was enough to wear anyone down. Harry had tried to rush over, but he himself had a handful of enemies to get through. Gavriel went back to camp with six bullet wounds that day, and Harry still feels guilty over it.

So, needless to say, his feet instantly start in Gavriel's direction before he even realizes what Gavriel is saying. He's not being ambushed, but he's warning Harry that some of the Turned are creeping around to the back to jump the fence. Newly Turned are more dangerous because they still have more of their wits, more of their strength than the ones who have been Turned for a while. He doesn't want the new ones to get set loose or it'd be utter chaos.

More so than it already is.

"Maxie, stay out of reach," he tells the girl, dreadfully parting from her.

Then Harry orders the guards to keep the rest at bay while he and Gavriel rush towards the back of the camp. The Turned have only made it a little ways down the side, thankfully. One exchange of glances and Harry and Gavriel are both hopping the fence with ease, ready to pick them off before they can get any closer.

It's quick business, and Harry contemplates jumping back over, but then a thought occurs to him.

"We can pick them off from the sides," he tells Gavriel, gesturing with his hands. "You run around to the other and we meet in the middle."

Gavriel, for once, questions what Harry's commanding. "There's a thick load of them, Eddie. I say we get a couple more people to come with us."

Harry instantly shakes his head. "There's no time for that. They need to be on the inside protecting the civilians who didn't leave." Which is most of them. Apparently, Nicola is better at gaining loyalty than Harry first thought. "Trust me," he continues, "it's the weak ones in the front. The stronger ones will show up later."

He's known Wolf longer than Gavriel. He knows how his sick mind works. Hell, he'd even agreed with one of Wolf's raid attacks before because of how unbeatable it was.

Gavriel frowns, but nods, clapping his best friend on the shoulder. "I better find you waiting for me in the middle."

Harry allows a small smile. "Where else do you think I'd be?"

Then the two are parting, and Harry pushes away the knot in his stomach, refuses to focus on it. Gavriel is smart and strong. He'll be able to handle it. Harry has never doubted his abilities before, and he isn't going to start now.

It's not hard to pick off the few stragglers hanging out of the side. Harry is relieved with how quick his pace is. He keeps his focus solely on the deformed in front of him, most of them not even acknowledging he's there because of their intent to get inside. See, Harry thinks, the weak ones are always thrown into battle first. This reminder gives him a boost of confidence and he increases his speed, leaving a long, wide trail of bodies behind him.

It's easy to meet up with Gavriel. However, when Gavriel sees him, he blinks multiple times with a look of awe on his face. Harry, confused and panting, asks him what's wrong.

"Dude," Gavriel says slowly. "I just left you like thirty seconds ago."

Harry looks around. Then he sees a mere dozen bodies behind Gavriel and his jaw slacks. "Oh," is all he can manage.

Gavriel breaks out into a huge grin. "Remind me to never get on your bad side."

"Hey!"

The two look over at Evelyn, who's standing on the bar of the gate, leaning her face through to talk to them more clearly.

"You idiots might want to get back inside."

Harry's ears pick up the sound of footsteps just as the words leave her lips. Fast footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Hundreds of footsteps.

He knew this was coming. The first wave is always the easiest.

His stomach still sinks with dread.