We twist and turn through the structure, making our way down a staircase and then doubling back past a row of small windows. I glance into one of the glass-paned openings, catching sight of a large engine room that churns and chugs away. A gargantuan spool of cable rests at the center of it all, nestled within various bays of industrial equipment and panels of blinking lights.
Eventually, we arrive at what appears to be a simple break room, ducking inside. There’s a fridge and a microwave set up in the corner, and the opposite wall features several rows of small lockers. Noah immediately hurries over and yanks one open, rummaging around a bit and then pulling out a small plastic jar. He brings it back and hands it over to me.
“Let’s hope this works,” he says.
I turn the jar over in my hand, studying the label like it’s some kind of mythical tincture sent from the gods. A thinlayer of this stuff sent Eddie into a frothing, choking fit. I can only imagine what the whole thing would do.
I read the label aloud. “Aldafedrix topical cream—fluorouracil and more.”
Unfortunately, when I unscrew the cap and take a look inside, I’m struck with mild disappointment. The cream is mostly gone, gouged away over time until there’s just a few smears left at the bottom of the jar.
It’s probably enough to get the job done, but we need to be smart about it.
“So what’s the plan?” Noah asks.
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Open to suggestions.”
Marlo raises her hand, waving for my attention. “What if you stick it in the monster’s mouth?”
I hesitate, amused by this straightforward proposal. “I mean … yeah, pretty good plan. I think I’d probably get my hand bitten off, so I was hoping for something a little sneakier.”
Marlo nods with understanding, furrowing her brow.
“He seems pretty ravenous,” Noah jumps in. “I can just … put the cream on another patch.”
“No way,” I counter. “Besides, Eddie’s not that dumb.”
There’s a quiet knock on the break room door, Kenny’s voice carrying out from the other side. “Poppy? I’ve got those bandages.”
Noah turns to open the door, barely considering his own instinctive movement.
Proceed with caution. We can’t trust anyone.
It happens so fast, I barely have time for the momentto register. My entire frame jerks and the very beginning of a warning syllable just barely passes the edge of my lips. If I had more time, I’d tell him to stop. I’d remind him that, despite our introduction upstairs, I haven’t yet given this well-meaning security guard my name.
The door is only halfway open when a deafening blast hits my ears, transforming the relative silence into a constant, high-pitched whine. The world is briefly consumed by a flash of light, streaks of movement seared across my corneas as a shotgun blast tears through Noah’s chest, blowing him backward in a plume of gore. His body moves quickly, thrown by the impact, but not so fast that I miss the massive hole through his torso—bone, blood, and organs ejected onto the wall behind us amid an eruption of metal pellets.
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Bodies are fragile.
Noah said that to me once, and now his words are ringing through my mind just as loudly as the gunshot in my ears. For the briefest moment, I find myself genuinely stunned, frozen in place not from the bang, or the flash, or the violence, but the realization that my friend is dead.
Kenny stands in the doorway with tears rolling down his cheeks, his weapon raised. Everything feels as though it’s moving in slow motion as our eyes meet and Kenny swivels toward me.
Marlo screams.
I rush forward, tackling the security guard just moments before I directly stare down the barrel of his shotgun. There’s another furious blast, this one ripping into the cement ceiling above us and scattering fragmentsof dust and rock, and suddenly the whole world lurches back into sync, moving at its natural frame rate.
“Get down!” I yell, maternal instinct kicking in as I struggle to locate Marlo in the chaos.
Unfortunately, this moment of distraction allows Kenny to take a swing at me with the barrel of his gun, striking the side of my face and knocking me back into the hallway. The pain is ten times more vicious than expected, reactivating my self-inflicted wounds, and for a moment it’s so terrible that I can feel my whole body flirt with the idea of giving out. This wave of discomfort comes with a distinct exhaustion, the lights in my brain momentarily flickering.
Somehow, I power through it, scrambling to my feet and leaping at Kenny in a clawing, shrieking mess. I literally climb his broad frame, then yank him back as hard as I can and drag him to the ground with me.
Kenny tries swinging the barrel of his gun around for another blast, but I manage to get his hand between my teeth and chomp down. There’s an unstoppable fervor to the guard’s aggression, but this bite finally manages to force his fingers open.
The weapon drops and I pounce on it. I somehow get my hands around the gun and immediately roll back to face Kenny, but before I can get a shot off he gives me a hearty kick and sends the gun clattering even farther down the hallway. He kicks again, a direct hit to my stomach that forces the air from my lungs, and in this moment Kenny uses all of his weight to roll on top of me.
