Page 175 of Barinov

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By the time I weave my way down to the ground level and hop over the tourist barricades, I haven’t seen shit. Just a maze of cracked pillars, tight corridors, and a fuck ton of dirt.

Moonlight barely reaches down here. The shadows swallow everything whole. And worst of all, I can’t shake this feeling that someone is behind me. But every time I turn, I damn near face plant into more fucking rock.

I round another corner and—CRACK! The stone inches from my temple disintegrates into white powder. The roar of the shot bounces off the arch above me, multiplying until it sounds like a goddamn firing squad.

“Lex! Get down!” a voice vibrates my jaw, piped directly from the lining of my mask.

“The hell?” I lunge behind a crumbling pillar, slamming my chest into the stone.

“Move!” the voice snarls again.

I roll. A second shot screams through the space my head occupied a heartbeat ago.

“Who the hell are you?” I grit.

“It’s me,” he says. “Zeke.”

My brain fucking stalls.

“Zeke?!” I mutter. “What the—”

“Shut up!” he cuts me off.

I clamp my mouth shut.

“He’s going to hear you if you don’t keep your damn voice down, dumbass.”

Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“What is going on?” I breathe. “How are you in my head?”

Slowly, I peer around the pillar.

“Don’t!” Zeke warns as another shot sparks against the stone above my head.

BANG!

BANG!

“Shit.” I slam my shoulders back, knees hitting the dirt. “How the hell am I—”

“Just shut up and listen to me,” Zeke barks. “It’s the only way we’re going to win this thing.”

“We?” I whisper, brushing dust and tiny pebbles out of my hair. “The fuck you mean we?”

“I mean that it’s a game to him,” Zeke explains. “This Blackout thing.”

“Well,” I gripe. “The Blackout didn’t have guns and it was never about—”

“He never made it to the Blackout, Lex!” Zeke cuts in, agitated. “He failed The Red Hour, remember?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, he used his imagination for this shit,” Zeke confirms, letting out a bitter scoff. “I think he just needed an excuse to get rid of me.”

“Get rid of you?” I echo, knees getting sore from kneeling.