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I snap up and clamp my teeth to his ear, tearing away the fleshy organ in one savage bite. If my roar of pain earlier was loud, Auden’s is deafening. His eyes bulge so much they’re on the verge of popping out his sockets. His face immediately pales, dripping sweat, and his mouth drops open for a blood-curdling scream.
But I don’t give a shit.
I spit out my mouthful of blood and his bitten off ear, then toss a fist to his face. He crumples sideways into the dirt, immersed in paralyzing pain and horror.
I leave him where he is, pushing myself up and gunning for the excavator. Nobody else manages to stop me—another Reaper tries, swinging on me, but I pop him in the jaw with a quick elbow, then snap his neck.
The metallic taste of Auden’s blood still rests on my tongue. I’m drenched in sweat, dirt, and my own blood. My side throbs and begs for mercy, for me to slow down.
Nothing I can allow. Not ’til Sydney’s pulled out of the ground.
I shut out the deep, pressurized pain and throw myself into the seat of the excavator.
There’s a narrow dashboard of controls featuring buttons and lights. Some of them seem pretty straight forward while others seem like they could cause damage if pushed and used incorrectly. I start off with the common sense option: the on button.
It lurches to life with a motorized crank. I press the gas and drive it forward with the lever.
No matter how hard I hold down the pedal, it doesn’t go any faster. The excavator crawls across the construction site at a slow but steady pace.
In the near distance, everybody’s still duking it out. Guys are shooting and throwing hands. Auden’s rolling around in bloodied, hysterical agony.
The second the excavator’s within striking distance of the heap of dirt, I push the button that unlocks the boom and jerk the lever that lifts it up and down. The long mechanical arm raises up with its bucket for a hand and then lowers to the ground to scoop up the dirt.
The tricky part is getting the bucket positioned deep enough under the dirt to fill it up and then lift it and dump it somewhere else.
After a couple failed attempts, I get the hang of it. I’m cranking on the lever and directing it about like a pro, when really it’s the desperation that’s pushing me. That’s got me so focused, I hardly blink. So damn on edge, I’m leaning forward on the seat, bleeding everywhere without a fuck to give about it.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter under my breath. I yank on the lever again hoping it’ll push the excavator to go faster digging up its latest heap of dirt, but it’s only wishful thinking—there’s no getting it to speed up. My only shot is remaining patient and steady.
Soon the large pile of dirt begins shrinking. Soon I’ll be able to say to hell with it and dig Sydney out myself.
“No you don’t!” Velma screeches. She comes out of nowhere, clutching a gun. Her tall beehive hair is disheveled and ratty, falling into her bruised face. Somebody must’ve tried fucking her up, but she was able to fight them off.
She squeezes the trigger and chinks the front glass. A vein-like crack splits across the windshield, though the bullet doesn’t come anywhere near landing. She tries again to results just as bad. Her bullet whizzes past me and the excavator, coming nowhere near hitting a mark.
Her third attempt reveals she’s out. No more bullets.
She desperately pulls her finger against the trigger again and again, only to hear theclick, click, clickof an empty chamber.
With a distressed shriek that frightens the birds, she tosses the gun in the dirt and then launches herself at me.
I’ve got one hand on the lever and the other flying out to block her. Velma tries—she claws at me, she kicks, scratches, jams her taloned fingers into my face to obscure my vision.
Enough is enough. I don’t hit women, but she’s pushed one too many buttons, and I’ve got Sydney to save.
My hand wraps around her throat and with one barbaric squeeze, she’s choking for air. My other releases the lever, curling into a fist that collides with her jaw. She tumbles out the open doorway of the excavator and flops to the ground.
I jump out after her, going straight for the spot where Sydney’s buried. Enough dirt has been removed that after scooping several more handfuls away, I can see some kinda casket entrenched into the earth.
“Sydney!” I call out.
Nobody answers me.
Panic clogs up my chest. It takes up camp in my brain. It fuels me to move faster, my arms a blur as I dig away ’til the casket’s fully visible and I’m able to reach for the latch. Tossing it open and reaching inside, my arms wrap around Sydney and heave with every ounce of strength I have left.
Her eyelids are drooped to the point they’re almost closed. She’s barely conscious, covered in so much fucking dirt, drenched in sweat, that it’s obvious she’s hanging on by a thin thread.
“Shit,” I say, ignoring my own pain. I grunt, heaving her out the rest of the way from the casket.
