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Thirteen. My Bloody Hands.
Time sped up. Amelia's eyes darted to the boxes stuffed with fireworks and hastily labeled explosives. Their makeshift plan was to fight off the embodiment of Death that had chased after them using rockets and shitty fireworks.
It still sounded like a delusion. She'd said as much. Repeatedly. She claimed that they were volunteering for a fiery death. Those fireworks were more for the Fourth of July than a defense against a monster. An actual monster.
But despite her protests, adrenaline surged through her like wildfire, numbing the sting in her limbs. The idea that this could finally end, that maybe they'd make it, was almost intoxicating. Still, doubt clung to her ribs. The thoughts she tried to bury kept resurfacing. Him. That coffin.
She'd been quickly shut down by Nancy, as she'd later introduced herself, who'd coldly redirected her to second-floor duty with Steve and Robin.
This was real. Very much real. Not just a nightmare.
Her back pressed against a concrete column on the upper balcony. She rubbed her sweaty palms against her shorts and tried to slow her rapid breathing. She didn't want to think. Not about anything. Not even about her mother. She wanted to live. She wanted to get out of there alive. But she couldn't ignore it: this coffin. It waited. And she wasn't sure if it was meant for him or her.
She felt it in her chest before she heard it—heavy stomps thundering up through the floor. The shriek that followed twisted her gut; the inhuman noise vibrated through her. Her eyes flicked to Steve's. The three of them stayed crouched behind the column, holding their breath, waiting for Lucas' signal as the monster lowered itself inside Starcourt.
Her eyebrows pinched as she turned to the pair. "Do you smell that?"
"Smell what?" Steve shook his head, already tensed.
"Sewage," she muttered. "Like something's rotting. Like death. It's putrid." They exchanged brief glances, frustrating Amelia. "You seriously don't smell that?"
Robin side-eyed her, trying to crack a grin. "Pretty sure that's just your dirty clothes, Ames. Or the concussion talking."
Amelia didn't laugh. Her arms folded tightly across her chest. She sighed, "I'm serious. It's strong. It's—it's the same smell as before. It's freaking me out. The basement. My—"
"Guys!" Will's voice cut in, breathless as he appeared around the corner, hair sticking to his sweaty skin. He pointed at the boxes before darting back into position.
Steve sprang into action, tossing fireworks toward Robin. She caught them with shaking hands. Amelia didn't know how they acted on instinct so fast—she was glued to the ground. She always was. Her head was drowned in doubt.
