The Eden Projects (EDITING)

Chapter 18. Humanity.

There were no questions about it, Archer was gone. 

Although, every creak the barn made brought him back to them. 

So they waited, they listened. Begging for him to walk through the door, to kick Kasper out, to lambast them with the truth. But he never would. The dead couldn't speak. 

Kasper did his best when he wasn't thinking, but now, his mind rambled at one hundred words per second, and he saw their faces, the Flickers, the people he killed. Archer. Archer. The way he tore through them all like wet paper, he was more than brutal. Why did he do it that way? Human don't tear humans apart. It was so easy, almost too easy. I killed them. I am a killer. He ached for validation, for someone to utter those words aloud, to give voice to the parts that consumed him. He wanted to hear it spoken—wanted someone to tell him and confirm the worst of himself, to solidify the horrific truth that he had become just that. A killer. I'm a monster. 

He was slipping, losing his grip on the remnants of his humanity, self-loathing be damned. This was torment. 

I can't run from it... He couldn't run. 

I can't stop it. He was helpless. 

I'm so hungry... He could never be sated. 

His was a hunger that ran deeper than his pitting stomach, it was an emptiness plunging down into his very soul. Maybe I've got it all wrong. Kasper turned over, looking at Zak who slept buried in his blankets and hay. If he's safe, if I protect him, and that means I... kill... is it wrong? If I do it to be strong? He stuck out his hand against the space between them and touched the corner of Zak's sleeping bag. There were no right choices. There was no devils advocate. There's no going back... maybe this is my purpose... maybe this is my why... It's just one more person, if it's Malcolm, in exchange for Archer. He'd want that. He withdrew, pulling back into himself as Zak stirred and shifted. One more body isn't even a drop in the bucket. He  still couldn't decide whether he wanted to kill the man in revenge, or to feed his own growing lust for blood. 

He was so hungry. 

Morning came easy. Wind tossed the grasses outside with a gentle swish. The barn hummed softly, a buffeting breeze whistled through the cracked panelling. Every now and again, a stiff billow rattled the tin roof, causing Kasper to jump up, heart racing, expectant of some giant beast to tear it from its nails and unleash chaos in the hayloft. But it never did. He rubbed his face hard, pressing his fingers deep into his eye sockets, feeling the grit of the previous day stuck to his lids, he must look awful. With a sigh, he nudged Zak awake, his voice barely above a raspy whisper. "Zak-"

Zak jolted and sat up quickly. The sleeping bag coming up with him. The color drained from his complexion and he swooned for a moment. "Wh- what time is it?" He mumbled, laying back down after a few seconds. "Where are... oh." He wished he were waking from a nightmare. Oh how he wished that was all it was. Nightmares could end. This couldn't. His entire body sank into his bones. 

Kasper rolled over, "It's a little after twelve." and unzipped his sleeping bag.

Zak didn't respond, he pulled his fluffy sarcophagus down enough that his arm could reach for his water bottle. His skin had gone a dull brown, like rusting metal in the light. Kasper could smell him too. All iron and death. It stung at his nose.

He pulled on his boots. "We gotta get moving."

Zak let his arm down. "No. I'm done." The blanket following suit. "There's nothing left out there. Let's just stay here."