Cinderville: Vigilance

Untitled Part 3

The abandoned apartment building loomed in the shadows, a skeleton of its former self. The walls, once sheltering families, now sagged under the weight of neglect, windows shattered and covered in graffiti. Inside, the remnants of life were scattered—broken furniture, torn curtains, and debris littered the hallways. But in one room, there was a semblance of life. Lily's life.

She stumbled through the door, kicking it shut behind her. The heavy duffel bag hit the floor with a loud thud, the sound of ammo and weapons clinking against each other echoing in the small space. Her hands trembled as the adrenaline from the earlier fight drained away, leaving her body on edge and her mind in a fog.

Lily collapsed onto the mattress, the springs creaking under her weight. Her body ached, muscles sore from the constant strain, but her mind remained numb. She was beyond exhaustion, beyond pain. The growl of her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten in days. A half-eaten can of beans sat nearby, the smell of it turning her stomach. She ignored it, too nauseous to force down even a single bite.

Her hands started to shake uncontrollably. She leaned forward, gripping her arms tightly, but it did nothing to stop the tremors. The withdrawal was hitting hard, and she knew she couldn't last much longer without a fix. Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin crawling with an unbearable itch that seemed to come from deep inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the gnawing need that consumed her thoughts.

But all she could think about was the drugs.

In the silence, a voice from her past whispered in her mind, *"Live... for both of us."* Her mother's words, a distant memory from a time that felt like another lifetime.

"This ain't living, Momma," she murmured to the empty room, her voice trembling. "This ain't living..."

She'd tried to kick the habit before. She'd tried to find something—anything—else to hold onto. But every time, the cravings clawed their way back, dragging her down until there was nothing left but the hollow ache of needing more.

Lily knew where she had to go. There was a place on 8th and Murry, an old pharmacy that had mostly been forgotten in the chaos of the city. The bigger gangs didn't bother with it—it wasn't worth their time. The only ones who went there were the desperate, the junkies, and the lowlifes too far gone to care. But it had what she needed, and that was all that mattered.

She forced herself off the mattress, her body protesting with every movement. Pain shot through her limbs, but she ignored it. She had to. She grabbed a small backpack, stuffing it with essentials—a knife, some crumpled bills, and a spare clip for her pistol. For a moment, she hesitated, her mother's voice still echoing in her mind, but the need was stronger. The shakes were worse.

She slung the backpack over her shoulder and headed for the door. The cold night air hit her like a slap to the face as she stepped outside, the city's darkness closing in around her. The streets were dangerous, filled with predators and prey, but she was long past caring. She had a destination, and that was all that mattered.

As she made her way toward 8th and Murry, the weight of the city pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating. But there was no turning back. Not now. Not ever.

She just needed to get through this. One fix, one more fight, one more step toward whatever came next.

Lily moved through the narrow alley, her senses on high alert despite the fog in her brain. The city's decay was everywhere—broken glass, piles of trash, the stench of rot that never really left the air. Her grip on the knife in her pocket tightened. She was almost there, almost to the drugstore, and the itch beneath her skin was getting worse. Just a little farther.

But as she turned the corner, she saw them. A group of maniacs, seven in total, huddled around a burning barrel. Their laughter was sharp and cruel, cutting through the silence like a knife. Their eyes, crazed and bloodshot, locked onto her as she approached.

One of them, a wiry figure with wild hair and a scarred face, grinned wide, showing yellowed teeth. "Ohh... I want candy!" His voice was high-pitched and manic, like nails on a chalkboard. He danced toward her, arms flailing as if conducting some invisible orchestra. "Sugar kisses so sweet. But you can't have your treats before dinner. Get her boys!"

Lily didn't flinch, though her heart hammered in her chest. She didn't have time for this, didn't have the patience. But the anger, the raw, bubbling fury inside her, flared to life. She needed this. Needed something to channel all that frustration into.

The man lunged at her with a rusted pipe, moving with a jerky, unpredictable rhythm. She sidestepped easily, her knife flashing out in a quick arc. The blade sliced through his arm, and blood sprayed, but the man just cackled, spinning around as if she'd done him a favor. His friends, equally deranged, erupted into fits of laughter, their voices blending into a cacophony of madness.

One of them, a hulking brute with a shattered bottle clutched in his fist, rushed her next. His movements were less erratic but just as dangerous. Lily ducked under his wild swing, feeling the sharp edges of the bottle graze her cheek. She didn't hesitate—didn't need to. Her knife found its mark, plunging deep into his side, and she twisted it with cold precision. The brute gasped, his eyes wide in shock, and crumpled to the ground.

The others hesitated, but only for a moment. Then they were on her, a whirlwind of fists, blades, and crazed laughter. The world became a blur of movement and violence. Lily fought with everything she had, her knife slashing out at anything that came too close. She ducked, dodged, and struck back with a ferocity that surprised even her.

One of them caught her with a punch to the jaw, sending her reeling backward into a pile of trash. Her vision swam, but she shook it off, scrambling to her feet just in time to dodge another attack. She grabbed a broken piece of wood from the ground, swinging it like a club. It connected with a sickening crunch against a maniac's skull, and he dropped like a stone.

She was breathing hard now, her chest heaving, but she couldn't stop. Another one of them came at her with a knife, his grin wild and unhinged. She blocked his strike with her forearm, wincing at the pain, then brought her knee up into his gut. He doubled over, and she finished him with a swift, brutal stab to the neck.

The last of them, the wiry man who'd first spotted her, stood back, watching her with a mixture of awe and madness. His grin never wavered. "You're one of us, aren't you?" he whispered, almost reverently. "You're a beautiful, bloody monster."

Lily didn't respond. She didn't have the energy or the words. Instead, she lunged at him, her knife aimed for his heart. He didn't even try to dodge, welcoming the blade with open arms. His laughter filled the alley as she drove the knife home, and only stopped when she twisted it, silencing him for good.

The alley fell quiet, save for Lily's ragged breathing. She stood there, surrounded by the bodies of the maniacs, blood dripping from her hands. Her body ached, and her mind was numb, but the rage inside her had settled—if only for a moment.

Without another glance at the carnage she'd left behind, Lily wiped her knife on her pants, picked up her backpack, and continued toward the pharmacy. She was close now. So close. But as she walked, she couldn't shake the wiry man's final words from her mind. A beautiful, bloody monster.

Maybe that's all she really was.