Fear

30

"Well, that was fucking pathetic."

My eyes snapped open.

Everything hurt.

My chest, arms, and neck ached. My vision swam. The room was spinning, tilting, and lopsided.

I was still in The Slaughter.

The floor was damp beneath me. My palms were sticky. And close by, I could hear the low, ragged breathing of someone else.

Dylan.

I turned my head slowly, the pain in my neck flaring.

Dr. Thorne was here now, crouched in front of him, pressing gauze to a deep, bleeding wound in his thigh. Dylan's eyes were half-closed, wincing in pain. He looked worse than before.

But when his eyes flicked towards me, the rage returned.

He lunged, gagged and snarling, the chains biting into his wrists as he threw his body forward. Sam snapped upright to hold him still.

I scrambled away, colliding with the concrete wall behind me with a thud.

Tyler was standing in the doorway, arms folded, a cigarette burning lazily between two fingers. He took a long drag and exhaled slowly, the toxic fumes spiralling in the air.

"You know what I hate more than disobedience, Emily?" he asked, voice level. "Wasted opportunities."

I blinked hard, my eyes flitting between his and Dylan's, breathing shallowly.

He took a step towards me, smoke lingering around his head like a cursed halo. "I gave you the perfect chance. A gift. And you ruined it."

"I didn't mean to—" I croaked.

"You missed." He snapped, throwing the cigarette on the ground. "You dropped the fucking gun, and now I have to clean up your mess. Again."

I couldn't respond. I think I cowered in the corner, but my memory hasn't stretched that far.

There was nothing to say. He was right.

He watched me for a long, heavy pause — then turned to Thorne.

"It's not fatal. You should go," he muttered.

Sam hesitated. Tyler's jaw clenched. "I said go, Thorne."

The doctor stood, didn't argue, just nodded stiffly. He glanced at me, only briefly, and left.

Then it was just us.

Me. Tyler. Dylan, bleeding on the chains.

"Right, I think we're done here. Come on," Tyler said.

He reached down and yanked me upright, gripping my upper arm like he had before. I cried out, stumbling to my feet.

His hand tightened as he dragged me from the room, out into the freezing corridor.

My legs barely moved. My body was limp. He half-dragged me down the hallway like I weighed nothing at all.

—————————————————————

The place was mostly silent, save for the echo of our footfalls and the hum of vents struggling to breathe life into the dead air.  The soles of my feet were raw, grazed and painful on the concrete, making me wince with every step.

He didn't speak at first.

We turned a corner sharply.

I stumbled.