Ghostwriter

Chapter 30

"Scream if you need me."

PURIFY—find a way or---PURIFY

I shiver and blink, doing my best to think about Colton and not the red-tainted chaos converging around me. I hobble towards the door, pushing past more than just people.

Will you be our angel?

The transformers don't seem concerned with me, but because of how brutal Jason's fighting style is, I wouldn't look twice at the tattered girl scampering away either. I'd be worried about the guy killing everyone.

PURIFY HER

PURIFY HER

PURIFY H---

---No.

Find a way or forge a way.

Find a way or forge a way.

I think all my current situations are in the 'forge' category.

I can't feel my feet. I feel like a toddler, having to steady my foot and weigh myself before every step. Black skin crunches and flakes off when my foot touches the floor, revealing slimy red skin underneath.

It looks like they should hurt a lot, but they don't. I think the nerve endings burnt off. I don't want to think about the implications of that yet.

Let your past die. Let your voice die. It's the only way...

I misjudge a step and fall. I hit my head.

It's like I don't know my feet anymore.

I pick myself up. A transformer sidesteps me.

That door is not going to close. Does it even have a bolt on it?

I look back a Jason. How can he expect me to do this? He's the fighter. I'm the complier.

I feel dirty.

I turn back to the door and watch it for a moment. Maybe if I shoved them through the door and slammed it shut on their faces? Even I could, it wouldn't stay shut. Maybe Jason has duct tape I can use.

I turn around to call to him when a pile of wood catches my eye; the pile that they tried to burn Jason with. I shudder at the image and shove it firmly in my new 'Nope' box.

Most of it's driftwood. Some of it is little planks. Plywood. The kind of rotten stuff you would find on the side of the road or piled up in an alley. It was going to be a pretty big barbeque, too. I can picture myself being the pork.

I'm so afraid to die.

I'm more afraid of him dying.

Those thoughts propel another thought: we're probably going to die here. There are too many of them. Quite a bit of them are coming through that door.

I need to shut that door if I want to see my son again.

Maybe. Maybe I can. I might fail. But don't I have to try for Colton?

Find a way or forge a way.

I drag myself towards the heap and grab a firm looking stick about my height. I use it as a cane. I find another plank and figure that it's about the same height. I drag it behind me as I move.

Everything hurts. My feet crunch. The wood scrapes my hands.

This time when I limp to the door, people notice. Jason draws their attention by his butt-kicking until I get to the door.