Chapter 2: Those Left Behind (Part One)

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"Forgotten things are perhaps the saddest objects in existence. Because really, if you think about it, their purpose is stripped and they become nothing. Forgotten people are worse, because they have ability to realize they've been left behind. That kind of shit dwells in a person and slowly eats them alive. I think that to be forgotten, truly forgotten, is worse than dying."
-From: Upshur Without a Paddle, the personal blog of Miles Upshur.

When Miles stepped out of the shower, soaked and miserable he wasn't sure what to do. Now that he wasn't hungry there was an empty spot in his brain.

Miles ended up blindly stumbling through the halls. He passed blood and gore without a second glance. At this point, after more than twenty-four hours of constantly seeing it, it had lost its impact. Organs and dead bodies were now as familiar as couches or doors. Even the Variants didn't bother him anymore. At first he thought he should be afraid, but then he realized that most of them were afraid of him. He stopped when he reached a hall that was completely blocked by debris. The decrepit state of the asylum made Miles wonder just how long had passed since the security breach. Or rather, just how long was Murkoff neglecting any and all care for their patients?

His thoughts were interrupted by two voices, side by side, almost speaking as one.

"That's the man Father Martin wanted us not to harm."
"It is."
"He's not gone."
"No."
"What should we do? Kill him?"
"Father Martin told us he was to spread the word."
"Doesn't look like he's doing that."
"No. I still want his liver."
"It is still yours."
"Mine."

Miles turned around and saw the twins he met during his failed escape attempt. They were still naked, and still after him. "Shit," Miles swore. They were blocking his only escape route.

"He's trapped."
"Cornered. Hardly fair."
"We were fair before."
"True. When we kill him, I want his heart."
"Yours."
"Thank you."
"Sharing is caring."

"Fuck, you guys don't want to eat me, I'm gross and infected." Miles pressed his back to the wall.

"Oh but we do."
"What about Father Martin? He asked us not to kill his apostle."
"Father Martin is dead."
"Who do we follow now?"
"Ourselves."
"Ourselves."

Miles' hands moved behind him as he grasped for something to throw. They came up with a board, which he tossed as hard as he could before starting to climb the broken wood slabs and ruined chairs that blocked this section of the hallway. The board hit the first twin who let out a grunt of pain.

"Rude."
"Very."

Miles was squeezing himself through a gap in the boards when he felt a hand grab his leg firmly. "Ho shit," he was pulled back with a jerk. His hands scrambled to grab hold of something. He caught a bent pipe and held on. One twin was pulling while the other was watching, waiting. Miles kicked out with his other leg as hard as he could. He felt it connect with the man's face and he grunted again, loosening his hold just enough for Miles to break free and finish climbing though the mess.

"After him."
"Of course."

His breathing was long and steady. Miles didn't feel fatigued at all. Part of him knew it was because he had just eaten, but he didn't want to admit that. He seemed to fly through the hall, his feet hardly touching the ground. He vaulted over tables and other obstacles that were strewn about the ruined floor. "Why now? Why them? Out of all the damn Variants it had to be them." Miles slid around a corner and kept running. "And why are they naked?" That was a question he really didn't want answered.

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