Eyes In Darkness

Chapter 8

Johns raised his shotgun, pointing it at Fry.
Before I could even think, Riddick stepped in front of me—shielding me with his body, eyes locked on Johns.

"Now's not the time to turn on each other," Imam said, voice steady but strained. He held up both hands, trying to defuse the moment.

For a few heartbeats, no one breathed.
Then Johns lowered the gun, muttering something under his breath, and stormed off.

The silence that followed was heavy. I sank down beside Jack and Ali, pulling them close, whispering that everything would be okay even though I didn't believe it. Fry sat against the wall, whispering to herself, her eyes distant. Paris was in the corner too, unscrewing the cap from a bottle of whiskey and drinking like he wished it could erase everything.

Minutes passed. Then Fry spoke suddenly, her voice hoarse.
"Paris," she said. "How many bottles of liquor do you have left?"

He looked up, blinking. "Ten, give or take. Why?"

"Those... plus the emergency lights..." she murmured, half to herself. "That might be enough."

"Enough for what?" Johns demanded.

"Enough to get the batteries to the skiff."

The room went still.

Johns laughed without humor. "And how the hell do you plan on getting the batteries there? The sandcat's solar powered."

"Then we drag them," Fry shot back.

Imam frowned. "Drag them? Through the dark? We can't even see what's out there."

Fry's eyes lifted. "I can't," she said quietly, "but he can."

Everyone followed her gaze to Riddick.
He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable under the sudden attention. The light from the flickering lamp caught on his goggles, hiding his expression—but I could tell he didn't like being singled out.

Then his eyes met mine.
He didn't speak, but I could read the question there: Should I?

I gave him a small nod. It wasn't just trust—it was faith.

Riddick let out a slow breath and nodded once. "I'll do it."

Relief rippled through the group, brief and fragile. People started moving again. Imam gathered the remaining emergency lights, Fry sorted what could be carried, and even Johns busied himself loading weapons. Paris lined up the bottles of liquor, and for once, no one complained about his stash.

We didn't know if the plan would work.
We just knew it was all we had.