time he lashed out at me, at Angelo,
the pack, our ways, everything we’d done.
My blood boils. He
wanted us.
It was he that
fingered us amongst the other prisoners. And I use my final moments to pray an
untimely death for him as the Jo-Bran’s paw descends.
Everything goes
slow-motion, and I hardly see the sequence of events. There is a burst of
blue-green light that flares up from Meredith, her eyes burning, glowing like
the Jo-Bran’s but brighter, radiating light. Her captors rear back like
frightened horses. The Banjankri she’s tied to drops and drags as she moves,
too fast to follow. She bolts to Charles, reaching for his boots. His knife.
And there it is, gleaming in the moonlight, her eyelight. Like cloth in air,
hair in water, she flows, ducking under the Jo-Bran as his paw descends, ready
to plunge into my chest in a gory spray. She buries the knife in its stomach,
all the way to the hilt, even her fingers disappear inside. Then she tears,
gashing across its bulging stomach, spilling its insides in a steaming pile.
The Jo-Bran screams. And Meredith slides from Banjankri to Banjankri, slitting
throats, stabbing chests, necks, eyes.
The blood flows,
but it is not mine. Only Charles is left standing, the rest of the Banjankri,
including the Jo-Bran, have all tumbled in their own pools of blood. Meredith
works at her ropes, then cuts mine.
By now, the
crowd’s cheers have turned to screams of anger and disbelief. They are so
dumbstruck that not a one of them moves, gaping at what has just happened. It’s
the Jo-Bran that act first. They drop their snacks, the bloody hunks thudding
against the ground as the creatures break into a roar. And I know that they
will be descending any moment to come after us.
With our bindings
cut and a lack of guards, my brain fires into action, weighing out the best
route, the best direction to run. My eyes fall on Charles, and all the anger
and hostility bubbles to the surface, the surprise and shock of Meredith’s
actions wearing off. I know we need to move, to get out of here, but not yet.
The whole area is
filled with screams and growls, the sounds echoing and bouncing until there is
so much noise, I can almost reach out and grab the individual tones. Some of
the Jo-Bran have descended and rip through the crowd, rampaging their way to us
without regard to anyone or anything around them.
I scrape along the
altar and break one of the frozen streams of blood loose. It feels heavy in my
hand, but it doesn’t stay there for long. With a quick glance, I see that it’s
exactly how I want it, pointed, jagged, solid. The carnage builds around me:
the cries of the Banjankri, the howls of the Jo-Bran, the blood spatters and
rending flesh. I step up to Charles, his face falling, mouth drooping, the
color fading. I grab the back of his head. He tries to squirm, and I hear a
muffled cry come from lips. I fill them with the bloodspike, driving it up and
into and through his mouth. His eyes light up as I press harder and harder
until the spike pops through the back of his skull. His shattered aria is
muffled by the spike, now protruding from both sides of his head.
Meredith takes my
hand, and we run.
All around us, the
Banjankri and Jo-Bran fight. Limbs fly; explosions of blood paint the snow, the
walls, the monsters; death descends. We weave through them, Meredith dragging
me along with a superhuman speed. Her hand shoots out, slicing through oncoming
enemies, spilling their blood and making them erupt in agony. We hop over bodies,
dodge gunfire, run.
My lungs and legs
cry for me to stop. I don’t have the energy for this, but the adrenaline keeps
me going. I spot a darker alleyway, one that doesn’t look to be inhabited by
anything other than the night itself. I break from Meredith’s grip and head for
the cover. Her feet skid on the snow as she changes direction and catches up
with me, both of us running full-out.
We duck into the
shadows and keep running until we reach the
the pack, our ways, everything we’d done.
My blood boils. He
wanted us.
It was he that
fingered us amongst the other prisoners. And I use my final moments to pray an
untimely death for him as the Jo-Bran’s paw descends.
Everything goes
slow-motion, and I hardly see the sequence of events. There is a burst of
blue-green light that flares up from Meredith, her eyes burning, glowing like
the Jo-Bran’s but brighter, radiating light. Her captors rear back like
frightened horses. The Banjankri she’s tied to drops and drags as she moves,
too fast to follow. She bolts to Charles, reaching for his boots. His knife.
And there it is, gleaming in the moonlight, her eyelight. Like cloth in air,
hair in water, she flows, ducking under the Jo-Bran as his paw descends, ready
to plunge into my chest in a gory spray. She buries the knife in its stomach,
all the way to the hilt, even her fingers disappear inside. Then she tears,
gashing across its bulging stomach, spilling its insides in a steaming pile.
The Jo-Bran screams. And Meredith slides from Banjankri to Banjankri, slitting
throats, stabbing chests, necks, eyes.
The blood flows,
but it is not mine. Only Charles is left standing, the rest of the Banjankri,
including the Jo-Bran, have all tumbled in their own pools of blood. Meredith
works at her ropes, then cuts mine.
By now, the
crowd’s cheers have turned to screams of anger and disbelief. They are so
dumbstruck that not a one of them moves, gaping at what has just happened. It’s
the Jo-Bran that act first. They drop their snacks, the bloody hunks thudding
against the ground as the creatures break into a roar. And I know that they
will be descending any moment to come after us.
With our bindings
cut and a lack of guards, my brain fires into action, weighing out the best
route, the best direction to run. My eyes fall on Charles, and all the anger
and hostility bubbles to the surface, the surprise and shock of Meredith’s
actions wearing off. I know we need to move, to get out of here, but not yet.
The whole area is
filled with screams and growls, the sounds echoing and bouncing until there is
so much noise, I can almost reach out and grab the individual tones. Some of
the Jo-Bran have descended and rip through the crowd, rampaging their way to us
without regard to anyone or anything around them.
I scrape along the
altar and break one of the frozen streams of blood loose. It feels heavy in my
hand, but it doesn’t stay there for long. With a quick glance, I see that it’s
exactly how I want it, pointed, jagged, solid. The carnage builds around me:
the cries of the Banjankri, the howls of the Jo-Bran, the blood spatters and
rending flesh. I step up to Charles, his face falling, mouth drooping, the
color fading. I grab the back of his head. He tries to squirm, and I hear a
muffled cry come from lips. I fill them with the bloodspike, driving it up and
into and through his mouth. His eyes light up as I press harder and harder
until the spike pops through the back of his skull. His shattered aria is
muffled by the spike, now protruding from both sides of his head.
Meredith takes my
hand, and we run.
All around us, the
Banjankri and Jo-Bran fight. Limbs fly; explosions of blood paint the snow, the
walls, the monsters; death descends. We weave through them, Meredith dragging
me along with a superhuman speed. Her hand shoots out, slicing through oncoming
enemies, spilling their blood and making them erupt in agony. We hop over bodies,
dodge gunfire, run.
My lungs and legs
cry for me to stop. I don’t have the energy for this, but the adrenaline keeps
me going. I spot a darker alleyway, one that doesn’t look to be inhabited by
anything other than the night itself. I break from Meredith’s grip and head for
the cover. Her feet skid on the snow as she changes direction and catches up
with me, both of us running full-out.
We duck into the
shadows and keep running until we reach the
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