John isn’t going to make it. I can see that much already. He removed the Hunter’s swords and by doing so, opened the wounds on his chest even further. The blood pumps from the holes in John’s chest with each ragged breath he makes. It’s no longer Tenebretin-black, just a normal human red blood.

“Ash! Snap out of it!”

I blink a few times and crouch near Eliza. While I was standing and staring like an idiot, my sister unpacked a first aid kit and now is desperately trying to disinfect and staunch the bleeding on a dozen wounds at once.

“How can I help?”

“Give him another dose,” Eliza says as she closes a gash on John’s forearm with a medical stapler. I shake my head.

“He can barely breathe, it will choke him, or worse, he will overdose.”

She stares at me and I can imagine her glare under the goggles. Eliza takes a deep, shaky breath and replies, angrily:

“Then find a way to give him a half-dose.” I open my mouth with another argument and then snap it close, my teeth clicking audibly. An idea strikes me —Lance. He should have some on him.

I stand up and look around. Donald is sitting not far from us, with Lance’s body on his knees and the head in his hands. When I approach, I notice the old man quietly weeping, his back shaking with tears as he practically drowns himself in his own gas mask.

“I’m sorry, Donald,” I say in a hoarse voice. He doesn’t react. I have no idea what else to say or how to console someone after that. And more importantly, I don’t have the time.

“Donald, I know your son was an add- a Tenebretin user. Do you have any left, maybe a capsule or two? It’s okay if it’s not pure and we just need one, please.”

Donald ignores my rambling but something reaches him anyway. He carefully puts the body on the floor and places the head near it, close to the neck as if he can put him back together. Then, the old man turns to me. He’s no longer crying but his voice is still shaky.

“You’re right. I have Tenebretin, just one shot for my boy, should be enough to save him. Good idea.”

“What? Save him?” I ask, shocked by the implication. Is he really planning to waste Tenebretin on a dead body?

“Donald,” Salazar’s voice calls him to the left of me. Our old man packed the bags and carefully placed them near the hatch, all while we were fighting the Hunter. Now, he approaches me and Donald and slowly puts a hand on his shoulder. Donald jolts and focuses on Sal.

“I’m very sorry it happened, Donald, but you can’t save Lance”, Salazar speaks softly, almost crooning, like one would speak to a child, “There is nothing you can do, Donald. But we can still save our-”

“No!” Donald wailed, so loud and long that I stepped away, startled. It was a grating sound, a man’s soul ripping apart as he clutches his dead son. Salazar didn’t even flinch.

He crouches, his hands raised in a peaceful gesture, and speaks in the same tone:

“Please, Donald. Don’t let your son’s sacrifice go to waste. We need your help.” Donald’s answer is the same — he screams and hugs the body, choking on tears in his gas mask. But this time it was different. I notice a movement, not subtle but still discreet to a degree — Donald took something from his son’s jacket.

“Hey, Sal, I think- “ I start but Salazar looks at me and shakes his head, his eyes unreadable behind the goggles. He then carefully puts his hands on Donald’s shoulders and tries to gently raise him. Donald reacts, faster than I would anticipate from a man his apparent age.

He abruptly straightens up and hits Sal square in the jaw with his left hand, pushing Sal away. In his right, Donald holds a syringe with an already open cap.

I catch his forearm just as he slams it down, a few inches from the dead body. Donald struggles but I drag him down and throw him on the floor, placing my left knee on his right shoulder while simultaneously applying pressure to his elbow and wrist. Securing the armlock, I growl:

“Enough. Let go of it, now.”

Donald just squeals incoherently, his high voice like nails on a chalkboard. I don’t let go - the syringe is indeed filled with Tenebretin or at least something along those lines. It’s big, about 5ml from the looks of it.

“Ashton, this isn’t the way to do it, let him-” Salazar, already on his legs, tries to deescalate only to be interrupted by Eliza:

“Ash, he’s dying!” her voice echoes across the junction, spurring me to act without thinking.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter to Donald and press on him, hard. The old man’s frail arm snaps like a twig and he lets go of the syringe, screaming. I catch the syringe as it falls and rush to Eliza and John, ignoring Salazar.

Eliza did what she could — John’s wounds were closed with a stapler, disinfected and wrapped in the gauze. Still, it didn’t even remotely help with the internal bleeding. He already lost so much blood I could see his veins and arteries even in the goggles. Eliza took off his gasmask to help him breathe but there was blood foaming on John’s lips with every weak breath. Please, Mother Dark, let this work.

I fall on my knees and jam the syringe straight into the vein on my brother’s neck, with my sister preparing an emergency Norepinephrine injector. For a while, nothing happens. Then, John screams in pain and arches his back, with me and Eliza holding him down. The scream stops and he calms down, his breathing normal.

Suddenly, John turns on his side and retches, blood and vomit coming from his mouth. Eliza helps him keep his head straight, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief after he’s done.

“The dose wasn’t pure, it was laced with something,” Eliza explains, her voice tired and emotionless,” John’s body sucked all the Tenebretin and expelled all the other drugs from his system. He’s stable now, as far as I can tell. We have to rely on the drug to fix him.”

Eliza sighs deeply, takes off the gloves and raises the goggles, then wipes the sweat from her face. I stand and help her up. With John stabilized, I can divert my attention back to Donald.

The old man is still sitting near Lance. He took off his gasmask and now wept again, cradling his broken arm. Seeing him like this, I felt a pang of regret for hurting him. Then I looked at John again and knew we had no other choice.

Salazar is sitting not far from Donald and making something from a piece of wood and cloth he took off one of the bodies. A splint for Donald, it seems. Sal confirms my suspicions when he scoots closer to Donald and starts fixing his arm inside the improvised splint. I approach them and Salazar makes a point of ignoring me.

“Sal, I know you don’t approve of my methods but-” I start but a sound distracts me. Footsteps. Several sets of feet, getting closer, out of the tunnel we came from. I swear under my breath.

“Eliza, we have guests! Weapons free!” I call out to my sister and run back to John. When the first person comes into the periphery of my vision, Eliza’s spikethrower is already pointed in their direction. I pick one of the Hunter’s swords.

It was long and unwieldy for me, clearly intended for someone with longer arms. Still, the blade was sharp even after the scruffle and the metal was surprisingly light. A good but unwieldy weapon is better than no weapon at all. I grab the handle with both hands and move to the right, covering Salazar and Donald behind me.

Five people emerge from the tunnel, led by the same woman who ran away. They see me and my sister pointing weapons at them at freeze in place.

The woman raises her hands in a peaceful gesture, and speaks softly but confidently:

“Please don’t attack. We returned to gather our fallen and wounded, nothing more. We have no quarrel with Salazar or you.” She pauses and looks around, seeing the debauchery the Hunter left in his wake, “No more.”

I think for a moment. Then I shift from a battle stance to a more casual one, placing the sword on my right shoulder, and nod. She starts moving in my direction and I step away, letting her pass. The woman strides past me without a word.

“Salazar,” I call out and the old man stands up, turns to me. “Whatever lectures about morality you want to impose on me, and I know you want to, they can wait. I hope you have another safehouse nearby because this one isn’t exactly safe.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He lets out a sound, half-growl half-sigh, and replies:

“I agree with that. I also know you did what you had to, although we could have resolved it better. Let’s pack up and move.”

We do exactly that — Donald’s Guides let us be just as we let them deal with their dead. It takes some time to clean John from his blood using the water from Salazar’s and mine flasks, then we grab our bags and move into one tunnel, while the Guides choose another.

I take one of Hunter’s swords, while Salazar takes another one — he’s not exactly an accomplished swordsman, but neither am I at the end of the day. It’s still better to use the swords than to just leave them.

Sal leads us through the sub-tunnels and paths that are rarely used, with him having to cut cobwebs and check corners at every turn. Eliza follows behind me and John, covering our rear with her spikethrower.

John is still shaky and has to lean on me for support just to walk. Tenebretin fixed him, once again, but there is always a chance that the next injuries will be permanent or deadly. John’s body rejects and pushes out the staples Eliza used to patch him up, with the wounds turning into gruesome scars as we move, in real-time.

“How long before we reach the Hive?” I ask, my voice strained by having to hold John. Salazar keeps walking and addresses me without turning, his voice even more tired than before:

“About two hours if we climb out and walk part of the way in the open. We could also find an easier route, but it will be longer.”

I carefully put John near the wall and let us both take a breather while I think. Going out is always dangerous — vamps have welded shut most of the manholes and filled a lot of other exits with rubble to trap us in the Anthill as much as possible. The remaining exits were either covered in tripwire and monitored or were too structurally unstable to use. Still, there were always a few relatively safe ones.

“Rain.”

The voice snaps me to attention immediately.

“What?” I ask, unable to believe my ears.

“I want to feel the rain. Again,” John says and stares me right in the eyes, a rare moment of lucidity. His voice is hoarse, strained. John rarely speaks at all, much less coherently.

With him unmasked, I can see the square-jawed, completely hairless face covered in scars, two brown eyes penetrating me with intensity and awareness, something John’s gaze usually lacks. With the Tenebretin busy repairing his body, John’s brain was temporarily unclouded for lack of a better word.

I can’t help but smile.

“Two hours it is then. Welcome back, brother.”

I help John stand up, wrapping my arms around his massive torso, and Eliza hugs him too from behind. We stand like that for almost a minute, wordlessly, cherishing the rare moment of clarity.

Salazar waits near us, then coughs delicately.

“I don’t want to ruin the family moment, but we gotta keep moving if you want to see that rain, son.”

We break the hug swiftly, like ripping a band-aid, and start moving.

It takes us about an hour to get to the closest open manhole. By that time, John is striding confidently on his own. He also asked Eliza for some bandages to wrap around his damaged hands, both to protect the scabs on the knuckles now and to protect them in any future fights. Sadly, once John donned his mask again, I could almost pinpoint the exact moment his brain got fogged back to its usual state. It saddens me.

We climb out but there is no rain, which saddens me even more. The district we emerged in is a ruin, an old battleground from the Last Dawn days. Dilapidated buildings, tanks ripped apart and skeletons are everywhere. Vamps and the Tunnel Rats don’t usually patrol here, but one can never be too safe outside. We barely manage to have a decent meal in between all the skulking around and hiding in the shadows.

We hide in a bombed residential building, relying on moonlight and our eyes, conserving our batteries. Living in the tunnels accustomed our eyes to darkness and the moon is bright enough. It’s also a rare occasion to breathe fresh air and let the air filters regenerate. Eliza is busy checking on John’s wounds and maintaining her spikethrower. Sal, who barely spoke to us the whole way, is eating his rat jerky silently, leaning at the wall.

I’m sitting on a piece of rubble and finishing my ration of pemmican when Salazar approaches and sits in front of me.

“Ashton,” he starts,” I have a sensitive favor to ask.”

I tense up, wrapping the remaining pemmican back into the paper.

“For you, Sal? Anything. I’m listening.”

“Right, okay, uhm,” Salazar struggles to speak. He looks down gathering his thoughts, then looks me in the eyes and says:

“The favor is this — when we get to the contact, promise me that you will hear him out. That’s all I’m asking. Instead of overreacting, I want you to listen through his pitch and decide based on that.”

I raise an eyebrow, confused. I chuckle and ask:

“Overreacting? Sal, are you sure you're talking about me? I’ll listen to the pitch, whatever it is. After all the effort, it would be a waste otherwise.”

He nods and puts a hand on my shoulder, slapping it gently. I smile and he smiles back.

“I hope you won’t forget about this once we are in the Alpha. Finish your meal and let’s move.”

Without letting me ask more questions, the old man stands up and beelines to our backpacks. To call it “suspicious” would be an understatement. I finish my food and get to packing.

We pass through another ruined block of the city when someone or rather something finally notices us. A small machine with rotors, a camera, and red diodes appears above us just as we scale down one of the collapsed highways. I remember that vamps call these machines “drones”.

“Heads up. We have company,” I point upwards and speed up my pace.

The drone emits a howling alarm horn, so loud that the remaining glass in the building starts shaking. I cup my ears with my hands, desperately trying to protect my hearing — it feels as if someone stabbed me in the eardrum, a sharp, pulsing pain.

“Eliza, take it down!” I yell as loud as I can. Despite the noise, my shout reaches her.

She stops running, points her spikethrower upwards, and shoots. The drone moves away with surprising speed, easily dodging the spike, not stopping its wail even for a second. Eliza pauses to calm her breathing and get a better bearing on the machine. She shoots again and this time hits the drone, sending it tumbling down. Yet the alarm is still blaring.

Fed up with this, I unsheathe the Hunter’s sword from my belt before the drone even hits the ground. As soon as it’s down, I dart forward and slash it to pieces. The sound finally stops. Eliza picks up her scattered spikes and reloads her weapon.

I sigh and sheathe the sword, enjoying the silence.

“Ash. Look.”

Salazar gets my attention and points down the road behind us. There are spotlights, darting all over, checking the buildings and the streets. A second later, the ground starts shaking with a rumbling of machines. A patrol is rapidly closing in on us.

“Move!” I yell and start running, ”Sal, find us the closest entrance!”

Everyone falls in behind me, with John almost pushing Salazar forward with each step. When the old man is out of breath, John just unceremoniously grabs and carries him like a princess.

“Turn right!” Sal shouts as we cross one of the bigger, more cluttered streets. I turn and lead us into an alley between two ruined highrises. The exit from the alley on the other side is blocked by a gigantic piece of the building, a huge metal dumpster standing right in the middle of the street. The patrol is getting closer, I can already hear the car engines roaring at full force. I catch my breath and ask:

“What are we looking for, Sal?”

The old man jumps down from John’s grasp and runs up to the dumpster. He tries to push it and fails, asking instead:

“Help me move this away!”

I start moving to him but John reacts faster — he grunts and hits the dumpster with all his bulk, easily pushing it away. Under it, there is a manhole, seemingly not welded shut. Eliza nervously remarks:

“They are close, Ash.”

“I know, sis. Let’s trust Sal this is the correct way,” I reply and approach the old man and my brother. John is helping Sal open the manhole with a crowbar. With John’s strength at work, the manhole quickly gives in and flies open, hitting the dumpster behind us. Salazar drops down first, followed by Eliza.

I approach the manhole just as the cars stop in front of the alley, insanely bright headlights are directed at us and a screeching voice yells:

“They’re here! Open fire!”

A machine gun barrage follows a moment later.

John practically falls inside as the bullets hit the dumpster behind him. On a reflex, I jump and fall face first, dragging myself into the open manhole, tumbling down the ladder like a ragdoll. I hit one of the steps with my chin, my teeth clacking and my neck almost snapping from the strain.

Pain erupts across my body as John barely catches me on the way down. With shuddering breaths, I jump from his hands, straighten myself, and push out words:

“Don’t stop.”

We run further down the tunnels, flipping the NVGs and pushing up the respirators on the move. I know that patrol won’t follow us here but this entrance is forever compromised and soon surely will be welded shut too.

Having almost been shot to bits above ground, I can't help but think — “This is it. I'm home again. These tunnels are my home.” The thought is strangely comforting, all things considered.

When we finally reach the entrance to Hive Alpha — a huge metal door with electric locks and hinges the size of my head — we are met with armed members of the Guard outside. There are five of them and they aim at us with spikethrowers similar to the one Eliza has. Their body language is tense and aggressive, they are clearly on edge. I open my mouth to ask a question only to be interrupted immediately by one of the guards:

“On your knees, hands behind your head! You are under arrest.”

With no other choice, we comply. Then, as if to make sure my day is ruined completely, the same guard hits me in the face and the world goes dark.