“If we stay here, we’ll die,” Russell heard Clayton whisper as his friend kept pace beside him. The large guy held the sledgehammer close to his chest, the muscles on his forearms flexing with every nervous tightening of his grip.
The song playing in the background made Russell want to agree, but he didn’t say anything in reply. Aside from his constant worry about Rosalyn and the kids, a different kind of annoyance kept him preoccupied.
Your soul has leveled up.
Your attributes have—
He mentally swatted the prompts away from his vision. He wasn’t in the mood, not with his exhausted mental state. Especially not after he had learned about his—
[Affinities]
Active - 0
Inactive - 1 (Blood)
Russell smacked himself on the forehead, mumbling a string of curses for even thinking about it. Clayton gave him an odd look, but Russell feigned indifference, increasing their pace as thunder rumbled outside.
They passed by people wandering around, lost and confused, having absolutely no idea what to do. Some huddled around whatever candles they had left, shock or disbelief hanging on their faces, few trembling with obvious despair.
Try facing a monster yourself. Russell balled his hands, irritated with their hopeless expressions. You’ll know true despair then.
Regardless of what they were thinking, they all watched him walk by, looking at him in a different light, neither as an outcast or a liar but something else. Or maybe the flicker of candlelight was playing with their expressions.
Russell blinked. He could see their expressions, if only marginally better. Did his eyesight improve that much?
He might refuse to acknowledge what was happening to him, but there was no denying it. He had felt the changes, as subtle as they were.
His flashlight weighed lighter than it had been. His muscles moved with more ease, lending a spring to his steps and a casualness to the swing of his arms. His mind was more in tune with his body, his senses more in tune with his surroundings. And so much more he couldn’t begin to put into words.
Everything about him was simply…better.
Russell skirted around a group standing in a large huddle, makeshift weapons in their hands, with Rook and Bradford talking out loud at the center of the ring.
“—then get some more,” Rook was saying. “We need every weapon we could use—”
The football captains were addressing the fighters who had come to Russell’s rescue—the same fighters who had left Autumn for dead as soon as the odds had shifted against them.
“You looking for Autumn?” Clayton asked as the two of them cut between the odd couche and pillar, checking the back of each one for their missing friend.
Confused, Russell gave his friend a sidelong glance. “Autumn?”
“She told me she had something to say to you.” Clayton rubbed the left side of his face, his cheek still red and swollen from a scorned woman’s slap.
“Well, finding Justin comes first.” Russell continued his stride even after they reached a less populated area. Far to their left, Serena kept herself busy, organizing her employees and keeping up others’ spirits even after what she had gone through with Donald, her smile a fragile mask from far away.
How the hell does she do it?
“She said I abandoned her,” Clayton muttered, and it took Russell a second to realize his friend was still talking about Autumn. “I…I don’t know what happened, man. My feet just wouldn’t move. I wanted to help her, but I…”
Russell clasped his friend’s shoulder. “I get it, Clay. I understand. There’s no need to explain.”
They found Justin hiding behind a column near the back of the lobby. The guy huddled on the floor, the grey sleeves of his suit wrapped around Russell’s bag, his trembling fingers tugging at his wispy moustache.
At least the guy hadn’t ran all the way to the lounge bar.
“Justin?” Russell asked.
The guy flinched. He raised his gaze to him and adjusted his old-fashioned glasses. “Oh, it’s you,” he said, smiling in relief. “Is it over? Are the monsters dead?”
Sighing, Russell grabbed his friend by the elbow and hauled him to his feet, his strength making Justin’s weight almost trivial. Once Russell got his bag back, he began pondering what other supplies he would need for his trip home when he sensed something behind him.
He swiveled in place, his flashlight raised at the ready.
“Oh, my stars!” an old woman exclaimed. “You young ones move so fast!”
Russell lowered his weapon, frowning, and he recognized her as the same old woman who had been consoling Harper when he returned to the lobby after his crash. “You’re…”
“Mrs. Liz?” Clayton let out an relieved but awkward chuckle, his grip tight on his own weapon. “I don’t think you should be going around sneaking behind people’s backs right now.”
“Bless you, dear. I should’ve thought about it beforehand.” The old woman graced Clayton a smile before tucking away her short white-gray hair behind her ear. “And here I thought you boys have forgotten about little old me.” She crossed her arms over her cotton ragg sweater as she gazed at the three of them with a motherly smile.
Mrs. Liz? How could Russell have forgotten about their homeroom teacher?
“I would like to thank you boys for what you did earlier,” their old teacher said. “Watching Mr. Adams meet such a cruel fate is a such a horrible tragedy, but I’ll be lying if I said I wasn’t the least glad to see my reckless husband make it out alive.”
A grizzled elder in a blue check shirt stepped before Russell and extended his hand. Russell’s eyebrows rose when he also recognized Mrs. Liz’s husband—he was the same boy scout who had tried saving Donald by himself.
“Thank you, son,” the old man said. “You did good back there.”
“No,” Russell said, shaking the man’s hand, “you were the one who got to him before anyone else did. I should’ve gotten to him earlier. If only I…” He shook his head. “If only I acted fast enough.”
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“You did the best you could, Russell,“ Mrs. Liz said, reaching for his face and causing Russell to wince, but he didn’t back away her touch. “Sometimes, that’s all that separates the good men from the rest.” Her hand felt warm against his cheek, and he found the gesture not only familar but oddly comforting.
“SOLACE!” a voice boomed in the distance.
From the unlit hallway leading to the depths of the clubhouse, a new group burst into the lobby. An old man in a three-piece suit and spectacles strode in the lead, heading straight for Serena, his face visibly red even in the darkness.
Manager Harrington was out for blood.
The elder couple said their goodbyes. The pair strolled toward the front of the lobby, with their former teacher trying to drag her husband the other direction away from the fighters gathering near the barricade. Her head wagged side to side as she scolded her spouse for always being too reckless.
Russell watched the lovely old lady and her brave husband go. Maybe there was still some good people left in Solace Springs.
“C’mon,” he said. He and his friends jogged toward the crowd gathering around Serena and the general manager.
“—could you let this happen?” Manager Harrington was asking, anger flushing his face.
Serena bit her lip. “Given the circumstances, we did the best we could—”
“The best?!” Gone was the refined gentleman Russell had seen earlier. “You should’ve evacuated the whole lobby before anything even happened!”
Serena could only bow her head, her hands clenched together.
“That wouldn’t have worked, sir,” Harper said. She had never left Serena’s side until now. “No one knew the exact nature of the threat. No one knew where they would come from or what their their numbers were. No one had enough information to make a sound decision. Not Serena. Not any of your employees. Not anyone else here.”
“You should have still called for me!” the old manager shouted.
Harper cocked an eyebrow. “To do what, exactly?”
“I am the general manager here, Ms. Hayes, not Ms. Solace. And definitely not you,” the old manager said, his face turning a darker shade of red. “It is my job to keep these people safe!”
“Again, to do what, exactly?” Clayton butted in once their group cut through the crowd of onlookers. “Because Russell was the one who warned everyone here of the coming threat. Russell was the one who told Donald to stay the fuck away from those glass doors. Donald didn’t listen to my boy then. You didn’t listen earlier as well. So, again, what difference does it make if you were here?”
Mr. Harrington took a deep breath, ready to retaliate, only to deflate after finding no words to say. Clayton was right; the old manager couldn’t have done anything to change the outcome. No one could.
Harper’s eyes traveled to Russell and gave him a once-over. Her brows pinched together, a question held in her eyes. “What’s done is done,” she said, stealing her gaze away. “Arguing about what-ifs won’t change what happened.”
“She’s right,” Serena muttered, lifting her head. “We need to decide what to do moving forward.”
“Well, it’s not safe out there so…” Clayton trailed off, his fingers drumming on the handle of his sledgehammer.
“So what?” someone in the crowd asked. “You guys suggesting we stay here?”
“I stand by what I said,” Mr. Harrington announced. “We need to evacuate the lobby.”
“And go where, sir?” Harper asked. “Is there a safer place we could hole up in? Somewhere more secure and defensible?”
Serena turned to Mr. Harrington. “Would one of the banquet halls do? I’m sure we’d be able to fit everyone there, even those who aren’t here in the lobby.”
“The indoor courts would be a better choice,” her boss said, tugging at his short gray beard. “With enough supplies we may be able to stay in there for a couple of days, possibly even weeks.”
“But that’s on the opposite end of the clubhouse,” Serena argued.
“It is.” Mr. Harrington pushed his spectacles up his nose. “We will need to pass through the inner courtyard to cut our travel time in half.”
“Through the gardens?” Serena’s mouth gaped open. ”We have no idea if that place is even safe! What if there are monsters there as well?”
Russell spaced out when other spectators joined in, exchanging ideas, trading insults, as they tried to come up with a feasible plan. He squinted his eyes at the nearest window. The sky outside seemed to have brightened.
Was it sunrise? No, that couldn’t be right. It should still be the middle of the night.
“—this isn’t some earthquake drill, Mr. Harrington,” Clayton was saying in a frustrated tone. “Will you please stop treating it like one?”
Russell rubbed his temple to relieve his growing headache. The song continued, drumming in a discordant rhythm, a constant noise pounding in his skull.
Were the townsfolk back in the valley also treating this as some kind of drill? Or was this an isolated incident only they in the clubhouse were experiencing?
He snorted, already knowing the answer. His sister and the kids were in danger. He just knew. And he had wasted enough time being stuck here when they need him back in town.
“Yo, Flynn!” someone called out. Bradford cut his way through the crowd, beaming at him. “How many of those shards do you have now?”
Russell frowned. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious,” Bradford said, his tone casual. “Everyone can agree those abilities of yours came in really handy during the fight earlier.”
What abilities? Russell grunted. “Clayton mentioned they were some kind of monster loot. Drops when you kill one of them,” he said. “And before you ask, they would be no good to you.”
“Why?” Bradford asked nonetheless. “You intend on hoarding them? Is that it?”
“Because you haven’t unlocked your records yet.” Russell narrowed his eyes as a few curious ears nearby listened in on their conversation. “You need to kill one of those monsters yourself. Only then can you use a shard.”
“Shame,” was all Bradford said before walking away, heading toward Harper. And the guy didn’t waste time joining in with the ongoing debate.
“Well, I for one suggest we stay right here,” Bradford said, interrupting like it was his calling in life.
Clayton snorted. “How’d you come up with that brilliant idea?”
“Clay,” Harper warned even as she ignored Bradford standing beside her.
“We don’t know for sure what awaits us in any of those locations that have been mentioned,” Bradford said. “They can be safe, or they can be filled with more of those abominations. And that’s not taking into consideration any possible threat we may encounter along the way.”
Rook and a few other jocks caught up to Bradford, and the people in front of the crowd made space for them.
“But here?” Bradford continued as he held everyone’s gaze. “Here we can stay together as group. We can fight as one. We make our stand here and keep this place safe. We have the numbers. We know the terrain. Our odds of surviving are higher if we gather our strength here.”
Russell took in the expansive frontage of the lobby. Glass doors made up the whole entrance, while floor-to-ceiling windows dominated the walls to the left and right side of the entryway.
Everything was made of glass. Fragile glass.
“I agree,” he said anyway, putting in his two cents.
Clayton’s shocked gaze snapped to him. “You what?”
“I think Collins is right,” Russell said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He pointed a thumb at the entrance of the lobby. “Not to mention, my own family is that way.” Beyond those glass doors. So close yet so far away.
“What’s your point?” a woman holding a candle asked, and Russell recognized Courtney’s bottle-blonde hair. “Are you saying you care more about that sister of yours than the people here with you?”
“Yeah, I do,” Russell said, squaring up to face Tommy’s irascible wife. “And so what? Say whatever you want, but everyone here is thinking along the same lines as me. All of us here only care about getting back home.”
Many in the crowd nodded. Not one soul in this country club felt they hadn’t yet overstayed their welcome.
“Well, honesty is an admirable quality in a person,” Mr. Harrington said, eyeing Russell in mild contempt. “It is good to know where your priorities lie, Mr. Flynn.”
Russell cocked his head at the old manager. “Would you rather stay holed up in this club for days? Weeks? Having no idea when all this will end? Not knowing whats happening to your family while you hide in here?”
“Don’t you speak to me about family,” Mr. Harrington said through gritted teeth. “My 76-year-old wife is home at this very moment. Alone.”
Russell snapped his mouth shut, feeling like an ass.
“You understand, then?” Bradford interjected, looking at Mr. Harrington and the rest of the crowd. “Hiding isn’t the answer. At some point we need to fight back, even if it means we have to fight our way down the valley to reach our homes, our families, everyone we care about.”
The gathered spectators voiced their agreement—Mr. Harrington included, albeit begrudgingly.
Russell grimaced. The douchebag had taken the words right out of his mouth.
“Fine. All of us can agree that we need to get back to town.” Rook crossed his arms as he leveled a frown at Bradford. “But the question stands—do we stay here in the lobby, or make a stand someplace else?” he asked, starting another round of arguments.
“Let the majority decide,” Harper called out, putting the issue to rest. Mr. Harrington took charge and called for a vote, and it didn’t take long before they got their answer.
“I guess we’re staying…” Clayton muttered in obvious dismay. He had been one of the few who voted to withdraw from the lobby, together with Mr. Harrington. And Serena.
Bradford clapped his hands, flashing everyone a confident grin. “We stay and fight.”