1. Gavin

1

GAVIN

B lack ichor.

The sludge I find myself wading through again, trying to find my way to higher ground.

Crimson inking out into muddy brown.

A dozen new cuts and scrapes, the most recent less the ones that are slowly healing. Keeping my wounds clean is the biggest struggle. Everything is muck and filth, murky water and rotting vegetation, wooden structures soaked in floodwaters.

Blue and purple fade to green.

The bruises under the layer of soot coating my skin start to fade from the torrent of water that nearly drowned me. After hours of hanging onto a tree branch, my arms gave out, but the flood was ebbing by that point.

Still, it carried me through the canyon, out into the lowest part of town near the docks.

Where I've been trapped for nearly two weeks.

Trying to find a path out toward the edges of town, or to the part of town that wasn't devastated by the reservoir collapsing.

And at every turn, I'm hunted.

By fucking psychos.

Blinking rapidly, I force a few breaths into my lungs, triggering an automatic jolt of adrenaline.

Haven't slept more than an hour at a time in days. My body has reverted to those days in service, soldiering. Staked out for days as a merc.

Years of consistent, comfortable living have made it a harder adjustment, but the constant fear of being murdered has a way of making or breaking you.

"Chin up, Gavin," I mumble, just to hear someone's voice.

And then I'm running again, the scuffle of bare feet, the grunts of breathless desperation way too close behind me for comfort.

Once, I would have stood my ground, fought my way through.

But these nutjobs are barely human. And they swarm.

Most of them used to be drug dealers, users, the lowest tier of the Holy Ghost gang that ruled over the docks and rattier areas of Sanctum Harbor. Now, something has shifted.

The loss of civilization, the loss of power and water and food, has turned them into feral packs of wild animals. There's more to it than that, though.

A smell that has nothing to do with their lack of hygiene emanates from their pores.

It's a sour, acrid smell.

A smell that tells me someone is feeding these fuckers drugs. Drugs that are unlike anything I've ever seen. It makes them prone to suggestion, voraciously hungry, hyper-violent, and savagely manic.

The only part of them that remains lucid is their anger.

Their hate.

Which means that the gang that I used to do cleanups for, that I also on more than one occasion had to beat down, knows exactly who I am. And they want my blood.

Picking up the pace, I head up a level in the old, abandoned garage I holed up in last night.

After dark, it's the worst.

But I am used to sleeping in tight spaces, keeping my senses alert for intruders. The downside of hiding out in such a dark place is that come the daylight, the druggie freaks start looking for places to hide from the sun.

Usually, I would have been out well before they could spot me.

Today, I overslept. A sign that I'm wearing thin.

I should head north, get into the mountains. I could probably get to my old place if I really made an effort.

There's just one thing keeping me in the swamp that used to be Sanctum's worst neighborhood.

I keep holding out hope that I will spot some sign of Evan.

That he survived.

Even if a part of me knows that he's likely at the bottom of the bay, washed out to sea in the tidal wave of destruction that tore through the town that night. Still. I have to know.

Especially if I get back to Hellena, Tell, Ora. They need to know, too.

And I can't quite face that fact that I couldn't save him.

I keep searching.

Taking out the scum Ghosts when I can.

Thinning the herd.

"There! I saw him!" a raspy voice screeches.

"Shit," I grit out, bolting through a broken wall, over a car, under a collapsed pillar. Need to get up, get out.

But not into the open.

They'll have someone waiting up top for me.

I take another corner, grinding to a halt.

My breath and heartbeat pound in my ears. Go. GO!

Every ache and pain I've accumulated over the years screams at me to stop and rest.

"Come on, Eraser, do us all a favor and come say hi!" This time, the voice sends a shiver up my spine.

Fucking Sly.

I broke his hand and nearly killed him delivering the money Hellena owed to him.

Feels like a lifetime ago, even though it was just a few months back.

Guy holds a grudge. And apparently, he's risen into a sort of leadership position over several droves of the filthy remnants of the Ghosts.

Started wearing a mask, painting his clothes like some icon.

Probably so they won't murder him for more of whatever poison he's peddling to his own guys. Whether he's on the stuff or not remains to be seen. He sounds more coherent.

Sprinting across a gap in the ceiling, I flinch as several shots ring out, zipping over the concrete behind me. Too fucking close.

"You can't hide from us forever, Eraser!" Sly laughs, his voice reverberating all around me. No telling where he actually is. "Flank him. Force him out. Now."

The whoops and hollers sound from all around me, way more than I thought. At least twenty of them.

My gut tightens instinctively right before a pipe whips around the pillar ahead of me, clipping me. If I hadn't skidded to a stop, I'd be on the ground.

One hand pushes the pipe along its path, overbalancing the wilder, making the half-naked, skeletal excuse for a human stumble out of hiding.

Right into my fucking boot.

Another kick to his head as he hits the ground shatters his jaw, knocks out the few remaining teeth.

And the fucking whacko just sounds mad about it.

New side effect: no pain.

Great.

I dash forward, away from his clawing fingers, stomping on his ankle to at least buy me time.

But there's another one in my path.

My hand goes for my gun, but I clench against the reflex.

I've only got three rounds left.

Gotta save them for absolute emergencies. Two of them, anyway.

The last one…

Well.

Let's just say I won't let them take me or inject me with that shit.

I let the junkie lurch forward, sidestepping. My elbow cracks the back of his head, driving one foot down against the side of his knee.

Crunch.

Hands lock onto my back, followed by the full weight of a body latching on.

Instantly, my palms cup the back of the head snapping at me with rotten teeth, clamp down, and heave down with all of my strength, sending the bastard flying over my head, slapping against the plaster wall with a sickening thwap.

Right in time to drop, spin, take another out at the knees, snapping through both shin bones with brute force and momentum. I almost feel bad for him as he nose-dives face first into a column of exposed rebar, skewering his head on the metal rods.

He goes down in a crumpled heap.

Backing into the darkness, I crouch low, listening for movement. My head spins, nearly taking me to my knees.

Fuck.

I need food. Sleep.

Two more shadows flit across the opening to my right. More to my left. It's only a matter of time before they pin me down, hem me in.

The hairs on my neck stand on end suddenly, alerting me to my mistake.

"Right behind you," a cracked voice whispers.

My hand moves before I even register the presence, taking the attacker in the leg. A hair trigger spin sends stiff fingers into the thug's wrist, taking the gun from his grip.

This one was less far gone, more lucid.

Still dies the same as the rest, but he offers me a leg up.

Another gun.

It's my only out at this point as they close in.

Two shots take out the couple racing over the line of gutted cars ahead of me as I dash toward the exit. Two on my left, another on my right. I can't miss. I can't waste a bullet.

The gun clicks in my hand and I stop, turning a circle, my head clearing. It's a fucking massacre. Nothing I haven't seen before, but I'm sure I'll have nightmares the next time I get to sleep.

Sun breaks through clouds, bathing the ramp out of the structure as I leave the carnage behind. I'm over this shit. I want out.

"Come on, ya grizzly bastard! There's only one way out. Come say hi one last time, get this over with. I got a syringe of something sweet with your name on it."

Because why would they waste a perfectly good soldier for their little army?

I pitch my voice to the side so it echoes out.

"The only ‘hi' that you're gonna get is from a bullet straight through your brain, you asshat. Let me walk away. Nobody else needs to die."

"So cocky! But I agree. No more deaths. I want you to replace all of my minions that you killed the past few weeks. Seems like a fair trade."

"Alright. Trade it is. I'll come out. First, you gotta tell me where you're getting the drugs."

"Ha! The audacity of this motherfucker! Can you believe it?" He cackles, and several other voices join him, most of them a lot less cogent. "I think you know who made this shit. But what really matters now is that I have the power. I call the shots. No more Devonde. No more scraping by."

"You think this is your little kingdom now, then? This wasteland?"

"It will be soon. Once I spread Devo to the rest of the population. Once I set them free from worry. From choice."

"Devo?"

"For Devotion. I think it has a nice ring to it…"

"Sounds like a good time." I'm a step away from revealing myself, of putting one of my last bullets to good use, when I see movement to my right.

Surging toward the figure, I overcommit, expecting another unskilled, wild junkie. Instead, I'm blocked, a hand clamping onto my arm and using my weight against me to swing me into the wall. A forearm across my neck and a cold metal barrel against my temple still my reaction.

Right in time with the soft whisper that has me scrambling mentally.

"Gavin."

"Wh-? How do you know my name?"

"It's me , you jackass." She's hideous, smeared with dirt and grime, her cheeks sunken and drawn.

"All I see is another fucked-up whack job."

"Good disguise, huh?" She laughs, her eyes catching the light.

"Alaya? Shit! What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing you, dipshit."

"Cute. I don't need rescuing. You do realize we're both trapped down here now, with an army of druggies up there waiting for us?" I relax slightly, easing back into the wall to loosen her grip.

"Oh, yeah. They're all packing, too."

"Why do you sound so happy about that?"

"Sheesh. Your time in the woods has made you soft, old man."

"Or it could be exhaustion . You know, the two weeks of constant running? Besides, you're only four years younger than me, Lia."

She startles back, releasing her grip and swallowing, her eyes darting to the side. "Y–you really must be losing it. You haven't called me that since…"

"Sorry." Since we were married. Since she allegedly died.

"Don't be sorry. Be ruthless. It's the only way we're making it out of this alive."

"How did you make your way into this?"

"Well, we gathered up as many boats as we could find originally. Got people out. Then cars. I've been making trips through town since most of the water drained into the bay."

"Looking for me?"

"Looking for any survivors. I guess you, too." Alaya curls one side of her mouth and shrugs.

"You shouldn't have bothered. I still need to find?—"

"I know. But we need to get out of here. Now. You're going to get yourself killed."

"Didn't think you cared."

"Jockstraps to jokers, you're an idiot. Maybe someone else does ? You think about that?" she snips, punching my arm and shaking her head, clearly avoiding my gaze. "God, you're really that stupid."

Hellena…

The ache in my chest for her outweighs the pain of the news I'll have to deliver when I see her again. Alaya's right. I need to get back, be there for her.

My shoulders slump a bit as I make up my mind. "Fine. I'll come with you. Any ideas?"

"As if you ever had a choice? And yes, I always do."

Alaya, still unrecognizable in her sickly disguise, scurries to the edge of the wall, peers aground. "We need to get right in the middle of them to have a chance."

"Back-to-back?"

"As long as you trust me to have yours."

"I do. So?"

"I was thinking ‘hostage situation'. But I'll need to make it convincing."

"I'm too tired to argue. Get it over with." I close my eyes, knowing what comes next.

"FUCK!" I shout for more reasons than just selling the show.

The flash of blinding pain that hammers through my skull as she pistol whips me fades quicker than I thought it would. She really knows how to strike to the best effect, causing more surface damage than any real harm to my head.

Almost immediately, blood trickles over my left eye.

"Damn. That worked a little too well."

"You always knew how to make me bleed."

"You're such a drama-king."

Staggering forward, I feel her gun at my back, her fingers spearing into my hair and yanking back savagely.

"Too rough, big boy?"

"Play your part, I'll play mine," I grit out through the sharp flare of pain in my scalp.

I scuffle along, making a lot of noise, cussing, and putting up a wounded fight. Right at the bottom of the ramp, she kicks out my knees from behind, dropping me hard.

"GOT ‘IM, BOSS!" Her junkie voice sounds nothing like her.

I'm almost back to my feet when she kicks me out into the open, sending me stumbling. Catching myself shy of falling, I growl, low and agonizing, putting out as much of a threatening air as I can. Which of course gets a dozen guns trained on me in a heartbeat.

"Good work. What was your name again, honey?" Sly asks, puffing his chest and looming over me.

"Sid," she mewls, shaking and biting her lip with anticipation.

"You've earned yourself an extra dose tonight for being a good girl. Now, walk our soon-to-be friend over here."

"Fuck you, asshole." I spit some of the blood running into my mouth at him, and he skips back, cackling.

"Fantastic! I love your spirit. But you'd better get in line before I have to start breaking things."

"Then why not just get it over with and kill me?" I taunt.

"No, no, no. I want you alive. Even if it's chock full of lead and infected with gangrene. You're going to pay for ruining my hand. For killing my guys."

"All this devastation and all you can think about is revenge?"

"Fuck yes! People gotta pay for the shit they do to others. And word on the street before everything went to shit is that your bitch girlfriend was responsible for bringing that maniac Vice to our town, for ruining everything. So consider this comeuppance for that, too!"

"We both know Vice didn't blow the dam. That was your bestie, Devonde."

"Doesn't matter, now, huh? We're gonna beat that sick son of a bitch if he ever shows his face in Ghost Town again."

I lean into the laugh that bursts out of me in response.

"Y–you've got to be joking, right? Ghost Town?! That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard!" Blood spatters to the concrete beneath me.

The kick to my chest is expected. Even so, it hurts like hell.

But I need him raving mad. Distracted.

"Better than those bike riding aunts in the Block taking over! Except where are they? They seem to have vanished !"

I can hear him grinning behind that white-streaked mask, gloating.

"Actually, one of 'em is right here." Alaya straightens, her whole fa?ade falling.

Right as we both launch a knife right into two junkies' eyes.

We're both in motion before they can react. I snag the sleeve of one, the throat of another, spinning and off-balancing the one with the gun while I drive the other into the ground with brain-liquifying force.

The first guy's gun goes off, hitting another unlucky fool.

Then his gun is in my hand, his hand shattered, then his face from Alaya's flying roundhouse kick.

She's already got two guns, unloading into a group of five thugs trying to flank us. Most go down in a heap. The others writhe in pain.

Guess if you shoot them enough times, they feel it.

Double-tap and another goes down in full sprint, taking his pal out at the shins in a heap. And suddenly, there's a lot less of the bastards.

Three more crawl out of the woodwork, forcing me to dive, using one of the wounded fuckers as a shield.

"Rorshak! Up!" Alaya shouts, and I roll onto my back, firing from my hip right into a raving woman's chest as she lunges for me.

They don't stand a chance against a team like us. We've always been deadly.

And it seems that time hasn't done anything to diminish our effectiveness together. Part of me is a little bitter about that, but Alaya's been different since she joined us at Damon's old place. That and the fact that she did her homework, didn't kill Hellena, and has saved our asses more times than I'd like to admit.

"Foxglove, the leader!" I holler back at her, popping back to my feet and taking two over her shoulder with pinpoint precision.

Sly is on the move, running for the gap between two vans at the end of the driveway.

And I'm out of energy and ammo.

Still, we both take off after him, Alaya taking the lead and me trailing her a few steps behind.

I manage to scoop up a rifle that's seen better days as I run, slotting a round as we stagger clear of the vans and into the street. Right into another trap.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me…" I growl.

But Alaya is as cool as ever.

Even when more psychos than I can count surround us, screaming and taunting us from a safe distance. When they swarm, we're dead. No matter how many we take with us.

"Hey, Sly!" she yells, throwing down her guns. "We surrender."

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Just go with it," she whispers back.

"You wretched bitch. All that trouble and I'm still going to have the Eraser for a plaything. But you're good enough looking, maybe I'll have you for myself first. Let you suck my dick before I kill you. It'll be worth a vial of Devo to watch you fight it. The first dose is always the hardest. You can actually see the battle inside their fucking heads, watch them struggle to resist while their body does whatever I tell them to."

"You don't have to dose me up, big boy. Put that shriveled little twig anywhere near me and I'll take care of you. Permanently. You'll love it."

"You cocky cunt. No shock there, if you hang out with the likes of him." Sly points to me. And as if on signal, every one of the junkies around us moves in, hesitantly at first, then at a full run.

"Well," I grunt, tensing to fight, "Really wish you wouldn't have thrown down your guns…"

"Eh, I was just buying us a little time."

"For what?" But I know she's always got a backup plan. Even if I can't imagine anything that could get us out of this.

"Step one foot to your right." Alaya grins.

With a scowl, I follow her order, bracing for the onslaught of attackers.

Then she stomps down, dropping the floor out from under us.

The fall is only a few feet, but she shoves me forward as something flips behind us, slamming shut an inch behind my head. A resounding clang shocks my ears.

Right before a massive explosion rocks the earth outside.

Screams and crunching rubble follow.

Then tires screech at a distance. Alaya and I roll onto our backs, kick open the rabbit hole, and rush out into smoke- and dust-hazed mayhem.

Bodies, body parts. It's a fucking warzone.

"GET THEM!" Sly's shriek reaches us from somewhere in the din, preceding several dozen shadows rushing through the mire.

"RUN!"

"No shit?"

But we don't make it far before gunfire takes out the wall of pursuers behind us.

"Hop in, we gotta go!" a shrill voice shouts from ahead of us, and that's when I see the row of military vehicles, bristling with artillery.

"Ora Clive! Never thought I'd be able to say I'd be happy to hear your voice!" I laugh, diving into the open van door.

"Roll out, fuckers! Quit wasting ammo," Ora screams from her perch out the window in the front seat. The crew roars to life, filing away from the destruction in the street.

Where I see Sly standing atop a mound of rubble, waving the hoards of his druggie army forward.

"Hey, Alaya, think you can…" I snarl with more than a little satisfaction.

"Easy," she quips, snagging the rifle out of my hands.

As our van pulls away, she braces the barrel against the door, taking aim.

One shot.

And that mask explodes, along with the head behind it.