6. Your final reminder that this is horror.

6

Your final reminder that this is horror.

Harkins

T he released inmates are all over the place, attacking anyone in their way as they stampede toward the next cell block. I see Naya Costa cowering in front of a cell, clutching her knees to her chest and keeping her face hidden. Hands grope her from inside the cells, petting and touching her while she remains unmoving.

I'm in front of her in three steps, aware that speaking to her might reveal too much, but not keeping her safe isn't an option. "Go back to block A. Shut yourself in a cell." I grab her by the arm and bring her to her feet, throwing her back in the direction we came from.

She trembles, giving me a vacant look so filled with terror, I pity her.

"Go!" I bark, giving her a light shove to get her feet working.

I wait until I see her press the buzzer to open the door for cell block A again. Once she's through, I direct my focus to the front. Camila swings the ax with ease, the head of it small and not too weighty for her to handle. It slices through the midsection of a guard like butter, his stomach pouring into his hands. He looks in terror for only a brief moment, attempting to scoop it back inside him with his fingers before she sends the blade down his head. That's where she struggles, having to wait for him to fall so she can put her foot on his shoulder to get the ax free.

She loses too much time that way. I swing a baton I stole from a dead cop in cell block A and crack open the skull of another guard. He's stunned, eyes not quite right, like they're struggling to stay in their sockets. The guard staggers toward me, and I swing the ASP once more. It hits his mouth, teeth flying freely, bouncing off the plastic shell of my mask. His head swings a full 180 degrees, there's a satisfying crunch right before he falls to the ground.

My girl dances through the female inmates and paying customers alike, clanging the wood handle of her ax along the bars. She's dangerous, buzzing with energy and ready to rip through Kyle Danvers.

"Bring me those ruby slippers!" Camila's voice is a theatrical rasp, a haunting cackle leaving her throat as she quotes the Wicked Witch of the West. "Do what you want with the rest of them! Now fly! Fly! Fly!" She's sticking the key into every cell's lock and twisting before she skips away. Every cell begins to slowly roll open, her maniacal laughter causing hesitation from every inmate behind bars.

But still, they come out, none perceiving her as either friend or foe as they rush past her into the next cell block. "Darkling!" I call for her attention.

She throws a hand straight into the air and waves.

I chuckle in disbelief, shaking my head as I push my way through the crowd to get to her. There are three, maybe four people between us. I extend my hand to reach for her when an inmate grabs her by the waist and throws her in a cell. I'm blind with rage when she hits the ground, her ax falling a few feet away.

"Move!" I yell, forcing apart the useless bodies keeping me from her.

It feels like time is standing still. Too many inmates and scared civilians are pushing me in the opposite direction. I watch him step toward her, kicking the ax away. Camila crawls back, but she's cornered in the cell.

My vision goes white.

I know I'm screaming, but whether any of it is intelligible is beyond me. I pull the chainsaw strapped to my back and lift it above me, flipping the safety off and turning on the electric motor. Screams fill the air, but it's not enough to make the crowd move, so I charge, bringing it in front of me.

The inmate's hands wrap around Camila's neck.

I bite my tongue between my teeth, and I just push forward. The saw grinding in front of me, I push forward until there's nothing left between me and my girl. A hand grabs at me as I hack through them but before their grip can steady, the top half of their torso falls to the ground. Blood coats the visor of my mask, truly making it impossible to see anything.

"Darkling!" I roar.

It's all red, but I can't remove the mask. I know I'm in the cell, but I can't see her.

Her shout draws my attention into the corner. I run my fingers over the mask, trying to wipe away some of the blood before I cock the chainsaw into the air. It sputters but doesn't give up, the buzzing steadying in my hands. The inmate lifts his hands from Camila, his blurred image still difficult to make out but enough to know there's distance between them now.

I step closer.

"W-wait," he shouts.

Camila sits upright, lifting her leg into the air before sending her boot into his chest. "You got the keys?" she asks me, but I know her focus is still on the creep who was just minutes from overpowering her.

I give a singular nod.

"Good. Close the cell." Her voice is cold, a tone that makes the hair on my arms stand.

I reach behind, and with a heave, I pull the bars, the loud slamming of the metal followed by the clicking of the lock.

"I-I wasn't gonna do anything." The inmate shakes his head, but I'm preoccupied.

Too busy cleaning the blood off my mask so I can see again. His eyes widen at getting a look at my face, but it makes no difference. Even if he could see me in the darkness it wouldn't matter.

He won't leave here.

"That's not what he said," Camila sings, bobbing her head from side to side.

"I-I didn't say shit. S-she's lying!" he stutters nervously, waving his hands in front of him. I press the trigger on the saw, the revving obnoxiously loud with the movement of the chain. "P-please!"

"Said he was gonna fuck my pretty little ass. Didn't you?" Camila's giggle is fake, borderline childish. She bends over him with one hand on her knee while the other reaches out to pinch his cheek.

"No, I didn't! The bitch is lying!" His panicked voice is so honest, I know it's the truth.

She plops down on the bed and waves her feet back and forth. "Fuck him up, babe."

I don't need the command, but once she gives it, I become even more determined to deliver.

She raises her hand up. "Wait!" Lowering the chainsaw, I freeze. "Don't fuck him up too bad; he's kinda cute."

The mask is back on so I know she can't see the look I'm giving her, but we've been together long enough that she can feel it. Her chuckle is so goddamn enticing. "It's been so long since I've had nearly dead dick."

His eyes go wide with fear, still halfway horizontal on the floor when he starts scrambling to unzip his jumpsuit. "Y-you don't have to kill me. I'll fuck you."

"Ew." Camila snorts. "Too eager, buddy."

I laugh, letting her figure this one out for herself. I don't mind sharing her, because she always comes back to me.

"What's your crime, anyway?" She walks over to her ax and lifts it to her shoulder.

"Embezzlement." He rushes to say it like it's going to save his life.

"In this economy? That's all of us," I add sarcastically.

Camila's cackle fills the air, the echoing of her amusement driving me to spin and note that we're nearly alone now. There's an inmate or two who have selectively chosen to stay in their cells, along with a few obvious civilians who locked themselves away for safety.

She sticks her thumb out like she's Commodus at the Coliseum about to deliver her verdict. It stays horizontal for an extra beat before she throws it down in condemnation. "Weak. I'd rather stuff my pussy full of microfiber towels. Chainsaw him, Daddy!"

Her glee is contagious, forcing my smile to open from ear to ear. It feels so goddamn corny, so fucking cheesy, like something off Hallmark, and I'm secretly glad the mask is there to preserve some of my dignity.

I love this girl so fucking much.

I rev it up again, and with a slow, steady hand, I send the buzzing blade through the middle of his head. The teeth of the chain catch when they hit the first sign of bone, sputtering for a few seconds before they pick up again and power through. I press harder, the grinding of the blade against his bone almost metallic alongside his screaming. Camila's chortle is pure delight, she clutches her hands to her chest and bounces on her feet like a kid at a candy store.

Blood and thick chunks muddle the chain when I get halfway through his forehead, his brain gunking up my blade. I pull it free and lift the saw in the air, hitting the throttle to clear out the shit clogging it before I send it down the precut slice again.

His body stops convulsing once the saw makes it down to his throat, the pool of blood drenching the concrete below our feet. I yank it back, turning the motor off and flipping the safety on before I toss it behind me.

I can hear her breathing, choppy and charged with excitement.

"I love you so much." Her words are labored, struggling to come out.

Every moment is the right one, but none of them are quite good enough.

She deserves magic.

"Did he hurt you at all?" I reach for her neck, my thumb finding the soft skin underneath her mask.

Camila shakes her head. "Let's go find Kyle."

But as soon as the buzzer unlocks the gate to cell block C, it's a different kind of hell. The guards are already dead, bullets in their heads proving that the inmates got to them first, the haunt actors long slaughtered for their weapons. I pull her closer to me, any faint light that had seeped its way into the previous block perishes before entering here. There's a haunting silence in this block, and with the inmates still behind bars—

"It's not safe." I squeeze the top of her shoulder.

She turns her head up to look at me. "What's in here?"

I shine my light next to the door, where the plastic casing holds data sheets for the inmates. There's a greenband on the top of the paper, and it reads my least favorite set of words:

Child Molesters.

"What's in here?" she asks again, a little more annoyed that I'm withholding information she can't see at her height.

"Pedophiles."

Her groan is both of frustration and excitement, and I quickly turn the flashlight off so we don't become a point of focus.

"Babyyyy." She drags the second syllable like it's a request, like she's waiting for permission, because she knows I'm well aware of what she wants.

"Hmm?" She's gonna need to ask for it, though.

"Remember when I said ‘ let's not discriminate?' Well, I want to discriminate. Bad." Her whisper is practically a yell.

"Say what you want." I slip my hand under her mask, wrapping her throat in my hold.

I'm not putting any pressure, but she strains as if I was. "Let me play."

I hum in amusement, loving the way her pulse picks up under my touch. "How can I say no?"

She's out of my range of vision immediately, but the flood of worry is only momentary. I hear the handle of her ax hitting every bar as she makes her way to the end of the cell block. She joins the clanging of metal with her own melody, whistling "Twisted Nerve" flawlessly.

"Who's there?" a man's voice calls from one of the cells.

Her voice comes from deep in the shadows, "God."

The inmates begin to shout. They aren't stupid; dark or not, they've heard shit go down. Their panic is nearly palpable, the rattling of the bars filling the space along with their protests.

"Now, now," Camila sings, her voice getting louder, as if she's walking toward my end of the block again. "I could be your savior."

She's so unhinged, and I've never been more in love.

Their clamoring turns into a roar of begging, calling for God to get them out of here.

"Whatcha doin' here?" She puts on that sickly sweet voice, the one I know means she's sharpening her canines.

I hear the inmate's nervous stutter before he steadies his words. "S-six years."

Camila's tongue clucks loudly, echoing off the walls. "I said, what are you doing here." Her tone drops an octave, no longer playful. "This isn't the army. I don't give a fuck how long you're serving."

"S-statutory," the man says quietly.

"Oh?" Camila fakes interest.

"She said she was eighteen. I-I swear, I thought she was eighteen!"

I hear her snort. "Sure ya did." In a few seconds, I can feel her in front of me again. "Turn the flashlight on and gimme that folder."

I illuminate the documents near the door, pulling them down. "Give me the deets, Professor," she says in a teasing tone. I'm not her teacher anymore, but she knows what it does to me when she gives me a grain of authority over her.

I open the folder and point the light. "Andrew Forester." I hear a grunt to my left, and I don't have to guess that their files are in order with their cages. "Indecent exposure."

Camila cackles, "Creep!" She bangs the metal of her ax on the bars, the sound jarring and abrasive. "Next!" We walk side by side, like we're picking out a puppy at the animal shelter, deciding which one is just right for our needs.

"Greg John—"

"Ehn!" She cuts me off with a buzzer sound. "Never met a single Greg I've liked." She s ahead, letting her weapon dangle beside her, fingers softly grazing each iron bar. "Eenie, meenie, miney, mo." She hops with both boots at once and stops in front of a cell, giving me nothing but a tilt of her head.

"Smith Valinski." I shine the light from the folder to the cell; the guy is one of the few not eagerly awaiting judgment.

"He's got a last name first name?" She grabs at the bars, her mask hitting the metal when she tries to stick her head between them.

Smith barely looks up; he's either uninterested or wants to pretend he is.

Camila toys with him. "Whatdidyado, Smitty?"

He turns his chin away, ignoring her, so she looks up at me for an answer.

"Three counts of kidnapping in the first degree. Three counts of child endangerment. Three counts of sexual assault in the second degree. Three counts of willful harm to a child."

Camila squeals with excitement. "Play with me, Smitty." He doesn't indulge her, so instead, she rattles the bars, her tone going from sickly sweet to rage. "Play with me!"

Smitty turns his head slowly, but he's not looking at her. He's looking at me.

Because he knows he'll need to get through me to get to her.