The Wounded

Joseph looked down at the ground. “Apella passed away. Two weeks ago.”

Deshi took a sharp breath and uttered, “No.”

Este’s face twisted into a frown. “That is a sh-shame. I had hoped to work with her again one day.” We stared at her incredulously. She reacted by digging her fingers so hard into that clipboard, I was sure it would snap in two.

“Well, give me your theories, and I will take them under advisement,” she said, turning away from us.

Things turned slowly, a ticket in front of my face that I was reaching to grab.

“No!” I said, taking another step towards her. The guards moved in, forming an ever-tightening circle around Joseph and me. My veins constricted. I wanted to grab his hand, but I was scared to make any sudden movements. “You let us all go, Deshi, Joseph, and me, and then we will tell you our solution. Not our theories, our answer. It works.” I wiped my forehead slowly, a throbbing headache starting to appear. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let all those children die out of pride.”

My words hung in the air, bobbing up and down, taunting me because I couldn’t grab them back. Este watched them too, her temper rising, her body seeming longer, stretched in anger and embarrassment.

This wasn’t going to work.

Joseph pleaded. “Be reasonable, Superior Este…”

“Reasonable?” she screamed. “Have I not invited you into my h-home and listened to your requests? You know the others would not be s-so reasonable.” Her voice smarted like the whip of a cane. The end was coming in a ripping wound. I could feel it already scraping at the edge of me, toying with our safety.

The guards stepped over each tile, like they were playing hopscotch, until they had their arms around us both, holding our arms down and telling us it was over.

It was unstoppable. It was always going to happen but, God, I wish…

Time slowed to a gentle drip. We shook lazily, like spring flowers in the breeze, our movements rubbery, false. This was where we were supposed to negotiate, hold our information above her head, and have her jump at it like a child trying to get at their hat. But her shrewd face belied a terror, a disco

She looked at both of us in turn, her eyes honing in and sizing us up. Our arms strained against the guard’s holds. “I will n-not release Mister Dehali. And now that I know the Survivors have the answer, I can’t see what p-possible use you are to me. You think we don’t have our own S-Spiders?” She smiled sickeningly as she turned a shriveled finger around in circles and said as quiet as dust, “T-take them away and dispose of them. I don’t want b-blood on the rug.”

Joseph was letting them hold him, but as soon as she said that, he burst forward, lunging at the guard closest. A shaking teenager with his knife pointed tightly towards us. I blinked. Tears blurred my vision as movements became a blur, and noise and pain dominated.

As I heard the impact, Joseph’s cries soared to the rafters.

A sick kind of “Ha!” escaped my lips. Because I knew it. I knew all along that it would end this way. I was never going to get to keep him.

Noises bit at my ears, deep cries, clattering, men bashing against each other, and shoes scuffling across the polished tiles. My eyes only caught one thing—the look of surprise on the guard’s face, his fuzzy, blond eyebrows pulled together, his eyes wide and shining with regret.

I pulled at it; the knife was endless, sliding through flesh like the body was a sheath. Finally, it slipped quietly from my hands and landed on the edge of the rug with a ti

An irritated squeal pierced my ears.

Blood should be warm, shouldn’t it? But it felt cold, it felt watery, and there was so much. Too much.

Joseph appeared above me, his body shaking, or maybe it was me, I couldn’t tell. “What have you done?” His words were breathy, fear scraping away sound.

I shook my head; it swayed back and forth, like it was pushing against something. I was so tired. My lips tried to move, but the pull of a dark, warm sleep crawled over me. My eyes closed to slits, an image projected on the inside of my lids… Joseph, asleep in our ratty chair, Orry cradled comfortably in the curve of his elbow. Peaceful.

I felt serene, a calm I never thought I would experience washing over me in overlapping waves.

Orry, I kept my…………

JOSEPH

All I could see was red. Red splashes, explosions, surprised, red faces like meat as I slammed into one after another. Sharp bangs and crumpled bodies. And then Este, her hands pulled taut at her sides, squealing with her eyes squeezed shut, like she was having a tantrum, and then silence.

Minutes passed and, when I finally stopped moving, swinging, grabbing, the guards were lying in a circle around me like toppled dominoes, and Deshi was as white as his lab coat. I looked down at my hands, one was splattered red, and the other was gripping a gun. It felt heavy and cold in my palm. My hand shook like it couldn’t take the weight. I let it fall to the ground, the dull clunk out of proportion to what I saw around me.

They were all dead.

I put my hand to my mouth, but it came away sticky and tasting of copper. Bile rose in my throat. This wasn’t me. I couldn’t have done this. I looked at the faces, open mouths, eyes half shut, grimaces forced slack, the mouths wrong and still. And Este. She lay twisted over the arm of the plush, velvet lounge, her arm splayed dramatically over her forehead, her hands still in tight fists, blood spreading across her jacket.

A hand cupped my shoulder, and I twisted around violently, panting, every muscle in my chest tight. “What have you done?” Deshi asked, bewildered. He stood back from me, frightened.

The words nudged me. What have you done?

I glanced over to where she fell, to where she threw her body between the blade and me. The picture was so familiar, but everything was different. She lay curled around the knife, her body forming a c-shape, her hair fa

My breathing thi

Rosa was dead.

Everything clouded over, and darkness settled over this room of death.

Deshi knelt down and checked her pulse, mine picked up in hope, but he shook his head, his breath catching in his throat. He looked at me with tears in his eyes and spoke. He said something, his face urgent and concerned, but I couldn’t hear him. I just stared at her lifeless body, wondering how all of what made her Rosa was just gone, and all that was left was a body, bones and flesh.

Where did she go, and how could I follow her?

What was she thinking?

I thought of Orry, and I sunk to my knees. Orry, your mother is dead. Orry, your mother died to save me. Orry, she loved you, she loves you. She will always love you.

This couldn’t be happening.

I punched my fist into the tiles, because I couldn’t stand the pain; I needed to feel something else, anything else. But all my mind, my heart, my body, kept pulsing over and over again was dead, dead, dead.

My skin tore and shards of grout stuck to my knuckles. I didn’t look up; I just kept on pounding until I heard the rip of fabric. I looked up and saw Deshi yanking a curtain from the window. He walked over to Rosa and knelt down beside her. Looking at me darkly, he said angrily, “Get up and help me!”