Page 56 of Immune

At me.

For the smallest moment, our eyes meet. I don’t see a Beta boy. I see fear wrapped in oversized clothing and wielding a knife. I see someone who has survived by making themself smaller than the world would expect, sharper than the world deserves, and lonely enough that the scent of it reaches me even through the smoke.

I want to tell them we’re not the danger but I don’t, because it’s always the people who pose the worst threat who claim to not be the danger they’re always ready to display.

Fletcher then fires again, and the moment slips away like it never existed in the first place.

“Xeon!” he snaps, and I turn back in time to spot three fast Rots emerging too close.

The quiet inside me becomes deadly focus, and I raise my gun. Breathe out. Fire.

The first Rot drops, but the second leaps over it like it’s playing a game of leapfrog. Ewan takes that one through the throat, then curses when it keeps gunning toward us. Fletchsteps in and smashes the butt of his rifle into its face before firing point-blank into its skull.

The third fast Rot comes for me, and I let it. Two steps. One. I pivot at the last second, catch its arm, use its momentum to drag it past me, and drive my knife up under the base of its skull. Warm blood spills over my hand just as the body collapses at my feet.

Yanking the blade free, all I can hear is the sound of my own breathing for a heavy moment. Then Ewan breathlessly utters, “I liked this place a whole lot more when it was just depressing.”

“We’re leaving,” Fletcher declares without looking at him.

“The pilot?” I ask, and Fletch’s jaw tightens once more.

As if to remind us of his existence, the pilot coughs again near the wreck. Certainly still alive, then.

The Omega is gone, and so is the Alpha, but their scent lingers in the air. Sweet under the smoke and fear. Fletcher looks toward the alley they disappeared into, and I already know what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it too.

An Omega hidden in Beta clothes. Blockers failing. An injured Alpha with them. A crash site full of Rots and fast Rots. Unknown shooters above us. No straight answers and nothing but danger.

“We grab the pilot if we can,” Fletcher commands. “Then we move.”

“And the tiny terror?” Ewan asks, already nicknaming the Omega.

Fletch’s mouth tightens and I look down the alley where the fast Rot lies dead next to the spilled trash can, the scent of fear still clinging to the concrete and damp brick.

Keeping my eyes on the alley, I quietly mutter, “They’re not small. They’re scared.”

Neither one of them answers, and another fast Rot screams from inside the apartment block. Fletcher lifts his rifle and bluntly says, “Then let’s make sure everything chasing them stays busy, yeah?”

I raise my gun again, ignoring the smoke that burns my throat. My Alpha paces under my skin with a restless fury that keeps it awake in a way I’ve never felt before, but my hands remain steady. My aim is clean.

And when the horde hits, I become exactly what I need to be.

TWELVE

DAKOTA

I run.

There’s absolutely no grace to it. There’s no clever little plan forming in the back of my mind. No smug internal narration about angles and exits and how much smarter I am than everyone around me. There’s nothing but my boots hitting cracked sidewalk, my fucked knee screaming in agony, my lungs choking on smoke-filled air, and the Runner behind me making that horrible wet shrieking sound that hits every panic button my body possesses.

The alley blurs around me as I run, my vision catching nothing more than the blur of brick walls, broken glass, and a rusted trash can that I topple behind me.

Kaito’s footsteps follow somewhere behind me, too heavy and uneven. Gunfire explodes from the road, and I hear the three Alphas shout to one another, voices breaking through the chaos. I don’t have a clue what they say, nor do I care. The words don’t even matter when my body has passed the point of deciding what every Alpha voice means.

Danger.

Hands.

Teeth.