Page 65 of Mindeater

Whipping around to the source, I find Ryx running with a little girl in his arms. Tears stream down her pale cheeks, pointed ears on full display for all to see. The omega woman, Nina, tails them. Ryx shoves the girl into a truck at the far end of their encampment, barks something at Nina, and then hands her a set of keys. I throw up a physical shield around them, blocking the bullet that would’ve lodged in Ryx’s head. His eyes cut to mine.

It feels like minutes, but I know it’s only a few seconds.

But he holds my stare, those sharp eyes seeking something before the moment ends. He gives me a quick nod, rips off his glove, and that monstrosity of a whip emerges. A group of ten humans use their bodies to guard a frail old man who can barely stand. Ryx flicks his wrist and the whip curls around a Telex, slicing clean through his middle. He splits, torso falling away from his waist.

The sight is…horrible.

Intestines fall in a grotesque heap to the floor. But Ryx doesn’t stop there—he keeps pushing forward, tearing down anyone in his path. Torn between watching his brutality and the old man, I hiss when a bullet grazes my shoulder.

“Saren, MOVE!” Ryx yells at me, killing my shooter and sprinting ahead.

I don’t hesitate. I release the full force of my mastery. Energy explodes from my chest, limbs, and eyes, ensnaring as many foes as I can find. Their thoughts burst like bombs in my mind’s eye, overwhelming and far too much for me to handle at once. But if I’m to give these people a chance to escape, I have to do it. I have to kill everyone. There’s no time to count, either. The simultaneous cracking of bones and final abrupt screams echo through the valley.

I collapse onto my hands and knees, vision speckled with white and black dots.

I heave in breath after breath. Wheels squeal against the wet terrain, engines rumble, and as the last gunshots fire, I brave a glance up.

“Stop them! Fucking stop them!” Ryx cries, attempting to take out a tire with his whip and missing.

He sways on his feet, sweat sticking his hair to his cheeks.

I overexerted myself. The bone-deep exhaustion is too strong to fight.

“Saren, please!”

“I can’t,” I croak, shaking my head as I fall to my side.

The last thing I see before darkness swallows me is an armored vehicle pursuing Nina’s truck.

***

It feels like I’ve been beaten when I finally come to again. A horrible numbness spreads through my limbs, fingers, and toes. Wind rushes all around me, kicking up fresh powder into my semi-parted lips. I cough, shivering. For a while, my eyes refuse to open. Guilt threatens to swallow me alive. I killed them. So many of my people are just gone.

And for what?

Humans? Rebels? Ryx?

In my heart, I know why I did it. As much as I want to say it was purely self-preservation, it’s not true. And while it might have started that way, deep down, that pitiful boy who never got his happy ending reared up and demanded I follow through with my promise.

“You’re my best friend. You know I’ll protect you.”

It’s a tough pill to swallow. Harder to accept that I might’ve killed them all in vain. Because I doubt Ryx would do the same for me. And while I still want him to suffer for what he’s done to me, if I had to pick him or myself, even after all this time, I would still pick him.

I will always pick him.

While he’s been off plotting his revenge, I was trapped with Matthias, wishing for a way to turn back time. I can’t even count how many times I cried myself to sleep those first few years without him. When things were darkest, and my new life the hardest to accept, I begged the first seer to bring him back. I would fantasize about him storming the gate, running into my arms, and saving me from Matthias and New Grove.

But he never came back for me.

He took what happened and let it poison him.

Heart in my throat, I swallow down those old feelings and force my eyes to open. It’s getting dark, the sun almost completely hidden by the western mountains. Pushing up on my elbows, I follow the low sounds of tinkering and mutter curses. Ryx is halfway inside a truck’s engine. Blood crusts over his boots. His long hair is matted and tangled.

“Fuck!” he roars, tossing some tool into the snow.

I slowly stand up, pinpricks shooting through the soles of my feet. It doesn’t seem like he’s drugged me again. Which I’m thankful for. Or maybe he’s just too distracted to care.

“Fuck,” he repeats, more broken and defeated. He shoves the heels of his palms into his eyes and sucks in deep breaths. “This is your fucking fault.”