Where We Go | Book Three

50. I'm Sorry

Hands shaking, I pulled my blade from the holster at my leg. It was small but effective, and freshly sharpened. I'd learned that too from being Infected. The humans with blunt knives were the ones who died first. The metal would barely pierce toughened skin before the fear flashed like lightning through their pupils and they froze, realising it was the end. I blinked the images from my mind, turning my attention to the oncoming herd.

The Sprinters ran at us first, head-on, teeth bared. They were unforgiving in their force and the sheer speed they hurtled toward their prey. Pilot stood behind a pillar, hidden from their sight. His blade, much larger than mine, twitched in his hand as he readjusted his grip. He looked to Chris who stood out on the platform, in full view of the herd. Their stares met each other and when the Sprinters were almost level with Pilot's cover, he nodded.

Pilot understood the signal like a language spoken only between them. He stepped out with blade first, slicing into the first Infected that made an impact. Its body went limp and bone crunched as the blade was pulled free. Gunfire unleashed as Donut fired against the herd, dropping bodies one after the other. I stayed at the back, close to where I could cover Will still working on the door.

I knew how they moved, and how they reacted to groups. It was not from fear but intuition. There would be stragglers who flanked, pinched, and cornered their prey. Metal creaked and groaned to my left where Will pried at the heavy door. Inside the train, Ben shielded Sophia from the horrors outside the carriage. Blood splattered against the windows, on the floor, on Chris's face. There was no shielding her from this, from the reality of the world she lived in. Not anymore.

I turned at the footsteps behind me. Anyone else might not have noticed, might not have heard the gurgling in its throat, the drag of its other foot behind it. Its hair was already matted as I launched the blade into its skull, my lip curling in disgust. These are the Infected who would never reach the cure. The Infected who would never be saved. 

A few others tried to follow the first but I was ahead of them just as quick. Dancing my blade around them like a cursed ballet reaching its climax, their blood spilt to the ground before they could even reach out their crooked hands. Their heads cracked when their legs gave out and their bodies dropped. Thick, dark blood stained the platform where their bodies lay and, for a moment, I saw myself in one of them. That paled face and lifeless expression, those pupils that revealed nothing but sickening hunger. I'm sorry, I thought to the person within. The person I knew was screaming inside that skinned prison. I'm sorry that I wasn't you.

Body after body they dropped but the onslaught was endless, and each of us was exhausted, with our bodies beginning to fail. My ears rang from the shots that Donut fired. He clicked his last magazine into place and unleashed it again. The wound on his arm had opened and red blood stained his sleeve. The Infected clambered over the bodies that already layered the platform steps, using them like stepping stones to get to us.

A groan sounded from Will and the metal screamed with the force he pushed against it. The train door finally bent, opening in the centre. From the inside, Ben pressed his hands through the gap, forcing it further open until it was enough for them both to climb through. Ben squeezed his body through the gap first, then turned to face Sophia. He was trying to shield the platform from her, but the destruction was overwhelming, and the blood covered too much surface.

"Don't look, Soph," he told her. Lifting her to sit on his waist, he turned her head with his free hand, pressing her head into his neck.

It was only a brief, fleeting moment, but she saw. Her green eyes widened, and that childhood innocence was gone. She squeezed them shut and turned into Ben who rubbed his hand against her hair.

"There's too many," I said to Will who had just finished dispatching one of the Infected with the crowbar.

His stare was frantic around the platform and his age was beginning to show; the wrinkles were more pronounced on his skin, and his eyes were more sunken than I remember. The rest of the boys started running towards us, darting wild eyes behind them towards the stairs.

"I'm out!" Donut shouted, slinging his weapon across his body. They slowed when they reached us by the train, each looking just as defeated as the next.

"Em, how long can you hold your breath?" Chris asked as he pulled his machete from the neck of an Infected that followed too close behind.

I shook my head, trying to read his frantic stare. "What kind of a question is that?"

He pointed to the left of the station where there were more Infected starting to collapse, falling to the ground like toy soldiers. Consuming them was a heavy, thick white smoke that had almost filled the other side of the station.

"A relevant one."

The smoke was building, growing in a cloud, and heading in our direction like a rising tsunami with no sign of slowing. It made its way towards us, outstretched hands reaching out from the wall of smoke.

"Shit," I mouthed. My stomach twisted and my feet glued themselves in place. For a moment, I almost thought my heart stopped. We had no serum with us.

Not again. Please not again.

"Go!" Chris shouted, pushing me in the other direction.

I forced my legs to obey, running towards the other end of the platform as far away from the smoke as I could, where the air was clear and I would be able to breathe. Ben and Sophia weren't far behind and I hurled myself into the door of another waiting room where we shut ourselves inside. Lowering Soph to the ground, Ben helped me push one of the vending machines in front of the door.

*

When silence settled, and the air cleared, we pushed the machine away from the door. From the smoke that was already starting to clear, a group of men dressed in dark clothing stepped forward with various weapons and blades in hand.

"You lot looked like you could use some help," the one at the front grinned.

"What made you say that?" Tom retorted with more of a snap than he might've intended.

"Easy now," he replied. "You all okay? No one bitten?"

Julia coughed, clearing her lungs. "We're fine."

The man's head cocked, looking between us all. His stare landed on Sophia for a moment too long as he scowled. I watched as they stood still, like soldiers behind their leader. Their jackets were heavy-duty, and their boots were made to be worn for long days. On each of their sleeves, a patch had been embroidered in red displaying only three letters. G.U.N.