it, the terrible impact. It doesn’t hurt a bit , she thought, and the notion made something in her soul shriek.
“That’s for the fucking drugs,” Jake said, leaning in close, dipping the last syllable in poison.
Deborah gurgled, and the light faded away.
*
Jason stood in the narrow corridor, staring dumbly at the tiny scratch on his forearm that was going to end his life.
After a few long seconds he felt it, deep inside, a sort of shifting , accompanied by an avalanche of pain that seemed to consume everything, blocking out the light momentarily. It felt like every cell in his body had caught fire, and he shuddered and writhed, willing his hand to grasp the handle of the knife he carried and plunge it into his neck to end the torment, but he found himself paralysed.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain simply faded away, and Jason collapsed to the floor.
I’m still me.
The thought was incomprehensible. And untrue, he realised abruptly. Something had changed.
He saw his ruined mother standing at the end of the corridor, glaring at him, but it was different now, like he could feel her, like her presence was an itch at the border of his consciousness.
She looked furious, her ghastly face twisted into a mask of rage, and Jason shrank from her, pressing himself into the wall, his mind reeling.
*
It was a straight right, not too quick, not too powerful, and maybe at any other time John would have seen it and avoided it with ease. As it was, when Rachel drove her fist into his jaw, he did not see it coming, and it caught him flush. Hurt, too.
“Bastard,” she spat, winding up a left hook, “ Who the fuck do you think you are? That’s my brother up there!”
John caught the second blow mid-flight, letting it defuse harmlessly against his palm.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But you saw him, he wanted you out of there, he wanted to protect you.”
“What is it?” Michael said, “What happened to Jason?”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t need your protection, John. And even if I did, you’re a little late.” She spat the words bitterly, and Michael saw for the first time a crack in the wall she had built around herself after being left alone with Victor in the bunker. He realised then just how hard she was working to hold herself together, and marvelled at the way she had managed it. With his broken body and Jason’s broken mind, it was easy to forget that anything had befallen Rachel. That was her doing, he realised.
“Okay Rachel, fine, you got it. But I’ll protect myself any fucking way I see fit. And that includes getting as far away as possible when your wardrobe-sized brother turns into a fucking killing machine. Next time, I won’t bring you along. That’s no problem for me.”
“They got Jason?” Michael looked confused. “Then why isn’t he in here now? You think that door would stop him?”
Rachel stared at him for a moment, eyes lost in a cloud of fury, and then the storm of rage enveloping her seemed to pass.
“You’re right,” she said, voice trembling.
Michael nodded. “Listen,” he said.
The three of them held their breath for a moment, ears straining against the silence. The sound they expected to hear - Jason crashing around upstairs in a murderous rage - was not forthcoming.
“He’s okay,” Rachel said, and she placed both hands on the cupboard John had thrown in front of the door and heaved.
“Hey, wait a minute.”
“She’s right, John,” Michael said. “When they turn, it’s pretty much instant aneous. If Jason had become one of them, he’d have been chasing you down those stairs. He’d be hammering at that door right now.”
Rachel let out a cry of triumph as she s hoved the cupboard away from the door with a squeal of wood on tile. Michael and John winced at the noise, but Rachel was already gone, sprinting up the stairs. Michael shot a
“That’s for the fucking drugs,” Jake said, leaning in close, dipping the last syllable in poison.
Deborah gurgled, and the light faded away.
*
Jason stood in the narrow corridor, staring dumbly at the tiny scratch on his forearm that was going to end his life.
After a few long seconds he felt it, deep inside, a sort of shifting , accompanied by an avalanche of pain that seemed to consume everything, blocking out the light momentarily. It felt like every cell in his body had caught fire, and he shuddered and writhed, willing his hand to grasp the handle of the knife he carried and plunge it into his neck to end the torment, but he found himself paralysed.
And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the pain simply faded away, and Jason collapsed to the floor.
I’m still me.
The thought was incomprehensible. And untrue, he realised abruptly. Something had changed.
He saw his ruined mother standing at the end of the corridor, glaring at him, but it was different now, like he could feel her, like her presence was an itch at the border of his consciousness.
She looked furious, her ghastly face twisted into a mask of rage, and Jason shrank from her, pressing himself into the wall, his mind reeling.
*
It was a straight right, not too quick, not too powerful, and maybe at any other time John would have seen it and avoided it with ease. As it was, when Rachel drove her fist into his jaw, he did not see it coming, and it caught him flush. Hurt, too.
“Bastard,” she spat, winding up a left hook, “ Who the fuck do you think you are? That’s my brother up there!”
John caught the second blow mid-flight, letting it defuse harmlessly against his palm.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But you saw him, he wanted you out of there, he wanted to protect you.”
“What is it?” Michael said, “What happened to Jason?”
Rachel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “I don’t need your protection, John. And even if I did, you’re a little late.” She spat the words bitterly, and Michael saw for the first time a crack in the wall she had built around herself after being left alone with Victor in the bunker. He realised then just how hard she was working to hold herself together, and marvelled at the way she had managed it. With his broken body and Jason’s broken mind, it was easy to forget that anything had befallen Rachel. That was her doing, he realised.
“Okay Rachel, fine, you got it. But I’ll protect myself any fucking way I see fit. And that includes getting as far away as possible when your wardrobe-sized brother turns into a fucking killing machine. Next time, I won’t bring you along. That’s no problem for me.”
“They got Jason?” Michael looked confused. “Then why isn’t he in here now? You think that door would stop him?”
Rachel stared at him for a moment, eyes lost in a cloud of fury, and then the storm of rage enveloping her seemed to pass.
“You’re right,” she said, voice trembling.
Michael nodded. “Listen,” he said.
The three of them held their breath for a moment, ears straining against the silence. The sound they expected to hear - Jason crashing around upstairs in a murderous rage - was not forthcoming.
“He’s okay,” Rachel said, and she placed both hands on the cupboard John had thrown in front of the door and heaved.
“Hey, wait a minute.”
“She’s right, John,” Michael said. “When they turn, it’s pretty much instant aneous. If Jason had become one of them, he’d have been chasing you down those stairs. He’d be hammering at that door right now.”
Rachel let out a cry of triumph as she s hoved the cupboard away from the door with a squeal of wood on tile. Michael and John winced at the noise, but Rachel was already gone, sprinting up the stairs. Michael shot a
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