Chapter 12: XI. CAMERON CHAMBERS

Apparently, I missed a lot. Michael’s face is all beaten up and even more frightening than usual. And he’s also not talking to Grace much anymore, as if there’s some kind of rift between them. Speaking of Grace, the bottoms of her feet are almost completely burnt. And so are Khalil’s. Apparently one of the challenges in the Badlands they had to do was walk across hot coals covered in toothpaste to make the burns sting more. I don’t know what kind of sick weirdo figured that one out. Also speaking of Khalil, he not only won The Badlands, but he had to win a game of Russian fucking Roulette’s to do so? And not only that, but some girl from his past, Elena is with us now? And we’re only a couple hundred of away from winning the cure now? How the hell did so much happen whilst I was gone!

“Where the fuck did you go?” Khalil had asked me when I returned to the stadium. 

“To look for a new car.” I lied to him. I’m not really good at coming up with convincing lies on the spot but that was the best I could come up with. We did need a new car, the temporary vehicle we used crashed on our way to the Badlands. And our old car is still off of that cliff. 

“And did you find one?”

“No.”

“That’s fine, we can use mine,” said Elena. I already knew what type of person she was when I first saw her. She’s one of those girls who is too beautiful, suspiciously beautiful, intimidatingly beautiful. I almost froze up when she offered me a handshake. “I’m Elena.”

“Cameron.” I greeted her back, shaking her hand limply. 

“Nice to meet you Cameron.” she said. “Now let’s get ourselves out of here.”

And that was the end of that. Apart from a suspicious look from Michael and Lysandra (his looks, I’ve gotten used to, but I don’t know what’s up with her), I wasn’t really pressed on the specificity of my whereabouts. Which I was very happy about, because they cannot know where I was. I was somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be. I was somewhere I really wasn’t supposed to be. And to understand why I was there, they would have to know about what happened when I was in the back of the supermarket with Isabelle. And they can’t know about that either. 

That day had started out really strange the way I saw it. First, we were ambushed and forced into a car-chase/shoot-out  because of all  those people who wanted to kill us because we were ahead when it came to getting the cure. And whilst that on its own made sense, the quickness at which they chased us down as well as the speed at which they ended up backing off after we drove too far into that area of the land came across as being very weird to me. Almost like it was an organised effort to get us someplace. 

Then, when we entered that abandoned shopping centre, I kept getting the creeping feeling we were being watched by someone. But whilst most would assume this was their gut instinct, I thought it was  just my anxiety playing up. It does that so often, I’ve started not to trust it. 

I kind of forgot about both of these things when Isabelle and I found that group of wanderers at the back of that place. All that talk about cures and the older patient and all had my mind spiralling. My mind was pulled away from my anxieties and pulled towards what we were talking about at the moment. Especially with how high-strung Isabelle was getting over it, it started to make me high-strung too. Then after she suggested we stay there and help them, without giving me much of a choice, I had already forgotten about the weird things I kept noticing. It got to the point where when Isabelle was schmoozing with them and let her guard down, I let my guard down too. I didn’t check the parameters or study the area or do any of the stuff I usually did. I just wandered around in curiosity. That was my big mistake. 

As I wandered around the back of the supermarket, I found myself tired and in need of a resting place. So naturally I sat on one of the many cardboard boxes that scattered the area. Only when I sat on the cardboard box, I felt something scurry out from underneath it. With the box flattened underneath my clumsy arse, I looked to see what had been filling it - a four year old blonde kid with a huge meatball in his hand. 

The kid was big for his age, but thin from malnourishment. His blonde hair was ruffled and messy and as greasy as the potato-bag coloured long-shirt he wore. I awkwardly smiled and waved at the kid. He waved back. He was an adorable young guy, kind of reminded me of my cousin Georgie. Georgie’s dead. His Mum was my Aunt Sharon, who had him really young. And because Sharon had him quite young, Georgie did not experience the pain of watching his parent’s eyes pool with blood as they succumbed to the mist . He experienced much worse. His Mum was young enough to be invigorated by the mist. Young enough to lose control and kill him with her bare hands…

“You alright buddy?” I asked him. He nodded his head as if it was heavy. I looked towards the meatball he was rolling within his hands. “What’s that you got there?”

The little boy showed me the meatball, twice as big as his hands. It wasn’t one of those premade ones. It was one of those ones that you rolled up yourself out of minced meat. It looked like he had spent a while making that one. 

“Is…is that your dinner?” I asked him. Though they had a supermarket at their disposal the wanderers only really seemed to eat frozen food.

“No eat.” he told me, shaking his head. “Play.”

“Play?” I asked him, confused. Without warning, he threw the meatball at me. My catching reflexes clearly needed some work because when I went to grab it, I accidentally just smacked the minced meat into my face. 

“Ah!” I exclaimed, causing the kid to burst out into laughter. 

“Silly man.” he chuckled as I picked the strings of minced meat off of my face and placed it back amongst the meatball. Though I had raw meat all over my face, I didn’t care. I hadn’t heard a laugh that bright and wholesome since the incident started, nevermind from a kid. I don’t know why but it filled me with such hope and joy. Soon, I was throwing around meatballs and salami strings and stuff with this kid, both of us laughing the day away. Honestly, it was the most relaxed I’ve felt in about a decade, really bringing me back to my childhood. Whilst Isabelle was talking with Adam and trying to secure a future, I was finding security in the past. That was my second mistake. 

Not even up to ten minutes later, we ran out of meatballs and things to play catch with. So I decided to go check at the very back of the cellar. As I was there I noticed one of the back-entrances to the entire building was wide open, so of course I went to shut it. That was when I was yanked outside. 

The perpetrator locked the door behind us then slammed me against it. Before I could even gather my bearings to see who had grabbed a hold of me, I already knew who it was from the sadistic laugh. Once again, I had the misfortune of being face to face with Declan O’Gallagher. 

“Great to see you again Cameron.” Declan chuckled as he held me by the collar. He wasn’t just fine with holding me up and pushing my head against the metal door, he just had to dig his nails into my skin as he did so. 

“Get off me! Get off me!” I panicked as I pushed him off of me. You’d think being taller and larger I’d have no trouble in getting him off of me, but he was still way stronger than I was. Classic me I guess. 

I tried to open the door again, but he gave me a quick reminder of how blood tastes when it's pooled in your mouth with a punch across the face. That was a stupid idea, lesson learnt. 

“What are you even doing here? Go! Leave us the fuck alone!” I whined as I spat blood on the floor. In hindsight I should have at least tried to sound more menacing. 

"What, I can't say hello to my buddies?"

"Fuck no!"

"Hey, why not?"

"What kind of ridiculous question is that?"

"I just want to talk to you Cameron. Can't you listen to me for just a second?"

"Fuck! No!"

"Listen Cameron, if we're going to do this, you're gonna have to be a lot less annoying."

"If we're gonna do what?" I asked. Declan smiled at me, but instead of giving me an answer he pulled out a gun from one of his tactical straps then pressed it into my open mouth. 

"Now like I said before, listen. I have a lot to say. Can you do that?"

I nodded with compliance. It's not like I had a say. 

"Good, now don’t interrupt until I’ve finished." Declan started. Again, it’s not like I had a say. "As you know, Khalil and I are not on very good terms. We haven’t been for a while. And because of that he wants to kill me. And I want to kill him. I really really really want to kill him. And with all these fine and dandy new gear I got from being one of Dubois’ little foot soldiers I can do just that with the relative ease of swatting a fly…the only problem is, I'm in a specific predicament that prevents me from just outright killing him. But there’s a way to circumvent that, and it involves you. " 

Declan smiled as he tapped the temple of my head with the index finger of his gun-less hand. He waited for me to respond, only realising after a short while that he would have to remove the gun from my mouth for me to do so. He removed the gun out of my mouth, disgusted by the saliva that drew off of it in strings. He looked back to me, who was gasping for air with my hands on my knees. That disgusted him even more. 

“Well what do you say?”

“I just have a few questions.” I gasped. 

“Ask away mate.”
“Firstly…” I gasped, finally getting the annoying gun taste out of my mouth. “If you want to kill Khalil so bad then what’s stopping you from doing so without my help?”

Declan pistol whipped me across the face without warning. The taste of blood in my mouth returned, more metallic and choking than the last time. 

"Bad question." Declan reprimanded as if I were a dog. "That's for me to know and for you not to worry about. Next question."

"What exactly do you want me to do?" I gasped at him, my voice pathetic and pleading. 

"Better question!" Declan cheered. He put the gun back in its holster and grabbed my face by either cheek. "What I need you to do my dear Cammy Chambers is to not only not tell any of the others that I have been and will continue to follow you, but I also want you to keep me updated so I don’t have to do it so much." He took out a smoke-gun from his tactical gear and fired a shot in the air like a guy from a western movie. “Whenever you see that go off in the air, you’re to report to that exact location. When you arrive there, I will come out of hiding and we will have a little conversation.”

“So you won’t kill him now, but you want me to keep you posted on where we are so that you can…kill him?” I ask. “What the hell are you talking about! “That makes no sense at all!”

“If you lot happen to cross into an area Dubois has me patrolling then I’ll be able to kill him in ‘self-defence’. But this isn’t one of those areas so I can’t right now.” Declan explained. I wasn’t sure what he meant then and I’m still not sure what he meant now. Won’t be able to?             “But sooner or later you will cross into one of those zones. And I’ll be fully updated by you when it comes time to do so. So you’re going to oblige, okay?”

“And why the hell would I do that?!” I asked him. It was so strange of a thing to ask me, so it was reasonable for me to ask the question. But Declan did not seem to think the same way. 

“Are you asking to get pistol-whipped again, Cammy? What did I tell you about asking bad questions?”

“Oh come on! Are you serious right now?” I protested. “Why the fuck would I let you kill Khalil!?”

“Fine, I’ll tell you this one.” sighed Declan. “My being here in front of you right now proves I’m really good at stalking you guys, doesn’t it Cameron?”

“Uh, I guess.”

“So you can imagine it won’t be a struggle for me to find your friends at the back of the supermarket,” said Declan. 

“Where are you going with this?” I asked

“How would you like it if I popped the head off of that shitty little kid I saw you running around with and started playing meatball-dodgeball with the decapitated head of the little shit?”

My heart pumps with more anxiety. Fuck! The kid! Not the kid! Serves me right for not paying attention to my surroundings like I should have.  Oh man, I’ve just gotten him into a lot of shit haven’t I?

“No! Don’t!” I blurted out in a panic. Declan laughed. 

Why’s it always me? Why does he always have to target me with his sadistic little games? First the debt and now this? I couldn’t let him even get near that kid. I couldn't! But what else could I have done? I couldn’t have reasoned with him surely, but it didn’t stop me from trying. 

“Declan come on, even you aren’t sick enough to kill a kid. Please, don’t.”

“I don’t know Cameron, I really want to.” chuckled Declan. He pulled out another weapon from his seemingly endless supply of tactical gear holsters. This time he took out a shotgun. “Declan come on…”

“You know Cameron, there is a way you can stop me from doing it.”

“What?”

“Exactly what I told you before.” chuckled Declan. “Follow the smoke…report back.”

And that’s where I was whilst the others were risking their lives in The Badlands. Updating Declan on where we were going to be going next. Letting Khalil down once again…

As I think back to when he confronted me, I wonder what the others would have done if they were in my shoes. Grace probably would’ve called his bluff and laughed it off. Isabelle probably would have pretended to agree with him, then try and cut his throat when she got the chance. Michael probably would have cut his throat first and foremost, sliced it clean open and then played meatball-dodgeball with his decapitated head. Even Lysandra would not have given in, she would probably do something on an emotional whim like try to run and hide and take the kid with her. But for me, all I could think about was how I would potentially be responsible for that kid's early death. That poor kid, he doesn’t deserve to have the same fate as Georgie, he doesn’t! But is it worth potentially risking Khalil’s life? Who knows when we could enter a “zone” where he’s “able” to kill us. Whatever that means. I’ve tried to rationalise my decision to myself so many times it's not even funny. I’ve told myself many things to cope with. 

Maybe if I figure out where these zones are, I can make sure to avoid them, or better yet, I can give Khalil a heads up when we enter one and the worst that can happen is we get into another gunfight which Declan hopefully dies in . Surely, that’s better. But is that enough? I don’t know, I don’t fucking know. All I know is I’m in deep deep shit once again. I can’t help myself. 

After another smoke-gun meeting with Declan in the early hours of this morning, I made sure to sneak my way back into the house as inconspicuous as possible. I’ve done a good job of mostly avoiding the others so far this morning, so far no one has noticed I have gone or questioned me on anything. The only people I see are Khalil and Elena who went into a room together. They pass me by as I went to the kitchen but looked too busy to ask me anything. Whatever they’re doing in that room must be important because Khalil locks the door tightly. They talk for a short while, and although it's quiet, something about it sounds quite intense. Something inside me tells me to eavesdrop on their conversation. And so I do. 

“How do I know that I can trust you?” asks Khalil. 

“It’s a gamble you’re just going to have to take.” laughs Elena. From the silence that follows I can assume that Khalil didn’t find it funny. 

“Listen, things were different back then. So what if I ditched the gang? We were in hot water with Daniel Underwood's people after that mess with the gun trade and I couldn’t stick around for the aftermath. Can you really blame me for not wanting to die?”

“We both know it wasn’t because you feared for your life Elena.” Khalil says. “The timing of you leaving us was very convenient. Some people think you might have set us up…”

“Are you part of these people?”

“I choose to give you the benefit of the doubt but sometimes I don’t know…”

Elena sighs deeply. Damn, these people have really been through a lot. So Elena abandoned Khalil and his brothers gang in the past? Must be why Grace hates her. I don’t think that's why Lysandra doesn’t like her though. But I could make an educated guess about her reasons. 

“I would’ve thought you missed our great times together.” says Elena flirtatiously. Khalil always seems to have gorgeous girls who really want to be with him. How does he do it? 

“I do, which is exactly why you leaving us hurt me so badly.” says Khalil. “I don’t want to take that chance again.”

Elena sighs another time, this sigh sounding more exasperated than the last. I hear a shifting of a mattress followed by a sigh from Khalil. 

“We were each other's first Khalil, there’s something special in that.” says Elena. “Why don’t we consider it water under the bridge and be together again?”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” repeats Khalil. I don’t hear Elena’s answer . I don’t hear much conversation after that actually. 

Why’d he have to say all that? It’s making me feel worse about all of this. It’s almost like he’s talking to me too…

“I’m in deep deep shit.” I mutter to myself compulsively as I wipe my hand across the kitchen table over and over again. 

“And why’s that?” I hear a deep yet somehow bratty voice from the kitchen door. I look to see Michael. 

“Sorry, what did you say?” I ask him, pretending I didn’t say anything. He is the last person I need to open this can of worms. 

“What do you mean “sorry”, you’re the one who’s mumbling shit underneath your breath.” says Michael, getting quickly annoyed with me. “Why are you in deep deep shit?”

“How’s Grace?” I ask him. Better to change the conversation. “You’ve not been around her much lately, is something up?”

“Don’t ask me stupid fucking questions.” says Michael. I feel like I’m talking to Declan again. “What are you in deep shit for? Is there some trouble we have to worry about?”

“It’s nothing really. I was just saying random things to myself! Honest!” I swear to him. Look at him. He doesn’t believe me. He doesn’t believe me one bit. But he doesn’t say it. All he does is narrow his eyes, nod his head and leave. I have a feeling that’s not the last time he’ll bring this up though. 

Afternoon soon comes and I’m cramped in the back of the car next to Lysandra, Grace, Michael and Isabelle with Khalil in the passenger's seat and Elena at the wheel. With our usual drivers in Khalil and Grace still feeling a little under the weather from their Badlands antics, she offered to be the one to swiftly take us to our next destination in our journey to complete our bundle of cure cash. A place I thought I’d never have to see again. The Winstanley cottage.

Apparently Khalil took a trip down there and made an agreement with them on how we were to get some more money. One that I am not looking forward to. 

“We’re going to let them do what?” asks Lysandra.

"We're going to let them drain our blood." Khalil states. "Does anyone have a problem with it….Isabelle?"

Elena laughed. 

"Why would I?"

"You usually do "

"I'm tired of fighting with you on these things, Khalil." Isabelle sighs. "Let's just get this shit over with."

"Good, thanks." Khalil sighs. I look at Lysandra, the discomfort clear on her face. I wait to see if anyone else has any objections, but no one says anything. Everyone's just so used to running around and doing these things. Everyone's too drained to fight back against the insane shit we have to go through. Everyone just wants to push forward and get it done with, get that cure and move on. I know I want to.

We arrive at the Winstanley Cottage to see all six Winstanley siblings, waiting for us, each more decrepit and hunched over than the last. There's Jen Winstanley, Jobe Winstanley, Peter Winstanley, Myron Winstanley and finally there's Rose Winstanley. 

She's the one who tied me to the chair and beat Khalil with that plank if I'm remembering correctly. Or was it the other one? Who knows with these people. All I know is they look much more excited to see us than we do to see them. 

"Afternoon Khalil and friends." Rose says.

"Let's not drag this out further than we have to. We'll do the draining, you'll give the money and we'll leave eachother alone forever." snaps Khalil. Rose chuckles at his annoyed bluntness. 

"Alright" laughs Rose. Her attention is drawn away from Khalil and towards Elena who smiles at her mischievously. "And who might this be?"

"Elena, nice to meet you."

"Elena…you're a nice one. Your skin’s pretty and full and gorgeous…draining you will be a treat.."

"Charming." 

"I do try." snarls Rose. "Now come on in, make yourselves comfortable."

I think I'll have a hard time doing that. 

A minute or so later and the seven of us are with Rose in the rickety wooden shack they call a living room as she sets up the rope and comically large syringe she uses to complete the drainings on each arm rest of a leather couch . I am definitely not looking forward to this. The other Winstanley’s watch from the corridor, not allowed to come in during the process. I'm grateful for that, might make this all a touch easier to deal with. 

"Who wants to go first?" asks Rose. 

"I should." suggests Khalil, raising his hand up with his usual bravado. Isabelle rolls her eyes at him, and I have half the mind to do the same. 

"How manly of you." Elena jokes. Khalil scoffs at her as he takes a seat. 

As soon as Khalil is sat upon the chair, Rose immediately ties the rope tightly around his left arm until the veins are properly pronounced. With a feverish excitement she plunges the large syringe into Khalil’s hand and starts the draining. She couldn't even wait to let him get ready! Khalil braces himself, trying not to let the shock get to him as she takes out up to three vials of blood. That can't be safe right? Then again, it's the Winstanley's we're talking about here. Man oh man am I not looking forward to my turn. 

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"Fuck." groans Khalil, his muscles tensed with coursing pain. With the last few droplets sucked into the syringe, Rose finally stops draining him. She admires the blood within the apparatus, marvelling it as Khalil continues to groan in pain. 

"You did good." comforts Elena with a roguish smile on her face as she caresses Khalil’s head. The look of discomfort on Lysandra is palpable.

"Who's next?" asks Rose excitedly. 

Elena is the next person to get drained, sitting in the chair so casually as if she was simply sitting down in a uni lecture rather than putting herself at the mercy of someone's twisted blood-fueled fetish. She takes it well, better than Khalil even. Not even a groan or a whine from her, just a slight grunt of discomfort every now and then. After it's done she looks to the rest of us as if to say "Is that all?". Damn, that girls tough. 

Next up is Grace who also takes it well, though she is louder with her grunts and grievances. Then Isabelle who tries to remain stoic during it, but can't help but stamp her feet multiple times during the process to distract herself from the pain. Then its my turn. You'd think I'd be quite squeamish about it, but I take it in my stride. Less because of any bravery or resilience on my part and more because well, I've experienced this before when I tried to rob them way earlier. Last time was behind the ear instead of the arm, so in comparison, this was nothing. 

  Surprisingly, Michael is the one who comes across the most squeamish when it's his turn. He put on a face of bravado when he sat in the chair and seemed not fazed at all when the syringe went in. But when it started to drain, so did his energy. Michael slumps over slightly in his chair, almost fainting at the process. His already pale skin is losing the little colour it once had. He struggles to keep his head upright and stop himself from losing consciousness. I think he cares more about looking weak and falling over than he does about how the draining is actually hurting him so he continues to let Rose drain him regardless. Elena’s giggling at his expense isn't exactly helping either.

"Shit." Michael grunts as the draining finishes. With the syringe plucked out of his arm he falls over in his chair. Grace prevents him from falling over, rushing to make sure he falls into her arms instead of onto the hard wooden floor. You would think he would be grateful for this, but…

"What are you doing?" asks Michael. 

"Helping you…you almost fucked this up for us by feinting." Grace laughs. Michael gives her a death glare. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't need to be coddled." Michael spat. 

"Hey, I'm just trying to help you out here Michael." Grace defends. "I thought that you might still be feeling a little weak, that's all. Especially after the cannibals at the Badland-" 

"I'm not weak!" exclaims Michael, lightly pushing her off of him. "And I don't need your fucking help!"

Grace's face sours. She looks about ready to give Michael another bruise on his head, but decides to just part her hair and bite her tongue instead . Michael glares at her through the corner of his eye as he walks back to the end of the room to sit on his own. What is going on between those two?

But whilst Michael only became weak once the syringe was plunged into his arm, Lysandra's usually flawless complexion is already becoming dry and pale before she's even in the chair. I have to say, I have to commend her for taking things as they are, not a single time since the moment Khalil proposed the idea did she worry or fret about what we were doing. She didn't even give a single complaint, just a few discomforted glances  . Though maybe she should have, because she doesn't seem ready for it. Lysandra is already wobbly and weak at the knees as she sits down in the chair. And when Rose starts to tie the rope around her arm, her hyperventilating starts and shaking continues.

"Hey, hey. It's alright." Khalil says in an effort to comfort her. He rubs her arm and breathes alongside her to help control her breathing. It helps a little, but clearly not enough. Lysandra barely looks like she's still with us. 

"Come on, a little drainage never hurt anyone." jokes Elena. She wants to laugh but decides against it when she sees Khalil steely eyes  lasering in on her with contempt.

"You'll be alright, okay." Khalil assured her. 

"Okay." Lysandra says,  nodding weakly. But Khalil was wrong, she wasn't alright. In fact, she passes out as soon as the syringe enters her arm, dropping like a sunken rock so quickly that Khalil barely catches her before she slams her head against the floor. 

"Goddammit!" frets Khalil as he holds Lysandra carefully. He preps her up and caresses, resting her head against his shoulder. 

"That's no good." says Rose.

"Course it's no good, she fainted." scoffs Isabelle. 

"Not what I meant." grunted Rose. "Seven drainages, that was the deal."

"Is six not enough for you?" asks Khalil angrily. 

"Seven drainages, that was the deal." repeats Rose. "One of you will have to go again."

The six of us all look at eachother, no one jumping at the chance to fill another vial with their blood. Usually Khalil would be the first one to put his body on the line, but even he is hesitant. He has put himself through quite a lot recently. But if not him, then who?

"I'll do it." offers Grace. 

"Are you sure?" asks Khalil. "You don't have to I can always-"

"I can do it." asserts Grace. "Don't want to look weak after all."

It's no surprise to me who that comment was directed at. Michael huffs as he leans back in his seat at the corner of the room. It's no surprise to him either. Recent events have clearly strained their relationship for some reason, though I could never understand their being together in the first place, so maybe it's for the best. 

"I would've preferred one of the browner ones," says Rose.  "But freckled skin is almost as good. 

Grace takes a seat for her second draining. With the rope tied around her hand and another syringe being prepared, she faces the task with a domineering air about her. As the syringe enters her arm she stares Michael down the entire time. Michael stares at her back as the blood seeps from her body. I can almost feel the intensity between these two. Is this what they call a "power play" in a relationship? I wouldn't know, I've never really been in a proper one. But even I can tell this isn't normal.

"No, leave the rope." orders Grace. "Do it again."

Rose is at first shocked by Grace's resolve, but she wastes no time in preparing another syringe to carry out her wishes. The rest of us react in a way you would naturally expect. 

"Grace, what are you doing?" asks Khalil. 

"I'm doing it again." she answers casually. 

Michael sits up in his seat, taking a deep breath as he continues to stare at Grace. Though his glare has softened up. Like he's worried about Grace, but doesn't want to show it. And from the smirk coming over Grace's face tells me that's exactly the reaction she's looking for. 

Grace takes the second drain very well, too well even. It’s like she actually enjoys having it been done to her. Though she does not even pay attention to the literal life force being sucked out of her, her gaze steadied on Michael. And once it’s done, despite her weakness she continues to remain unphased and looks willing to go even further. 

“Again.” Grace says.

“Grace, what the fuck?” asks Isabelle, sounding more disappointed than outraged. What the fuck indeed. 

“You’re even more intense than I  remember you being!” commends Elena. 

“Don’t encourage her.” chastises Khalil. “Come on now Grace, we’ve given her the seven drainages, lets just go now.”

Grace pretends as if she cannot hear anyones complaints. The only person Grace looks to at this moment in time is Rose. 

“Are you sure?” snarls Rose, so giddy at the prospect of draining her a third time.

“Again.” Grace whispers, looking at Michael out of the corner of her eye. It’s getting harder for him to hide his concern, but he remains in his corner, arms crossed, desperate not to falter. I don’t get this game they are playing at all. 

This draining is the one that takes its toll on Grace. Though she tries to maintain her smug challenging smirk in Michael’s direction her face starts to squick and squirm, her control over her body weakening. 

Michael stands up with a face full of worry, but he doesn’t say anything. He walks up to regroup with the rest of us again, as we watch the grand finale of Grace’s draining. 

As the syringe gets taken out of Grace’s arm, she can no longer keep up her strength. Through sheer force of will, Grace makes efforts to stop herself from slipping off of the chair and crashing onto the floor, but her body is not listening to her. 

“For fuck sake!” Michael groans, his body also betraying him but in a different way. He impulsively rushes over to Grace’s aid. He makes a special effort to handle Grace with care, lifting her back onto her feet with a softness none of us  never knew he was even capable of. But as soon as he’s almost got her on her feet Grace steps up on her own and releases herself from Michael’s embrace. But she doesn’t just lightly push him away, she full on throws him to the ground. I don’t think I could have seen that coming. 

“What the fuck was that?!” asks Michael. 

Grace chuckles down at Michael, backside planted on the floor upon her doing. She looks up and does a quick overview glance at the rest of us. 

“You’re welcome for the extra money.” Grace says bitingly. She leaves the Winstanley Cottage for the car, the rest of us a little bit perplexed by her actions. Michael most of all. 

Later that afternoon, I’m sat at the kitchen table with Khalil and Elena as she helps him count the bag of cash the Winstanely’s gave us, adding it to the rest of the money we’ve gotten along the way.

“We’re almost there…” Khalil says in a low voice. “Just a little more and we’ll have it, we’ll have the cure.”

He meticulously counts each and every last coin and bill in our possession. 

“Bet you’re glad I came with you guys now.” Elena remarks. Khalil meets this remark with a smile, the two of them sharing a warm look with each other. After a short while, Khalil breaks their coupled gaze however and faces me. 

“How are you holding up, Cameron?” he asks. 

“Fine.” I tell him, sounding a little more panicked than I should. “Why?”

“It’s just… There's been a lot going on recently, too much going on. Feel like everyone’s been on edge recently.” says Khalil. “Haven’t had the time to really talk about how we’ve all been feeling.”

“Well uh…I’m fine, but thanks for asking Khalil, mate.” 

Phew. For a second I thought he found out about the Declan thing. 

“And what about the others?”

“What about the others?” 

“Do you think they’re doing alright too?” Khalil asks. That’s a good question. The short answer is no. The longer answer is hell no. But the longer answer:

“Well, I don’t think Grace or Michael are alright if our drainings at the Winstanley’s says anything.” I start off with. “And Isabelle? She seems alright I guess, just a little lower in energy.”

“Are you sure?” asks Khalil. “Feel like I see less and less of her as the days go on. Hope there’s nothing wrong with her.”

“Yeah…well…I don’t know.” I tell him. 

“And what about Lysandra? What’s your read on her?” asks Khalil. 

“That one’s always moody.” comments Elena. 

“Lysandra? Moody?” I question. “Nah, she’s usually a little upbeat actually.”

“Well she’s moody whenever I see her…guess she probably just doesn’t like me then.” chuckles Elena. She had accurately picked up on that. Though it’s pretty hard to miss. 

“So everyone’s a little testy right now. Not good.” states Khalil. I nod at him. Testy and tired. 

“Shouldn’t matter, you’re in the end game now. Like you said, just a little more and all of this will be over. Then, it’s Cure City.” says Elena. Khalil nods, Elena’s positive assessment quelling his woes slightly. 

“Cure City.” Khalil repeats as he beams up at Elena. They hold eye contact as they both nod. The empty look the two of them share slowly builds in tension until it comes to the point where they are both swimming in eachothers eyes, tension building without even another word uttered. I think that’s my cue to leave. I resign myself back to my room where I polish my sniper rifle. I think, not too deeply, but deep enough where I catch myself staring into nothingness many times. 

So right now, we have almost enough money to give to Dubois and get a sample of the cure. We’re close enough to be homefree. So very close enough. Hopefully we can get the last few notes and coins we need and head to Dubois’ base tomorrow. And then hopefully we can get out of the county before we have to see Declan again.

Out of an almost instinctual paranoia I rush to the window to look outside, as if merely mentioning his name would jinx things and cause him to show up in the backyard. But he isn’t in the backyard, thank God. Lysandra is. But she’s doing something I never would have thought Lysandra would do. She stands on the patchy grass of the open-backfield, practising with a bow and arrow in hand. She takes another arrow out of a quiver scattered on the floor, pulls it by the bow and takes aim at the middle rose-bush in a line of greenery by  the end of the yard. Her aim is off, but better than what I would have expected from her. 

“Lysandra?” I call out as I leave the backdoor of the house and join her in the yard. 

“Oh, hi Cameron.” Lysandra says, squinting her eyes and steadying her aim for another shot. This one is closer than her last shot, but not close enough. 

“Nice to see you’re not one to let the end of the world stop you from picking up new hobbies.” I joke. Lysandra doesn’t laugh, looking at me with a deadpan expression. Reasonable reaction, that was such a dumb joke. 

“It’s not for fun…it’s so I can join you guys in the fighting.” Lysandra tells me. 

“Why would you want to do that?” I ask. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Lysandra grunts back. “Tired of being the damsel in distress…tired of being useless.”

I see where she’s coming from. I know what it feels like to feel useless and incompetent. I knew what it felt like even before the mist came, though that was mostly because Dad and Charlie saw it necessary to constantly remind me. But if learning how to kill things is how Lysandra thinks she’ll get rid of that feeling she’ll learn it won’t fix what makes her feel that way. It still doesn’t go away. I would know. 

Lysandra takes another shot. This one veers wildly away from the bush target completely, hitting the stone wall instead. Lysandra throws the bow to the floor in frustration. 

“Fuck!” she cries out in frustration, stamping on the bow and arrow with an anger I never anticipated from her. After she stops stamping she looks up to a window on the top floor of the house. I look to it to, to see what she is staring at and make out the vague shadows of Khalil and Elena, talking. Lysandra looks away from the window with a tear in her eye. 

“I used to do this on holiday all the time!” Lysandra complains. “This shouldn’t be so difficult. Why am I so bad at it?”

“Well these bows and arrows are the real deal.”  I joke again. You’re not funny Cameron, you’ve never been funny! So, why do I keep doing that? This time Lysandra rolls her eyes at me. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” she sighs. She stares back up to Khalil’s bedroom window and watches Khalil and Elena talk. 

“Lysandra?” I ask. 

“Yes?”

“If you don’t mind me asking…is there another reason you want to join us in the fighting?”

“Um. Not really.” Lysandra answers suspiciously. Yeah, I don’t believe her at all. But I also don’t feel compelled to draw anything out of her. We all have our reasons for feeling inadequate. I pick up the bow and an arrow and place both in Lysandra's arm. I hold her arms up and help steady her aim. 

“What are you doing?” asks Lysandra, blushing a tad bit. 

“Helping you aim.” I tell her, adjusting my body. If I can’t fix my own feelings of inadequacy I might as well help fix hers. 

“So..um, what do I do? How do I aim good?” asks Lysandra. That’s a very good question. Aiming is the only thing I’ve ever really been good at so I haven’t really ever thought about how someone would get good at it themselves. I gotta say something though. 

“Um…just take a deep breath, zone in on the target and follow through with the shot.”  That at least sounded something like what an archery teacher would say right?

“Okay.” sighs Lysandra. I take my arms off of her for a second and allow her to keep her aim position herself. After a few seconds of squinting and aiming, Lysandra follows all three steps of my wishy-washy advice and lets her shot off. And to my surprise, as the arrow flings away from the string and towards the back of the yard, it actually makes good on its target and  hits the bush, right in the middle. 

“Oh wow!” Lysandra cheers. 

“Shit!” I chuckle as I run a hand through my hair. Did my advice actually work? One way to find out. I pick up another arrow and excitedly hand her another bow. “Here! Try another!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lysandra nods with excitement as she readies her aim again. She takes her second post-Cameron-advice shot and gets a second hit, this one less accurate, but still hitting the bush she aimed for. Lysandra claps her hands and jumps up and down, giddy at her improvement. 

“You could actually become good at this!” I tell her. 

“Really?”

“Of course!You’re-, you’re a natural!”

My compliment makes Lysandra’s smile widen and cheeks flush a brighter red. She breaks into a giddy laugh which is contagious enough to have me laughing too within an instant. As the both of us laugh, I can’t help but notice how beautiful Lysandra is. No wonder Khalil went out of his way to save her. Those eyes are to die for. 

Lysandra’s eyes lose their bright beautiful sparkle when she looks back up to Khalil’s window again. I peer back up to it and see why. Khalil and Elena's shadows are no longer talking. Now they are kissing, caressing and lowering themselves into bed . The look in Lysandra’s eye is one of hopelessness now. I guess that answers the question I had before. 

"Let's keep practising, yeah?" I suggest to Lysandra. Something to take her mind off of that.

"No." Lysandra says with a gulp. "Another time."

Lysandra drops the bow and arrow and fast-walks back into the house. Should I go after her? Should I try and comfort her? I don't think I'd even know how. 

As I contemplate what I should do I see a smoke signal float in the sky from behind the trees on the other end of the yard wall. For a second I wonder where that smoke is coming from, but I quickly remember. 

Fuck...time for another meeting with Declan…

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