Chapter 25: 24: SETUP

Harvest was a bust. A disaster. The party of the year was more like the mistake of the year. Well, at least that was the case for Adam and everyone he personally knew.

Adam leaned against the railing of the rotunda’s second floor balcony and stretched his fingers, finding them sore after cracking his fist across Spencer’s mug. He watched the masses of bodies below appear and disappear under flashes of the temple’s festive show lights. Talitha’s quick escape after the fight weighed on him but he couldn’t check on her himself. She’d hidden herself away somewhere and if he was honest with himself, the idea of hiding didn’t seem so bad to him either.

He’d avoided others and what they might say after delivering stern warnings regarding Gracie’s detention by retreating to that balcony, where Jonah later found him standing within an alcove by a support column. They watched the festivities in silence together for a while, until Jonah’s voice rose above the din to speak to Adam.

“Li’s pissed,” he said with a grimace. “Never seen her like that. Thought she’d come after me and Kalum.”

“No,” said Adam, shaking his head. “She was avoiding that fight. She’d never hurt you guys. There’s not a violent bone in her body and Grace pushed her. That’s what happened.”

“Yeah. Sure. Hope Khel found her.”

“Hope so too. Kalum will get her to talk, see some light. Those shitheads were laughing and I know that would bother Li a lot.” Adam’s attention returned to show below, the projection hovering above the stage showcasing the performers in theatrical size. “She gets sore over people rejecting her. I knew that sort of stuff happened but the way that fight broke out was pretty bad.”

“Could’ve been worse.”

“Might still get worse. Grace looks awful. That hit really knocked her out of place. So much blood. No way to hide that damage from the commissioner.”

“Aye. So we can rely on this getting worse. Small positive, though, about being in Westmont is that Gracie can’t tell her dad exactly what happened to her. She’ll have to mention where she was when Li hit her and she’d be hated by everyone at school. We’d all be screwed. Futures ruined for a lot of us.”

“Some party. This has definitely been worth it.”

“Don’t beat yourself up.” Jonah clapped him on the shoulder. “Girl’s not happy ‘til she’s passed out so this meltdown isn’t a surprise. We’ve got it under control now, at least. Hope she’s settled herself enough to let Garrett take look at that nose. She wants nothing to do with me and I’m not even involved in any of this.”

“I still think this needs more. I’m not satisfied with life going on as usual. Might have a chat with Judge Khelot about this.” Adam, narrowed his lids. “I’m sure Kalum will say something on her own too. Always a way to get things done. This issue goes beyond a school spat—it’s the wards, the state of RedSect…everything. What we say we’re fighting for.”

“Always running to your powerful Union friends for favors. That ain’t noble, Pendergast.”

Adam turned when another voice interjected into his conversation with Jonah. He spotted Ivan weaving through the dancing students and moving towards them. The CDPD helmet was gone, exchanged for a black mask that concealed all of the senior boy’s face save for a pair of eye holes displaying stony gray eyes. Adam scowled as Ivan joined them on the balcony.

“Is that right?” he said. “You appreciate the benefits of your friends too last I recall, mate.”

“You recall wrong, mate. I haven’t asked for shit from Union.” Ivan clasped his hands as he leaned against the railing. “You’re the one always sniffing around for an ass to kiss to push your influence. It’s pathetic.”

Adam scoffed. “Fuck off. Not my fault you’re too slow—physically and mentally—to do what I do. Always two steps behind and to the left.” He chuckled. “Where’s that career path of yours again? Oh wait…it’s nowhere. Story of your fucking life. Yet you think it’s proper to talk shit to me.”

“Ha.”

“Ha’s right. With that mask on you look like a hostile plucked right from those savage deserts.” Adam nudged his jaw at Ivan’s concealed face. “Maybe you should fly over there and be one of ‘em. I’m sure they’re recruiting. Always looking for angry, aimless youths like you. Probably pay a living wage too.”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” replied Ivan.

“Oh yeah? Is that right, shithead?”

“Yeah.”

“Not funny.”

“Not trying to be.”

Jonah cut in, irritation sparked in him too. “What the hell?” he snapped. “Both of you—quit bitching. Sounds like two old housewives. You never stop going at each other and I’m sick of it already.” He glared at each. “We’re all on edge right now. Everyone needs to relax. That fucking fight ruined the whole mood and you’re both making things worse. Also, Ivan—you say stupid shit. Fuck off. Don’t joke around about that.”

The trio fell into silence. They watched the party below. Bodies slowed their movements within the tiers of the rotunda as the stage emptied, save for instruments already set up in preparation for the main act. A few minutes of steady music blasted without vocals before all sound stopped, save for the ambient din of the rustling crowd. Pitch black followed as the lights in the facility deactivated, stirring the crowd to scream and whistle with excitement.

“Here they come,” said Adam, peering close at the stage projection. “A bit early, aren’t they?” He glanced at his COM band and frowned. “Hard to tell with these damn network issues.”

“Can’t believe the COM’s have been idling this long,” replied Jonah. “Can’t reach you guys and you’re right next to me. Some huge storm has to be heading our way. Almost has me worried about the timing of this show.”

“Projections did say this season would be tough. Storms might do some major damage if there’s this much interference. Wouldn’t be surprised if we have to bunker for the worst.”

Tribal drum beats pounded from the stage, slow and methodical mimicking heartbeats. Feedback from a glowing light-string guitar hummed over the percussion and a long electronic note persisted. Flickering lights blinked over the masses, transforming the many hundreds of students into stop-motion dolls. More minutes passed before Jackal’s grim, rattled stage voice reverberated throughout the rotunda’s expanse. A lone spotlight shined on the heavily inked man and he threw his head back to howl. The crowd responded by howling back.

“Fuck you, Altir!” he boomed, his greeting echoing in the temple. “How are you doing tonight?”

“Fuck you!” the crowd shouted back amid laughter and cheers.

“Having a bloody good time?”

More adulation. The crowd shouted with glee, egging Jackal on to start the show—and to play the song they’d all been waiting for. Top of the charts for over a season. The wildlander obliged.

Music kicked in without further pause, the color of Jackal’s spotlight shifting to a bright red as he prowled the stage in front of Blood Fang’s musicians. A projection above displayed his wild, shadowy form and the crowd joined in when he barked the lyrics to the band’s biggest hit, Taste For Blood. The crowd belted the words at the top of their lungs in unison with him.

Fire of the sun
Hunger of the beast
Blood for everyone
Harvest for the feast

Adam broke his focus on the active crowd and looked aside when Ivan stepped away. He spotted the other senior pause in a shadowed corner amid the dancing crowd to speak with a tall figure. Adam recognized the young man speaking to Ivan as Spencer, the RedSect dogshit junkie he’d clocked not so long ago. Spencer glanced up for a moment, meeting Adam’s eye with visible hatred that was coolly received, before turning back to speak with Ivan.

A heated exchange passed between the pair like the one they’d had at Astro’s and their argument rose in animosity until, at last, Spencer shoved Ivan, knocking Ivan back a few steps. Ivan didn’t react to the push and watched the RedSect dealer storm off, disappearing into the dancing masses. Ivan returned to the railing beside Adam and didn’t offer say a word.

We like to make you dance
We want to hear you scream
We like to go all night
We want to see you bleed

Too loud to talk and still lacking basic COM functionality, Adam gestured at Ivan in question. Ivan shook his head, expression remaining stone, and he kept his attention on the wildlander on stage.

Blood Fang’s music segued without stop from Taste For Blood to a second song, one slower in tempo. Jackal launched into a tireless stream of native chants matching a tribal beat, baring a sharp-fanged mouth. At last, and the masses before him hopped and swayed to the music, appearing and vanishing under the lights.

Gracie, drunk and damaged and locked up for everyone’s safety, crossed Adam’s mind as the performance ensued. He sighed, nudging both Jonah and Ivan, and advised with a point upward that he was leaving to get back upstairs and check on his unplanned ward. Ivan stopped him before he could leave and wagged a finger, pointing to the stage. Adam shrugged off interest in the performance.

“No thanks,” replied Adam loudly. “Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck all of it.”

Wait, mouthed Ivan without a sound.

Watch.

“I don’t care.”

Ivan shook his head. Wait, he repeated.

The music quieted as Jackal spoke into the microphone, his rasped and baritone voice echoing throughout the rotunda. Adam paused his escape at the change.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen friendly society faces,” boomed Jackal, pausing to acknowledge the cheers. “Nice to see Union’s future, the best and brightest, so open-minded about the planet they’re squatting on and enjoying themselves here with me tonight.” His shoulders raised into a shrug. “And, the legality of this—who really cares? What’s a broken law or two between friends, anyway. We’re here to fucking party!”

A raucous response rippled from the audience. Jackal tilted his head back to drink in the energy of the appreciation, bringing the microphone back to his face once they’d quelled.

“I used to live here, some of you may know,” he said. “Right here in Westmont. I was a refugee back then, even won diplomat status with the ministries for a few years. Union crowned me as a representative of Vangral before me mates and I formed Blood Fang, and I was one of the alliance’s few direct pipelines into the matters if the holy island. Really…a special time in my life, fulfilling those duties. And all I’ve got to say in the end is that it’s good to be home.”

“Fuck Westmont!”

At Adam’s side, Ivan shouted over the railing, joining a few more of the same shouts ripping from the audience below—Fuck Westmont. Jackal chuckled from the stage.

“I see we’ve got a few who also know the history of this town and where it’s slated to go. Hello, friends.” He bowed deep and the light string guitar strummed a few notes in accordance. “Listen, children, for those of you that aren’t aware, and there are likely many of you if it hasn’t been reported in your gossip feeds—Union wants to demolish this place and absorb it into society. Push the borders of RedSect tighter than before. It’s like they want to…squeeze wildlanders back into the stellar regions. Maybe plant more black flags in lands that don’t belong to them. Is that right to do, friends, when we’re the born natives here?”

A deafening response consisting of a chorus of ‘no’ and ‘fuck Union’ flooded the space. The noise sustained for a few seconds before fading to a rustle of lingering boos. A frowned formed on Adam’s face as he listened, his eyes scanning the crowd below and around him.

“New path, new infrastructure, new opportunities for humans. A new faith with astounding reach vowing to unite us all under an umbrella of spiritual solidarity. Great advantages for whoever supports mortal superiority, especially if it’s a native that turns a back on their own. No choice for anyone but to accept that vision of a future for Ipir. But…” Jackal crouched on the stage, lowering his voice as if he were sharing a secret. “I’m happy to announce that all of you will bring glorious visions back home—visions of tonight. Visions of something far beyond the colorful fantasies you’ve perceived while taking Purple. Your families will take your new wisdom seriously. They’ll understand what you’ve seen.”

“Feast! Feast! Feast!”

The crowd broke into a chant—Jackal’s chant—and their shouts rose to a boom that echoed within the tiers of the rotunda. Jackal welcomed the adoration again, relishing the worship, and raised an arm in the air to signal that he wanted them to stop. The masses hushed at once, obeying the command as he gestured down at them from the stage.

“How many of you tried that Purple?” he asked, listening to further cheers. “Your dealers should’ve supplied you with something free and in great generosity. Hope you’ve enjoyed the gifts. It’s a special extraction synthesized to melt your mind. Your brains should all be mud by now and it’ll be impossible to fight the changes.”

In the semi-quiet Adam heard bootsteps passing behind them and he turned, spying a group of twenty or more figures dressed in black weaving through the students. He watched them head toward the spiral staircase annd disappear as they descended. A loud, clear chime rang from the stage and Jackal held his wrist to his face to study his COM band.

“Oh, look at that,” he said. “We’ve received a signal. Seems like there’s more surprises on the way, which means it’s time to start Phase Three of the blast. It’ll be an experience for you all. Everyone, please—hold onto your heads.”

Adam turned to Ivan. “Phase Three?” he asked. “What’s Phase Three? Fang’s already performing, so don’t tell me they’re going to start those crazy antics with blood spraying everywhere—or Jackal trying to bite someone. Not interested in seeing that at all.”

Ivan laughed, but his laugh was strange and muffled from behind his mask. “Like I said,” he replied. “Watch.”

Adam observed as more figures in black, just like the group that passed them a minute earlier, swarmed the stage carrying black cases. An unease filled Adam as he studied the figures, following their movements as the cases were lowered to the floor. The projection above the stage displaying a close-up of the performers disappeared, leaving him struggling to see more of what was happening from where he stood.

A chill seized his body as he focused on the sights. He thought he saw what they were doing and he stood as frozen as his COM display, disbelief drowning reality. The figures onstage opened their cases and there was something inside each.

His breath caught in his throat.

No.

Something black—solid—moved from the cases into their hands. A hush fell over the crowd.

No.

Adam’s imagination ran wild—too wild. Couldn’t be. He shook his head as if that would make the present untrue.

No.

Wasn’t happening.

“S-shit,” stammered Jonah on Adam’s other side. “Is that…you see that, mate? Am I losing my mind? It’s the Purple. I know it is. What does that mean?”

“I see something,” replied Adam. “Not sure what I’m looking at.”

“No way. No. This is stupid. Real fucking stupid.” Jonah rubbed his face—his eyes—as if that might change things too. “Oh…fuck. What is that? What’s going on? What are they doing…? Fuck. Is tha—is that…? Why—?”

A scream pealed from somewhere near the stage in the midst of the bewildered audience. Adam grabbed hold of the railing and saw the crowd directly beneath them shift, creating space for someone to pass through. Hysterical cries followed—it was a girl. He couldn’t tell what she was saying. She was too far away.

Jackal cackled into the microphone, mocking the frantic female.

“Oh! Oh no!” he exclaimed. “Someone’s bit! Someone’s dead! There’s a—there’s a parasite in here! Oh no—somebody help!”

“What’s happening?” asked Adam, urgency streaking from his chest to his throat as he attempted to assess the events transpiring. “Dead? Who’s dead? Who was bit? There’s a parasite—?”

He froze again as something hard jabbed him in the back of the skull, pushing his head forward. His hands hovered above the railing and his heart threatened to leap out of his body as a series of quick realizations struck him. His mouth turned dry. Happened faster than he ever thought possible.

Adam never fired a gun before but he did hold one—one that belonged to Elias, among a number of other weapons the elder Pendergast forced him to wield. The sight of Adam’s childish fingers grasping the murderous weapon made Ovadia explode into a rage once she’d discovered what Elias was teaching him to do. That discovery ended the intense, impromptu lessons about the business Elias had routinely drilled into Adam away from their mother’s protective gaze.

Regardless of his lack of firing experience, Adam didn’t need to be an expert to know that someone was pointing a firearm at him from point-blank range.

Screams pierced Adam’s ears from all around and another recognition of what was happening flickered within him. He understood what the figures in black were holding and that same understanding registered in a single fell swoop over the masses of students inside. Adam heard Jonah speak but couldn’t turn due to the threat against him, so he rolled his eyes to the side to peer at Jonah with his peripheral vision.

“Those are guns.” Jonah’s voice shook. “Guns. They’re holding guns. Adam. They’ve got guns up there. What are they—? Is that part of the show? Are they—? Adam—look—!”

Jonah turned his head and yelled in shock once he saw what was unfolding beside him to Adam. He spun around fast, mouth gaped in shock, and grabbed hold of the railing behind him to keep his balance.

“Ivan!” he spluttered. “What the fuck? What the fuck are you doing?!”

Nausea rolled within Adam. Puncturing, repetitive sounds of gunfire pelted the air as he stood motionless, the sounds of the fire near-muffled by the deafening shrieks of the students that erupted and echoed from every direction in a single moment. Adam felt a rush of movement—felt it physically—as bodies rushed to get away. Howls of agony—too many of them—filled the quiet in what seemed the next instant, mingled with strangled screams of pain and terror within the eerie silence that the lack of music had left. Shrieks for help—shrieks of horror—resounded everywhere. Sudden chaos drowned Adam’s ears in an aching way.

He couldn’t turn to see what was happening anywhere, not even daring to tilt his head down to view the main floor. Forced to look ahead at the opposite balcony, he saw within the muted dimness and flashing party lights hundreds of sparks of light flashing, the pulses matching the explosion of firepower blasting through the rotunda. Bodies in motion dropped to the floor into piles of colorful costumes and a series of the same loud sounds—the screams and cries and blasting power—crashed behind Adam in a cacophony much too near.

He remained quiet, mouth pressed tight, body jumping despite himself with each new powerful eruption of ammunition fire. Wet, heavy sounds hit the floor and someone sobbed—it was a girl. For some reason, he’d picked up on her noise within all the other noises and it split his eardrums with peculiar clarity. She screamed and howled in savage pain until another series of blasts made her stop crying.

Adam couldn’t see her—or what happened happened to her. He could only look ahead.

“Don’t move, Joe,” said Ivan, “or I’ll waste pretty boy right here. He’ll fall over that rail and hit the ground. I’ll make sure he feels the impact.”

“Ivan—”

“Shut up.” Ivan jabbed the gun into Adam’s skull again. “Turn around, dumbass,” he ordered. “Don’t try anything.”

Adam shut his eyes to center himself. The screams were everywhere and didn’t stop. They wouldn’t stop. It was only just beginning. He responded in a tight, controlled tone—the exact opposite of what he felt.

“You…you have to ease up a little,” he said. “So I can turn around. Please.”

There was a pause, and the pressure relaxed a bit. Adam made a slow move backwards and pointed to the side with a careful hand.

“I’m turning around, mate. All right?”

You are reading story Native Blood: The Cursed Planet (Book1) at novel35.com

“Do it.”

Adam spotted panic flooding Jonah’s face as he turned, until they were both facing Ivan. “You can’t be serious,” said Jonah, shaking. “You can’t. Not this. Not…no. Ivan. Please. Please. Not you. You…can’t do this.”

“I'm fucking serious,” corrected Ivan without emotion.

“Don’t. Please, don’t. We’ve been mates forever—”

“You’ve got a big mouth, Joe. Talk too much. You always did. Annoys the shit out of me.”

“Mate—”

Ivan’s aim streaked to Jonah. He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

All sound swallowed away from Adam’s ears, save for the sound of Jonah’s body striking the railing upon impact from the projectile. Jonah flipped over the partition and Adam leaped forward, instincts surging him to action. He seized onto Jonah’s shirt before Jonah was gone.

“Joe!” he roared, yanking at the fabric in his grasp. “Joe—no! Please! No!”

His teeth clenched as he struggled to bring Jonah back. Another desperate cry tore from his chest and adrenaline fueled him with strength, powering him enough to lift Jonah back with a single arm until he could reach over with the other to grab hold. He hoisted the senior boy back over the railing.

“Joe,” he gasped again. “Fuck! Fuck—!”

A sudden snarl chilled Adam. Jonah’s body convulsed in his grip and Jonah’s torso lifted on its own without help. A twisted face—the face of a monster—streaked toward Adam to attack. Sharp teeth snapped at him and fingernails raked into the flesh of his hands. His jaw dropped in shock and he released his hold on Jonah, almost shoving him away from the sudden startle. Air hushed out of his body as he watched Jonah fall.

He rushed to the railing, swept hoarse with horror as Jonah’s figure crashed on top of a masses of fleeing students below with a sickening, cracking thud. Jonah crushed a group to the ground and those surrounding the mess stumbled over each other to get away, crying and screaming when Jonah shambled to action another time within the melee. Jonah tumbled over the struggling bodies he’d felled, shoving his broken form forward to grab hold of a girl as she fled. She kicked at him, crying when he bit her leg, and as fast as he’d fallen the pair disappeared, trampled beneath the stampede.

“Let’s go,” said Ivan, jabbing the gun into Adam’s head. “Get onstage.”

“…What?” Adam replied, still watching the space where Jonah had been in choked silence.

“Jackal wants to talk to you.”

“J-Joe…he’s—”

“Yeah. Gone now.”

Adam turned as Ivan eased the threat again. The screaming was constant and everywhere, a steady discordance of neverending noise.

“Why…?” he said in a strange, glazed daze. His hands trembled against his wishes. “Why? Why did you do that…?”

“Joe was trouble,” said Ivan shortly. “Wouldn’t listen. Now he’s not trouble.”

“Why…why did he turn…like that? So fast. He…tried to bite…and he bit—”

“He was infected. Almost everyone here’s infected…or will be.” Ivan’s cold stare stayed unblinking on Adam. The look was one Adam had never seen before in all their years together. “There’s more inside of Altir. We did that. They’re sleepers waiting to activate. This strain triggers the change when you kick the big one and you go straight to Stage Seven, no waiting. All you need is a bang to get the party started.”

“Purple Dot,” said Adam distantly. “That’s what you guys did. Right?”

“Yeah. Laced to react that way. The more you take the more the brood takes you over and the faster it works. Parasite load makes a difference.” Ivan gestured at him with the pistol. “Doubt you took any yourself. Too much of a bootlicker to take a risk. But that’s fine—you’re the target anyway. Supposed to bring you back alive.”

“I’m the target,” Adam repeated, his mind fogged from the chaos present wherever he rested his gaze. “This was a setup. Jackal…he’s your boss for this part too. Not just the drugs. He was saying some shit before. What you wanted me to hear.”

“Master—Jackal, our mulam—named our gang Girusima. Firestorm in Unispeak. He’s proud of us for pulling this off. Took a lot of fucking work and dedication to be around you. Tonight’s a beautiful success to our goal.” Ivan smiled with quiet satisfaction. “Our job was to cripple Union’s future by killing Union’s future. That meant…killing all of you.”

“You…you—”

“Animal?” Ivan snorted at the sight of Adam faltering. “Your family pissed Master off a long time ago, from the first days of this settlement. Silatem’s a big part of the reason Sinum lost power and reputation among their own people. Why those fucking Bhetis turned soft, welcoming Union influence into the sect. You’ll be the one paying tonight so that Union—and your brother, that great Captain—understands.” Ivan rubbed his jaw, keeping his aim steady. “He was interested in Kalum too. Not a fan of hers—or of that prophecy. Or anything that has to do with that cesspool of Unifaith her family pushes. If he doesn’t kill her I’ll ask if I can keep her for myself. She’ll be my fucking slave. I’ll shut her up good.”

“Stay away from her,” Adam spat. “You piece of shit. You won’t do anything, fucking coward!”

The utter horror and disbelief on Jonah’s face moments ago flashed through Adam’s mind. As he glared he understood another new truth shoved into him…no more Jonah. No more mixes at Astros and no more girl-chasing. No PHS, no graduation, no anything. All of it, gone. Jonah was gone. Strange, strangled gasps erupted from somewhere inside Adam.

A wad of fabric struck him in the chest and dropped to the ground. He glanced at it and then at Ivan.

“It’s a mask,” said Ivan, gesturing at the item. “Like mine. Put it over your head.”

“Fuck you."

“Do it or the beasts will get you. They’re coming for what you bleed.”

Adam snorted with scorn. “What about the beast right here?”

Ivan paused, watching Adam placidly. There was a flicker of emotion behind his glare. Ivan whipped Adam across the face with the pistol and Adam held onto the railing to keep steady. A metallic taste hit his tongue. The muzzle of the gun dug into his temple again.

“I’m sure Master will understand if you don’t make it to the stage in one piece,” said Ivan. “This isn’t fucking gym class. This isn’t a fucking debate. Your rank and your fame mean shit to me. You’re not special anymore. You’re nobody.” Ivan lowered his head to meet Adam’s eye. “I’m going to fucking shoot you if you don’t do what I tell you to do. Copy?”

“Rodinsky,” said Adam. “Whatever you think I did to you—”

Ivan sighed. “Shut up.” He tapped Adam’s skull. “Kalum might already be gone. She’s somewhere in this mess and maybe fucking splattered by now—maybe she’s the one who was bit. That’d be zero for two if I have to waste you too. Spence was supposed to handle bringing the little queen to the stage but I doubt he did his job, the stupid lazy fuck.”

“You…Spencer…” Adam frowned. “You all came to kill us. All this time…you wanted us gone.”

“Yeah. But that moron was a weak link. Just about money to him, hanging onto some loser daydream about making it big and quitting later. No dedication to what we were about and no one just quits. That’s what he’ll learn.” Ivan scoffed. “Something wrong with him anyway, dumb fucking junkie. He showed his colors when he realized Li might get caught in the crosshairs. Started backpedaling. I told him she was dead fucking weight and didn’t matter, to grow a fucking spine. Women are fucking everywhere for the taking and she’s just one of ‘em. He was a bigger faggot over her than you.”

“Li’s dead weight,” repeated Adam.

“Yeah. A fucking distraction. Hope she’s gone now too, stupid whiny bitch. Always moping about her dead whore mother or some other useless shit. Never liked her. Never liked you either. Always knew I’d end up killing you. Even back in the sandbox.”

“Eat a dick.”

Ivan’s hard, cold look pierced Adam. He turned and pointed the gun towards the students behind them struggling to find a way out amid the continued fire. Adam’s jaw dropped when Ivan pulsed the trigger and fired into the crowd, gaze following as a male student stumbled and grabbed his chest. The student tripped over another fallen body and Ivan kept firing, switching aim to hit a female and then another male. Ivan toppled them as well before returning to the first student, hitting the now-crawling male again.

The muzzle returned to Adam. Adam looked into Ivan’s eyes and saw nothing familiar there. None of their old friendship, none of their brother-like bond—or what he’d imagined used to be there. Ivan whipped him across the face another time with the pistol, a blow that Adam felt break flesh apart. He spat out a sharp shard of his tooth in a mixture of saliva and blood.

“Understand who’s in control?” asked Ivan.

“Yeah,” replied Adam. “Got it.”

Ivan shoved the gun into Adam’s head again, pushing his head back. “Say it, asshole. Who’s in control?”

Adam pursed his lips together, anger seething inside, pride threatening to explode within his chest and burn him in an inferno.

“You,” he said, words dropping like stones in an air saturated with horrendous sound. “You’re in control. Total…control.”

The response made Ivan smile in a tight, satisfied way. Ivan moved several paces back, gun still pointed at Adam. “Glad you understand. Now put the mask on. We’re headed to that stage.”

“Fine,” muttered Adam. His voice erupted hoarse with strain. “Fine. I’m going. Just…relax. Please.”

The pistol’s aim followed Adam as he straightened, adjusting his jaw back into something of an alignment with an audible crack. Ivan’s glare narrowed with suspicion as he watched Adam gingerly touch the wound.

“You,” said Ivan. “You’re up to something. You always are. You’re thinking right now.”

Adam coughed a short, incredulous laugh. “And you—you’re still a shithead. A shithead who’s armed himself with a gun and killing defenseless people with a gang waiting for you downstairs—a gang with even more guns. But here you are, worried...about me.”

He spat another wad of blood from his mouth. Gunfire continued to patter, sometimes fast and sometimes a single or a pair of higher caliber bursts at a time. Whatever the pattern, the constant shuddering noises became imprinted into his form.

“Paranoia’s a weakness, mate,” he said. “You’re looking for attacks that aren’t there. An anxious fuck, like always. That was your weak point on the strip. Can’t get it right during a game. Can’t get it right in real life. Fucking absolute failure.”

“You’ve turned real fucking chatty now,” grunted Ivan. “Got a lot of shit to say so I know you’re fucking with me.”

“No.” Adam shook his head. “You’re fucking with me. Fucking with all of Union. I’m sure you and your little group can handle the war you’ve started, though. And this is war. You’ve thought ahead on this, I hope. What’s going to happen after this grand plan.”

Ivan scoffed. “We’ve done this tonight and we have more left to do. You have no idea what’s coming. What we’re capable of.”

“I do. My dad figured it out and it pissed the lot of you off. Your type lost then and you’ll lose now.” Adam’s voice lowered, anger at all that had happened—and would continue to happen—spurring with him a desperate courage. “You can kill me but it won’t end here. Enjoy it, since you’ll never sleep again. Line’s crossed and you’ve made yourself expendable. Expendable to everyone who actually matters. Expendable to me. I don’t give a fuck about you anymore. Hope you fucking suffer. Hope I can be the one to make you suffer.” He laughed again, a crazed sound warped by overwhelming adrenaline building inside. “Come on, cocksucker,” he said. “You want to go, right? Let’s go.”

They stared each other down. Adam maintained unflinching eye contact and all emotion faded as he willed himself to remain calm—with the same calmness that served him to many victories while dueling for school both with the practice blades and with his words. He and Ivan weren’t sparring for ghostly points anymore, though—no, this fight was real, just as Ivan had joked would happen…though now Adam knew the taunt had never been a joke. If he made a mistake—any mistake at all—he’d be as dead as the seniors around him. As dead as…Jonah.

Jonah…Jonah was dead. And Ivan had killed him.

“You’re distracting me. Now fuck off.” Ivan took a step back and gestured at the mask on the ground. “Put it on. Fast. Before they get up again.” He dug through the pocket of his trousers with his free hand. “I’m going to restrain you. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Adam crouched and swiped the mask into his grip, rising again while maintaining his locked gaze with Ivan. Ivan’s pistol remained in view and he kept note of the firearm’s position as he slipped the mask on over his face. Adam couldn’t shoot—he’d never bothered or wanted to learn and hated the things. Never wanted to handle them either. However, he did have a sharp eye and as for disarming a pistol while dealing damage, well…that was one of the lessons Elias drilled into him, to the point where Adam’s hands were sore for weeks after Elias nearly broke them to set the example. Adam hated the lessons—hated the drills, the cold and distant demeanor of Elias throughout, even hated Elias directly—and vowed to never be in a position to use the war skill in his life.

Yet, here he was.

The fabric of the mask slid across the open wound on Adam’s cheek, stinging as he settled the headwear into place. Lowering his hands, he held them out in front of his chest with palms outward, signaling surrender.

“I’m turning around,” he said, “You can restrain me. Don’t do anything stupid, all right? Don’t read too much into what you see. No need to fail the mission you were given this fast.”

“Do it,” barked Ivan. “Turn around.”

Adam rotated, keeping Ivan’s weapon in sight. Ivan watched, waiting for a surprise, for any burst of action. Energy stored in Adam’s limbs buzzed him in preparation for his one and only chance to get out of their standoff. He’d move quick because he’d decided he wouldn’t go anywhere with Ivan, not for a surefire path to doom. It would end now—and only one of them would win.

Period.

He counted. He’d move on the exact count of three—

One.

Ivan waited. So did he.

Two.

Time ticked by slow, slower than ever. One chance. Just one chance. And—he’d win. He’d be the one to win.

Three—

Adam bolted.

He closed the gap between his body and Ivan’s and slammed the back of his wrist against the one wielding the weapon. Ivan, startled, pulled the trigger right as Adam’s free hand grabbed hold of the pistol itself, twisting the gun in Adam’s grip. The shot streaked past Adam’s head close enough for him to feel the hot zip of metal against his cheek as he snapped Ivan's finger within the trigger guard, breaking the finger in half backwards. Adam jerked the weapon out of Ivan’s loose grip as he snapped the wrist itself in a second rapid maneuver before retreating with haste.

The exchange was fluid and rapid, expressed within seconds and microseconds like Adam’s counterattacks on the strip. The shock of the success of his maneuvers in a life-or-death situation nearly caused him to drop the firearm on the floor. He clamored to get the gun into grip and had a tiny moment to barely steady the weapon before Ivan rushed him, shoving him against the balcony rail, heaving hard to knock him over.

Adam braced to keep from toppling as Ivan’s slammed punches across his face—once, twice, again and again. Ivan fought back, reaching for the gun despite the damage, and Adam pulled the trigger immediately, his face whipping aside from Ivan’s blows—how many times he fired in response to the hits, he had no idea. Maybe one for one. He just kept shooting. The projectiles struck enough times for him to feel the force of Ivan’s blood spraying hot and and wet against his fingers.

He struggled to keep balance, alarm rising as he teetered backwards. The heat from the firearm singed the flesh of his hands as Ivan slumped down the floor in a pile of limbs. Adam glanced down and saw sprays of red covering his hands, drenching the jacket of his costume. His attention snapped aside at a cry of pain nearby. The male student Ivan shot earlier struggled on the ground, still alive despite it all.

Ivan shuddered and Adam knelt beside the spasming body. He ripped the mask off of Ivan’s face and blood spilled from Ivan’s mouth.

“Rodinsky,” gasped Adam, voice hoarse. His eyes darted wild over a face he once thought he knew well. Ivan was foreign to him now—someone other than the friend he’d held as close as a brother for a lifetime. Many years erased within a gasp of a moment in time. “Shithead. Shithead. Fucking…shit. I told you…I told you. I said I’d get you first. Didn’t I? You have no idea what I can do. No idea. My name—it’s not just a name. I’m—fuck. Fucking hell!”

Ivan spluttered—maybe that was a laugh.

“Why?!” Water came and went from Adam’s gaze, threatening to return. “Why?! You…you were my mate. You and Joe…brothers. True brothers. My…my best friends. Why did…? I don’t understand.” Several tears managed to leak and he glared, shutting them away. “I don’t understand! I don’t get it! Fuckhead!”

Ivan’s cold eyes glazed. The change happened so fast that Adam didn’t believe it at first but it was true. Just like that, Ivan died. Right there in front of him, Ivan died. Adam killed Ivan and now Ivan was dead, dead like Jonah. He'd killed one of his best mates since Primary.

And Ivan…always hated him.

Heart pounding, Adam rose to his feet and wiped blood off of the pistol—off of his hands—as best he could. The motions were automatic and useless, because Adam could see that blood was absolutely everywhere. The injured male rose from the ground, shambling back into action with bizarre, bestial motion, and Adam rushed forward to respond though he stopped when the risen figure lunged quickly in the opposite direction, ripping into another student. Within seconds the senior was torn apart and Adam averted his gaze, ice rushing through his veins. The male wasn’t alive, just something else now.

“Oh…shit,” uttered Adam.

Red spilled and spilled.

New sounds mingled with gunfire and screams—terrible sounds of creatures once human but no longer. More bodies rose and Adam huffed heavy breaths as he waited for the rabids to notice him. The corpses staggered, throwing their heads back to shriek, but none came close to where he stood. His fingers touched the mask as he took a step forward, recalling Ivan’s warning to wear it.

Thoughts of his friends—of pretty and sweet Talitha, along with all the students who’d attended—and those juniors—flashed in his mind. In a matter of minutes Jackal had laid waste to the majority of the Altirian graduating senior class, children of the most elite of Altir. Adam remained paralyzed, watching creatures rise from the ground, until memories of Gracie’s wild mane and coy smile trapped inside of the bishop’s office snapped him out of his stupor. He rushed back to Ivan’s body and snatched the mask that Ivan wore, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket. A quick pat-down of the body gained him a knife, which he crammed into his costume for storage.

He walked at a brisk and careful pace through the parasites, sucking his breath every time one approached. The gunfire on the first level pumped on and off within an echo of continuing screams. Although he wasn’t a military man like the Pendergasts before him—nowhere near one, actually—he’d learn fast how to think and act like he was. Act like his father and grandfather. Like…Elias. It would be his last and only hope that Harvest Eve.

At least, if he hoped to get back home in one piece.

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