Chapter 350: Atlantic Theatre [3]
"Move! Now!" I shoved Maribel forward and we cut hard to the right, pushing through the narrow gap at the corridor’s edge and forcing ourselves around the corner before Romero could recover his footing and his aim.
We pressed against the new wall, both of us breathing hard, the sounds of the lobby behind us and Romero’s muffled cursing somewhere ahead bleeding together into the general noise of a building rapidly coming apart around us.
My cheek was still burning where the graze had opened it up. I could feel the blood running down the line of my jaw, warmly.
Whether it was the adrenaline or something the Symbiote had done to the way my body processed damage, the graze across my cheek barely registered as pain. Just heat. A steady warmth trickling down my jaw line.
What I could feel was my heart. Hammering hard against my ribs, loud enough that it seemed like Maribel should be able to hear it.
That had been close.
Enhanced senses gave me an edge, I could read the shape of incoming danger faster than most, react to things before they fully arrived. But a bullet isn’t a slow thing. Seeing it coming and actually moving your body out of its path in time are two entirely different problems. A few centimeters of difference and that graze becomes a round through my skull. I knew that.
"Ryan!"
Maribel’s voice pulled me back to the present.
I blinked. My ears were still ringing faintly from the gunshot. I looked around and assessed fast.
We’d cleared Romero’s line of sight around the corner, which was something. But the corridor wasn’t empty. Infected were closing in from both directions, drawn by the noise, by the Symbiote, by whatever it is that pulls them toward the living.
Left was out of the question. Romero was somewhere back that way, probably already recovering his composure and looking for a new angle. Going left meant walking into his sights again.
Right it was.
I scanned the far end of the wall and caught it, a mounted board, dust-covered but readable. Hall 1 and 2, with a faded arrow pointing right.
I stepped in front of Maribel, planted my feet, and let the wind blades coil tighter around my right arm until I could feel them pulling at the air. I drew my shoulder back and punched forward.
The impact rang out like a small detonation, a sharp, concussive crack that compressed the air in the corridor and released it all at once. The gust hit the clustered Infected ahead like a wall, lifting them off their feet and driving them hard into the back wall. They didn’t get up.
"Here, move!"
Maribel snapped out of her momentary stillness and ran. I went with her, cutting left at the corridor junction. More Infected ahead, lurching toward us through the dim.
I could already feel the strain building in my right arm, that creeping numbness that started in the elbow and worked its way down, the familiar signal that I was drawing on the power faster than it liked. I didn’t have the luxury of pacing myself right now though.
I wound back and punched out again.
Another shockwave cracked through the space. Wind blades tore forward in a spreading arc, shredding through bodies and scoring deep gashes into the corridor walls on either side, pale cuts through the dark paneling, the building itself taking the overflow. The path opened.
We ran.
Ahead, the corridor split. Right led to Hall 1. Straight ahead continued toward Hall 2 and beyond that, another junction that likely looped back toward the corridor where Romero’s group was.
The choice wasn’t complicated. Not right now.
I turned right.
Three Infected between us and the hall doors, I dealt with them quickly, hand axe doing the work without burning more power from the arm. Caught the door handle, shoved it open, held it while Maribel went through, and pulled it shut behind us.
"God..."
Her voice came out low and tight. I turned.
She had her small torch up, the beam cutting through the dark of the hall. Two hundred seats, maybe more, rows and rows of them receding back into the dark, the old screen at the far end a pale grey rectangle. The kind of room that used to smell like popcorn and air conditioning.
Now it smelled like everything else in this world.
And it was occupied. A dozen Infected distributed through the seating, some standing, some slumped in chairs like they’d simply sat down one day and never left. They’d been dormant in the dark, but the door opening had changed that. Heads were turning. Bodies were shifting, rising, beginning to move toward us with that slow inevitable momentum.
Behind us, through the closed door, I could hear hands starting to knock against the other side. Infected from the corridor, pressing against it, not yet through but persistent.
Ahead of us, a dozen more closing in through the rows.
I steadied my breathing and adjusted my grip on the axe.
°°°
In the other corridor, Romero’s group had fallen into an uneasy standstill. Several men leaned their weight against the double doors at their backs, boots scraping against the floor as Infected hammered from the other side in a slow, relentless rhythm. The building groaned around them. The air tasted like dust and something older, something rotting.
And Tommy had reached his limit.
"What the hell was that?!"
His voice bounced off the walls, too loud. He wasn’t trying to keep it together anymore.
"What are you getting worked up about?" Romero asked. His tone was cold and completely unbothered. His right hand was pressed against the side of his head, fingers dark with blood. Ryan’s bullet had taken most of his left ear, a ragged, ugly wound that was still seeping freely. He didn’t seem particularly interested in it.
"This is insane!" Tommy stepped forward, voice tight. "We never should have come here. None of this, we shouldn’t be here!"
"Tommy." Liam called out. "Take a breath."
"Don’t tell me to take a breath!" He swept his arm out, gesturing at the doors, the corridor, all of it. "We are trapped inside a building full of Infected and you’re asking me to calm down?! And we’re supposed to keep going deeper into this?!"
"That’s exactly what we’re doing, yeah." Romero’s smile returned, though it didn’t reach his eyes. It never really did. He let his gaze drift down to the rifle in Tommy’s hands, then back up. "Though if you’ve changed your mind about being here, the door’s right there. You’re free to walk out." He tilted his head slightly. "You’ll have to leave the weapon behind, of course."
Tommy stared at him. "What...?"
Step outside unarmed into what was on the other side of those doors and he wouldn’t make it ten feet.
Romero watched him work through it with quiet amusement.
"No answer. I’ll take that as a yes." He chuckled softly. "Looks like you’re with us until the end."
Tommy’s jaw tightened. His knuckles went white around the rifle stock.
"What are we even doing here," he said through his teeth. Less a question than something he needed to say out loud.
"Same answer as before," Liam replied instead. "Zakthar has a Nexon Battery stashed somewhere in this building. We’re here to collect it."
"He told us he didn’t have any more!" Tommy snapped. "That man is playing us. This whole thing is a setup and we walked right into it!"
"Gaspar had a conversation with him," Liam said simply. "A persuasive one. He changed his answer fairly quickly after that. And yes, we knew it was a trap going in."
Tommy went still. "...What?"
"Zakthar prepared this place as a snare. Specifically for a Symbiote Host." Liam’s expression didn’t change. "For Emily likely."
The words didn’t land immediately. Tommy just looked at him in utter shock.
"He designed the whole thing to lure her in and contain her here," Liam continued. "So yes, it’s a trap, just not one meant for us. For a Symbiote Host, this building is a killing ground. For us it’s just..." He glanced around at the walls. "Uncomfortable."
"Are you out of your mind?" Tommy’s voice had dropped, which somehow made it worse. "We’re surrounded by Infected on every floor! A Symbiote Host might survive this , what makes you think we will?!"
"You’re very loud," Romero interrupted.
He raised his gun and pointed it at Tommy’s face.
Tommy took a sharp step back, the words dying in his throat.
"Romero." Liam raised one hand, inserting himself between them with a nervous smile. "He’s frightened. We all are."
A silence stretched out.
Then one of the hostages spoke.
It wasn’t Theo. It was Josh, standing straight despite everything, jaw clenched, eyes hard as he looked directly at Romero.
"We’re all scared," he said. "And your brilliant idea of dragging us in here is going to get every single one of us killed."
Romero lowered his gun slowly and turned to look at him. Something in his expression shifted, not anger exactly, more like interest. He walked toward Josh at an easy pace, and Josh held his ground for exactly as long as it took Romero to get close, then took a half step back despite himself.
Theo and Paul moved instinctively toward him. Romero’s men were faster, hands locking around both of them from behind, hauling them back, holding them still.
Romero stopped in front of Josh and looked at him smiling.
"You’re scared," he said pleasantly.
"I-If you’re using us as leverage, bringing us into a building like this is, it’s stupid, it’s a waste, you’ll lose your own men before—"
"Yeah, yeah." Romero cut him off softly, almost gently, like he was tired of a conversation he’d already finished having in his own head. He pressed the muzzle of his gun lightly against Josh’s chest. "I hear you. But honestly? We’ve got enough hostages already."
Josh’s breath caught.
Romero’s smile spread slowly.
He grabbed a fistful of Josh’s shirt.
"Open the doors."
"W... wait, what — WAIT—!!"
Josh’s voice cracked into panic as Romero dragged him forward. The men holding the doors obeyed without hesitation, pulling them open. The Infected on the other side surged immediately through the gap, hands reaching, and Romero shoved Josh directly into them with a single hard push.
The doors swung shut again.
"GYAGHHH!!!"
Josh’s screams came through the walls muffled and horrifying sending chills ran down everyone. It went on for a few seconds. Then it didn’t.
Theo and Paul had gone completely still, their faces drained of colors. Whatever fight had been left in them had drained out of their faces entirely, replaced by something blank and hollow.
Romero straightened up, rolled his shoulders, and turned back to face the group.
"Right. Nobody else speaks unless I ask them to. We find the battery, we get out, and whoever puts down that gray-eyed son of a bitch gets a reward worth having. Are we clear?"
Silence fell followed by nods. Nobody met his eyes.
"Good. Move out."
The group fell into motion. Boots on carpet, weapons up, pushing deeper into the dark.
Tommy moved with them but his feet slowed just slightly as they rounded the corner. Something made him look back down the corridor they were leaving behind.
He had seen him.
Completely different than the one he remembered as his classmate but it was definitely Ryan.
