Chapter 160: Chapter 160 - I’ll Choose
She looked at him for a second longer.
She wanted to argue.
She wanted to help.
But she knew if she stayed out there, she might only slow him down.
Her teeth sank into her lower lip.
She nodded.
"Stay inside the locker," he said quietly. "Don’t make a sound."
She swallowed and moved.
She slipped between the hanging hazmat suits, pushing aside a stiff yellow sleeve and stepping into the narrow metal locker. It smelled like old rubber and dust. She pulled the door almost closed, leaving it cracked just enough to see through the thin slats.
From inside, the decon room felt tighter.
The air felt heavier.
Metallic.
Malcolm positioned himself near the inner doorway that led deeper into the plant. He didn’t stand in the open. He flattened against the wall beside the frame, shotgun angled low but ready.
Outside, the clicking shifted.
Closer.
Short bursts. Testing.
They hadn’t made a sound.
But it followed.
It knew where they ran.
Iyisha forced her breathing shallow. Every inhale felt loud inside the locker.
The clicking stopped.
Silence pressed in.
Then—
A slow scrape along the outer door.
Metal whining under steady pressure.
Her fingers curled into the shelf inside the locker.
The latch gave.
The door from the turbine hall opened a few inches.
The hunter slipped through low.
Now she saw it clearly.
It didn’t look human anymore. The gray skin was stretched tight and glossy, almost wet. Black veins ran across its body like cracks. Its eyes were fully black. The face looked pulled thin over bone.
Its arms and legs were elongated, bent wrong, ending in long claws slick with dark fluid.
What froze her was its chest.
It rose.
Fell.
As if it was breathing.
It opened its mouth.
Click.
Click-click.
The sound filled the room.
It swept the space with noise.
Malcolm didn’t move.
Iyisha watched through the thin gap. Her pulse pounded so loud she was sure it could hear it. The hunter’s head turned slowly. Toward the sink. Toward the lockers. Toward the bloater in the corner.
One step.
Then another.
Claws dragged lightly over tile.
Click.
The sound hit the metal lockers and returned.
The hunter’s head snapped toward her.
Her heart stopped.
It hadn’t heard her move.
It heard the echo.
Malcolm moved.
He kicked a loose metal tray across the opposite wall.
The crash exploded through the small room.
The hunter whipped around and launched toward the sound.
Malcolm stepped into the doorway, narrowing the angle like he planned.
The hunter charged.
Iyisha held her breath.
The shotgun blast detonated in the confined space.
The recoil drove Malcolm back half a step. Pellets tore through the hunter’s shoulder and chest. Pale flesh burst open. Its neck snapped sideways.
It slammed into the wall and rebounded.
Iyisha exhaled hard.
It was done.
She pushed the locker door open.
The hinge creaked.
"No!" Malcolm shouted.
She froze and looked at the hunter.
The locker door swung wider and slammed into the next one.
Ting.
Metal rang through the room.
The hunter was on the floor, head bent sideways at a wrong angle. Its neck twisted, jaw slack. For a second it looked broken.
Dead.
Then its limbs jerked.
It rolled onto all fours in one smooth, unnatural motion, head still snapped crooked, chin almost resting on its own shoulder as it turned toward her.
Its black eyes locked on her.
Iyisha’s breath stopped.
Her body went cold.
This was it.
It lunged.
Claws out.
Time stretched thin.
She could see the torn flesh hanging from its chest. The dark fluid dripping from its nails. The way its crooked head bobbed as it launched.
Her legs wouldn’t move.
Her throat tightened but no sound came out.
She was going to die.
Right here.
In this room.
The claws sliced toward her face.
Malcolm fired again.
The blast punched into its sternum. Flesh burst. It staggered—but it kept moving.
It went for him.
And then it swiped.
Iyisha saw the arc too late.
She ran to shove Malcolm aside, but the claw caught her across the back.
Pain exploded.
Fabric tore.
Heat spread instantly.
She gasped and crashed into him as the hunter slammed into the wall beside them.
Malcolm fired from mid fall.
The third blast hit clean.
The hunter’s chest caved inward. Its body jerked, then dropped hard to the floor. It twitched once.
Silence crashed down.
Iyisha collapsed forward and Malcolm caught her, pulling her tight against him.
Her back burned.
Wetness spread beneath her shirt.
She touched it.
Her hand came away dark.
Malcolm saw it.
His eyes locked on the blood soaking through the fabric.
"No," he breathed.
His hand was already at her back, pressing against the torn fabric, searching for the depth of it.
Behind them, metal groaned.
The hunter’s weight had twisted one of the overhead pipes when it slammed into the wall. The strain finally gave.
Boom.
The pipe crashed down, sparks snapping as it hit the floor.
The sound felt far away compared to the shaking in her hands.
"Malcolm," she whispered.
She remembered what he told her before.
Hunters carried the virus in their nails.
Even a scratch could turn someone.
They stared at each other for a second too long.
The flashlight slipped from her fingers and rolled across the floor, its beam spinning in uneven circles over tile and flesh.
Another pipe tore loose.
It slammed down harder this time. The whole room vibrated.
Iyisha turned at the movement.
The bloater in the corner split open along a stretched seam. Its swollen flesh parted slowly, then ruptured.
A thick gray cloud pushed out in a sudden wave.
Spores.
The air changed instantly.
It turned heavy. Dense. The particles hung in the beam of the rolling flashlight, swirling like smoke but thicker, wrong.
Alive.
Malcolm grabbed her arm.
"Move."
He hauled her upright despite the pain in her back.
They stumbled toward the inner corridor that led deeper into the decontamination wing. Behind them, the cloud spread fast, swallowing the room, crawling along the ceiling and rolling across the floor. The path back toward the turbine hall disappeared inside it.
They reached a narrow metal walkway at the far end.
A steel door blocked the way.
Malcolm gripped the handle and twisted hard.
It didn’t move.
Iyisha turned and saw the gray cloud advancing, filling the space they just crossed. The fallen flashlight beam caught the spores clearly now, thick and spreading, eating up the distance between them.
"Malcolm," she said, panic breaking into her voice.
He planted his feet and grabbed the wheel lock with both hands, forcing it to turn.
It resisted.
"Faster," she whispered.
His jaw clenched. Muscles in his forearms tightened as he strained, veins standing out along his neck while he forced the mechanism to give.
Malcolm yanked the wheel.
The seal broke with a harsh grind.
The door swung inward.
Iyisha froze.
Inside was a narrow containment chamber. Bigger than a locker. Smaller than a closet. Bare walls. No second exit. No space for two.
If they both forced in, the door wouldn’t shut fully.
If it didn’t seal, the spores followed.
"Go," Malcolm said immediately.
She shook her head.
Stepped back.
Behind her, the gray cloud thickened. It moved slower in the closed space, curling along the ceiling and creeping over the floor, but it was coming.
When it reached them, it would be enough.
The room felt quieter.
Sound dulled.
Her heartbeat grew louder instead.
Slow.
Heavy.
She looked at him.
The stubble along his jaw was darker now. Rougher. He hadn’t shaved in days.
Her hand lifted before she thought.
She touched it.
Memorized it.
She wondered if he stopped shaving because she once told him it suited him.
She wondered if, given more time, what they had would have turned into something more. If staying together longer would have changed him. If he would have fallen the way she already had.
Her throat tightened.
Tears spilled down her cheeks.
She loved him.
God.
She did.
Her lower lip trembled as she looked into his eyes.
He stepped toward her, determined.
She knew what he was about to do.
He would shove her inside.
Seal the door.
Choose her.
Her fingers trembled against his chest.
She didn’t know if the shaking was from fear.
Or from the virus already spreading under her skin.
But they both knew.
She was already infected.
And he would still choose her.
The thought hurt more than the wound.
Cena.
She would never know what happened to her. That question would stay unfinished. Mary and Esther. Faces she would never see again now with certainty.
Her throat tightened.
The grief hit harder than the fear.
For one sharp second, she wanted to live.
She wanted to step inside the chamber.
One more road.
One more morning.
Malcolm’s hand gripped her arm.
"Come on," he said, pulling hard.
She didn’t move.
Because she knew if she stepped inside, he wouldn’t hesitate.
He would stay out here.
He wouldn’t choose himself.
And if, by some chance, he did—if he forced the door shut and left her out here—
She didn’t want to see that.
She didn’t want to watch him make that choice.
No.
She lifted her hand and pressed her palm to his jaw. The stubble scratched her skin. He looked at her like she mattered. Like she was worth saving.
She was already saying goodbye.
She didn’t say it out loud.
Her breathing turned shallow. Her fingers shook harder now. The gray cloud reached her boots and crawled upward.
"I’m tired," she whispered.
She leaned forward like she was going to kiss him.
Then she shoved him.
Hard.
He stumbled backward into the chamber, thrown off balance by his own pull.
"What—"
The door slammed.
She threw her weight into the wheel and forced it shut. The metal ground. The seal compressed with a final click.
His hand hit the wired glass.
She saw his mouth moving. Saw anger. Saw panic.
Saw him alive.
Her hearing narrowed to the pounding in her ears.
Heat spread under her skin, rising from her back toward her shoulders.
Her fingers twitched against the metal.
She pressed her palm to the glass once.
She never said it.
The spores rose higher around her.
Her last clear thought wasn’t fear.
It was grief.
Because loving him finally felt real.
And she was leaving him anyway.
She kept looking at him.
Until the gray filled everything.
