Chapter 162: Chapter 162 - No one Else To Blame
The door sealed with a sharp mechanical click as Malcolm’s head slammed hard against the metal behind him. He barely noticed it.
He recovered immediately and lunged for the wheel, yanking it hard.
It spun smoothly.
He jerked it back the other way, harder. The metal turned under his hands like it wasn’t connected to anything.
"Goddamn it."
He drove his shoulder into the door, but the chamber was too tight for leverage. His knee slammed into the lower panel while his back struck the rear wall.
Outside, gray spores crawled up her boots.
"Move," he snapped through the glass. "Open it."
She didn’t move.
She just stood there, frozen, like she couldn’t believe what she had done herself.
Fuck it.
Fuck Iyisha.
If you regret saving me, there’s still time.
He drove his shoulder into the door again. The chamber shuddered and his back slammed against the rear wall.
"Iyisha!"
She pressed her palm to the glass.
He surged forward again, chest almost against the door, boots braced. He twisted the wheel so hard his knuckles split wider.
If he forced it, the chamber would fill.
He knew that.
She was already infected.
But he didn’t care.
"Open it," he rasped.
His jaw tightened as the strength drained from his arms. His knee struck the metal door again.
"Iyisha," he whispered.
She was standing there, hand pressed to the glass.
Her fingers trembled.
He lifted his hand and placed it against the pane opposite hers.
Her lips moved.
He tried to read them, but the wire cut across her mouth and the spores had already begun drifting between them.
"Goddamn it, Iyisha—"
It tore out of him.
Her lips moved again. He leaned closer, trying to catch the words through the wire and the thickening spores, but they blurred and broke apart before he could understand them.
He slammed the door once more and then just stood there, breathing too hard in the tight space.
Her mouth trembled for a second.
Then it steadied.
The tension left her face in a way that made his chest tighten.
He shook his head.
"No."
His palm slammed against the glass.
"Please don’t."
The words came out raw.
He pressed closer, breath fogging the pane, blood from his knuckles streaking across the metal.
"Iyisha."
Her name came out low and unsteady.
Her eyes were full of tenderness.
His jaw clenched. His chest tightened as a tear slipped down her cheek.
Iyisha turned her back to him.
"Fuck it!" he shouted, staring at her back as he punched the door.
She started walking deeper into the room.
All he could see was the beam of the flashlight traveling with her, sliding across metal pipes, across tile, across the torn body on the floor. Each step carried her farther into the gray.
He pressed his palm against the glass and leaned in.
"Stop," he breathed.
The word came out hard.
She didn’t stop.
The spores swallowed her shape. Darkness filled the room as the beam flickered once, the light breaking apart as the spores thickened around it.
For a moment he clung to that thin line of light.
As long as the beam moved, she was still alive.
His throat tightened, swallowing suddenly difficult.
He twisted the wheel again without thinking, even though he knew it wouldn’t engage.
The outer door groaned as she pulled it open. The sound reached him faintly through the steel.
His chest tightened at the noise.
Then the door swung shut.
The beam vanished.
For a second Malcolm just stared at the dark doorway.
Then something in him snapped.
"Fuck."
The word tore out of him.
His hands left the wheel and dragged through his hair, fingers gripping hard at the roots. His elbow hit the wall in the cramped space but he barely felt it.
"Fuck."
His fist slammed into the metal beside the door.
The sound rang through the chamber.
Her face flashed in his head.
The way she looked at him through the glass.
Calm.
Too calm.
His jaw tightened.
His hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers digging into the muscle as if he could crush the thought out of his head.
Should’ve pushed her.
Should’ve told her not to move.
Should’ve dragged her back the second she opened that door.
His fist hit the metal again.
"I should’ve fought it in the decon room."
The words came out low and rough.
Blood smeared across the panel where his knuckles struck.
If he had fought the hunter there.
If he had stopped.
If he had taken the hit himself.
His breathing turned rough in the tight chamber.
Another thought hit him harder.
If they hadn’t traveled so early.
If he had forced them to wait until the sun was up.
If he had just made one different call.
His hands dragged through his hair again.
"Goddamn it."
He braced both palms against the metal and lowered his head.
Her face wouldn’t leave.
His throat tightened.
His fist struck the metal again.
"Fuck."
The chamber rang with it.
Then the sound faded and the pod went quiet again.
Malcolm stayed there, head bowed against the cold metal, breathing hard in the tight space.
Every thought circling the same place.
Every one ending the same way.
Too late.
He didn’t know how long he had been standing there.
Only that his body hadn’t moved an inch while his mind churned.
Her face kept flashing behind his eyes.
The tear.
The look she gave him through the glass.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
A sudden bang on the door pulled him out of it.
Malcolm looked up.
Marybeth stood outside in a hazmat suit.
For a second he just stared at her through the glass, his body slow to respond.
Then he straightened, though it felt like the strength had drained out of him.
She pointed to the extra hazmat suit and mask clipped to the wall beside him.
Then she raised her hand and started counting down with her fingers.
Three.
Two.
One.
Malcolm drew in a breath and held it.
The door released.
Spores lay scattered across the floor like gray dust, but Marybeth still handed him the mask.
Better safe than sorry.
He pulled it on.
They stepped out.
The hunter lay crumpled in the corner.
The bloater beside it had collapsed in on itself, its swollen mass deflated and shriveled.
Malcolm looked away.
His jaw clenched.
There was no one else to blame.
Just him.
