Chapter 230: Chapter 230 - Danger On The Other Side
Iyisha’s POV
She scrubbed her teeth hard, the brush moving fast against clean enamel, the taste plain and dull without toothpaste. It still felt right. Routine. She had kept it even without toothpaste, the tube still left in the car.
She leaned over the sink and rinsed.
"Iyisha!" Marybeth’s voice snapped through the house.
She spat the water out and ran.
Lance was on the sofa, his body jerking hard, limbs hitting the cushions. Marybeth had his legs pinned, struggling to keep him from falling.
"What happened?"
"He just started. He just fucking convulsed."
Iyisha dropped beside him and pressed her hand to his neck. Heat. Too much. She couldn’t check how high, not with the useless battery-operated thermometer they found. She grabbed the flashlight and forced one eye open. No reaction. The pupil didn’t react to the light.
"What can I do?" Aljun asked from the side.
"Help me. Turn him."
They rolled him to his side. Iyisha pulled at his shirt, loosening it, while Marybeth worked at his belt. Lance’s body jerked once more, then slowed.
Then it stopped.
The room went still.
"I think... I think he’s not breathing." Marybeth’s voice shook.
"Shit."
Iyisha grabbed his shoulders and dragged him off the sofa. His body hit the floor hard. She tilted his head back, one hand on his forehead, the other lifting his chin.
"Move."
They backed off.
She sealed her mouth over his and breathed into him. Pulled back. Watched his chest.
Nothing.
Her hands locked together and drove down on his chest.
Once. Twice. Again.
"Come on."
Her hands kept moving. Down. Up. Down again. His chest gave under the pressure, then rose slow, empty.
"Come on," she said, breath pushing into him.
Nothing.
She pressed harder. Faster now. The sound of her palms hitting his chest filled the room.
Marybeth hovered near his head, shaking. "Iyisha—"
"Not yet."
She breathed into him again. Pulled back. Watched.
Nothing.
Her hands slammed down again. Once. Twice.
Then—
A shudder.
His chest hitched. A weak pull of air slipped in.
Iyisha froze for a split second, then shifted fast, turning his head to the side.
"Again," she muttered.
Another breath came. Thin. But there.
"He’s breathing," Marybeth said, voice breaking. "Oh God. You did it." She grabbed Iyisha by the head and pulled her in, pressing her against her chest. "Oh Lance, you fucking champ."
Lance stayed limp. No movement. His eyes stayed closed. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he was still there.
Iyisha pulled back and stayed close, watching it. Counting.
"Stay on his side," she said.
Marybeth nodded quickly, hands shaking as she held him steady.
Aljun let out a breath behind them, dragging a hand down his face. "Fuck... that was too close."
Iyisha didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on Lance, tracking every shallow breath like it might stop again.
It was weak. Too slow.
"Keep him on his side," she said. "If he throws up, he chokes."
Marybeth tightened her grip on his shoulder. "Wouldn’t want that."
Iyisha reached for a pillow and shoved it behind his back to keep him from rolling flat. She loosened his shirt more, fingers rough, then pressed her hand to his neck again.
Still hot.
Too hot.
"We need towels," she said, looking at Aljun. "And water."
He hesitated. Their supply was low. Then he nodded and ran.
Iyisha wiped the sweat off Lance’s face with her sleeve, then checked his airway again, tilting his head just enough. His breathing stayed shallow but steady.
For now.
Her jaw tightened.
What did he take?
Her eyes searched his face. Nothing but heat and stillness.
Susan’s voice cut through her head. Stem cells might hold it back. Not cure. Just delay. It helped his lungs. It won’t stop everything.
Her hand stilled on his chest.
Is this it.
Cancer pushing back. Fast. Hard.
Or—
Her fingers curled.
That drug.
The one he took.
It could be killing him.
Or fixing him.
She didn’t know which one she was looking at.
"Here," Aljun said, dropping beside them with a bottle and a rag.
Iyisha grabbed it, soaked the cloth, and pressed it to Lance’s forehead. Another to his neck. Cooling him down in small patches.
"Not too much," she said. "Don’t shock him."
Marybeth nodded and wet another cloth, wiping along his arms, his legs.
Lance shuddered. A weak pull of breath followed, like the cold reached him somewhere deep.
Iyisha leaned closer, watching.
"Good," she said under her breath. "Stay there."
The door burst open and Iyisha’s head snapped up, her eyes cutting straight to Aljun because she told him to keep that locked. He gave a small, guilty shrug.
"DJ said something’s crawling on the wall," the man said, his face drained, his eyes wide like he’d seen it up close. "He heard like scraping."
Iyisha pushed to her feet, the motion sharp. They are on the sixth floor. Nothing should be there. "A drone?" she asked, voice low but tight.
The man shook his head hard. "No. It’s white. Like an animal."
The word hit.
Iyisha went still.
The room dropped away for a second. Cold rushed through her chest. Her fingers went numb.
White.
Claws scraping concrete. That sound. The shrieked as it attack.
Her breathing hitched without warning. Her vision tightened. She could see it again. Those claws reaching for her. Too close. Her back burned.
"A hunter?" Marybeth whispered.
Iyisha didn’t answer. Her body remembered before her mind caught up. Her chest tightened, breath coming shallow and fast.
"That can’t be," she forced out, but her voice broke in the middle.
It can.
It can climb.
It will hunt.
Her knees buckled a step back. She caught herself on the wall, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt. The same helpless drop hit her stomach. That moment before it lunged.
Malcolm is not here.
Iyisha gasped for air as her world starts to fade.
Marybeth grabbed her arm hard, shaking her. "Iyisha. Look at me."
Iyisha blinked hard. Once. Twice. Forced the room back in. Lance. Floor. Door.
"What is it?" the man asked, his voice trembling.
Iyisha stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Tell everyone to stay quiet. No one moves. If it’s a hunter, noise is enough, movement will kill us all."
Aljun lifted a pistol. "Malcolm left it before they ran out."
Iyisha looked at it for a second. It was laughable how small the gun is. She remembered the shotgun, Malcolm used to kill it, this, on the other hand would do nothing.
She took it anyway.
"Go," she said quietly.
The man glanced at the gun, jaw tightening, then nodded and waved Aljun to follow. They slipped out and closed the door behind them.
Marybeth turned to her the second they were gone. "If Lance even convulses while it’s near, we’re dead."
Iyisha nodded, her grip tightening around the pistol as she shifted her focus between Lance and the door.
She listened.
Every breath felt too loud.
Please let it be a drone.
