Chapter 238: Chapter 238 - Lockdown
Archie took the rope with both hands.
He looked like he wanted Malcolm to say something else. Something that would make it less real. Malcolm gave him nothing.
"Tie him to something heavy," Malcolm said. "Hands first. Then chest. Leave his legs enough room to move if he cramps."
Archie swallowed. "What if he gets mad?"
"Then he gets mad. It’s better than him biting you."
Archie swallowed hard as they went back to the hallway.
Harry sat in the room across the hall, one arm pressed to his chest, blood soaking through the cloth wrapped around the bite. He looked at Archie, then at the rope, and gave a tired laugh that had no humor in it.
"Don’t look at me like that, kid."
Archie stopped at the doorway.
Harry leaned his head back against the wall. "I’m not dead yet."
Archie’s face twisted, and Malcolm saw the guilt there. The boy still saw the moment. His fall. Harry turning back. Teeth sinking into Harry’s arm because of him.
But Harry made that choice.
Malcolm stepped past them and checked the window first. The street below had gone darker. The dead still moved outside, but slower now, scattered in loose groups around the building. That would change if someone made noise. Everything changed fast here.
He had made a choice too.
Looking back, he still could not believe he stayed. He could have run back to Iyisha and Lance. He could have left Harry, Archie, and Arnulf to whatever caught them.
But he didn’t.
So, he could not judge Harry too much.
He turned back. "Do it."
Archie nodded and went inside.
Harry lifted his good arm. "Tight, right?"
Malcolm looked at him.
Harry’s jaw flexed. "Yeah. I know."
Malcolm left them there and moved down the hall. Chanse had the others sitting away from the doors. The TAL members had gone quiet after Arnulf left, but quiet did not mean calm. They watched the fire stairwell like something might come through it. They watched Malcolm like he was supposed to stop it.
He checked the locks. One door. Then another. He pushed a cabinet against the hall entrance and told two men to drag a table behind it. Not enough to stop a hunter. Enough to slow people. Enough to make noise if anything forced its way in.
The broken window in the room had been covered with a mattress and two shelves. Malcolm pressed his hand to it once. It held, but only because nothing was pushing from the other side.
He was turning back when he heard the fire stairwell latch shift.
Small sound.
Wrong sound.
Malcolm moved.
Tilly stood at the stairwell door with one hand on the bar and a knife in the other. A small bag hung from her shoulder. Her face went hard when she saw him, but her hand did not leave the door.
"Close it," Malcolm said.
Her grip tightened. "Move."
Malcolm lifted his gun.
Not high enough to fire yet. Just enough for her to understand.
Tilly froze. Her eyes widened, and the knife shook in her hand.
"Are you going to shoot me because I want to save my brother?"
Malcolm stepped closer. "I’ll shoot you before I let you open that door and bring the dead in here."
Her mouth trembled.
Chanse came running from the hall and grabbed her arm, pulling her back from the exit.
Tilly jerked against him. "You’re not the fucking boss of me."
Malcolm’s eyes stayed on her. "Tonight, I am."
She glared at him.
"Tie her if she tries again," Malcolm said.
Chanse nodded, his grip tightening.
"Please," Tilly said, and the anger cracked. "He’s my brother."
For a second, Malcolm thought she would swing the knife. She didn’t. Her hand shook around it instead.
"You would go if it was her," she said.
Malcolm’s face did not change.
Tilly looked toward the room where Iyisha was. "You would tear this whole building open if she was out there."
He stepped closer. "Yes."
That shut her mouth.
"But I can survive out there," Malcolm said. "You can’t."
Tilly’s breathing broke. She looked away, jaw tight, eyes wet.
Chanse pulled her back farther. "Tilly."
"Don’t," she snapped, but the knife dipped.
Malcolm held out his hand.
She stared at him.
"The knife."
For a moment, she looked like she would refuse just to prove she still could. Then her shoulders dropped and she slapped the knife into his palm.
"If Richard dies out there," she said, voice low, "that’s on all of us."
"No," Malcolm said. "That’s on whoever was dumb enough to walk out."
Her face crumpled for half a second before she turned away. Chanse caught her by the arm and guided her back to the others. She did not fight him this time.
Malcolm stayed by the fire stairwell until the hall settled again.
Then Aljun appeared beside him with a bottle in his hand.
Empty.
"We have another problem," he said.
Malcolm looked at the bottle.
Aljun lifted it slightly. "Water is almost gone. Food too. Like, almost nothing. Some stale crackers. Half a can of beans. That’s it."
Malcolm looked down the hall. Too many mouths. Too many injured. Lance needed water. Harry needed water. Iyisha needed water whether she admitted it or not.
"How long?"
Aljun gave a small shrug. "Tonight. Maybe morning if everyone pretends not to be hungry."
Malcolm stared at him.
Aljun winced. "I mean, we can stretch it. But not really." He glanced toward the fire stairwell. "I was thinking we try the third floor instead of going back outside."
Malcolm looked toward Iyisha’s room. He could hear Marybeth’s voice inside, low and tired. He could hear the wet cloth being wrung out. Lance was still breathing. Thin, but there.
"Not tonight," Malcolm said.
Aljun nodded fast. "Yeah. I know. Dark is stupid."
"At first light, we clear the third floor."
Aljun dragged a hand over his face. "Okay. Third floor tomorrow."
"No guns unless we need them."
"Machete?"
"Knife. Pipe. Anything quiet."
Aljun nodded, then looked toward the fire stairwell. "What about Arnulf?"
Malcolm did not answer right away.
Outside, something scraped against the lower wall. The sound was faint, maybe wind, maybe the lab, maybe nothing. Everyone in the hall heard it anyway. Bodies stiffened but no one spoke.
The scrape stopped.
Malcolm looked at Aljun. "If he comes back, he knocks."
"And if something else knocks?"
"Then no one opens it."
Aljun’s throat moved. He nodded.
Malcolm went back to the room. Iyisha lay on the bed, eyes half open, trying to pretend she was not watching the door. Blood had dried under her nose. Her skin still looked too pale.
"You caught her?" she asked.
"Tilly?"
Iyisha nodded.
"Yes."
"She still wants to go?"
"Yes."
Iyisha tried to sit up. Malcolm put two fingers against her shoulder and pushed her back down before she got far.
"Don’t start."
"I didn’t say anything."
"You were about to."
She looked annoyed, but her body sank back into the mattress too easily. That told him enough.
Marybeth sat beside Lance, wiping his neck again. "He’s still stable."
Malcolm looked at Lance’s chest. Up. Down. Slow. Still alive.
"And Harry?"
"Tied," Malcolm said.
Marybeth’s hand paused. "Is he turning?"
"Not yet."
Iyisha closed her eyes for a second.
The room went quiet except for Lance’s breathing.
Malcolm stood there, listening to the building. The people in the hall. The dead outside. The fire stairwell behind them. Arnulf somewhere in the dark. Five missing. One bitten. One dying. One woman on the bed who had stopped a horde and almost dropped dead doing it.
Aljun was right.
No food.
Almost no water.
Tomorrow they would have to go down to the third floor.
Tonight, they had to make sure no one opened the wrong door.
Malcolm stayed there for another second, listening.
Nothing moved outside the door. Nothing scraped against the window. The hall had gone quiet, but not calm. Quiet here only meant everyone was holding their breath.
"Malcolm."
He turned.
Iyisha was looking at him from the bed, eyes heavy, blood dried under her nose. She lifted one hand, barely, like even that took effort.
He crossed the room and sat at the edge of the mattress.
"You should sleep," he said.
"So should you."
"I’m not the one who almost dropped in the street."
Her mouth tightened. "I didn’t drop."
"You were close."
She looked at him for a long second. Then her fingers caught his sleeve and pulled weakly.
Malcolm leaned down.
Iyisha touched his jaw, her hand cold against his skin, and kissed him.
Soft.
Brief.
Enough to cut through the noise in his head.
He stayed still for half a breath, then kissed her back, careful with the cut on her cheek, careful with the weakness in her body.
She pulled away first, breathing unevenly.
"Still here," she whispered.
His jaw tightened.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
"Stay that way."
