I placed Joe's folded letter in my pocket.
I never dared to look over the balcony, turning around, and walked back into the apartment. I took a blanket splayed on the couch and covered Daniel's body with it. My stomach roiled around with disgust at the horrible things that just happened. Did Bobby and Natalie leave a father and his kid to die?
The thought alone made me nauseous. I didn't think I'd be able to do what they just did. I hoped I wouldn't. I walked toward the rifle, picked it up, and found the magazine empty.
"Bren, look at this." Logan hauled a duffel bag onto the kitchen island—the NYPD duffel bag.
I swiftly walked over to the kitchen with the rifle and opened the bag, found more ammunition for the weapon I had in my hand. However, the second shotgun and the other LAR-15 were missing, and I guessed Bobby and Nat had them. There was only one box left of the 5.56 mm rounds, as well as one box of unused twenty-five shotgun shells. I distinctly remembered there were three boxes of the latter, but Bobby probably had the rest.
I took out the rifle's magazine and loaded the bullets, which filled up at 20 rounds. I handed it to Logan. I took two shotgun shells and placed it on the side saddle holster, and my weapon now carried twelve full rounds on it, six in the chamber and six on the saddle.
"Hey, wanna talk about it?" Logan said, nodding to the balcony.
"We'll talk about it once we get out of here," I said, taking four extra shells and placed them in my pockets. My fingers grazed on Joe's letter, and I froze, trying not to think about them. "He made his choice. There's nothing we can do about it now."
"I just hoped he...but he's infected, right? He got bitten."
"Yes. What happened to your ax?" I asked.
"I have to leave it behind. I have no way of carrying it back down."
I pointed at the rifle. "You got an upgrade, at least."
I zipped up the bag and carried it on my back. I sauntered toward the front door adjacent to the kitchen layout and remembered the vectors, and even with us packing heat already, ten vectors swarming all at once was risky. I thought about using the door as a bottleneck. Then again, aside from our bullets, there was no stopping a couple of them from slipping through and taking out our flank.
And I didn't want Bobby and Natalie to know about us yet. If they heard shooting, they might run away or use the chaos to slip past us. After all, the elevator was right beside them, much closer than the stairwell. They already believed Joe and Daniel were dead. With the vectors out on the hall, they were also stuck in apartment 2001, just like us.
I watched the doorknob, heard a vector scraping the door, and the doorknob started rattling languidly, the vector testing if it was unlocked again. Silence, then the vector shuffled away. I motioned for Logan to stand behind me and held my finger up to my lips.
I gently pushed him on his chest against the coat closet's door, and I settled against the tiled wall; the duffel beg pressed uncomfortably on my lower back. I tried to ignore it. I reached for the bolt and unlocked the door quietly.
It took a minute, maybe two, for the vector to approach the door again, tentatively grasping the doorknob. It turned, and the unmistakable click of locks unbolting resounded, and I held my breath, afraid that if they heard it, they'd find us.
The door pushed open, and I was thankful that the hinges were silent. I pushed further against the wall as the door was almost a few inches away from my face.
The vector stepped in.
One.
Two.
Three.
I counted how many went through the door in my mind, remembering there were ten of them, nine of which still had their legs intact.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Logan's grip on his rifle grew tighter. The vectors twitched and climbed over the couch at the far side. Some went out to the balcony, while I saw two fleeting shadows moving toward the bedrooms.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
The latter halted a foot into the door. I could hear its nose sniffing the air, and I closed my eyes, hoping he wouldn't grab the door and pull, finding us like little crabs hiding under a loose rock.
The vector croaked, and he shuffled toward the dining room. He crouched over Daniel's body, reached out its hand, and poked the bloodied sheets where Daniel's eyes would have been. The vector stared at its bloodied finger as if studying it.
I tapped Logan on his wrist.
He slipped out, keeping one eye on the vectors, their backs still turned on us, and the other to the hallway. I followed after him, grabbed the doorknob, and gently pulled it close, again, thankful for the quiet hinges. The door's latch clicked, and I heaved a sigh.
The crawling legless vector didn't seem to notice that his "friends" were gone, still adamant about reaching the elevator doors. I took out my knife and snuck behind him, grabbed his full head of black-matted hair, and plunged the blade on the nape of his neck. He stopped moving instantly.
Logan and I shared a nod, and we tread silently toward apartment 2001.
The door was wide open.
Bobby and Natalie stood a foot behind the door frame, shotgun and rifle raised.
Logan and I froze.
"Huh. Didn't expect you two here. The old man was right," Bobby said. On his hand was a chain of keys, one of them belonged to his boss's boat, and the keychain ring was hooked around his middle finger. Bobby raised the shotgun a little higher to Logan's chest while Natalie pointed the rifle at me.
"Let go of the gun, Nat," Logan said.
"You drop the gun, meathead," Bobby said.
Logan and I never dared make a move.
Bobby sneered. "Fine. If that's what's gonna be, you make a move, we shoot, got it?"
I didn't answer. Logan didn't either.
"I guess I have to thank the two of you for getting rid of those freaks," Nat said, peeking out to the hall. "I hate to end up stuck here."
"You left Joe and Daniel to die," I said.
"Did we?" She asked casually. "Hmm. I thought they handled it pretty well. Especially Joe. But I can't stand his white knight whining about leaving the rest of you. So exhausting and annoying."
"They're dead."
"And we're alive. Circle of life."
"Why?"
Nat scoffed. Bobby shifted his stance, moving a little closer to the open door. "Haven't you noticed, Bren? Between you and me, I have the guts to do what is necessary to survive."
"Jesus, you left a kid to die. They're good people."
"Good people die every day. I didn't see you crying for them."
"Nat. Please." Logan hissed.
"Move to the side. Slowly," Nat barked, nodding over to the far corner of the hall where the elevator doors were. "I have my gun aimed at you. If you raise your weapons, I'll shoot. At this close, you know I won't miss."
I stared hard at her, gritting my teeth. She must've read my expression because a sly smile crept on her lips. I knew what she said was right. If I tried to aim my weapon at her, she would pull the trigger first. I did what she said, pressing my back on the elevator's metallic double doors. After a moment, Logan followed.
"Good. Easy now," Bobby muttered. He was the first one out through the door, and Natalie trailed after him, their guns still aimed at us.
Her eyes flicked to Logan. "You can still come with us."
Bobby flinched, taking a spare glance at Nat for a split second.
"The boat can take six. You can come with us, baby," Nat said.
"I mean, he's strong," said Bobby. "Definitely would be more useful on the road than that old fart and his wimpy son."
"I still love you, Logan," Natalie said. "I'll forget about what you said. We can still be together."
Logan stiffened his muscles, saw the intensity in his eyes as he looked at her. Was he actually considering it? I could hardly tell. The boy rarely allowed his feelings known. Hell, I never imagined that coming out to him would quickly turn him into one of my bullies since he was supposed to be my best friend. The boy was not an easy read.
Then, he nodded.
Just a tiny nod, but it was enough to hike up my pulse and pushed this tight pressure in my chest. I trembled, but I tried not to show it.
Natalie smiled, and Logan stepped forward, said, "Okay."
"Take his gun," Bobby ordered. "And that bag, too."
Logan turned to face me. "Hand it over, Bren."
With both barrels now aimed at me, I begrudgingly gave Logan the duffel bag, made sure I pushed it harder on his arms. He grimaced slightly from the sudden weight. I shot a look of daggers at him, and the boy couldn't even have the strength to look me straight in the eye. I breathed heavily, wanting the nerve to strangle him, maybe tear off his limb.
I put the shotgun on top of the duffel bag.
"Knife, too," said Logan.
I gripped the knife's handle on my belt.
"Slowly," he said.
"I trusted you," I whispered.
"And you never learn," he said.
I gently placed the blade on top of the duffel bag, too.
He betrayed me.
And I fell for it. Again.
That moment three nights ago, the first time we shared a room back in the Chapter House, maybe all of those were lies. Maybe Logan saw that his chances of survival were far greater if he stuck with me.
I looked hard in his eyes to find some meaning that he meant it, but I came up empty-handed, realized there was nothing there.
After hauling all my stuff, Logan strode over to Nat's side.
Nat said, "I know you're still with me, babe. Even if you're hooking up with this faggot. I mean, that's not true, is it?"
Logan didn't answer, and Nat's frown morphed into a grim sneer. "Oh, Logan. That fag didn't force you to do anything gross, did he?"
"Let's get out of here," said Logan.
"We'll use the emergency stairwell," Nat said. "You two didn't come alone, did you?"
"The rest are downstairs," Logan said.
"To ambush us, I figured," Nat said, and let out a chuckle. "Well, their bad luck. We'll shoot our way out to the bus then. Right, Bobby?"
"Damn right," Bobby said, nodding. "But what will we do with him? He fucking broke my nose."
Nat turned to look at me. "I don't care what happens to him."
"Seriously, why are you like this?" I blurted out, and a shock took hold of me. I didn't mean to say it out loud.
Nat's jaw hung open, and I knew right away she was pissed.
"Excuse me, why am I like this? Are you fucking kidding me? Have you ever thought that maybe you are the problem, Bren? You and people like you! You know what? I might as well get this off my chest. I always hated you. Your pretentiousness, thinking everyone is better than you, and then thinking that makes you edgy...you're not, Bren. Not only a fag, but you're also a poser and a loser."
I tightened my jaw and curled my fist.
Nat didn't stop there. "For years, you thought you were talking cheap shit behind my back about my family and me won't reach my ears, well guess what, obvious to everyone with working eyes, more people like me instead of you because you're a backstabbing snake. You try too hard, but at the end of the day, you'll never amount to anything worthy of anyone's space and time, so I might as well shoot you here and there. I call that mercy—"
The pastel blue wallpaper to her right exploded; tiny pellets of shrapnel shot out into the air and blew a hole through the wall.
A small splatter of blood.
For a split second, I tracked where the shot came from, and there, on top of the NYPD duffel bag, was the smoking barrel of the shotgun.
Logan's finger was on the trigger.
Natalie dropped her rifle as she reeled back and fell butt-first on the ground, clutching her face. Blood coated the back of her hand. As she pulled them down, tiny fragments of shells were stuck on her face; her forehead, cheeks, and jaw were bleeding from the small openings.
She screamed wildly. "I'm bleeding! My face!"
Bobby took a step back, stunned and wide-eyed, caught in his hesitation.
And it was all I needed.
I rushed toward Bobby, reaching for the weapon.