Together, Emi and Asorotany scurry out of the alley. Asorotany jerks Emi toward the main-road direction, his muscles tensing. She grabs onto his shoulders for stability, her heels grat the broken asphalt in wobbly click-clacks.
Emi’s ten-inch high heels are slowing them down.
Panic etches across her forehead, becoming more visible the more she stumbles and trips over her own feet.
“That’s right. Run, run, run. Run for your life, run to your death. Run, run, run, little mices.” Kozorog calls out from behind them. They are far from the gurney, yet it’s like Kozorog is breathing the words down his neck.
Cold goosebumps break on his skin.
Kozorog seems to be all over the places. Popping from under the sewers, peeking from the roofs, perching on the skinny streetlight, peering out from the inky darkness encasing them. His laugh, the laughter of a madman, shrill into the night.
He sprints faster.
“Ah!” Emi cries out, pitching forward, pulling him. They stumbles down like leaden weight. “Ow, ow,” She wheezes, squeezing his wrist. He scramble up, glancing at her ankle. The foot is twisted at an odd angle.
“Can you stand?” He says.
Tears rim her eyes as she gasps for breath, paling. “You must run. If he got you, you’re done for.”
Asorotany shakes his head. “I’ll carry you on my back.” He poses, but she grabs his chin. “Babe, leave me. Go. To your safety.”
“We don’t have time for this.” Looping an arm under her armpit and the other under her kneecaps, he hoists her up bridal-style. Adjusting his grip, he dashes forward.
The screech of siren skittering near.
“Ready or not, here I come,” Kozorog’s baritone syllables ratcheting on the walls.
Sweats bead between his shoulder blades as he feels danger closing in. With Emi in his hands like a dead weight, he’s considerably slower than his top speed. Every time his soles hit the ground, liquidy shadow talons leap and reach for their heels. His body screams as he pushes further.
The main road is only about twenty feet away. Red and blue light sweeping across the inky complex. “Thank God,” Asorotany breathes. He runs faster, legs pumping until they ache.
He stumbles to the intersection. Swiveling his head, he spots a black-and-white barreling down the street. An ambulance turning at a far corner.
“Here,” He yells.
He squints his eyes as the front light flare at him, a relief smile creeps on his lips. He maneuvers to a lit spot, setting Emi on the ground.
“No, no. What’re you doing?” She yelps, alerted. “Run.”
“Help’s here.” He says.
She clamps his head between her hands, tipping her chin to look straight into his eyes. “You don’t understand. Carion is warping reality. The police will never come until you die. Carion is the Patron of the Outlaws. It’s his job to ensure that monster wins over you and get away with it.”
The engine revs from behind him. He glances out the corner of his eyes just in time to see the two vehicles rush past him, dragging an rush of air behind. Wind slaps him across the cheek. He breaks from her hold, chasing after the taillights.
“Hey, we’re here!” He shouts, pounding on the driver window side. Yet, the man doesn’t react. He doesn’t talk at all. He remains concentrating straight ahead.
Asorotany knocks harder. The cars race on, getting further and further away, until his lungs give in and skids to a stop. He watches until the red taillights become indistinct spots in the night. His arms hanging in the air.
A chuckle stalks from behind him. An icy palm grazes his nape. He jolts, spinning back, almost losing balance. Nothing. Only air.
A shiver pricks along his spine.
“Don’t stop. Keep running,” Emi calls, running to him, waving her hand.
Slender, calloused fingers splain across his collarbone. A face materializes right under his nose, frosty breath stings his skin. “Too late. Found you.”
He jumps, screaming. His heart stops.
Kozorog’s grin vanishes into the air like smoke. His chuckle lingers.
“What the fucking hell?”
From behind him, lips flit on his nape. Teeth bite down on his ear lobes. He jerks away, bumping into something solid. Hits land on him from the dark, hard. The spikes on Kozorog’s rings penetrate his flesh, hard metal biting hard before it draws out, tiny teeth drills and rips through the coiled muscles. Kozorog’s everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Too many face, too many eyes, too many teeth, Kozorog’s faces boxing him in. Claustrophobia pins Asorotany down, panic intensifies out Kozorog’s jeering. Hands push and pull and kick Asorotany in circles.
“Now I get why you love tampering with fates and spoil the future, Gei. It’s like watching grasshoppers devouring each other’s head. A never-ending comedy show.”
“Carion, stop it. I’m telling.” Emi commands. But her voice arcs over Asorotany, faraway, garbles. His head throbs. His vision tumbles and falls. Black and gray alternate, burning his cornea.
“Telling what?” Kozorog mocks. “He will die soon, just under his uncle’s hand like his brother. I might just do him a favour and shield him from such ironic fate.”
Hands clamp to his side. It’s not Kozorog. There’s heat, a filthy, rough warmth, that comes from the palms. A knife, holding by black, grimy fingers bitten to the nail grooves, run down his ribs.
But he has only half of his mind set on fending himself. The other half is occupied by what Kozorog just said: Uncle Tarrow killed Fische, and he’s planning to kill Asorotany, too.
“No,” Emi lunges. “Call for Are, now.”
Kozorog side-steps and constraints Emi’s tiny form in his arms.
Asorotany twists, winding his elbow back, aiming for the man’s nose. The older man dodges, one arm fastens around Asorotany’s torso in a deadlock, the knife slides into view. Asorotany jerks his shoulders, protecting his spine and neck. The man grunts, shoving up. He is able to glimpse of the rapist’s victorious smirk, whose face bloats of bruises and blood swells, before a thin, long, hard, cold object stabs into him from behind. A curse chokes in his airway at the impact.
Blackness erupts in his mind, hot and searing pain. Asorotany can barely register the feel of a sharp tip. Everything else fades away into a background white noise. His world constricts to the slight prick just a little above his navel. The wet, squelching noise as the knife rotates, twisting deeper into his stomach. He tries to swallow, but the saliva has lodged the back of his throat.
“Brats like you should learn to keep your nose out of other’s business.” The man growls in his ear, withdrawing the knife only to drive it further into his ribs. Blood busts from his mouth, leaving a metallic, salty taste in his esophagus. His eyes roll back in pain.
The man repeats, drawing the weapon out and burrowing its deeper, always up to the hilt. Asorotany’s body bucks and sinks. The sickening sadist snigger strangles him. Kozorog’s sneer grows wider and wider until it seems like his thin lips peeling back the facial skin, revealing the pulsing pink muscle bundles underneath. The white teeth stand out, unmoving, appearing bigger and bigger and bigger, opening wide and swallow him whole.
Red is all he sees. Red, spreading, crawling, everywhere.
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