Adapt (I)

Scarlet

The handle of my dagger vibrates in my hand, sending aches into my wrist as the blade is met with resistance. I look down at where my blade should be buried in the therian’s chest, which has barely nicked his shirt.

I look up at the face of my opponent. He angles a full smile at me, showing all of his blunt conical teeth. The shape of his pupils dilates as he shows more of his therian traits. The ridge of his cheek bones become more pronounced. His skin shimmers, waves of greenish-brown rolling across his skin, showing the hidden ridgelines of all of his scales. A low sound comes from him before I hear him snap his teeth together. The sound makes my gut roil.

He opens his mouth again - wider than a smile. More like a yawn. I realize that he is about to bite me with all of the force of an alligator.

And I am in his space, his arms now locked around me. I have no escape.

Over the shoulder of the therian, I see Boe. He leaps onto the therians back, pulls back his head and drags the hunter’s blade across, what must be, the softest part of the therians armour. Blood spills over me and the therians arms loosen. Boe backs back, laying the dying body on the floor gently.

“Thanks.” I say, my voice shaky.

Boe’s green eyes, framed by redness that I’m sure will prove to be bruises, meet mine. I can tell he is both grateful that I saved him earlier, and angry at me for being so careless. I’m sure that I will get some sort of lecture in the future, when all is said and done.

I look forward to it. But all is not, as of yet, said nor done.

I hear, over in the corner, a scuffle and realize that Trent had never fired his gun while Boe and I were in combat. I turn to see Trent being circled by two figures, one that I recognize instantly as the bald man called Thomas.

I practically fly over to them, but it is a huge room to cross. By the time that I make it to them Trent has swung at Thomas and the other one punches Trent in the back of the head. I hear a God-awful crunch before watching Trent’s body fall to the ground.

My vision tints red. I feel my mind narrowing, becoming sharp and singular. Kill. I start by tackling Thomas first. He growls as we wrestle on the ground. All I need to do is drive the dagger into his eye and he is a goner. I give a sardonic smile as my strength starts to overcome him. When he sees my smile, he returns it, then does what I have only seen teenage boys do on the sidewalk. His throat works up a wad of saliva, then spits it in my face.

“Gross! You mother fucker.” I say, but don’t release my grip…

That is, until the spit on my face starts to tingle. Then burn. A searing pain that is hand sanitizer rubbed into a paper cut multiplied by one hundred. I release him, squeezing my eyes shut so that his spit doesn’t get into them. but it already has. It feels like it is melting my skin away. I try desperately to wipe at my face but the instant that my fingers touch it they begin to burn too.

I get to my feet, now using my sleeve to wipe my eyes, which are still shut. Small cries escape me as the pain intensifies.

Then I feel a pain I have never felt before. At first it is a pressure centred at the top of my abdomen. Then, like the tearing of cloth, something rips and the pressure flashes into pain.

Finally, I open my eyes. I have to, even though it stings. Everything in my vision swims in blurriness, but I can make out the form in front of me.

Thomas.

He clucks his tongue as my eyes meet his. “Your reputation is clearly embellished, young Queen. I do not think your traitorous father would be impressed.”

His words hang in the air, meaningless. I look down at my abdomen and see Thomas’ hand buried just below my rib cage.

I try to gasp, but the oddest feeling over comes me. The pain becomes secondary to the fact that I cannot draw breath.

It doesn’t hurt to breath. My breathes aren’t shallow or weak.

There is no breath.

It is as if air is boycotting my lungs. I can feel a faint, impotent movement where Thomas’ hand is plunged into my body. I look back up at him and try to mouth some words. Without air I cannot even whisper.

He smirks. “Breathing is hard without your diaphragm.” He squeezes and my nerves catch ablaze all at once. The pain is so excruciating, I cannot tell where it originates anymore. My vision descends into a milky haze. Thomas’ face becomes a beige blob, but I can still feel Thomas’ hand as he crushes my diaphragm, killing me.

Then blobs in my vision tilt and move. I feel the cold floor rise to meet me. The cool feeling of the concrete almost makes me smile.

The burning retreats from my limbs and spirals back into my abdomen. I hear my gargled breath, and feel my body desperately take in air. Then a new blaze of pain tears through me as the air I so desperately need cleaves into me. Oxygen rips painfully at my starved and bleeding lungs.

I need to get up.

If I stay on the ground, I am an easy target.

I roll onto my stomach, feeling my wound sting as it connects with the dirty floor of the slaughterhouse. I get my hands under my shoulders and press up, coming to a standing position. Swaying, my entire body protests in lethargy and crippling pain. I clamp one hand over my wound and realize that holding it makes breathing marginally less painful.

I look around the room. Boe is standing over Trent, who is sitting up and rubbing his head. The other therian is on the ground, dead.

I turn in a slow circle, looking for Thomas.

What I find is the last thing I expect.

Logan is hovering over Thomas’ body, a bloody hand holding a lump of purplish red and a gaping wound in Thomas’ abdomen.

“Logan.” I whisper in surprise, and immediately regret it as pain spreads across my chest, like fingers of fire.

Logan’s eyes dart up and lock on me. His face is a picture of worry, an expression I didn’t think he was capable of. The expression makes him seem unfamiliar.

My head starts to swim, and my thoughts become as shallow as my breathing. I realize that I am probably passing out from lack of oxygen. Through the fog I see Logan starting toward me, saying something I cannot understand. His voice seems like it is under water.

Flashes of bright light, followed by a thunderous cracking sound, breaks through my awareness. The cracking sound repeats again and again, creating a staccato that brings bile into my throat. I swallow it down, then attempt to take a deeper breath. Under my hand, I feel my diaphragm drawn down. White hot pain punctuates my amazement at the sensation.

Then, as scalding me for getting up in the first place, my body slams me back into the concrete ground. I hear, more than feel, my head slam against the ground.

Something heavy slams into my body, knocking the hard-won air out of my lungs. My vision is filled with spots that remind me of motor oil in puddles on the road.

“Oh God, Scarlet! No!” I hear a voice that sounds like an autumn breeze.

A small stab of pain registers in my mouth. Cold starts to creep from my toes and fingers, up my arms and legs and settles in my stomach.

Life is leaving my body.

Good, I think. Soon the cold will extinguish the pain in my chest.

“SCARLET, STAY WITH ME!” The autumn breeze thunders over the bangs. I frown. Why is that beautiful voice turning so hard all of a sudden? “Shit, Trent, she is seizing. Hold her arms down.”

My limbs no longer seem to be mine as they are pulled out and pinned down.

The ground seems to be vibrating. That’s odd.

“Please, Scarlet!” The words float to me.

Then a different voice cuts through everything.

“STOP!”

And the whole world switches off.