The Reaver staggered back a few steps, the impact of my bullets snapping its head so far back that, if it were anything other than a homicidal, freakish creature of the light, its neck would definitely have snapped. I shot it a couple more times just for the hell of it and, grabbing the kid, I backpedaled towards the gate.
“la, la yumkinuna almashy fi al'amakin almudiya!” the boy screamed, straining against my grip and pulling me in the opposite direction. What the heck!
The Reaver had recovered, and its usually dull yellow eyes now glowed like freshly molten lava. I had hoped to buy some time, at least enough for us to get away, but it looked like all shooting it in the face did was piss it off.
“Kid, cut it out!” I yelled, emptying the rest of my clip at the Reaver. “I swear to God, I’ll leave you right here!”
The Reaver casually raised one hand to shield its face from the hail of bullets, then took a quick step forward and lashed out at me. It was so fast—quicker than I expected. I released the kid and fell backward, narrowly avoiding having my face scratched off. Its claws were so sharp that they whistled as they cut through the air in front of my nose by a hair's breadth. I used my momentum to roll backward away from sure death and came up into a crouch, my knife already held in a defensive position, just like we were taught— it’s what saved me.
The Reaver’s claws were sliced off as my knife’s keen edge caught its hand mid-swipe, and it fell back with a howl of unearthly pain. It clutched its injured hand to its side and scrambled backward, yelling bloody murder. If I hadn’t had my knife up when I did, it would have slashed my throat to ribbons.
My grip on the kid loosened, and he wrested himself free, making a mad dash back into the maze we had only just emerged from.
“Kid!” I sprinted after him, casting one frenzied look over my shoulder to see the Reaver crawling over the side of a nearby container and disappearing from sight. Shit! If it had the high ground, that meant it was only a matter of time before it cornered us. I had to get the boy to safety as soon as possible.
Ahead of me, the boy rounded a pile of crates and vanished from sight. I cursed and increased my pace so I wouldn’t lose him, turning the corner when—
The Reaver dropped into my path. I was moving too fast to change course. I saw the blow coming too late and could only shield my head with my forearm before I was flung violently backward. I landed on my back and then tumbled several times before crashing into several empty drums fortuitously placed against the side of one of the containers.
I lay there among the pieces of destroyed plastic that had definitely saved me from rag-dolling against the container. My entire body was on fire while my ears rang. I found that I couldn’t focus on anything, and even though my brain was screaming at me to get up, I couldn’t seem to move. I blinked repeatedly, wondering if I was going blind from the blunt force trauma to my head or the sheer agony from my back. The Reaver screeched, and from its proximity, I knew it was coming for me. I had to move now!
I groaned and rolled over. Somewhere along the way, I must have lost my knife, leaving me with only the Uzi. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, which came away wet. The weak light was enough to illuminate the fact that the wet stuff was actually blood pouring from a cut on my forehead. That’s good — blood’s good; it shows my tether still works. Shades don’t bleed red.
I shook my head and staggered to my feet, my ears no longer ringing as badly. I blinked in confusion, realizing I was alone. Where was the kid? I hoped he had gotten away. Most importantly, where was the Reaver, and why hadn’t it finished me off?
The pain lessened a bit as the seconds passed, and soon I began moving around, searching for my knife. As long as the tether was active, and the damage was not too severe, I was still mission operational, which was pretty nifty considering the horrors we faced in the light.
I mean, walkers could still be killed, and there were plenty of injuries that could get the job done. Once you stopped bleeding red and started bleeding purple ectoplasm, you were pretty much cooked.
I found my knife a few meters away and debated how best to pick it up without tearing the muscles healing in my back when I heard the boy scream. I grit my teeth and retrieved my knife before shuffling off in the direction I heard the scream come from.
It gets easier to walk after the first couple of steps, and by the time I cut left and deeper into the maze, I’m jogging. I slow down when I hear shuffling nearby, come to a stop, and ready my weapons. I’m not about to walk into another ass-whooping if I can help it. I swing around the corner, gun raised and knife ready, and stare as the boy barrels straight into me. His momentum knocks me back a step.
“Yajri!” He steamrolls past me. “Yajri! Yajri!!”
I don’t wait to see what the kid is running from. Heck, I don’t even need an interpreter to know what he’s saying. I start sprinting after him. My body still aches, but at least I’m not limping.
I catch up with the boy and drag him, punching and scratching, off to one side. Then I pin him with one arm against the side of a container until he settles down. Once I have his full attention, I point in the direction of the gates, keeping my gestures firm and unwavering.
“We’re going in that direction, you hear me?” I say. “We’re getting out of here if I have to drag you every inch of the way.”
“Yajri,” the boy gasps. “‘Iinah yati 'iilay. Yajib 'alayka alrakd.”
“No! I don’t want to hear it.” I loosen my grip but don’t let go and get up in the boy’s face. “Look, I’m scared as hell too. But we die if we stay here.”
The boy stares up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks, but I don’t budge; I can’t—we have to reach the gate and try for the parking lot. It’s our only shot.
I let the boy go, and set off in the direction of the gate. I am relieved to see the kid struggling to keep up beside me. When we finally clear the containers again, we are both gasping for breath. I push him ahead of me and keep my eyes peeled for any movements. He pauses just before we cross into the well-lit area separating the dark containers from the gate, but I nudge him forward.
As soon as we step into the light, I hear it. The Reaver screeches, it sounds almost ontop of us.
“'Iinahum yaerifuna,” the boy says almost dejectedly. “Laqad ja' li al-an.”
I don’t have time to figure out what the kid is saying; I push on until we reach the gate. A single, huge, rusting padlock hangs from a thick, looped chain that secures the gate firmly, but the lock splits apart when I shoot it. Then, with quick deft movements, I loosen the chain holding the gate and drag it wide enough for the kid to squeeze out.
I make the mistake of glancing back and spot the Reaver watching us from on top of a triple-stacked container. It was looking off in another direction, its head cocked to one side. Then it turned to screech at me once more before leaping onto the concrete and sprinting at me.
I open fire on it, and it runs zig-zag in a bid to escape my bullets. Smart bastard– But once my gun clicks empty, it stalks closer to me. I try to shove myself through the narrow gap of the gate but get stuck halfway. I wriggle frantically as the Reaver lopes closer, sensing an easy kill.
The boy grabs hold of my other hand and starts pulling hard, and I strain in his direction. I feel myself beginning to slip out, but not fast enough. The Reaver is almost on me; I can see its featureless face and soulless, malice-filled eyes.
Suddenly, loud and heavy gunfire erupts, shredding the night.
The Reaver staggered back a few steps, the impact of my bullets snapping its head so far back that, if it were anything other than a homicidal, freakish creature of the light, its neck would definitely have snapped. I shot it a couple more times just for the hell of it and, grabbing the kid, I backpedaled towards the gate.
“la, la yumkinuna almashy fi al'amakin almudiya!” the boy screamed, straining against my grip and pulling me in the opposite direction. What the heck!
The Reaver had recovered, and its usually dull yellow eyes now glowed like freshly molten lava. I had hoped to buy some time, at least enough for us to get away, but it looked like all shooting it in the face did was piss it off.
“Kid, cut it out!” I yelled, emptying the rest of my clip at the Reaver. “I swear to God, I’ll leave you right here!”
The Reaver casually raised one hand to shield its face from the hail of bullets, then took a quick step forward and lashed out at me. It was so fast—quicker than I expected. I released the kid and fell backward, narrowly avoiding having my face scratched off. Its claws were so sharp that they whistled as they cut through the air in front of my nose by a hair's breadth. I used my momentum to roll backward away from sure death and came up into a crouch, my knife already held in a defensive position, just like we were taught— it’s what saved me.
The Reaver’s claws were sliced off as my knife’s keen edge caught its hand mid-swipe, and it fell back with a howl of unearthly pain. It clutched its injured hand to its side and scrambled backward, yelling bloody murder. If I hadn’t had my knife up when I did, it would have slashed my throat to ribbons.
My grip on the kid loosened, and he wrested himself free, making a mad dash back into the maze we had only just emerged from.
“Kid!” I sprinted after him, casting one frenzied look over my shoulder to see the Reaver crawling over the side of a nearby container and disappearing from sight. Shit! If it had the high ground, that meant it was only a matter of time before it cornered us. I had to get the boy to safety as soon as possible.
Ahead of me, the boy rounded a pile of crates and vanished from sight. I cursed and increased my pace so I wouldn’t lose him, turning the corner when—
The Reaver dropped into my path. I was moving too fast to change course. I saw the blow coming too late and could only shield my head with my forearm before I was flung violently backward. I landed on my back and then tumbled several times before crashing into several empty drums fortuitously placed against the side of one of the containers.
I lay there among the pieces of destroyed plastic that had definitely saved me from rag-dolling against the container. My entire body was on fire while my ears rang. I found that I couldn’t focus on anything, and even though my brain was screaming at me to get up, I couldn’t seem to move. I blinked repeatedly, wondering if I was going blind from the blunt force trauma to my head or the sheer agony from my back. The Reaver screeched, and from its proximity, I knew it was coming for me. I had to move now!
I groaned and rolled over. Somewhere along the way, I must have lost my knife, leaving me with only the Uzi. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, which came away wet. The weak light was enough to illuminate the fact that the wet stuff was actually blood pouring from a cut on my forehead. That’s good — blood’s good; it shows my tether still works. Shades don’t bleed red.
I shook my head and staggered to my feet, my ears no longer ringing as badly. I blinked in confusion, realizing I was alone. Where was the kid? I hoped he had gotten away. Most importantly, where was the Reaver, and why hadn’t it finished me off?
The pain lessened a bit as the seconds passed, and soon I began moving around, searching for my knife. As long as the tether was active, and the damage was not too severe, I was still mission operational, which was pretty nifty considering the horrors we faced in the light.
I mean, walkers could still be killed, and there were plenty of injuries that could get the job done. Once you stopped bleeding red and started bleeding purple ectoplasm, you were pretty much cooked.
I found my knife a few meters away and debated how best to pick it up without tearing the muscles healing in my back when I heard the boy scream. I grit my teeth and retrieved my knife before shuffling off in the direction I heard the scream come from.
It gets easier to walk after the first couple of steps, and by the time I cut left and deeper into the maze, I’m jogging. I slow down when I hear shuffling nearby, come to a stop, and ready my weapons. I’m not about to walk into another ass-whooping if I can help it. I swing around the corner, gun raised and knife ready, and stare as the boy barrels straight into me. His momentum knocks me back a step.
“Yajri!” He steamrolls past me. “Yajri! Yajri!!”
I don’t wait to see what the kid is running from. Heck, I don’t even need an interpreter to know what he’s saying. I start sprinting after him. My body still aches, but at least I’m not limping.
I catch up with the boy and drag him, punching and scratching, off to one side. Then I pin him with one arm against the side of a container until he settles down. Once I have his full attention, I point in the direction of the gates, keeping my gestures firm and unwavering.
“We’re going in that direction, you hear me?” I say. “We’re getting out of here if I have to drag you every inch of the way.”
“Yajri,” the boy gasps. “‘Iinah yati 'iilay. Yajib 'alayka alrakd.”
“No! I don’t want to hear it.” I loosen my grip but don’t let go and get up in the boy’s face. “Look, I’m scared as hell too. But we die if we stay here.”
The boy stares up at me, tears streaming down his cheeks, but I don’t budge; I can’t—we have to reach the gate and try for the parking lot. It’s our only shot.
I let the boy go, and set off in the direction of the gate. I am relieved to see the kid struggling to keep up beside me. When we finally clear the containers again, we are both gasping for breath. I push him ahead of me and keep my eyes peeled for any movements. He pauses just before we cross into the well-lit area separating the dark containers from the gate, but I nudge him forward.
As soon as we step into the light, I hear it. The Reaver screeches, it sounds almost ontop of us.
“'Iinahum yaerifuna,” the boy says almost dejectedly. “Laqad ja' li al-an.”
I don’t have time to figure out what the kid is saying; I push on until we reach the gate. A single, huge, rusting padlock hangs from a thick, looped chain that secures the gate firmly, but the lock splits apart when I shoot it. Then, with quick deft movements, I loosen the chain holding the gate and drag it wide enough for the kid to squeeze out.
I make the mistake of glancing back and spot the Reaver watching us from on top of a triple-stacked container. It was looking off in another direction, its head cocked to one side. Then it turned to screech at me once more before leaping onto the concrete and sprinting at me.
I open fire on it, and it runs zig-zag in a bid to escape my bullets. Smart bastard– But once my gun clicks empty, it stalks closer to me. I try to shove myself through the narrow gap of the gate but get stuck halfway. I wriggle frantically as the Reaver lopes closer, sensing an easy kill.
The boy grabs hold of my other hand and starts pulling hard, and I strain in his direction. I feel myself beginning to slip out, but not fast enough. The Reaver is almost on me; I can see its featureless face and soulless, malice-filled eyes.
Suddenly, loud and heavy gunfire erupts, shredding the night.
