Chaos

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter 35

Colorado, Shifters’ Den

Chaos

I woke up to the smell of melted metal, singed hair and burnt skin. Moans, screams and groans all filled the air. Some calling for help, others yelling for loved ones, but most of the screams were screams of agony.

I blinked my eyes, trying to clear my vision of its haziness. After a few blinks, I came to the conclusion that my eyes were fine except for a couple of black spots and the air was tainted, filled with smoke. I tried to raise myself up to my elbows, but found the most excruciating pain ever. The black spots grew lager, trying to take over my vision. I twisted my head to the side and vomited.

That’s when I noticed the carnage around me. Bodies, all shapes and sizes, littered the ground. No eon was alive, their lifeless eyes just staring out into the distance. I forced my head up to face the sky. Tears, of pain? Grief? poured down my face.

I took a focusing breath and concentrated on my body. My left hand was crushed, severely broken in several places. My knee was dislocated and my upper right thing’s skin was torn, showing muscle and bone. My face only had a few scratches on my forehead. But my stomach took the brunt of the impact. A long cylinder impaled me to the ground. My fingers slowly traveled down to the cylinder, delaying the inevitable. I had to feel if my intestines were shredded.

I closed my eyes and my lips moved noiselessly in prayer. My fingers came in contact with a warm, slimy liquid. I spread my fingers into the pool and then dragged my hand to my nose. I sniffed my fingers, smelling nothing but the bitter tang of blood. My breath rushed past my lips in joy. I didn’t smell perforated bowls.

Now for the hard part, removing the cylinder. I gripped the cylinder and yanked as hard as I could. The cylinder moved a fraction of an inch before my hand slipped off, all the while my yell of agony ricocheted into the air. Taking several gulps of air, I rebuilt my courage. My hand grabbed the object once more and on a surge of adrenaline, I pulled the cylinder out of my stomach with a sickly sticky pop.

The black dots won the fight with my vision this time. Taking my poor and abused mind into its safe embrace.

“Chaos!”

“SAMANTHA!”

“Sammie?! Where are you?”

Shit. My eyes fluttered open, sending me into a full state of awareness. I groaned out in pain. Ouch, was the understatement of the year. More shouts in the distance, voices calling my name. I needed to get out of here before the Alphas found me. They believed I was the traitor, the one behind the bombs. I closed my eyes as anger burned through my blood, giving me the strength to raise myself to my elbows; my stomach had a gaping wound in it. I needed to staunch the blood flow.

I said sorry to the dead shifter as I stripped him of his shirt. I ripped a long piece off and balled up the rest of the shirt. I lifted myself up and shoved the shirt under me. I looked around for more cloth. I pulled another shifter closer to me. I stripped him of his shirt and apologized to him, closing his eyelids. I ripped another long piece of cloth. I balled this shirt up and pressed it to the front of my stomach. Taking the two long pieces and tying them together, I wrapped it tightly around my stomach.

“Chaos!” a voice shouted in the distance.

Thinking about the betrayal of the Alphas, I found the strength to crawl pass the dead bodies of the shifters. I crawled past the gnarled, twisted gate of the Den’s entrance. I crawled past tree after tree, until I lost feeling in my ruined hand, mangled leg and destroyed stomach. I dragged my body to the cover of a tree, propping my body in a somewhat sitting position. The black dots returned with a vengeance, rapidly eating my vision. I pressed my hand in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. The blackness was calling my name and I was so tired. So tired and the blackness kept calling me. I was just so tired. And the blackness’ fingers crept out and scooped me up gently. My lips formed words, but I didn’t know if my voice was strong enough to vocalize my apology.

“Sorry, Berto.”

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