(FREE TO READ) Bad Moon

chapter 50; invincible

Jaylin was wasted, burned of all his energy. The small portions of meats that Gunner brought him weren't enough. He was hungry in a way that felt like so much more than hunger—like something worse than death. An unstoppable gnawing that curled his insides, wasted away his resources.

He couldn't give up now, though. He was almost there. He could see some kind of light in an intersecting path just ahead. Take a right. All he had to do was take a right. Then it was straight up to freedom.

He had to lay on his side and inch through the ninety-degree bend, and the longer Jaylin was trapped in these vents, the more he felt the sweat saturating his clothes, slicking his palms, and the hungrier he became, the most he pined for the taste of air. Fresh air. Real air.

Standing up once he'd reached the vertical vent was the hardest part. He had no footing—his feet, up to the ankle felt so raw, phantom—like they weren't really there at all. Maybe they were numb from the struggle or maybe it was the curse growing, killing off his nerves.

Surprisingly though, it was easy to climb the tiny space once he'd started—only a matter of foot position and leg strength. Even if he couldn't feel a damn thing, his arms still worked and his claws were sufficient grappling hooks. He held the walls with his sweaty palms, claws punching into the metal, feet pushing, back sliding inches up the ducts. Still, heat itched at his back, sweat tickled his temples. His hunger panged.

Reaching the arc of the vent's exit, he could catch the nearly-full moon grazing along the treetops. He'd never seen a moon so red and menacing. A breeze licked his face and suddenly Jaylin remembered what he wanted so badly. Fresh air.

He rammed against the metal with his shoulder, again and again, and the grates gave out with a bang. They toppled over and rattled the rooftop, shrill like thunder. Too loud. Jaylin cringed and kept to the cover of the vent. But as he listened for a reaction, all he could hear was the rumble of engines—the trembling gate as it rolled open and the warble of wind in his ear. No one heard him, they couldn't have under all the raucous. He pulled himself through the exit, inched along the flat rooftop, hidden behind the ledge raising.

The cold air blessed his skin, the taste of mist on his tongue. He looked to the moon and he laughed, laughed in liberation. He'd done it. Holy shit, he'd done it. He was almost there. He was almost home.

Jaylin looked across the courtyard, to the building west of him. This was the way to freedom. But his peripherals caught a turbulence in the people down below. Men were joining into vehicles, white-coats clustered at the gate, the squalor of combative walkie-talkies ricocheted from each corner of the grounds. The voices echoed from so many places at once, it was driving him mad.

He let himself rest there, flat on his back while he watched the stars whorl above. Once the air cycled through him, once the poison of that place was gone, he'd have the energy to keep going. He just needed to rest for a moment. Just a moment.

The stars were so open—so deep and dense and expansive. Wherever he was, it had to be a good distance from the city. They were the first welcoming thing he'd seen in days.

God. How his life had changed since the night in the cemetery. Tyler was the bane of him before.

He raised his arm, his claws long, ghastly and sharp as they cut black and wicked through the moonlight.

This was his bane now. The pain, the overpowering. The fear of what it was to do to him. Tyler seemed so small beneath it all, never so much as a passing thought. Four years a haunting, finally vanquished. Even if he were to die here, on this rooftop, Jaylin would go in peace knowing that.