He Was Dying

Chapter Twenty-Three

  Brock seemed to have a well-known layout of the sewer system so we followed him through the tunnels. The dull sounds of our footsteps on the wet stone ground were the main noises echoing as we walked through, accompanied by the occasional conversation and crack of a joke. I lagged behind, staying at the back of the group with Bryce to be a lookout and make sure we weren't being followed.

  "What made you settle your mind?" Bryce spoke up after awhile.

  "You all," I said after a while.

  "Us?"

  "You guys have done so much for me and have been more loyal and kind than any of the Others. You actually have respect for me, and I thank you for that."

He rested his head on my arm, holding my hand once again. "You're welcome, Omega."

 "I figured I will try and see if escaping through the hatch proves to be successful. If not, I ask you and everyone to leave without me. I'm willing to protect you all by staying behind and fighting off the Others."

  Bryce sighed and pressed his face into my sweater. "Let's hope it won't come to that."

Brock stopped at an intersection, glancing down the two seperate hallways. 

"Everything alright, Brock?" Luke spoke up, causing him to glance our way. He said nothing, chewing on his nails nervously. The crack in his sunglasses lens reflected the light of the red bulbs awkwardly, making his eyes barely visible past them.

"Brock?" Evan asked, stepping forward.

 "Guys, s-something's wrong.." Brock muttered. 

"What is it?"

   He shook his head slowly. Brock took a few steps back, then darted down the tunnel quickly-- faster than I've seen him run. I dropped to all fours, my paws getting soaked in the dirty water, and ran after him. Bryce called after me as I sped by, and I heard footsteps pounding against the concrete and water behind me.

Shouting echoed through the narrow tunnels ahead of me, and I chased after them. Brock was in trouble, I felt it in my bones that I needed to help him. 

I skid to a stop, nearly tripping and falling over my own feet, when I spotted something. There were scraps throughout this sewer, wooden signs and banisters, with brightly coloured orange and white paint chipping. On one of these banisters, I picked a colourful tank top from it. Nearby were half-broken sunglasses. Looking up from the shirt, I stared down the tunnel. I stuffed the tank top and the glasses into the pocket of my hoodie and continued my sprint after Brock.

A growl echoed through the system. It sounded familiar-- the tone it carried, the way the noise boomed. I let out a chirp. A signal that I used to communicate with the Others that was a simple version of our language. The growl responded, in the simplified way of saying "Over here!"

  As I ran, zipping through the stone and metal maze, I kept chirping, and the growls kept replying, getting louder, getting more inhuman each time they called out. The footsteps of sneakers that had been following me have been long forgotten, lost somewhere in the sewer system far back. 

"Brock!" I shouted between chirps.

A roar.