by Logan Fox
He grabbed her arms, jerking her fingers away. That smile was gone — a rictus snarl had replaced it, contorting his face. Pearl spat at him and slammed her knee into his balls.
Owen’s face went white. His grip slackened enough for her to rip her arms free. She balled her fist for a punch, drawing back her elbow.
A door shuddered. Light bloomed into the Earth. A yell tore through the air, turning Pearl’s head without her consent, freezing her arm.
“Pearl!”
The Earth’s doors stood wide open. Greg — a mere sliver of a silhouette — ran toward her.
Her mouth was still forming an O of surprise when Owen’s hands slid over her. He twisted her, groaning into her ear as he doubled over with her pressed hard against him.
“You little cunt,” he moaned in her ear. “I’m going to split you open and fuck your insides for that.”
Pearl’s knees gave out. That fear she’d been keeping stamped down — that something else had kept lidded — flooded her.
Greg came to a stop halfway down the aisle.
Owen’s hand found her hair, twisting it. Her scalp stung, pain flickering into her head as he wrenched her head back to press his lips to her ear. “And when I’m done, I’m going to—”
“Let her go!” Greg’s voice.
In the moment’s silence that followed, the click of a gun’s safety being drawn back was too loud, too mechanical. It seemed alien in this organic tract of human suffering, where hands and nails and teeth had been doing all the damage. And knives, of course. Don’t forget knives.
Pearl’s eyes flickered away.
Tanner and Caden were suppressing Seth against the back wall of the Earth. Despite the knife at his throat, Seth was doing a good job of resisting their attempt to keep him pressed to the concrete.
Greg’s footsteps whipped her head forward again. Owen groaned, and slowly straightened. She could feel his body spasming behind her, protesting movement so soon after the pain she’d inflicted on him.
“Who the fuck is this?” Owen muttered.
Seconds later, another figure broke through from the blinding light outside. Pearl’s heart flickered wildly.
Ethan? He was alive? She’d thought—
But then the man turned, glancing behind him as if wishing he’d chosen to stay outside.
A stranger to her. One of Greg’s friends? A cop? Who—
“Ah, you little bitch,” Owen said into her ear. “You fucked up everything. I knew you were trouble the day Will saw you.”
Owen’s hand slid around her throat. He began to squeeze her. Cool air washed over Pearl’s naked body, and she tried to suppress a violent shiver before it could make her teeth chatter. She squirmed and drove her elbow into Owen’s stomach.
The man didn’t seem to feel the blow. Or perhaps Pearl didn’t have the strength she needed to do any more damage. Maybe now it was all up to Greg and his gun.
Where the hell had he found a gun?
The man behind Greg wasn’t moving from the doorway. He lifted both hands to his face, covering his mouth and nose and letting out a long, low wail.
The shadows finally parted from Greg’s face as he stepped up to the last line of pews before the dais. His eyes were wide with concern, his face haggard and worn. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two — possibly hadn’t changed his clothes either, judging from the state those stained jeans and grubby t-shirt were in.
“Pearl,” Greg began, but a choking cough cut him off. His eyes brimmed, and he blinked furiously, his mouth trembling. “I came—” another strangled sound “—soon as I could.”
This was more a whisper than anything else. Pearl tried to nod, but Owen was slowly squeezing the life from her. She scrabbled her nails over his hands, trying to get a finger behind them, trying to pull them free.
“Guess I can’t kill you yet,” Owen mused. “Got to get out of here first.”
Seth made a noise like an angry dog, and Greg’s gun slid away from where he’d fixed it on her and Owen.
Pearl’s eyes flashed wide. Greg’s face contorted, hatred drawing his mouth into a twisted, trembling line.
She drew breath for a scream.
“Greg, no!” The cry reverberated in the Earth.
The gun cracked, Greg’s hand whipping up from the recoil. A roar filled the Earth, ringing in Pearl’s ears as Owen began to drag her to the side, fingers relenting just enough for her to replenish her lungs.
Pearl spun to look, already knowing what she’d see. A splatter of blood marred the perfect span of concrete. Beneath it lay Caden’s unmoving tangle of a body. Tanner’s mouth gaped, his entire body growing slack as his eyes slowly slid down.
Seth, The Chair, Rex — whoever the fuck inhabited that beast of a body — tugged his hands free from Tanner’s wrist.
Of course Greg would assume Tanner and Caden were on Owen’s side. They looked like him, moved like him. And Caden was probably the one who’d presented Greg with the menu — fuck, Captain, you should see the menu — the first time he’d arrived at the Fox Pit as her knight in shining armor.
The Chair drew back a hand. His fist slammed into Tanner’s head. There was another crack — not as loud as the gun had been — as the man’s head snapped back. He struck the floor with a thud as The Chair turned to face Greg.
Pearl let out a sob. “Greg, he’s not—”
But then Owen’s hand slammed over her mouth. She screamed behind those bloodied fingers, finally drawing Greg’s gaze.
The man blinked muzzily at her, gun dipping. “Pearl?”
He sounded so confused. She screamed at him, wrestling furiously against Owen as the man dragged her along the wall and held her up between him and Greg.
“Keep that gun pointed somewhere else, or—” Owen pitched his voice high “—‘Greg, no’ is the last thing you’ll ever hear your fuck-buddy say.”
Greg was so fixated on her, on Owen dragging her away, that he didn’t see The Chair loom up behind him. Pearl shrieked at him, jumping and squirming against Owen in an effort to make Greg look away, to turn around, to fucking notice the fist—
The Chair gave Greg an almost absent club to the back of the head. Greg’s face contorted in pain, gun clattering to the floor as he stumbled forward.
Pearl bit down on Owen’s hand. Flesh and bone crunched between her teeth. For the second time that day, Owen’s blood filled her mouth.
The man yanked away his hand with a hiss. She ducked her head forward and then swung it back as hard as she could. Pain spiked through her as she caught Owen’s chin with the back of her head, but she was rewarded with a strangled scream.
Her skin, already slick with sweat and blood and that stinking paint, made it easy to wriggle free from Owen’s faltering grip.
Pearl dove forward. Her fingers slid around the cold steel of the candle stand. Something burned white-hot in her shoulder as she wrenched the heavy thing up and around.
It met the side of Owen’s head with a wet crack.
His eyes bulged. Blood and spittle flew from his mouth.
He twirled to the side on loose legs and draped over the steps leading up to the dais like a broken plaything.
The stand flew from Pearl’s hands, spinning through the air, catching one of the hooded figures sitting on the pew on the shoulder. Luckily, whoever sat beside them had ducked in time — that heavy metal drifted through empty air instead of caving in their head.
Pearl stumbled over her own legs, trying to force them forward. And then, seeing what lay ahead, tried to force them to wheel back.
The Chair stormed toward her, moving with the speed and determination of an avalanche.
She managed a terrified squeal in the back of her throat. Slipping, she scrambled up and over Owen’s unmoving body to get away from the abomination hurtling toward her. It followed her, never running, never changing pace as it stalked her through the blood pooling out from the middle of the dais. As she slipped and fell in her attempts to shimmy around the a
ltar.
It caught her by the arm. She shook it off.
“No, n-no!” Her voice was as hoarse as it was ragged. She let out a blustering cry of fear and frustration as her feet slid out from under her, depositing her with a crack on her knees. Still she scrambled, breath panting through her throat. Fingers brushed her back.
And then Greg’s face filled her view.
Eyes closed.
Mouth slack.
She stopped moving. Her body jarred to a halt, palms sliding out before she could tighten her muscles. So much blood on the floor. It was already seeping into Greg’s clothes.
Not his blood: Jarred’s, Tanner’s, Caden’s. Hers, possibly.
Hands encircled her waist. Drew her up. Someone sobbed once, hard. Her?
The man twisted her around to face him. Those black eyes stared down at her, unfocused.
Pearl blinked away a tear, pressing her lips together. They still trembled, but after a second she could force out a word.
“Seth?”
The man shook his head, his gaze slowly focusing on her face. Those hands gripping her so tight, relaxed. She stepped back, her foot thudding into Greg’s body. Stifling a whimper, Pearl wrapped her arms around herself.
“Who… are y-you?” Pearl managed, her voice mangled.
Far behind her, she heard footsteps. The stranger?
She wanted to collapse in on herself. Instead, she slumped to the floor. Greg’s body was still warm. She squirmed against it. The man standing over her shook his head. He cleared his throat, lifting a hand and touching fingertips to the side of his head.
“Ch-Charlie,” he whispered. A southern accent thrilled through his voice. “I can’t…” He spun around, eyes widening at the blood, the bodies, the audience. He shook his head, mouth opening wide. “Ma name’s Char-l-l-lie.”
He swallowed visibly, hands clenching into fists at his side.
“What’s gone and-and-and happened ‘ere?”
Pearl’s head sagged until her chin rested on her chest. She let out a long, shuddering sob. Her eyes opened, fixing on the gun less than a foot away from Greg’s outstretched hand. He’d tried going for it, hadn’t he? In his last, desperate attempt to save her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing out the last of her tears.
The metal was cold under her fingertips.
She was done crying, but Charlie had just begun.
It wrenched at her, the sight of a grown man — especially one as sturdy as Seth — wracked with desperate, confused, horrified sobs as he stared around the red room.
No more.
It would end, now.
Pearl lifted the gun, hand surprisingly steady.
Charlie turned to her as if sensing a change in the air.
“Goodbye, Charlie,” Pearl whispered.
She squeezed the trigger. The gun jerked in her hand like a living thing. She gasped, letting it sink down a few inches. Charlie blinked at her, slowly lifting a hand to his chest. He let out another sob as he covered that hole. Red oozed out between his fingers. He scrabbled against the altar, swooning against it as his legs gave out.
One down. How many to go?
Seven different people, all squashed into one…
Okay, Gia. Seven then.
The gun lifted again.
Crack.
Crack.
She had to move the gun now, following them as they slid toward the ground. Her hand thrummed in pain, vibrations coursing up her arm with every shot.
Crack.
Crack.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The gun toppled from her hand, hitting the floor the same time their body finally came to a rest.
Pearl leaned back, her fingers skidding through blood to find Greg’s hand. She slid it into her lap, sniffing back a sob as she squeezed hard at him.
A second later, those fingers squeezed back.
15
Twenty-Seven of Them
The stranger, it turned out, was Adam. Pearl knew this because a few moments — perhaps a few hours — after Charlie had slumped to the floor beside the altar, the man had hurried up the dais and tried to get her to talk to him.
“Here,” he said, approaching Pearl hesitantly in a low sidle, holding out one of those fur-lined robes for her. “You must be freezing. Put it on.”
Light brown hair, freckles. Brown eyes. Pearl saw this from her periphery — she wasn’t about to take her eyes off Greg’s pale face. His eyelids moved as if, behind them, his eyes were flickering through some nightmarish dream he couldn’t escape.
She knew how that felt, which was why she wouldn’t let go of his hand.
A second pair of footsteps followed Adam.
A familiar voice, softer, feminine. “Adam, you said?”
The man murmured behind her. Soft fur draped over Pearl’s thigh as he put down the robe.
“Do you know CPR?” Tina asked.
Pearl could see them move at the edge of her vision. Tina led the man away from her, them crouching by the heap of bodies a few feet away.
“Fuck,” Tina murmured, her voice leaden. “He’s gone.”
A shuffle of feet, the pair crouching beside another pile of unmoving flesh.
“Okay, I have a pulse. Let me—”
The body shifted as Tina tried to push it over.
“Ah, Jesus fuck. He’s lost a lot of blood.”
She moved to the last body. Air hissed through her teeth as she inspected him.
“Shit, no pulse. Okay, Adam? Adam!”
The man’s head snapped up as if he had been staring hard at the body by their feet.
“I need you to focus, okay? CPR. Don’t stop until the ambulance arrives. Got it?”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Adam, I need to hear—”
“Got it!” The man’s voice was hoarse. “CPR.” He cleared his throat. “Got it.”
“Good.” Tina got to her feet. “Morgan? Morgan!”
Pearl dipped her head down, resting her cheek on Greg’s chest. She could feel the faint thump of his heart beneath that wall of cool flesh. Again, she squeezed his hand, but this time he didn’t squeeze back.
“Morgan, when you’re done cutting everyone free, I need you to take them up top. Do you know the way out of the maze?”
“Y-yeah,” Morgan’s voice shook, but at least it wasn’t a whisper.
“Good. Take them to the entrance. No one leaves before we get a statement, okay? The squad’s going to be there in a few ticks. Tell them the scene is secure, and to bring stretchers. Five bodies, three casualties. You got that?”
The girl let out a heavy, hitching sigh. “Yeah…”
“Repeat it, Morgan.”
“G-go up top. Take everyone out. No one leaves. Bring the cops. St-stretchers. Five b-bodies, three casual… casual—”
“Good. You’re doing so good.” Tina sounded so different now. Gone was the dominatrix that had forced Pearl down on Tanner until she’d gagged. A brisk, authoritative woman had replaced that girl.
Then air moved around Pearl.
She’d closed her eyes. It helped to feel Greg’s heart, cutting off all that unnecessary external stimuli: the bodies, the blood, the smell of copper in the air.
The smell, she couldn’t do anything about.
But the sight of those discarded husks of flesh? That she could.
“Pearl, honey, can you hear me?”
Pearl gave a small nod. Her ear shifted over Greg’s chest, and for a moment she lost that thump-thump of his heart. She brought her hands up, one still trapping his fingers, and laid them over his chest.
“Good. I need you to put this on, okay?”
Fur caressed her skin. Pearl shuddered violently, but didn’t resist when Tina took her wrist and maneuvered her into the warm garment. She did fight when Tina tried to lift her up, away from Greg. So the woman relented, instead stroking the side of Pearl’s head.
“Can you
look at me, Pearl?”
Pearl didn’t want to, but she knew the woman would keep pestering her. Tina had to make sure she was okay. Had to make sure her little rabbit wasn’t going to run away.
Tina smiled at her when her eyes fluttered open. Unbidden, they slid to the side, drawn by the frantic movement of Adam applying CPR to—
Cool finger touched her chin, forcing her to look away. Tina pointed at her own wide, brown eyes, and gave Pearl another small smile.
“Up here, honey. Just look at me for now, okay?”
Pearl managed a nod.
“The ambulance is coming.” Tina reached down, fingers headed for Greg’s chest. Pearl slapped away that hand, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, she had an almost overwhelming urge to hiss at the woman.
Tina quickly lifted her hand, palm out, and gave Pearl another slow smile. “He’s going to be fine, honey. I need to know if you’re okay, though. Can you say something? Can you tell me you’re okay?”
Pearl swallowed. Her lips parted with difficulty — gummy blood had sealed them again.
“’M‘kay,” she whispered.
“Good.” The relief in Tina’s voice was palpable. “I need to ask you something very important, okay?”
Pearl dipped her chin, gripping Greg’s hand even tighter.
Tina licked her lips. “Do you know where Ethan is?”
Rex’s fingers sliding into Ethan’s hair. Dragging him out through the torn-open window of the Bentley. Pounding a fist into his face until Ethan no longer gurgled in protest. A thud as Ethan’s body slammed onto the hood of the car.
Pearl turned away, eyes squeezing shut as a sob tore through her. Tina’s hand found her shoulder, gripping her hard.
“I’m sorry, honey. I know it hurts. But I have to find him. If there’s a chance… if he’s still…” Tina’s voice was unsteady now, the force with which she tried to keep it even coming through as a tremor.
“Gate,” Pearl whispered. Her lips twisted, but she drew a sharp breath and made them part, made her tongue move. “Fox gate. He’s not—”
