Gavin looked back at her. “Oh, so now you’re keen to share?”
“No. I just wanted to give you fair warning: I’m going to kill you. And I’m am going to enjoy it.”
Gavin smiled, turning to the thugs. “Have fun boys.”
19
Sparks didn’t know where he was going. The only thing he really knew was that he was wet, cold, and hungry. Also, he hurt. Everywhere.
Shirtless, he had nothing to protect himself from the rain, so he stuck to what little shelter there was under the occasional balcony that hadn’t collapsed. The flashes of lightning he had watched with awe only an hour before were now just reminders of the freezing storm.
Every street looked exactly the same. How did people ever find their way around Legacy? Sparks climbed over the rubble of another fallen building, identical to the one he had just crossed a block before. He could be walking in circles and he wouldn’t even know.
Most unnerving of all was the emptiness.
He kept looking over his shoulder, expecting to find someone there. When was the last time he had been properly alone? He couldn’t remember. Over the past three months, he had followed Caleb everywhere, even sleeping in that same, cramped room. Before that, he was either in the Haven’s cells, with the other fighters, or in the fighting pit. It felt so wrong to have nobody around.
His stomach rumbled. The thought of food made his mouth water. Where the hell was he meant to get food? He didn’t have any money, or know where to find a pub — the Mutt’s Tail was on the other side of the city, or he thought it was, at least.
He reached into Caleb’s satchel and pulled out one of the two activation needles. His needles.
I don’t need to buy food. I’m a rogue. I can take what I want.
He stuck the needle into his chest and pushed down the plunger. Warmth flooded him. That was one problem solved, at least. His second heart beat a slow, relaxed pulse. It felt strange for it to be so calm. This was the first time he had been activated without having the additional adrenaline rush of a fight.
He chose a house that looked in the best condition — a two-storied place, rainwater overflowing from its roof — and kicked open the door. As soon as he stepped inside his foot sunk two feet into mushy dirt. Whatever flooring there had once been had rotted years ago. The place smelt of mold, but at least it was relatively dry. One by one, he checked the rooms on the bottom story. All empty. He didn’t trust the upper floor.
The next house was also abandoned. And the next three after that. Sparks’ stomach was beginning to ache almost as much as the rest of him when he noticed that a towering building down the road had steel bolts barring its door. Locks meant people, and people meant food.
Two thick padlocks held the bolts in place. Sparks grabbed the first bolt with both hands and pulled. The bar slowly bent, then broke off from the door. The next one tore the entire door with it.
Inside, the walls were peeling and cracked, but at least the floor was solid. He searched the first floor, finding nothing except for a pair of rats — bigger than dogs, their tails stretched at least four feet — in a back room. They scurried away from him, squealing. He thought about killing one for food, but decided he wasn’t that hungry. Yet.
Climbing the first set of stairs, he was overwhelmed with the stench of shit. He gagged, not daring to breathe. He heard the buzzing of flies — a whole swarm of them judging by the sound — and decided to skip that floor, as well as the next three. Anyone who lived near that smell deserved to be left alone.
On the fifth floor, he heard a deep, rumbling grunt, coming from further down the hallway. Stomach rumbling and mouth-watering, Sparks followed the noise to a large room where three men slept, huddled together. They didn’t have a blanket, and wore little more than rags. Sparks stepped past them. In the corner was a pile of bricks forming an absurdly tall table. It was high enough that Sparks had to stand on tiptoes to see what was on it. He wondered why, then remembered the rats downstairs. They looked big enough to climb anything shorter than this.
On top he found a half-eaten loaf of dark bread. Sparks eagerly grabbed it, shoving a hunk into his mouth. It was stale — nearly as hard as the bricks it rested on — but he quickly ate it anyway.
A rustling came from behind him.
He turned to find one of the men squinting at him, one hand raised to shield his eyes from Sparks’ light. He had a wild tangle of grey hair, and his skin was covered in burns. “What’s going on?” he mumbled, voice slurred. His eyes opened a little wider. Then he screamed.
“Calm down, you old geezer.” Sparks had to shout to be heard. “You got any more food?”
Still screaming, the man stood and ran out of the room. His two buddies woke up and scrambled to their feet. One look at Sparks and they both began to flee as well.
“Oh for fucks sake…” Sparks jumped forward and grabbed one of them by the shoulder, hurling him back into the room. The man flew into the wall, face first. Blood poured from his nose.
Whoops. Sparks hadn’t intended to use that much force. “I only want food,” he said, raising his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. “Do you have any more hidden somewhere?”
The man stared at him, eyes wide with terror. He had a pointy face that made Sparks wonder if he was related to the rodents downstairs. He tried to run past Sparks, arms flailing madly. Sparks grabbed him by the scruff of his shirt and pinned him against the wall.
“Calm down!”
“Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.” The man clenched his eyes shut, spittle spraying from his lips as he repeated those three words over and over.
“Why would I kill you?” Sparks gave him a violent shake, irritated. “Just look at yourself, you’re not worth fighting.”
“Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.”
“I just want food.”
“Don’t kill me. Oh, please, don’t kill me.”
Sparks’ chest began to pound, fast, hard. He shoved a hand over the man’s mouth, ending his whimpering. “I’m not going to kill you!” he shouted. “Get that through your thick skull, alright?” He pulled his hand away.
“Don’t kill me. Don’t kill me.” The man’s eyes opened, staring at Sparks, terrified.
The same way that Roman looked at him.
“Don’t look at me like that! I’m not a fucking monster!” And suddenly it wasn’t a strange man standing in front of him, it was Roman. Sparks pulled the whining bastard forward, then slammed him back into the wall. The man shrieked and the wall fractured, chunks of plaster falling away. Sparks punched him, right in his hideous, pointed face. “I just want food!”
The man went limp, blood gushing out of his nose. Sparks let him fall to the ground, then kicked him in the gut. Anger burned within in, alive in the thrashing of his second heart. He pulled his leg back for another kick—
Then he realized the man wasn’t breathing.
Sparks’ own breath caught in his throat.
No… I didn’t mean to… Sparks’ stomach threatened to hurl the bread he had just eaten. The taste of blood filled his mouth — he had bitten his own tongue.
Crouching down, he laid a finger against the man’s neck. No pulse.
Sparks’ legs collapsed under him. His brain denied the impossibility of what just happened. He had killed before, for sure, but that had been in fair fights. But this? He shivered, suddenly cold again.
Roman’s words, yelled at Sparks in the Mutt’s Tail, sounded in his head. Do you know how many innocent people in this city have been killed by Adrenalites like you?