Chương 33: Chapter 32: Failure

The apartment complex was only a few blocks away. Micheal hurried through the front door and sprinted up the stairwell. Marco was barely catching up to him, and was a heaving, breathing mess by the time they reached the top floor.

"Why are we here? What's going on, Micheal?" Micheal didn't answer and banged on Eliza's apartment door.

"Eliza! Are you there?!" But there was no answer. He pressed his ear against the wood and heard the faint sounds of gnawing and grating from the other side. He heaved and stepped back.

"No. No. No." He kicked the door down, nearly ripping it off its hinges. He barged inside, and the rancid stench of rotting flesh and blood immediately hit him. Amidst the darkness, he saw someone hunched over the bed, their back facing toward him. Their head twisted and thrashed back and forth, pale malformed hands tearing at the flesh of another person beneath it. Oh God. Why? Why? Why am I right? Micheal raised his revolver, the gun trembling in his hand. He knew what it was; he knew who it was.

The thing twisted its head like an owl, staring back with Eliza's face—blood-red eyes gazing into his own. Her features twisted into a wicked snarl, letting chunks of meat dribble down her blood-drenched mouth. Deep purple veins pulsated over her skin, and large black lumps squirmed against the walls of her throat. She screeched and darted to the ground on all fours like a rabid animal. Micheal's fingers squeezed the revolver's trigger but froze halfway. I can't… I have to save her. I have to try.

He stepped to the right and fell backward, letting her pin him to the ground. She snarled and clawed down his chest, leaving a trail of gashes and blood over his white shirt. Micheal grabbed her by the head with both hands and poured in every gallon of his spirituality, reigniting the dead nerves within her brain to make her remember. Eliza's shrieks quickly transformed into yells, then into softening whimpers. Her rabid expression loosened, and her arms fell limp over his chest. Come back! Come back!

Please come back! You know me! For a split second, a faint light shimmered within the girl's eyes. Her lips quivered and parted halfway, as if she was about to say something.

"Eliza…" Micheal heaved in relief. But then she snarled, splattering blood and black goo all over his face. Her face twisted into unrecognizable wickedness; her eyes rolled back into her skull, and her jaw cracked, opening up so wide it could swallow a small child's head whole. Micheal kicked her off him, and he scampered to the side and stood up, pushing his back against the wall. Eliza rose to her feet, her joints snapping and swelling as her upper half contorted like a puppet dangling from a set of strings.

Micheal pulled out his gun and blasted both of her knees. I'm sorry. Just stay down. Stay down. Eliza screeched and crashed into the ground on her back, her hands clawing against the floorboards. Micheal dashed over and knelt over her right arm, his left hand struggling to restrain her other arm.

"Marco! Help me!" Micheal yelled. Marco went over and pinned down Eliza's left hand with the entirety of his weight. Micheal dropped his gun to the ground and clutched Eliza's head with both palms. He poured in his spirituality, connecting to the dead nerves and neurons within her head.

"Please! Eliza! Come back to me! I know you're still there!" Micheal gritted his teeth, using every gallon of spirituality he had left. Eliza's head cocked backward, slamming into the floor with a loud thud. The clumps on her throat bulged outward, and a low, inhuman wheezing left her gaping maw. She was laughing.

"No…" Micheal's grip faltered as realization began to set in. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. It's laughing at me. It's mocking me. I… I can't reach her anymore. Micheal looked at her face one last time. The longer he stared, the less and less it looked like her. To the point where it was twisted beyond his recognition, like a nightmare come to life. She's not here. I… have to end this.

Micheal gulped and grabbed his revolver from the ground.

"What are you doing?!" Marco's eyes widened. Micheal pressed the barrel against the thing's forehead. He shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger. A loud bang echoed in his ears, followed by a stark silence. He felt its limbs and body fall limp beneath him. When he opened his eyes, he saw its face again, with a massive hole peering through the top of its head. Micheal stood up and threw his fist at the wall, drawing a trail of blood.

"Fuck! Fuck! It didn't work! It never fucking works!" He looked at the revolver in his hands, and he slowly began to tilt it toward himself.

"Mi… Micheal." Marco whimpered. Micheal turned around and saw the boy looking at him with frightened eyes. He lowered his gun and took a deep breath.

"Are you… are you unharmed, boy?" I need to calm down. I don't want to do anything stupid. Marco nodded and pointed at the front door. Micheal furrowed his brows and stepped toward the hall, coming face to face with a balding, middle-aged man who looked as if he had just seen a ghost.

"C… call the Inquisition. Tell them someone succumbed here," Micheal said. The middle-aged man took a step back, his mouth opening agape in both terror and confusion.

"Now! Call the Inquisition now, you daft bastard!" Micheal yelled. The middle-aged man sprinted down the hallway, vanishing into the stairwell below. Micheal was about to turn back around, but he stopped himself. Instead, he looked down at the ground and said, "Check on Maria, boy. Is she still alive?"

"N… no… I don't think she is," Marco said. They're dead. If I just… if I had just visited earlier… I could have done something. Why didn't I realize back then? Those were all symptoms of a succumbing… fuck. They're dead because of me. Micheal holstered his revolver.

"Let's go, Marco." He murmured and went into the hallway, then back down the long stairwell. Half a dozen men were looking up at him from the ground floor, filthy fucking gawkers they were. As he and Marco went down, they stepped away and gave a wide berth. The cold afternoon wind howled against his face as he stepped out onto the front porch. He felt his legs turn to jelly, and he found himself sitting down on the last step.

"Shouldn't we be going, Micheal?" Marco tugged on his arm.

"You should go, boy. I'll have to talk with the Inquisition." Micheal swatted his hand away. Marco hopped over to the sidewalk and looked up at him with a worried expression.

"Come on, Micheal. Let's go." Micheal shook his head.

"Go, boy. They're about to come any moment now. I'll be right back with you." Marco gazed down the road, biting his lower lip.

"You better damn be." He sprinted across the street, disappearing into one of the nearby alleys. That kid… he's the only thing I have. I need to protect him more. The ground lightly trembled, and he looked back at the other block. Four massive undead stallions emerged from the light fog, pulling a large black carriage. The middle-aged man was hanging by the door, and he pointed right at Micheal and yelled something indecipherable. The carriage stopped in front of him, and the middle-aged man jumped to the ground.

The doors swung open, and four Inquisitors brandishing rifles climbed out at the same time. One of them had a bright silver mask, while the other three wore copper.

"They're already dead." Micheal looked up at them and said. The copper-masked Inquisitors pointed their rifles, but the silver-masked one opened his palm and gestured for them to stop.

"Are you certain, Citizen?" the silver-masked Inquisitor said.

"I shot her in the head." Micheal gazed through the two small holes in the Inquisitor's mask, locking onto the pair of faint green eyes beneath.

"How many bodies?" The Inquisitor replied, his tone unchanging, his eyes unblinking. Micheal looked down and quickly shook his head.

"Two. Two bodies." The silver-masked Inquisitor turned to the others.

"Get the body bags! Two of them! We need those corpses out of there now!" One of the Inquisitors opened up the back of the carriage, grabbing a pair of large black body bags and slinging them over his shoulder. The other two followed after him, and they went past Micheal without even glancing at him and delved into the apartment complex.

"And you." The silver-masked Inquisitor turned back toward Micheal.

"You need to come with me."

"Am I under arrest?"

"If what you said is true, then no. It is simply protocol, and we can treat your wound at the station." Micheal looked back at the apartment door.

"What are you going to do with their bodies?"

"We will burn them," the Inquisitor said. They have to burn them. Corruption festers in the succumbed. If they leave them like that… something else is going to come back… and it won't be her.

"I see…" Micheal rose to his feet.