Chapter Text
Prologue
“Look what you made me do, Mary.”
There was blood on Nathan’s shoes.
It belonged to one of the men Nathaniel’s mother often whispered to.
“Do you see, Nathaniel? This is what happens when people stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Nathaniel kept his gaze on the floor. It was easy to believe his father; if his mother’s words were true, the world might crack beneath his feet.
Nathan crouched beside her crumbled form, whispering. “Be thankful it’s me. They’d do much worse.”
There was a pause of consideration.
Then Nathan stood. “Get him out.”
Heavy hands forced Nathaniel to move. He trembled as they grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and threw him out of the bedroom’s doors. Mary caught his eyes before they shut.
Nathaniel was angry at her until he heard the gunshot.
Then, the anger transformed into rage and turned its oxen eyes on Nathan, who was nothing but red.
Chapter One - The Tower
Five Years Later
At the first sound of the alarms, Nathaniel looked across the classroom to Minyard. The blond’s eyes widened at the sudden blaring and then blinked to meet his gaze.
Around them, their classmates fell into panic. Some shot up from their desks, scrambling to run from the room. Others sat frozen in their seats. Nathaniel remained in his chair, his ankle on his knee, and waited for the chaos to dilute. Minyard simply pulled a matchbook from his pocket and struck a flame, holding it to the tobacco he'd placed between his lips. Their professor, caught up in maintaining order, did not acknowledge it. In the face of The Eruption, all that mattered was staying alive.
A hundred years ago, the first eruption brought millions of hellspawn that killed over two-thirds of the population. Only the elite and clever survived. They formed districts around the eruption sites, said to be giant craters that burrowed miles into the ground. Military research bases guarded the sites, but their findings were rarely made public. Instead, civilians were forced to live a life of labor, supporting their district and surviving solely on myths. As eruptions continued, once every five years, the only thing they knew to be sure was a life of fear.
Cannon fire sounded from outside. The mounted turrets along the school’s walls shot distant, thunderous booms, one right after the next. The noise stilled everyone in the room, the increasing consistency of the fire a countdown of the time they had left. Nathaniel wasn’t one for loud noises. He took a deep, steadying breath, caught trails of Minyard’s smoky exhale, and let it go.
Their professor continued to go over the protocol that the dozen students would likely forget. They were only teenagers, and having been raised in the time of eruptions, fear was all they knew. Nathaniel gave them twenty minutes of life left if they didn’t get moving.
With that, he stood. He shouldered off his blazer, removed his tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. Then, putting a well-scuffed oxford on the edge of his desk, he pulled a knife from the sheath on his ankle and waited.
Minyard had finished his cigarette and removed his uniform a few rows ahead. He pulled a blade from a band on his forearm and twirled it once before standing up. Finally, Nathaniel left the room with Minyard at his back, ignoring the professor’s inquiries about where they were going and not bothering to spare his good-as-dead classmates a parting glance.
Andrew Minyard had been Nathaniel’s academic rival since they started at The Academy. Where Nathaniel was first, Minyard was second, and vice-versa. They were among the highest-ranking seniors in The Combat Division, Nathaniel due to his upbringing, and Minyard due to his desire to out-rank him. Though he could barely tolerate being in the same room as the other man, they were one another’s safest bet. Minyard’s natural talent made him a capable killer, and Nathaniel understood there was no longer a reason to stay gunning for the best. As they walked towards their destination, their shoes clicking in time with the cannons, Nathaniel resolved to place their history aside until they cleared the school of hellspawn.
There were only about thirty seniors in Combat—the division in charge of creating future soldiers to fight hellspawn and the district’s enemies. Because there were so few of them, most of the classrooms of the old world building were left unused. Nathaniel passed them and opened the door to a storeroom, heading first to the firearms. The inventory was low, as was everything in the new world. He opened the locker and pulled out a suppressed rifle, checking to ensure it was loaded. Minyard went for the armor. They moved in unison, yin and yang circling one another when Nathaniel then moved to suit up as Minyard went for a gun. He pulled on a combat vest, fingerless gloves, protective earbuds, and boots.
When an eruption occurred, the military prioritized civilians, children, and the hospital—The Academy was deemed capable of defending itself. Teachers were to escort students to the bunkers. Guards and of-age Combat students were to kill hellspawn and rescue survivors. Nathaniel had thought of The Eruption every day since he learned he’d be sent to The Academy. Now, as a senior close to graduation, he knew how it would play out. There would be those who run, those who hide, and those who survive.
When ready, Nathaniel turned to face Minyard, who was tightening the straps on his boots. A rifle was slung over his shoulder and a pistol strapped at his hip. Grenades circled around his belt to his back. All the weapons were deadly in his grasp, but the multiple knives hidden on him were what his enemies had to fear the most. Since Nathaniel’s chance of survival doubled in percentage with Minyard around, he needed to ensure they were on the same page.
“I assume you want to find your brother,” Nathaniel said, breaking the silence. “We can go to The Medical Hall next.”
Minyard cocked an eyebrow. “If you’re asking to stick together, try again.”
Perhaps Nathaniel spoke too soon when he deemed himself capable of setting aside their indifferences. Still, he kept a steady demeanor. “We should. We would be of advantage to one another. You know this.”
Minyard dropped his boot from a crate and stood. “All of a sudden it’s we, we, we. How about no?”
It was an effort for Nathaniel not to roll his eyes. “Your desire to stay alive should trump your hatred for me.”
“That’s unlikely. I’m going alone.”
Nathaniel gave him one more chance. “You go alone, you die. Your medic brother dies. I’ve seen him fight; he will die alone and afraid.”
It was the truth. All students at The Academy were expected to pass basic classes in each division—Survival, Medical, Combat, and General Education—but they only needed to specialize in one.
Minyard was as flammable as flash paper, so it worked. “I will shoot you.”
“Oh?” Nathaniel’s lineage made it difficult for him to ignore a threat, as empty as it was. He tilted his head. “You wouldn’t use your knives on me?”
“And taint them with your rotten blood?”
Nathaniel stared into Minyard’s eyes for a moment. He let the fire they held charge something within him. He could get through this.
Biting his tongue, Nathaniel said, “What’s your plan after The Medical Hall?”
“We eliminate all threats. We escort the survivors to the bunkers. We wait for military assistance. Have you forgotten your training already, ‘Ninski?”
If there were no spawns from hell coming to murder them, if family names that demanded respect still mattered, Nathaniel would have to react to Minyard’s nickname and the way he spat it. Instead, he only said, “It’s important that we understand one another. Don’t get in my way.”
Minyard whispered, “Don’t get in mine.”
With that, a scream rang down the hall into the storeroom. The creatures had reached them. Nathaniel took one last look at Minyard before he reached back for his gun and flipped the safety off. More screams met their ears as they got in position. With his shoulder pressed to the wall, Nathaniel checked Minyard’s readiness, who had the sights of his rifle up and locked on the door. Nathaniel took a deep, steadying breath, and then opened it.
The hallway had quickly turned to chaos. A teacher stood with their weapon pointed down the corridor from where students were running past. Nathaniel kept his gun barrel to the floor as he and Andrew checked their surroundings. Once the general area around the storeroom was cleared, Nathaniel moved out, Minyard falling in at his six to watch their backs.
The screams stopped for a moment, quiet in the blink of time. Then, about fifty feet away, around the corner came two raxamor.
Raxamor were the most common of the three known hellspawn. They were humanoid creatures with black, leathery skin, gaping mouths, and long, clawed limbs. Though they could move quickly and climb short distances, the predator’s lethality was less in their take-downs and more in their capability to instill terror. In Combat training, students were taught to think of something they feared. If you wanted any chance to fight, there needed to be a stronger horror within your mind that could overshadow the attempts the raxamor made. The problem was, most humans alive knew nothing of fear but The Eruption.
But there was only one thing Nathaniel was afraid of, and he sat in a manor of the old world, as far north in the district you could go.
Nathaniel knew nothing of the fear that kept Minyard in control of his mind, but it must have been something powerful. At first sight of the raxamor, Nathaniel drew his weapon and fired three bullets into the head of the one on the left. Minyard turned at the noise and did not hesitate in taking down the other. With a cut-off wail, both fell to the ground in a sickening clump.
Nathaniel cautiously approached the end of the hallway, looking into still classrooms as he passed. Death did not bother him—he had seen far too much of it—and sorrow was a waste of time, so as he stepped over the body of a dead classmate, he swallowed harshly and did not mourn.
Nathaniel peeked around the corner with his sights drawn. Minyard followed at his side. Together they took out two more raxamor that lurked down the next hall. Nathaniel felt their efforts of terror creep up his neck, something insidious commanding him to turn and flee, but one thought of his father’s hand reared back steered his focus. Their gunfire, echoing loudly down the hall, drew another creature from the rooms. Minyard got the kill as Nathaniel quickly reloaded.
The Combat Building was an old, three-floored, hollow square with a courtyard in the center. Nathaniel walked to the windows and peered down at the lower floors. He heard distant shouts and gunfire as he looked at the grassy area, at old tables where he had spent countless breaks studying and training. Never again.
A strained cough grabbed his attention. Nathaniel looked from the window to the nearest classroom before entering the doorway. Two familiar students and a teacher lay scattered across the floor between the mess of desks—the source of the screams and far past help. Minyard walked up to the struggling professor and knelt beside him. The man had blood pooling around his red-stained suit jacket and clutched a radio that he allowed Minyard to take. Only seconds later, Nathaniel watched the life drain from his stilled eyes.
Minyard nodded at the classroom door. Nathaniel shut it and looked out of the small window to watch for movement in the hallway, gesturing a go-ahead to Minyard. The radio switched to life behind him, static filling the room as Minyard searched the frequencies, and after a moment, they began to hear faint words.
“French?” Minyard asked, wondering aloud to himself. The words from the radio were a crackling string of static that Nathaniel couldn’t quite make out. He turned and watched Minyard twist another dial until they became more precise.
“Saint…Monarch…”
Nathaniel stilled.
Minyard, who chose German as his old world language, looked to him for context.
Nathaniel furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s an SOS. Try to find the school’s frequency.”
Minyard’s eyes stuck on his for a moment before he began turning the dials again. Eventually, an English-speaking voice could be heard.
“...for entry. Bunker 55 holds. Free from hostiles. Survivors cleared for entry. Bunker 55 holds. Free from hostiles. Survivors cleared…”
The looping frequency was the only other one Minyard could locate. Bunker 55 was south near General Education, right within the entrance to the school’s walls. Nathaniel observed Minyard, who was staring blankly at the radio. Bunker 45, the northern bunker near The Medical Hall, was quiet. If Minyard’s brother had gotten out, he would be there. The western Bunker 35—in Survival Bay—was offline as well.
Minyard said nothing. He got up, hooked the radio on his belt, and the pair left the classroom. They cleared the final hall of more hellspawn before they looped back to their now deserted classroom. After one more stop in the storeroom for water canteens and protein packs, they went to the northern stairwell.
The building lost power while they were on the landing between the third and second floors. The hairs on the back of Nathaniel’s neck stood up, his senses prickling with caution. Something must have happened at the power plant. He and Minyard paused and looked at one another, the less-frequent shots of cannon fire booming in the distance. Then, Nathaniel looked out of the stairwell’s window. Facing north, he had no view of the plant, nor could he see The Medical Hall through the trees that filled the grove separating them. The low sun of spring was already beneath the line of the buildings. Daylight was running out.
“Go to Survival Bay if you want,” Minyard whispered over his shoulder before he continued down the stairs.
Survival Bay held the school’s backup generators. Generators meant power, and power meant communicating with the military. Unfortunately, the base was further south in the district and unreachable without a comm tower. If there was any hope of getting outside help, a trip would need to be taken to Survival, but it was not a priority for two from Combat.
“I’m going with you,” Nathaniel replied. Minyard looked at him before bringing his weapon’s sights back up, moving slowly with each careful step.
Immediately to their right was a restroom. From inside came a shrill wheeze, along with the pull and drag of a raxamor’s long limbs.
Minyard, efficient with close combat, pulled a knife from his vest. Then, he set his rifle down to lean against the doorway and slipped into the bathroom. Nathaniel waited. Moments later came a shriek, followed by a heavy thump against the floor. Minyard reappeared seconds later, the small splash of black blood across his cheek the only evidence of what he’d just done. He picked up his weapon and they continued on.
There was nobody alive left on the second floor.
They killed three more raxamor scattered along the halls and classrooms and then paused at the top of the stairwell to the first. Nathaniel noted the inventory of his supplies. He was good on ammunition for his rifle—his true shot assisted in the reservation—and had two backup clips for his pistol.
The sun was getting lower. They could no longer hear the distant cries of students or bursts of gunpowder. Only the monsters. Nathaniel, determined to keep going, moved to begin down the stairs.
Minyard stopped him with a hand to his chest.
Nathaniel looked down at it before meeting his eyes. “Problem?”
“We don’t know what to expect down there. If there are too many rax, we need to come up with a plan.”
“Okay–”
The raxamor must have been lurking beneath the stairwell. That, or their voices were carrying farther than they meant to. The creature had its claws burrowed into the wall and climbed over the waist-high arm rails dividing the well. One of its long, bent knees crept over, a cry escaping its broken jaw. Nathaniel locked the gun's stock firmly against his shoulder before he fired, hitting the raxamor in the torso. It drew back, blood splattering the floor, before releasing a screech.
“Oh, did you want me to get it?” Minyard asked, annoyed. He drew his weapon and shot the creature in the skull with deadly accuracy, their earbuds muffling the gunfire that echoed up and down the floors.
Nathaniel paused for a moment, willing his accelerated heart rate to slow. He’d been too distracted to mentally shield against the monster’s power. Pretending to watch the creature’s lifeless body practically pour down the stairs, Nathaniel took slow, deep breaths. When he again had a hold of his composure, he looked to his Minyard, not liking the analytical look he was sending his way.
Choosing to pull at one of his threads as a distraction, Nathaniel said, “Maybe now you’ll catch up to my kill count.”
Minyard scowled. “We were tied until this.”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “You were counting? That’s very mature.”
“Remember that you asked me to stick together. I will leave right now,” Minyard threatened before pointing his weapon over the handrail. Nathaniel tongued his cheek before following him down the stairs.
When they cleared the landing for the first floor, they were greeted by a bloodbath.
A teacher and about a dozen students had been attacked by hellspawn at the entrance, their years of training accounting to nothing. Some still held weapons, while others seemed to be hiding or fleeing. Raxamor corpses were littered amongst them, their bodies already beginning to break down. Whatever pulled them from The Eruption didn’t fuel them for long—though they took an occasional bite of blesh, the creatures survived solely on fear and didn’t care to eat humans.
The center courtyard was eclipsed in darkness. Through the windows, Nathaniel saw a pair of hellspawn prowling in the center of the building. If they attempted to shoot one and didn’t kill it immediately, its wails would attract more. Considering they were unaware of how many hellspawn were around the building, going in hot was suicide.
The initial corridor from the stairs was clear, so Nathaniel and Minyard carefully stepped across the blood-slicked floor and made their way into a classroom. Then, quietly, Nathaniel explained his idea for a plan. Minyard reluctantly listened, flipping his knife absently in his hand as he thought it through. By the time Nathaniel was finished, Minyard had looked thoroughly irritated but nodded once anyway.
Leaving the classroom, they crouched beneath the windows and slowly moved to the end of the hall. Nathaniel thought they had been spotted with every shadow that passed over them. As though hot coals were beneath his boots, the hellspawn’s cries pooled sweat across his forehead and dared him to run.
At the end of the hall, Nathaniel checked around the corner. About halfway down the next row of classrooms were the front doors, parallel to an entrance to the courtyard. Hellspawn roamed between them.
Across from them was another storeroom with its door left slightly ajar. Nathaniel signaled at Minyard for him to go first. The blond clenched his jaw and steeled himself with a deep breath before swiftly crossing. A shriek sounded from one of the raxamor, but luckily, the creatures did not begin to move down the hall toward them. Minyard had locked eyes with Nathaniel at the sound, but once they realized they weren’t spotted, he turned to enter the storeroom. Nathaniel peeked to check for the creature’s attention and then quickly echoed Minyard’s maneuver, following him inside.
Minyard shut and bolted the door behind them. Nathaniel took a steadying breath as he stood. They found the supplies they needed in a crate marked with the symbol of all four divisions—a fox for Combat, a bear for Survival, a stag for Medical, and a rabbit for GE. Nathaniel grabbed a thick rope and looped it around his elbow. Minyard ducked past him to get a thread of heavy chains with a padlock and key. They planned to block all entrances to limit their ammo usage and increase their chances. It was not enough.
Nathaniel clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, masking his irritation as the need to think. Adrenaline thrummed in his blood. His fingers cramped from triggers, his ears buzzed from bullets, his mind was foggy with heavy maternal hands…
Minyard huffed from where he sat on the bench. “Try not to think too hard, ‘Ninski. I know it can be difficult for you.”
“Please, feel free to give it a try,” Nathaniel breathed.
It was apparently the wrong thing to say. Nathaniel caught an unfamiliar emotion pass over Minyard’s face—a mix of genuine rage and fear—as he got up and shoved Nathaniel back. The chains around his arm clanged as he moved. “Careful. You’re this close to becoming rax bait.”
Minyard was a solid fighter but not a threat. Even if he became one, Nathaniel could take him. But this was curious—since The Eruption began, Minyard had remained mostly emotionless until now. Nathaniel thought over what he had said to coax the man into such sudden anger. As rivals, it wasn’t unusual for their exchanges to lack respect. There was only one word in Nathaniel’s sentence that was new.
Please.
Nathaniel’s eyes dropped to the knife Minyard had pointed at him. He sighed. Where Minyard’s barrel was full of awaiting kerosene, Nathaniel’s was empty. Now was not the time for this. When Nathaniel stayed still—only looking into Minyard’s heated gaze—the blond realized he would not play into his provocation. He tore his gaze from Nathaniel and turned away, sitting back down.
Minyard took a deep breath and spoke through gritted teeth. “I know what we can do.”
It was painstaking to move so slowly when the sun was grazing the skyline, but they had no other choice. They hurried down the corridors with the new supplies, shuffling beneath the windows and past the courtyard. They crept over bodies and blood splatters, mentally shielding against any fear that came with a screech.
The training room was a small gymnasium that took up most of the northern first floor and their first stop. Nathaniel and Minyard could faintly see movement in the vast darkness, could hear the chill-inducing chirping. They each went to one of the doors and mouthed a countdown before simultaneously shutting the entrance, using their strength to hold them from a clang. Then, Nathaniel looped the thick rope through the handles as Minyard leaned against the doors. Without prey, raxamor became mindless, dwelling creatures, starving for a bullet. They’d decompose eventually.
When done, Nathaniel tied the rope with several tight knots and released a heavy breath. Minyard tugged on it, deeming the work acceptable. Only the chains remained. They crossed to the west doors and made quick work of repeating the process, Minyard locking them shut and pocketing the padlock’s key.
With no more materials to board the front entrance or courtyard, there was one thing left to do. Minyard’s eyes locked with Nathaniel’s.
Nathaniel said, “I’ll meet you at the north entrance.”
Minyard looked away and turned back to the hall. Nathaniel continued past him, heading down from where they came and up to the second floor. Once clearing the landing, he pulled supplies from the cargo bag they had filled and ducked beneath the windows looking down on the courtyard.
He waited for Minyard’s signal, watching the northern entrance to the courtyard closely. After a moment, Minyard peeked around the corner of the doorway. He had the radio in hand and waggled it in the air at Nathaniel before doing a two-fingered salute. Nathaniel pulled three glass bottles from the bag. Each had a strip of medical cloth pooling inside, the tail ends hanging out of the neck. After pouring in alcohol, Nathaniel returned the salute to Minyard. The blond took a deep breath before hiding behind the wall again. Then, Nathaniel heard the faint buzz of the radio at full volume before Minyard chucked it into the center of the courtyard.
Immediately, the raxamor erupted in cursed screams, instinctively moving toward the noise. Nathaniel slid open the window and—with a lighter he had pulled from his pocket—lit one of the Molotov cocktails before chucking it. With a loud crash of the glass, the fire lit up the alcohol, splashing flames across the raxamor. Two more ran in from the front entrance, and Nathaniel lit another, dousing them. Screeches of death left their gaping mouths as they burned, the smell close to tar and decay. The fear of the hellspawn threatened the edge of Nathaniel’s senses as he watched stragglers get picked off, dropping to the ground as Minyard’s muffled bullets met them. Another final raxamor entered the courtyard, which Nathaniel met with the last flaming cocktail before he grabbed his gun and ran back down the stairs.
The courtyard was a mess of burning hellspawn, their cries amplified by the angry flames that licked hungrily at the dead trees, bushes, and grass. Nathaniel ran down the hall to meet Minyard at the northern entrance, the fire through the windows beside him. He made it to the doors, the setting sun pulling its light from the sky. Minyard was nowhere to be found as Nathaniel stood panting.
Suddenly, a screech from outside met his ears. Nathaniel had only just turned to see three raxamor running towards the entrance when someone yanked him back behind one of the doors, a hand coming up to cover his curse.
Nathaniel sucked deep breaths in through his nose and tried to be still as the person hid him from danger. There was an arm tight around his waist. With nothing but a quick glance, he managed to look down.
He recognized the armbands immediately.
Minyard whispered harshly in his ear, “Quiet.”
He slowly removed his hands before tapping Nathaniel’s hip as a sign to go. With toeing steps, Nathaniel squeezed out from behind the door as the hellspawn stayed frozen in the face of the flames. Minyard crept out behind him. Once outside, they each grabbed a door handle and pulled them closed. Minyard unhooked a grenade from his belt, yanked the pin free, and tossed it inside. They slammed the doors shut and paused for the blast. A loud bang knocked the doors slightly against the frame, and more screeches from the raxamor sounded through them.
The Combat Building was cleared.
Nathaniel and Minyard stood in stunned silence, catching their breath as time caught up with them. The Eruption had begun, they had found their peers and teachers dead, and they were the only two that they knew made it out alive.
Nathaniel didn’t stop to think, Why me? Because he knew. Since he was born, survival had been pumped into his blood. He accepted that he’d never live an ordinary life, that he was not a part of an ordinary family, and that this was not an ordinary world.
As to why Andrew Minyard? Nathaniel watched him rest his head against the shut doors and breathe through parted lips. His skin had a sheen of sweat, his hair a darker shade of gold where it stuck to his forehead. Nathaniel knew little past his drive, confidence, and determination to keep his brother safe. Yet, somehow, they were working together. Somehow, he’d managed to not only stay alive but to save Nathaniel’s life. It was the highest form of debt one could owe, and Nathaniel felt an uncomfortable itch in his neck knowing he had to pay it.
“Stop looking at me.” Minyard pulled his canteen from his hip and took a deep sip of water, his Adam's apple bobbing on the gulp.
Nathaniel looked away and drank from his own. The grove loomed ahead of them—a grassy plane that made the courtyard look small in comparison. To their right was a view of the wall. The canons were no longer firing atop the thirty-foot cement exterior of the school. Nathaniel listened for gunshots, screams, any sign of life, but only heard the distant chirping of the hellspawn within the grove.
They needed to find another radio to confirm that Bunker 55 was still safe, and if it wasn’t, they needed go to Survival to get the power back on.
But before Nathaniel could think about any of that, they had to get Minyard’s brother. He reloaded his weapon and tightened his armor before turning to his unlikely partner. “Ready, Minyard?”
Minyard, who had fallen into a squat to check his ammo, looked up at him, a curl to his upper lip. “Do you expect to keep calling me that when there’s two of us?”
Nathaniel frowned. The brothers were identical twins, but there were easy ways to tell them apart. Not to mention Aaron Minyard could very well be dead anyway.
Still, Minyard had a point. Nathaniel said, “Don’t tell me you want me to call you by your given name?”
The walkway in front of them was quiet, the perimeter lined in high bushes that guarded them against the sights of hellspawn.
Minyard scoffed and mumbled, “Given name. My name is Andrew. You may as well call me that.”
Nathaniel adjusted his rifle, looking down at the barrel. He felt the name Andrew on his tongue but didn’t let it out of his mouth. “While you continue to insult mine?”
That earned him a mocking huff of air. Nathaniel met Minyard’s eyes, mean though they were.
“It’s a name that deserves far worse than insults,” Minyard said.
Nathaniel agreed, but he could not say that. His face was the blank mask it always was as he walked away and said, “Okay, Minyard.”
“But fine,” Minyard added. Nathaniel could almost hear the scowl on his face. He stopped his steps anyway. “Nathaniel.”
It was likely as difficult for Nathaniel to hear as it was for Minyard to say. He didn’t want to be called by his family name or given name. They felt like a sizzling brand of his father every time they were said and wrong coming from Minyard’s mouth.
“That’s what I thought,” Minyard said, coming to stand in front of him. He studied him for a moment. Then, “Give me a name.”
Nathaniel blinked. He was not expecting him to offer a solution to such an unimportant issue or to catch hold of his hidden matters. Forcing himself not to react, Nathaniel took in the other half of Minyard’s words. He was still Nathaniel Wesninski, but the two who had just gone through The Eruption and cleared a building of hellspawn felt different than before. Right then, they only existed to one another.
Andrew’s eyes were almost amber in the sunset. Nathaniel suddenly remembered their surroundings and their lack of time. He clenched his jaw and kept moving, drawing his weapon up. “No. I don’t care what you call me.”
They left it at that, but Nathaniel knew the topic would come up again. They moved forward, quietly stalking through the grove's trees. Avoiding the small hills of grass that the students used to lounge on, they stuck to the perimeter and shot any raxamor in sight. It didn’t take long to reach The Medical Hall. When they cleared the bushes and got to the front stairs of the building, they both stopped in their tracks.
The protocol called for buildings overrun by hellspawn to turn on a warning—two solar-powered red bulbs above each entrance, a DNR to ward off any fighters. When they were on, the buildings were as good as a morgue.
Nathaniel and Andrew were frozen as they stared up at the pair of scarlet lights that greeted them.
The Medical Hall had fallen.