Rotten, p.14
Rotten, page 14
“Hector.” Charon’s voice is only a whisper, his hand still outstretched, blue eyes wide and pleading.
I know I should reach for him. I want to trust the fall, but I swear something’s moving in that water. It smells like rust and decay. There has to be another way. The roof, or maybe another room? Maybe we could fight our way out—
Before I can deliberate too long, the door explodes inward, making me jump. The first biter barrels through, half its face hanging by sinew, a gurgling screech tearing from its throat. Others follow, pouring into the room like a flood of nightmares.
Charon grabs me from behind, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Wait—” I start to shout, but he hauls me through the window just as something grazes my leg.
It takes me far too long to realize that we're falling. A scream tears from my throat, the night air whipping past as the world disappears in a blur of rising water.
The cold swallows us whole on impact, filling my nostrils and lungs with a bitter liquid that chokes me down. The current rips me from Charon's arms as I spin into the torrent.
My ears ring with the silence of pressure. Something brushes my ankle, and I kick out, heart lurching when my leg clips debris, dislodging the rifle. Everything burns. My lungs scream for air.
Forcing my eyes open, I spot a shimmer of light above, slicing through the murk. I swim toward it mindlessly, clawing with heavy muscles. My fingers break the surface first, then my mouth. Air rushes in, flooding my senses with dizzying relief.
“Charon!” I cough, blinking away the water’s sting.
There’s no answer, just the sound of fire crackling in the distance and the splashes of biters following us out the window.
“Charon, where are you?”
Still, nothing other than the snarls and howls closing in fast.
Panic claws at my chest. I spin again, treading water frantically.
We went under at the same time. He should’ve surfaced by now.
Why hasn’t he surfaced?
“Charon!” My voice breaks, swallowed by the night.
A piercing caw answers back from above as a shadow cuts through the rising smoke.
“Nyx?”
She circles twice, then dives low, shrieking with urgency before veering off toward the east bank. My gut twists as I force my body to follow, teeth chattering. Every inch feels like a mile. The water thickens with filth and blood, the growls behind me growing louder.
Finally, a figure comes into focus;
Charon, floating face down against a half-submerged plank of wood.
“No,” I breathe, surging forward to grab the back of his shirt and haul him upright. His head lolls to the side, eyes closed…but he’s breathing. It's shallow and strained, but it's there, puffing in a cloud around his face. Fresh blood pours from a wound across his cheek.
“You stubborn asshole.” Wrapping my arm around his chest to keep him above water, I glance up at Nyx to lead the way again. Where, I've no idea, but I follow her with everything I have left because anywhere's better than this river teeming with biters.
The shore is still far, the night is still hungry, and neither of us is safe yet.
Charon feels like dead weight in my arms.
Every stroke toward shore is a battle, my limbs screaming. He’s too heavy against the current, but I push through the exhaustion, unwilling to let him go. Not when his heart is still beating against my ribs.
The water thickens with sludge the closer we get to land. Something oily and foul slicks past my leg, and I gag, swallowing another mouthful of filth. Behind us, the slap of rotted limbs splashing into the water moves closer.
“Come on,” I grit, tightening my grip on Charon’s chest. “Just a little further.”
Nyx screeches again, wings slicing the air as she banks sharply, disappearing into the mist. I want to scream after her, beg her not to leave us behind, but when I look up again, I see it.
Land.
A broken dock, half-sunken, the warped wood groaning under the lapping tide. Beyond it, a cracked tower rises tall on a distant bluff, half-swallowed by vines. I recognize it from old photographs Father used to show me. A lighthouse, some relic from old times that used to guide ships to shore. The river's current must have pulled us closer to the sea.
My foot finds the riverbed first, slipping in the muck. I use the last of my strength to drag us forward, inch by agonizing inch, until we collapse onto the bank in a heap. Storm clouds thunder above the mist, dark and slightly tinged with crimson, a warning of red rain approaching. My chest tightens anxiously at the thought of getting caught in a downpour.
Rolling Charon onto his side, I slap at his back roughly, hoping to dislodge whatever might have gotten into his lungs. He jerks suddenly, convulsing as murky water erupts from his mouth in a choking gasp, coughing so hard his whole body shakes.
“Breathe. It's okay, get it all out.”
Another violent cough leaves his throat, then another, until finally his breath steadies into shallow pants. His hand scrapes weakly against the mud, fingers curling toward mine when his eyes crack open beneath swollen lids. He’s ghostly pale, his lips tinged purple, but he’s breathing.
“We made it,” I whisper, cradling his face. “Charon, we fucking made it.”
His lips move, but I miss what he mouths when lightning cracks open the sky—electricity skitters across my skin, corrosive and toxic. Rain isn't far behind.
My eyes swing toward the lighthouse cutting through the fog on the hill. “We have to move.”
Pressing a quick kiss to his temple, I clench my teeth and let him lift me up. With his arm slung across my shoulders, we begin the climb, both of us using each other for leverage. Mud sucks at my boot, the weight of him dragging me down. Charon's head rolls against my shoulder, but somehow he helps me up the winding slope.
“Almost there,” I grunt, shaking from the cold.
Lightning strikes again, illuminating the lighthouse like a ghost, its paint stripped and glass shattered. By the time we reach the gaping entrance, my muscles scream from exhaustion. I shoulder through right after Nyx with a snarl, falling into the dark just as the first drops of rain come crashing down.
Charon immediately collapses, taking me with him. We hit the floor hard, and I land on his heaving chest, my heart hammering in my ears. His eyes flutter open, only for a second, blood still leaking from the cut on his cheek.
“We’re here,” I croak, gripping his arms as spots begin to dance in my vision. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
A hint of a smile pulls at his mouth before he slips back into unconsciousness. Lightning strikes once more, illuminating his face, and it's the last thing I see before darkness also takes me, too.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hector
Two days pass and the rain doesn't let up.
Charon drifts between consciousness, shivers wracking his body from fever. All I can do is slump against the wall with his head on my lap and wait for the storm to pass.
There’s no food here, no dry clothes. Just the sound of the rain pummeling the lighthouse and Nyx's feathers ruffling whenever the lightning hits too close. My stomach growls hungrily.
When was the last time I ate something? Days ago? I can't even remember. All I know is the frenzy hasn't hit, for one reason or another, and I'm not questioning it. Maybe my body is just too malnourished to react.
Around us, the wind blows in from cracks in the foundation. Water leaks from up above, forming a pool of red near the far side of the circular space. A spiral staircase that once led to the top now sits rusted through, steps broken and crumbling.
Old, moldy crates pile in one corner. I’d hoped they might hold supplies when I checked earlier, but they were empty, just nests of long-decayed rodents. Whatever this place must have been was abandoned long ago.
Nyx lands near the entrance, cawing low before hopping away into the shadows, probably feeling cooped up.
I run a hand over Charon’s damp strands, brushing them away from his face. He’d gotten sick last night, vomiting up more river muck, and it's only getting worse. His skin is too warm, breath too shallow. He needs something to drink and medicine. Probably food, too.
I don't know what the fuck to do.
If I could go back to Aster’s Hollow, I would. Try to find rations, bring them here. But I have no idea how far we’ve drifted—if it’s a mile or fifty. Hiking there could take days, and I’ve only got one foot. Charon doesn’t have days. What if I turn while he's passed out and he can't fight me off? What if I kill him? I'd rather die.
“Charon,” I whisper, pulling him closer. Tears sting my eyes. “I don't know how to help you.”
We're trapped, and it's probably all my fault. If I had just let him end Jonas instead of wanting the kill for myself, we would have had time to think of a plan, some other escape besides the raging river. But I was selfish. I wanted retribution, and I wanted Charon. Somehow, those two goals became entangled in my head until I couldn't have one without the other. Now look where we ended up.
A scuffle in the dark catches my attention, sending my heart racing. My grip tightens, every muscle locked for a fight, but a disgruntled caw stirs the air.
Nyx swoops out of the shadows, something caught in her talons. She drops it on the floor beside me before landing a few feet away, head cocked in my direction.
I gaze down at it, my cracked lips curling in disgust. “That’s…a dead rat.”
She clicks her beak, nudging the vermin toward me. “Good to go.”
“Nyx, we can't eat a rat. It's infected—” I cut myself off, a flare of anger slicing through me at the memory of Lena's lies. “It probably has all kinds of diseases.” Well. Not that I suppose it would matter, with my rotter immune system. But for Charon, it would. “It's filthy.”
She caws angrily, kicking the thing before taking off toward the wooden crates in a flurry of feathers.
“I looked in those already, there's nothing. We have no food, no water, no fucking fire—”
Once again, I stop mid-sentence when my gaze drops to the crate she's dancing on, the one made of decaying wood.
Wood that can burn.
Hope blooms in my chest.
I slide Charon off my lap and lower him gently to the ground, brushing his matted strands away from his fevered brow. “Hold on, okay? I'll make it better.”
Nyx flutters aside when I step closer to prying up every dry shard of wood I can find. Bits of packing straw cling to the bottom, too, maybe enough to use as kindling. I pile what I can salvage in the middle of the floor.
It should all work fine, but…how to ignite it?
Searching the edges of the room, I look for something to use as a flint. Old bits of metal piping catch my eye, along with a rock just jagged enough to spark. There's no guarantee I'll be able to get a fire going, but at this point, I'll try anything.
Whatever I can do to see that smile on Charon’s face again.
Kneeling on the cracked floor, I press some straw between two thin slats and start striking with my rock once, twice. Ten times.
A ragged breath punches out of me, sweat mixing with the grime and river filth clinging to my skin. My palms begin to bleed as I try over, and over, and over—
Finally, something sparks.
But dies instantly.
Gritting my teeth, I try again, hunching over like a fucking cave dweller. Another spark ignites, followed by a twitch of smoke.
“Come on, come on,” I whisper through my teeth, begging the gods or the universe or whatever is listening as I strike again.
The smoke grows, straw hissing with a crackle, and then…blessedly, a flame.
I almost snuff it out when a relieved laugh leaves my lungs, curling my body around the warmth to feed it slivers of wood. The fire grows brighter.
Behind me, Charon shifts, letting out a quiet breath. I turn toward him just long enough to whisper, “I got you, baby. Just hang on.”
The rat comes next. I skewer it with a piece of rusted metal, gagging slightly as I hold it over the flames.
Nyx flutters down from wherever she was perched, landing beside me. “Good to go.”
I just nod, too tired to respond.
The flames dance in the gloom, casting wild shadows on the crumbling walls. I turn the meat slowly while wincing at the sound of sizzling fur. It smells vile, but it’s food. We don’t have the luxury of being picky.
When the thing looks less…disgusting, I tear it in two with my fingers and scarf down my half without thought, no time for gagging. My body needs it.
Charon moves again, and I crawl the short distance between us. “Hey.”
His skin’s still too warm, cheeks flushed in a way that has nothing to do with the fire. But his eyes crack open just enough for me to catch a glint of recognition.
“You with me?” I ask, touching his forehead.
He blinks once.
“I made a fire. Cooked you a rat and everything.” A ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, cracking my heart in two as I press the meat to his lips. “Eat. Just a little, okay?”
It takes a second, but then his mouth parts, and I ease the bite inside. He chews agonizingly slow, but he does it, swallowing hard when he’s finished.
“That’s it,” I breathe, brushing a kiss over his cheek. “I'll figure out how to boil us some water next.”
Nyx flutters up onto another crate and tucks her beak under her wing, content for now. The rain keeps pounding against the lighthouse above, that pool of red water on the floor growing darker. But Charon is still breathing. His fingers curl around my leg as I feed him small bites at a time, planting kisses all over his face. Later, I’ll explore more of this place when he’s fed.
For now, we're still here. Surviving.
That’s all the hope I can afford.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Charon
Complete silence draws me from sleep.
Soft, unfamiliar stillness. No thunder, no screaming wind. Just birdsong and the lapping ocean waves. For the first time in what feels like days, I don’t ache like I’m dying.
My eyes blink open slowly, the hazy gold of morning light spilling through cracks in the lighthouse walls. Warmth caresses my skin, not fever-warmth, but…sunlight.
Shifting slightly on the ground, I test my limbs. They're still sore and weak, but I’m not shaking or burning like I was when Hector fed me—
Hector.
I bolt straight up, too fast, black dots dancing at the edge of my sight. A blanket slips from my shoulders when I take in the pile of burnt ashes in the center of the room, flames long since dead.
He’s not here.
Panic claws at my chest as I stand, my knees nearly buckling. Steadying myself against the stone wall, I listen for any signs of him with spasming lungs.
Once the rush of blood in my ears dissipates, I finally hear his muffled voice—a murmur of words I can’t quite dissect, followed by a sharp little squawk from Nyx. I follow the sound down a vine-covered hallway until I spot the edge of a trapdoor tucked behind a broken crate. Faint light filters up from below.
“…we're saving these for him,” Hector chastises, clicking his tongue. “You’re such a little shit.”
Nyx caws in protest.
I descend the stairs carefully, clinging to the rail as each step groans beneath my weight. At the bottom, I pause, taking in what seems like some kind of cellar. It's warmer than upstairs, tucked away from the wind. Stone walls curve in a half-circle, stacked with rusted shelves covered in jars and cans of…food. A small bed sits in the far corner, blankets tossed aside, and old photographs line the wall beside it.
Hector sits cross-legged on the floor with a jar between his knees and Nyx perched on one shoulder. Tongue caught between his teeth, blond curls an adorable mess, skin clean as if he somehow scrubbed away the last few days.
He looks up when I reach the last step, relief flooding his features. “Hey. You’re awake.”
I nod as Nyx launches from his shoulder, fluttering to mine. She nips at my jaw affectionately, and I run a finger down her beak, gaze still on Hector.
“You look better,” he adds, emerald eyes roaming my frame. “Still pale, but not as bad.”
Using a shelf for leverage, he pulls himself up before hopping over to me. His hand hovers uncertainly in the air, like he's unsure whether to touch me or not, so I pull him into my arms and place a soft kiss on his lips. Nyx smacks my cheek with her wing as she flutters away in annoyance, but Hector sighs into my mouth, melting against my chest.
“I was worried you wouldn't make it,” he rasps, stealing another kiss before gesturing to the covered shelves. “But look, look what I found. There's stuff to eat, and medicine. At least…I assumed it was medicine when I gave it to you. There was a giant red cross on it. And I boiled us some rainwater. If I'd known all this stuff was down here a few days ago, I, uh…wouldn't have fed you a dead rat.”
My lips twitch as I squeeze him, attention drifting to the yellowed photos near the bed. Snapshots of lives long gone—a young couple smiling in front of the lighthouse, one of a picnic spread across a blanket with silver glinting in the sky. Smiling, sun-kissed faces.
Hector follows my stare. “I don't know who this place belonged to, but I think they're dead.”
I nod once, brushing my thumb gently over the back of his neck. We stand like that for a moment, swaying slightly in the quiet cellar, letting the silence stretch between us as we study the photos. A ghost of laughter clings to the images, like a life paused mid-breath.
“I was thinking we could stay,” he murmurs eventually, gazing up at me. “I mean, there’s a bed now. A real one. Maybe we could learn to fish or hunt. I know they used to do that back at Aster’s Hollow, but the Judge put a stop to it when I was young—”
He cuts himself off with a wince, and I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. My fingers linger along his jaw until he leans into my palm with a breathy little laugh, the first I've ever heard him make. It's beautiful. I could spend the rest of my life pulling that sound out of him.
