Free Web NovelChapter 164: Chapter 164 - It’s Time
Iyisha sat in the corner with her knees drawn close to her chest, watching the thin gray ash scattered across the floor where wanderers had once built their fires.
Even the sight of that ordinary mess made her throat tighten because it reminded her that people had lived here before them, had laughed here, had cooked and rested and believed they would keep going, just like she and Malcolm had.
They had moved back to the same building where they had first stayed, and the familiarity of it made everything feel heavier because it carried the quiet proof that time had passed, that their journey had not been short or meaningless, and that somewhere along the road she had begun to believe that those days might continue for much longer than they actually would.
These past months had been the best years of her life.
Not the easiest.
Not the safest.
But the most alive she had ever felt.
Traveling with Malcolm through empty highways and abandoned towns, sharing scraps of food beside small fires, nearly dying more times than she could count, and somehow surviving each one together had slowly become the rhythm of her world, until she had stopped imagining a future that didn’t include him walking somewhere ahead of her.
And now it was ending.
She could feel it in her bones.
The infection was already spreading through her body like something patient and inevitable, and no amount of courage or stubbornness could change the fact that she was dying.
Across the room Malcolm crouched near the fire pit, and the soft scratch of the lighter broke through the silence as he worked the flame into the scraps of wood he had gathered.
The fire caught slowly, and thin orange light began to flicker against the walls while the warmth spread through the room.
Even with the heat rising, Iyisha shivered.
It was a strange kind of cold that seemed to come from somewhere inside her rather than from the air itself, and it made her fingers tremble where they rested in her lap.
Marybeth stood near the window with her back turned, keeping watch over the tree line outside as the afternoon light stretched through the glass.
For a long time none of them spoke.
Then Marybeth’s voice came quietly from the window.
"What if you evolve?"
Iyisha lifted her head slightly, surprised by the question, although she noticed Marybeth hadn’t turned around and was still staring out at the woods like she wasn’t sure she wanted to see Iyisha’s face when she said it.
A small, bitter smile touched Iyisha’s mouth before she could stop it.
"That’s about a one in a million chance," she muttered.
Still, the thought lingered.
A fragile, stubborn piece of hope that tried to push its way into her mind even when she knew better.
Because if she allowed herself to believe in it too much, the fall when it didn’t happen would hurt even more.
So instead she focused on something simpler.
Right now all she wanted was time.
However little remained.
Time beside Malcolm.
Malcolm finished with the fire and came over, lowering himself to the floor beside her with the quiet heaviness of someone who had already made peace with what was coming but still refused to step away from it.
Iyisha didn’t hesitate.
She shifted toward him and climbed carefully into his lap, curling into him the way she had only allowed herself to do a handful of times before, because closeness had always been something both of them approached cautiously.
Her arms slipped around his shoulders and she pressed her face against his neck, breathing him in slowly.
Smoke.
Sweat.
The faint metallic scent of weapons and dust.
And underneath all of that, the steady warmth of his skin.
She held onto that warmth like it was something she could carry with her.
For a moment the grief surged up so suddenly it almost broke through her chest, because the realization that she would lose this—lose him, lose the quiet strength of his presence beside her—felt too large for her mind to hold all at once.
Her breathing stuttered as she tried to steady it.
She buried her face closer against him and forced herself to breathe slowly, memorizing everything about this moment so it wouldn’t fade.
Then she lifted her head slightly and pressed a small kiss against his cheek.
Almost immediately she wiped it away with the sleeve of her shirt.
Malcolm looked at her.
"I don’t want to infect you," she said softly.
He nodded, although the look in his eyes carried something conflicted and heavy.
Still, his arms tightened around her and pulled her closer.
Iyisha let out a quiet sigh as she rested her head against his shoulder.
They usually weren’t like this.
Their closeness had always been restrained.
But Malcolm didn’t push her away now.
And she wondered if he was allowing it because he knew there was no reason to hold that distance anymore.
Because she was dying.
Because the rules they had lived by no longer mattered when the end had already arrived.
So she stayed there in his arms while the fire crackled beside them and the afternoon light slowly shifted across the floor, holding onto him as if the warmth of his body might somehow anchor her to the world a little longer.
And for the first time since the infection began spreading through her veins, she allowed herself to imagine what it might feel like if the impossible happened and tomorrow still existed for her.
The thought lasted only a second before slipping away.
But for that second it felt almost real.
Iyisha stayed in Malcolm’s arms longer than she meant to.
His warmth settled around her like something solid she could lean against, and for a while she simply breathed, trying to slow the trembling inside her chest while her mind drifted in quiet circles around the same thought she had been avoiding since the infection began.
She should tell him.
The words pressed against the back of her throat, heavy and stubborn.
She loved him.
Somewhere along the miles they had walked together, somewhere between the nights spent hiding in broken buildings and the mornings they had woken beside dying fires, the feeling had grown without her noticing until it had become something deep and immovable inside her.
And now she knew it clearly.
She loved him.
But saying it now would only leave a weight on him that he could never put down.
If she spoke those words, they would stay with him long after she was gone, turning into something sharp that followed him through every empty mile he walked afterward.
So she kept them inside.
Her fingers tightened slightly against his shoulder as she swallowed the confession back down into the place where it would die with her.
Then suddenly her body stiffened.
The change came without warning.
A violent spasm tore through her muscles and her back arched as pain exploded across her nerves like a thousand knives driven into her at once.
The air ripped out of her lungs.
Her fingers clawed into Malcolm’s jacket as her body convulsed in his arms, every muscle locking and twisting at the same time while something deep inside her chest burned like fire spreading through dry wood.
It was everywhere.
Her spine.
Her ribs.
Her arms.
The wound in her back felt like it had split open again, the infection burning outward beneath her skin while waves of agony crashed through her body one after another.
For a moment she couldn’t even scream.
Her jaw locked.
Her vision went white.
And then it stopped.
The pain receded suddenly, leaving her body trembling and weak as if all the strength had drained out of her bones.
When her eyes finally focused again she realized Malcolm was holding her tighter than before.
His arms had locked around her.
His face had gone completely still.
Blank.
Across the room Marybeth stood frozen with her gun raised.
The barrel pointed straight at Iyisha’s chest.
Marybeth’s face looked horrified, her breathing shallow and uneven like she had been ready to pull the trigger.
Iyisha forced a small smile.
"I’m still here," she said.
Her voice sounded strange.
Rough.
Hoarse.
Marybeth exhaled a long breath she had been holding and slowly lowered the gun.
Malcolm finally breathed again.
Iyisha felt it in the way his chest moved beneath her.
She relaxed against him once more, letting her weight sink back into his arms as she buried her face near his neck.
She breathed him in again.
The scent of him filled her lungs.
Smoke.
Sweat.
Warmth.
It was close now.
She could feel it.
Whatever was coming was not far away.
And she wanted to take this moment with her.
If there was anything beyond the end—anything waiting on the other side of whatever she was becoming—she wanted to carry the memory of his warmth and his scent into it.
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time in her life, she prayed.
Not to any god she had ever believed in.
Because she had never believed.
No god had watched over her childhood.
No god had protected her when the world collapsed.
No god had cared about any of them.
Still she prayed.
Quietly.
Desperately.
To whatever might be listening.
Please.
Let this end quickly.
Or let me stay.
Just a little longer.
When she opened her eyes again she knew she couldn’t sit there anymore.
If she stayed in his arms she might never let go.
Slowly she pulled away.
Malcolm’s hands lingered on her sides for a second before releasing her.
Iyisha pushed herself to her feet.
Her legs barely followed the command.
The weakness in them made the room tilt slightly and she caught herself against the wall before steadying.
She forced herself upright.
And took one slow step forward.
Iyisha steadied herself against the wall, breathing slowly as the room wavered at the edges of her vision.
A faint red shadow crept along the corners of her sight.
She blinked hard, but it didn’t go away.
She looked at Malcolm.
"Tie me up," she said.
Her voice came out rough and thin.
The words hung in the room for a moment.
Then she added quietly, "It’s time."
Malcolm stood.
For a second he didn’t move, as if the sentence had pinned him in place.
Then he turned and grabbed the rope from the pile of supplies near the wall.
Marybeth moved quickly, dragging a chair across the floor and setting it behind Iyisha.
Iyisha lowered herself into it before her legs gave out.
Her hands rested weakly in her lap.
Malcolm stepped in front of her.
The rope hung loosely in his hands.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them spoke.
Marybeth reached forward and pulled Iyisha’s arms behind the chair.
Malcolm started tying the rope around her wrists.
His hands were steady.
Too steady.
Another convulsion tore through Iyisha before he finished.
Her body jerked violently against the chair as pain ripped through her muscles again, stronger than before.
Her teeth clenched so hard her jaw ached.
"Hurry," she muttered through the spasm.
The word scraped out of her throat.
Malcolm tightened the rope around her wrists and moved to bind her ankles.
"I’m tired," she whispered.
Her head dropped forward slightly.
Her breathing came shallow and uneven now.
"I’m dying."
The room fell quiet except for the soft crackle of the fire and the rough sound of her breathing.
Malcolm finished tying the last knot.
Then he stepped back.
And waited.
