Free Web NovelChapter 70: Chapter 70 - Ruben’s Death
The hunter’s body jerked upright before anyone could breathe. The sound it made wasn’t a roar, just a wet, choking grind from deep in its chest. Its arm snapped up, long and sharp, like bone fused with metal.
Ruben was closest. He didn’t even turn. The limb sliced across his throat, fast and flat.
The sound was a short, hard chhhk.
Blood sprayed in an arc across the snow, bright against the white.
Ruben staggered back, hands flying to his neck. The air filled with a choking, gurgling sound as he fell to his knees.
Kyle screamed. Andrei stumbled backward, boots sliding on the ice.
"Get back!" Malcolm shouted, already raising the shotgun.
The creature lurched forward, twitching, its chest heaving like something still pumping inside it. Its head was half gone, steam still rising from the ruined bone.
Malcolm aimed lower this time. His pulse was hammering so loud he barely heard any sound.
He fired.
The shot tore through the chest. A hole opened where the ribs should’ve been. The creature jerked, froze mid-step, and collapsed face-first into the snow.
The beat under its skin stopped.
"Stay down," Malcolm muttered, stepping closer, gun still ready. He kicked the body once, then twice. Nothing. The thing was finally still.
He turned, breath burning in his throat.
Fuck.
Ruben was on the ground, blood pooling fast under him. Kyle had both hands on the wound, pressing hard. Andrei tore at his coat, ripping fabric to make a bandage. Their voices overlapped, desperate and shaking.
"Hold it, hold it!" Kyle yelled.
"He’s bleeding out!" Andrei shouted back, voice breaking.
"Press harder, damn it!"
Blood gushed between Kyle’s fingers. Ruben’s eyes were wide, glassy, his mouth opening and closing without sound. His body trembled, then stilled.
Malcolm stood over them, frozen for a heartbeat, the smell of blood thick in the air.
Andrei kept pressing. "Ruben, come on. Stay with me. Don’t you—"
The words died in his throat.
Ruben’s head tilted sideways, eyes rolled back, the breath leaving him in a long, wet sigh.
No one spoke. The only sound was the wind scraping over the snow and the faint hiss of steam from the corpse behind them.
Malcolm lowered the gun and swore under his breath, the word small and bitter in the empty woods
Kyle stayed kneeling in the snow, hands still pressed to the wound that no longer bled. Ruben’s eyes were half open, staring at nothing.
Andrei backed away, shaking his head. "No, no, he’s not gone. We can still do something."
Malcolm didn’t move. He watched the color drain from Ruben’s skin, the steam fading from his mouth. He knew.
Kyle’s voice broke. "We can’t just leave him like this."
Malcolm lowered his shotgun. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air.
Kyle looked up at him. "Help me dig. Please."
Malcolm shook his head once. "We can’t."
"The hell you mean we can’t?" Kyle’s voice cracked. "We can cover him, say something. He doesn’t deserve to rot out here."
Malcolm didn’t answer. He looked at the trees, the snow, the spreading blood. The sound of the shot was still echoing somewhere out there. Something could be moving toward it already.
In the safe zones, people get graves, he thought. Out here, you dig a hole and die inside it.
Kyle stayed frozen for a long moment, then looked back down at Ruben. His hands trembled as he brushed snow off the man’s face. "He doesn’t deserve this," he whispered.
None of them did.
Andrei stepped forward, his voice rough and low. "Come on, kid. We don’t have time."
Malcolm crouched beside the body, unclipped the pack, and checked it fast. He pulled out a knife, a lighter, a roll of bandages, and a small pouch with a folded photo inside. He handed them to Kyle.
"Take these," he said.
Kyle held them tight.
Malcolm looked toward the horizon. The sun was already dipping behind the trees, the sky turning orange and gray. "We move. Now."
Andrei turned first, quiet and pale. Kyle lingered, his eyes still on Ruben. The snow was falling harder, settling over the body. After a moment, he shut his eyes, breathed out hard, and followed them.
They walked until their legs shook and their breath came out in clouds that vanished as soon as they formed. When they finally stopped, the trees closed in around them and the last light slipped away.
They made camp in silence. Kyle built the fire. Andrei laid back, already half asleep. Malcolm sat a little farther out, rifle across his knees, watching the dark. The wind kept whispering through the trees, and every sound felt too close.
The warmth from the fire reached his face, then started to fade. His vision blurred at the edges. The sound of crackling wood thinned out, replaced by something sharper.
Gunfire. freewebnøvel.coɱ
Malcolm blinked. The snow was gone.
The heat pressed down like a weight.
He looked around, breathing hard. The air was thick with dust, not cold anymore but dry and choking. He smelled burnt oil, not pine smoke. His hands were gloved in sand instead of frost.
"What—" he started, but the word came out rough, the voice younger.
He was standing in an alley. His rifle was up. His heart was racing.
Scott’s voice came from behind him, the same one he hadn’t heard in years. "Chief, we’re off the map. You sure this is right?"
Malcolm froze, the world spinning slightly.
Scott?
Why am I back here?
Then the heat pressed in again, and the noise returned all at once. The gunfire. The shouting. The chaos he thought he’d left behind.
He raised his rifle on instinct and moved.
Malcolm scanned the junction ahead. "Extraction should’ve been here."
No answer. Just the slow hum of flies and the faint rattle of distant metal.
Then three shots cracked through the stillness. One hit close, biting into the wall beside his head.
He dropped behind a burned-out car and fired toward the flashes—short, clean bursts until the rifle clicked empty.
Scott cursed, checked his weapon, tried the trigger. "Nothing. I’m dry."
Then the shouting started — Arabic voices, four of them, closing in through the haze.
"Cover left. We choke the alley." Malcolm looked at him.
Scott gave a grim laugh. "With what, our dicks?"
Malcolm grinned at him. Fucker.
The first man broke through the smoke. Malcolm lunged, caught him in the chest, and drove him backward into the wall.
The gun fired between them, a flash of heat. He tore the weapon free and smashed the butt into another man’s face. Bone cracked.
Scott grabbed a loose brick and swung it into a leg, folding the fighter to the ground. He was bleeding bad now, the blood dark and heavy on his uniform.
The last attacker hit Malcolm from behind. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs and drove him face-first into the dirt. His shoulder screamed.
The man pinned him down, knife raised.
Malcolm caught his wrist, muscles burning as the knife trembled inches from his face. The man pushed down with a grunt, rage twisting his features. Malcolm turned his head aside, teeth clenched, and drove his thumb hard into the man’s eye.
The scream tore through the narrow alley. He pushed deeper, felt the wet give, then struck the other eye with his free hand.
He heard Scott call his name, voice weak and far away.
Then the sound stretched, changed, until it wasn’t Scott anymore. It was a rasp close to his ear, wet and uneven.
Malcolm’s eyes opened.
Something was on top of him. Heavy. Moving.
The dim light caught a face inches above his own—gray skin, bloodshot eyes, jaw working in spasms. Andrei. Or what used to be him. His mouth opened wide, teeth grinding, breath hot and metallic.
Malcolm’s body reacted before his mind could wake. His thumbs already driving hard into the eyes like in his dreams.
The creature shrieked, body convulsing, its blood spilling warm over Malcolm’s fingers.
He gritted his teeth, forced his thumb against the eye. The soft tissue gave with a sickening sound. The creature screamed, thrashing, but Malcolm didn’t stop. He struck the other eye, gouging deep until black fluid spilled across his palm.
