Free Web NovelChapter 78: Chapter 78 - Lives At Stake
Iyisha made a small sound in her throat, something between a gasp and a whimper, before she could stop it.
The thought that she could die today had hovered all morning like a distant shadow, something unreal, something her mind refused to fully touch, but now that there was certainty, fear crashed into her all at once.
Her breath hitched painfully. Her chest tightened. Around her, others began to whimper, soft broken sounds slipping out despite every effort to stay quiet.
"No," someone whispered.
"No, no, no."
The couple who had let in the community just before them clung to each other. The woman shook her head again and again, tears freezing on her lashes. "Please," she begged, her voice cracking. "Please."
He shook his head once, firm, unmoved. "Those are the rules," he muttered, staring past them as if refusing to see faces made this easier.
Malcolm.
The name surged into Iyisha’s mind without warning. If only he were here. If only he had not been sent outside. This would not be happening.
Or maybe it would, and he would be kneeling beside her now, another body waiting to be chosen. The thought twisted painfully in her chest. No. It was better this way. It had to be better that he wasn’t here. At least one of them still had a chance to live.
The bearded leader chuckled softly. "Good," he said, clearly pleased. "Good."
He lifted his voice so it carried. "Who are they? Stand on your own, or we round it up to 30."
The crowd shuddered.
People whimpered openly now. Iyisha felt it before she saw it, the slow shift of attention, the weight of eyes settling on her and staying there a second too long.
She didn’t want to die.
The thought came sharp and undeniable.
But could she let them die instead?
Her knees shook violently, not from the cold but from the pressure closing in around her. Mary’s hand gripped hers harder, fingers digging into her skin.
"Don’t," Mary whispered, her voice breaking. "Don’t stand."
Even as she said it, uncertainty bled through the words, the terrible understanding that fear alone might not stop what was coming.
Iyisha could feel the crowd shifting. Bodies leaning away. Shoulders turning. Silent urging passing between strangers who did not want to be cruel, only desperate. She saw people glancing at the couple again, then back at her, eyes full of apology and fear.
She had no other choice.
Iyisha tightened her grip on Mary’s hand, then reached out blindly for Ester. Ester looked at her, confusion flickering into horror as realization settled.
"Thank you," Iyisha whispered, her voice breaking as tears welled. "For everything."
Iyisha stood.
The movement felt unreal, like her body had decided before her mind could catch up. The couple whimpered louder when they saw her rise, the sound raw and broken, and for a brief, awful moment she wondered if they hated her for it, if they thought she had chosen them, as if any of them had ever had a choice at all.
Tears blurred her vision as she lifted her face and looked at the falling snow. It came down steadily, quietly, indifferent to what was happening beneath it, flakes landing on her lashes and melting there like the world itself refused to watch.
A rough hand grabbed her arm.
Another seized the couple. Mario and his wife were pulled forward as well, dragged into a line without ceremony. They were turned to face the rest of the community, forced to stand where everyone could see them clearly. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
Iyisha’s legs trembled so badly she thought they might give out.
The man with the heavy beard stepped closer, his voice rising as he began to speak again, preaching about the sins of the world, about decay and judgment, about how God demanded balance, how an eye must be paid for with an eye. His words washed over her in a dull roar, more sound than meaning.
Iyisha didn’t listen.
She looked instead at Mary and Ester.
Ester was clutching Lando’s hand, crying openly now, her face crumpled with helpless grief as she stared back at Iyisha. Mary had both hands over her mouth, eyes wide and shining, shaking her head over and over as if she could undo this by sheer refusal.
For a brief, fragile stretch of time, Iyisha realized she had found friends.
Real ones.
She had never thought she would. Not like this. Not people who would cry for her, who would look at her as if her life mattered. Gratitude swelled painfully in her chest, tangled with regret, with all the things she had never said, never done, never allowed herself to hope for.
She had so many regrets.
Things she had never said. Choices she had delayed too long. Lives she had touched only briefly before losing them.
And now, standing there with snow collecting on her lashes, another one surfaced, sharp and unfinished.
She would never know if Cena was still alive or already dead.
The not knowing hurt almost more than the answer ever could. Cena’s face flashed through her mind, frozen in a memory that had no ending, no closure, just a question left hanging in the dark like everything else she had lost. freёwebnoѵel.com
But the strangest one surfaced then, sharp and absurd and achingly human.
She never had sex with Malcolm.
The thought slipped in without warning, so unexpected it almost made her laugh. A small, broken chuckle escaped her as tears poured freely down her face. Of all the things to mourn, that was the one that came now, ridiculous and intimate and deeply unfair.
She wished she had kissed him more.
Touched him without fear.
Let herself live instead of always surviving.
"Any last words," the man said.
Mario cleared his throat.
The sound carried farther than it should have, scraping through the cold air, and for a moment it felt as though the world leaned closer to hear it. He lifted his head slightly, his shoulders still straight despite the gun trained on him.
"I would like to say something."
The big man raised an eyebrow and chuckled, clearly amused by the politeness of it, by the idea that permission still mattered. "Sure," he said, waving a hand lazily. "Go on."
Mario took a breath. A long one. The kind people take when they know they will not get another.
"This community," he began, voice steady but not loud, "was never meant to be perfect. We built it knowing we would fail sometimes. Knowing we would argue. Knowing we would lose people we loved." He paused, eyes moving slowly over the crowd. "But we stayed. We stayed because we believed that surviving together meant more than surviving alone."
Snow gathered on his shoulders. No one moved to brush it away.
"We shared food when it was scarce. We carried the sick when they couldn’t walk. We buried our dead with our own hands and still chose to wake up the next day and keep going." His voice wavered for just a second, then steadied again. "Hardship will come. It always does. That’s the truth of this world now. But hardship does not give anyone the right to become cruel."
A murmur rippled through the kneeling crowd. Someone cried quietly.
"Remember each other," Mario continued, as if he had all the time in the world. "Remember that fear makes us forget who we are. Don’t let it. Don’t let today be the thing that turns you into something you can’t—"
The big man’s smile thinned.
He lifted his gun and fired into the air.
The shot cracked like a whip, cutting Mario off mid-breath. Snow burst upward where the bullet struck nothing at all.
"If you’re waiting for reinforcement," the man said, his voice darker now, sharper, "none will come."
Mario smiled.
It was small. Soft. Almost kind.
"I like how brave you are," the big man said, irritation seeping through his words. "Still talking. Still trying to be a hero." His jaw tightened. "Dumb, too."
He raised his weapon.
The others followed, rifles snapping into position.
Iyisha felt the cold mouth of a gun lift toward her face. The world narrowed to that single point, that single breath. She closed her eyes, her sister’s face flashing behind her lids, Malcolm’s name breaking apart in her chest like something unfinished.
She waited.
The gunshot came.
And the sound swallowed everything.
