Chapter 13: The end of the line
The soldiers of Unit Three snapped their rifles up, barrels locked on Gwendowson as the general’s voice sliced through.
“Stand down, soldier! That’s an order!”
Gwendowson didn’t flinch. His eyes glowed with a wild, predatory hunger, blood dripping from his clenched fists to pool on the cold concrete floor. The flickering overhead lights cast jagged shadows across his hulking frame,
Number One’s voice cut in.
“If the reaction is complete, bullets won’t work.” he warned
“Last warning!” the general barked, his face taut with desperation. “Open fire!”
A deafening roar erupted as gunfire consumed the ground. Bullets ripped through the air, smoke and gunpowder filling the room. When the haze finally thinned, Gwendowson stood untouched, his skin unmarred, and a twisted grin was stretching across his face. The soldiers of Unit Three faltered, their hands were trembling, faces drained of color, eyes wide with primal terror.
I was confused trying to understand my ground. I stood apart, my pulse calm, my breath even. This wasn’t my fight—not yet. I’d seen enough death with Randy; I didn’t want to wade into another battle where the only end was a body count.
Gwendowson’s voice broke the silence. “I thought coming here would finally make my life mean something. But it didn’t.” His voice was unnervingly composed. His gaze swept over the quaking soldiers, lingering with a strange, mournful weight. “There’s no safe place in this world. Every day here has been hell. They beat me bloody, stole my rations, hounded me from dusk till dawn. I’ve gone days with nothing but scraps before, but this—this is worse. And when I begged for help, reported it to the ones in charge, they punished me. Who’d take a drunkard’s son over the precious heirs of generals and majors?”