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Chapter 6

The boys all jumped to their feet and immediately surrounded my bed. The movement was so smooth, so rehearsed, that I had to wonder if they had done it before. Or perhaps they were just telepathic and could communicate in one another’s minds.

Calax and Ronan broke away from the group to press their bodies against the door, one on either side.

If they thought I was some damsel in distress in need of saving, they were mistaken.

Pulling the IV out of my arm and disconnecting the heart monitor, I ambled to my feet. The pain in my arms wasn’t as bad now, a dull ache that thrummed throughout my body. Ignoring the guy’s protests, I grabbed a scalpel off the table and steadied it in front of me. It wasn’t the greatest weapon, but it was sharp.

I liked sharp things.

“Dammit, Addie!” Calax mouthed at me, but he didn’t charge over and try to stop me. Progress.

My smug smile faded as another ear-splitting scream echoed through the hospital. My muscles locked together at the horrendous sound.

Calax and Ronan exchanged a look that made words unnecessary. As one, Ronan moved to open the door, and Calax released a gun from his holster.

A gun? What in the actual-

Calax stood in the doorway, aiming the gun to the left and then to the right - you know, that thing cops do in movies before they announce that a room is clear - and did a weird gesture with his hand.

Apparently, that wasn’t the come-out-and-follow-me signal, though you could’ve fooled me. So, of course, I was the idiot that stepped out of the room and into the dimly lit hallway.

In my defense, I totally thought he was telling us to follow him.

The first thing I saw was the blood. Illogical as it sounds, I couldn’t help but think that somebody had spilt cranberry juice on the hospital floor. There was no conceivable way that the mess before me could be blood. Did a human even have that much blood in their body?

Seemingly, the answer to that question is yes, yes indeed, for only a few feet away laid the mangled corpse of the resort’s doctor. His stomach had been torn out, guts and other unsavory substances spilling out of him like cotton from a stuffed-animal. That wasn’t the strangest thing though.

That was horrifying, yes, and slightly bizarre, but it wasn’t what caused me to tremble in fear. I had seen death before, and though gruesome, his body was nothing new.

No, what terrified me was the second figure leaning over Dr. What’s-His-Name. From this angle - and it had to be the angle because the alternative was too disgusting to comprehend - it looked as if Buttlicker was eating him.

Three things happened in a very quick succession.

First, I must’ve made a noise, whether it was a gasp, an intake of breath, or a whimper, I couldn’t entirely determine, but Buttlicker’s head whipped in my direction.

It was him...but it wasn’t him. His eyes were the color of garnet stones, an unnatural red that contrasted with the white surrounding his eyes. His face looked cracked, as if it was precious glass that had been dropped one too many times. The jagged lines curved steeply down each cheek in an asymmetrical design. The skin around his neck was red and bloody.

Before I could even think to scream, he charged.

I would like to say that what happened next I’d done on purpose. I would like to say that I had been totally kickass and managed to defeat him with my ninja moves.

No, what happened was a complete and utter accident. The boys yelled out, with Ronan warning Calax to not shoot me by mistake, when Buttlicker pounced.

In my panic, I lifted my hands in a defensive maneuver, forgetting that I still held the scalpel. He fell over top of me, and the scalpel lodged itself in his throat.

I think I’m the only human alive that can accidentally stab someone.

A disgusting black tar exploded from the exposed wound. Buttlicker let out a series of inarticulate cries, hands reaching desperately for me.

The boys pulled him off me, but I barely processed that snippet of information.

I had killed someone. I had killed someone I knew. I didn’t know how to deal with that knowledge. Instead of anger or guilt, I felt almost empty. I didn’t like the feeling, the nothingness that promised pain. The urge to hurt myself hit me in a near palpable wave.

And what was that black substance oozing from his neck? And why was he still moving, still wiggling, even after I had stabbed him? His eyes looked feral, enraged.

I had never seen anything like him before.