Page 36

ERO

“ H oly, you.”

“Huh?”

“Saint Ero of the bleeding chest wound.” Ciro sings in a cantus voice.

“S-stop talking.”

“First you miss me, then I show back up and you want me to go away. If I stop talking, you might sprout cherub wings and drift away, lil’ bro.”

“We’re the same age. And I doubt I’m getting angel wings.”

“Not with that attitude. You could have been Victoria Secret model of the year…”

The tiniest chuckle spasms my body with blinding pain. Well. Still alive.

My eyes won’t open at first, so I take some time to appreciate the cold, grit-covered tile against my face. Some of the relentless suffering dwindles, narrowing to a more specific trauma. Never felt pain like this there. Right through my upper chest.

“She really got you, huh?”

“She missed.”

“And now you’re a killer whale.”

“What?” I instantly regret asking.

“Orca. Killer whale. Black and white and you got a blowhole on your back.

“You’re a blow hole.”

“Wow. It only took the brink of death to bring out your sense of humor,” Ciro says sardonically, wearing a long angelic robe and holding his hands, palms pressed together out in front of him.

“I don’t think death is supposed to hurt this much.”

Grimacing, I raise myself up onto my elbow, huffing and puffing more than a little. That’s a lot of blood. But I can breathe…

Bullet missed my lung.

I manage to sit up, laying my arms across my knees. “How bad is it?”

“Uh. You’re asking your imaginary dead brother how bad your wounds are. Not crazy at all.”

“Oh, I have no reservations about that. I’m fucking bonkers.”

“Looks like it went in under your collarbone. Any lower and…”

Double-checking my hallucinatory companion’s assessment, I reach back grunting as I find the exit wound. Cool.

Black out for a few seconds.

When I come to, I stand, focusing on the pain and wrapping it in tight, focused will. Tuck it away. Compartmentalize.

Only Circe could have shot me so perfectly. It saved my life. Now I need to save hers.

If I don’t die first.

Creeping to the car we drove here takes ages. Tires are slashed. Engine shot to hell.

First aid kit is mostly empty. I tape some gauze to the wound.

“What’s the plan, man?”

“Not bleed out in the cold.”

“Ah. Cool. Maybe grab that jacket.”

Check.

“Long term goals?”

“Find medical help.”

“He can be taught! You should take the map.”

Roger that.

It’s rudimentary, outdated. But I manage to get a ballpark of where I’m at. The lab-house is out in the middle of nowhere. But that nowhere is right on the border of Russia. Nearest town is on the other side, no more than ten miles.

Might as well be on the other side of the world.

Bearing down and harnessing ice cold, steely rage, I make it to my feet, locking my legs out. Head spins. Don’t puke.

Ciro hands me a canteen, half full. Good call.

“Lead the way, Ciro.”

“Ero…” His eyes soften with concern. Pity.

“Don’t say it. I know.”

The apparition nods, shutting his mouth. This really is a fantasy.

One step. One more step.

Hours pass. Delirium sets in. It’s all I can do to keep my eyes on Ciro’s back. Keep moving.

Keep hanging onto that frail tether of hope. Circe.

Night closes in on me. I keep to the dirt road, tailing the dim silhouette of my guide. At some point, I stumble down into a ditch, through a gap in a chain-link fence.

Lights in the distance. Was I supposed to go there? Or is that death, beckoning me on.

As if on cue, Ananke appears ahead of me, leering at me. Taunting me.

I never stop, trudging onward. Right through her.

No fear. Not a wink of the terror that used to grip me at her presence. Like it’s been burned out of me. Torn away with the heat of a bullet. Scoured from my mind with rage and hatred.

In place of the fear, determination. Disdain.

She’s hurt countless people. Destroyed innumerable lives. She’s nothing but a hollow, soulless tyrant. But even tyrants are human. Ananke is just a woman. Killable.

My foot slips, I almost take a dive.

“Speaking of killable humans…” Ciro mutters. He’s suddenly at my side, his arm looped under mine.

“Weird.”

“Don’t read into it too much.”

Cyrillic letters manifest out of the fog. A sign. One kilometer left.

Fuck.

“I’m s-sorry, Zero.” My knees wobble. Ciro lets me down slowly, resting my head on his lap.

“I got you, brother. I got you.”

I feel my heartbeat slow. Putter out.

It’s the last thing I know.