Page 20 of Redemption (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #4)

With a shaky hand, I place the knife in the hollow part at the base of his skull and aim up towards the crown of his head, muttering a soft forgive me before I thrust deep, sinking my knife right up into his brain.

I do the same to Bulwark, just after he succumbs to his wounds and loses consciousness, thankful he doesn’t have to feel the pain anymore.

And then I stoically open the hatch and carefully place their bodies just outside the bunker door.

They deserve funerals. They deserve family saying their last goodbyes. But we can’t store dead bodies amongst the living, even if we might also be dead by this time tomorrow.

Once they’re settled outside, I turn to the others.

“I’m going to take the next shift on post. Go get some rest.” The rest of the guys nod and make their way back down to the main subterranean unit while Waverly makes his way over to where I sink down onto the ground, just inside the slightly open hatch.

“You had no choice. You did what you needed to. They’ll know that by the mercy you granted them in death.” He pats me on my back, but I’ve had enough. I’ve looked into the eyes of too many of my brethren and muttered I’m sorry more times than I can remember.

There’s only so much a guy can take.

“It’s been a fucking week of this shit. How many more of our own guys do we have to take out before we ultimately die too?

” He doesn’t respond, not that it surprises me.

What the fuck would he even say to pacify my anger?

My sadness? The fact that I’m losing fucking control?

“WE. ARE ALL. FUCKED.” I strain to keep the words between us, trying my best not to rouse suspicion amongst our lower ranks, but I’m at my wit’s end, here.

My hand inches towards my handgun in my leg holster as I start to rock back and forth.

This is too much. Too much. The human brain isn’t equipped to handle this much trauma.

This much death. This much sorrowful remorse for the lives I had no choice but to end.

The anxiety is piling up. I haven’t slept in three days, constantly keeping one eye open in case one of them manages to get past the guard at the door.

It’s too much. Too much. “We gotta get out of here. We can’t keep on doing this. I can’t keep on doing this.”

Waverly wraps his arm around my shoulder, blowing out an easy breath.

How is he so fucking calm? “What other option do we have?” he asks, the fucking words grating on my already fractured psyche.

I don’t think about my response, the action taking over my body before I can stop it.

My mind forgets the gun at my side as my fist connects with his jaw, the impact throwing his ass to the ground.

It’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience as I rise from the floor, hovering over him as he coddles his bloody cheek in his hand.

“Did you not fucking hear me?! I CANNOT FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE!” I push away from his shocked face, needing to calm down.

My fingers dive into my short hair and pull, using the pain created to snap myself out of this mental deterioration.

I’m on the verge of losing myself, and I can’t lose myself.

Not now. I have too many people relying on me right now.

Pull it together. Fucking breathe and pull it together.

My jawline hurts from how hard I’m clenching my teeth, from how hard I’m trying to not fall apart and finish this once and for all. My fists clench in disgruntled fury, my body trembling uncontrollably. I’m not at all ok. In fact, I’m the farthest I’ve ever been from the concept.

I take some time, breathing deeply through the trauma, my mind melting in my skull as I rein the chaotic energy down to a more stable level.

Once I’m calmer and feeling less like a ticking time bomb, I turn back to Waverly, now perched on a step and leaning against the wall as he assesses me with narrowed eyes.

“Sorry, man.” My words are almost silent as they battle with the cacophony still rioting—only slightly subdued—inside my brain.

He shrugs, still holding his cheek. “No harm done.”

I take the place next to him on the top step, lowering my voice.

“We either need to escape and find another bunker—one that’s actually functioning properly—or just fucking end it all.

Shut the door for good and either take a bullet to the head or suffocate later on.

Honestly, it’s probably the more humane choice given what’s waiting for us on the other side of the door.

” I turn my gaze, meeting his. “But I can’t just sit here maintaining the status quo.

In this bunker, we’re stagnant. Rotting.

Waiting for a variable to come and collect us when we’re the fucking variable.

We’re the ones who need to act. To leave and live, or stay and die. ”

He shakes his head, pulling me to him and placing his face directly in front of mine.

“Regardless of what you think, there is no surrender, Cruz. So, don’t fucking think like that.

I, for one, am not going to die in this damn hole.

You best believe we’re going to get out of here. We just need a plan.”

“Yeah, but that’s the problem. What fucking plan?

Every damn time we open that door, another one is there.

And another one and another one. It’s fucking airborne.

” How we haven’t contracted it yet is beyond me.

We lost our gas masks early on when the hostiles took them right off our shocked faces during the first round of attacks.

The other day, we found some handkerchiefs and wrapped them around our faces as a last-minute substitute, but seriously?

We all know that’s probably not stopping anything, especially after being exposed during the initial invasion.

So, what good are they besides keeping exploding brain matter from making its way into my mouth?

“We just need to make a run for it.” He thinks for a second, looking toward the door.

Darkness fills his expression. “The next closest bunker is three streets over, near the chow hall. They can’t all run after us.

They can move, but come on, we’re used to running every damn day.

We can outmaneuver them and make it to the other bunker before they catch us.

” He leans closer, voice dropping an octave before continuing.

“If we lose some in the melee, then we’re just going to have to take the collateral damage for what it is: a means to survival. ”

What the fuck?

My head jerks back at his insinuation. “Collateral damage? You can’t be fucking serious! You’re talking about our men down there! Not some fucking military surplus to allow your snide ass to escape!”

“Like you said... we don’t have any other choice.

It’s not like I want to throw the others to the wolves.

I hope we can all make it, and I think we have a better chance of survival together than if we were apart, but we won’t know unless we give it a shot.

We’re already dying down here, waltzing with the reaper before the dance ends.

Which it will end, Cruz, and, from the looks of it. .. soon.”

I hesitate, not wanting to put my guys into any further danger than we’re already in.

But unfortunately, I have no other plan to counter with besides waiting out Judgement Day down here in this hellhole.

I’m not going to force anyone, however. If we go out that door, it’ll be because every one of us out there knew the risks and decided to take that chance knowing full well they could die in the process.

But at this point, it’s death... or death .

Everyone dies. It’s just a matter of when and how.

At least this way, it’ll be on our terms.

“Fine. Let’s go tell the guys.”