"They'll tear you apart from the inside. It won't be death, it'll be a plague."
"You'll rot until your body turns into a dark mass. And you'll only die when they decide you've had enough."
Ethan stayed silent for a moment, then asked quietly:
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because no one thought you'd actually pull it off," Flash said with a short, bitter laugh.
"No one kills a vampire with a fucking chair leg. It's… impossible."
"Unfortunately, this method is extremely risky…"
Gideon, sitting a little further away and still supporting Bruno, lifted his head.
"So… he can't just throw it away now?"
"He can throw it away," Flash shook his head.
"But this thing is now part of him. As long as the object remains intact, Ethan stays alive."
Ethan looked at his palm. Thin black lines had already appeared on it, like cracks in fired clay. They ran from his wrist to his fingers, mirroring the pattern on the stake.
"And what am I supposed to do with it now?"
Flash was silent for a long time. Then he answered, almost in a whisper:
"Carry it with you and pray that no one ever finds out what you're holding. Because if they do… if any of them, Anna, Michael, anyone, realizes you're carrying a prison for hundreds of souls… they won't stop."
"They'll hunt you until the end of the world."
He nodded at the stake.
Ethan slowly lifted the weapon.
"Then… I'll try to keep it a secret."
Flash nodded.
"For now, it's best kept secret."
Bullet gave a soft squeak on his shoulder.
The group slowly made their way out of the industrial zone like wounded animals barely able to put one paw in front of the other after a brutal fight.
The wind chased scraps of plastic and rusty dust across the concrete. The cold crept under their jackets and made even those who could no longer feel their own bodies shiver.
Gideon walked in front, bent almost double. Bruno hung on his back like a sack of wet sand. Bruno's legs dragged along the ground, leaving two uneven grooves.
Gideon limped with every step, each one accompanied by a hoarse exhale, but he didn't stop. Blood from the wound in his own side had already soaked through his pant leg and made a wet, squelching sound with every movement.
"Hold on, brother…" Gideon whispered through gritted teeth.
"Just a little longer."
Bruno only answered with a weak groan. His head rested on Gideon's shoulder, eyes half-closed.
Flash walked a little behind, leaning against the wall of a container. His left arm hung limp. He had tucked the revolver into his belt because his fingers no longer obeyed him.
Bullet sat on his shoulder, pressed tightly against her owner's neck. The ferret whimpered softly, as if she could feel how much pain he was in.
Ethan brought up the rear.
He walked slowly, gripping the stake tightly in his right hand. His left palm the one where the thin black lines had appeared, burned faintly. Not strongly, more like a small fire slowly kindling under the skin.
The lines pulsed in time with his heartbeat, echoing the silvery pattern of veins on the stake's surface.
Ethan shook his hand a couple of times, as if trying to flick off an invisible web.
It didn't help.
At the very edge of his mind, a quiet whisper appeared. Not words, just a sound, like the distant rustle of dry leaves or hundreds of voices whispering at once.
It lasted a second and then vanished, leaving behind a slight dizziness.
Ethan clenched his teeth and quickened his pace to catch up with the others.
"Hey…" Flash called hoarsely without turning around.
"How are you holding up?"
"Fine," Ethan replied.
Flash still glanced back. His eyes lingered for a second on the black lines that had already crept a little higher than Ethan's wrist.
"You're lying," he said quietly.
Ethan didn't answer. He simply adjusted his grip on the stake and looked ahead, toward the lights of the ring road visible beyond the rows of containers.
Gideon stumbled. Bruno nearly slid off his back. Gideon caught him, but dropped to one knee himself, cursing under his breath.
"Let me help…" Ethan began, but Flash was already there.
Together they lifted Bruno back up. He didn't even groan, he just went even more limp.
"We're almost out," Flash rasped.
"Two more blocks and we'll reach my safehouse. There's a first-aid kit, food, and solid walls."
Ethan nodded. The black lines on his arm stung again, this time more sharply, as if someone had run a hot needle across them.
The whisper in his head returned for a moment, almost gentle and then disappeared.
He gripped the stake tighter.
"Let's go," Ethan said.
They continued moving through the darkness of the industrial zone, four half-dead men and one who now carried inside him what had once belonged to Roy.
They finally emerged from the maze of containers and, staying in the shadows, crossed the empty lot.
Flash's old apartment was on the fourth floor of a shabby brick building right on the edge of the industrial zone.
The entrance was dark and smelled of old tobacco. Every step echoed, and Gideon hissed through his teeth whenever Bruno's injured leg accidentally brushed against the railing.
Flash pulled out the key first, old, worn, with a broken ring. The lock didn't click right away; he had to jiggle the handle several times.
He swore under his breath a couple of times.
"Come on, you fucking door!"
The door opened with a creak, releasing the smell of dust, coffee, and gun oil.
"Get inside quickly," Flash whispered, glancing over his shoulder.
Inside it was dark and cold. Flash flicked the light switch. A dim bulb on the ceiling barely pushed back the darkness.
The apartment was small: a cramped hallway, a kitchen combined with the living room, and one bedroom at the end of the corridor.