The Mimics

Chapter 14

Aurora POV

The shriek that tore through the air wasn't human. It was a jagged, metallic sound that vibrated in my teeth, signaling that the pack had caught our movement. We didn't look back. I grabbed Theo’s hand, our boots pounding against the cracked asphalt as we sprinted toward the towering grandstands of the Texas Motor Speedway.

"Keep going, Theo! Don't you dare stop!" I screamed over the wind.

Behind us, the clicking of claws on pavement grew louder. I could hear their heavy, wet breathing. We reached the perimeter fence, and my heart soared for a split second—the massive steel gate was hanging wide open.

"Get inside! Now!"

I spun around, planting my feet as Theo vanished past the gate. A Changeling, its limbs elongated and its jaw unhinged, launched itself from the roof of a parked sedan. It was mid-air, claws outstretched, when I leveled the shotgun. I didn't think; I just pulled the trigger. The blast was deafening in the narrow corridor of the entrance. The slug caught the creature full in the chest and throat, blowing its head clean off in a spray of dark, oily fluid.

I didn't wait to see it hit the ground. I dove through the gate and slammed my shoulder into the heavy steel, but the hinges were warped. I couldn't lock it. I just had to run.

We burst onto the main concourse, expecting to see soldiers, spotlights, and safety. Instead, the horror that met us made my knees weak. The Speedway was a slaughterhouse. The wide concrete walkways were painted in thick, drying streaks of red. Tents were shredded, and bodies—ripped apart with surgical cruelty—were strewn across the bleachers like discarded rags.

Then I saw them.

At the far end of the row, dozens of Changelings were hunched over the remains of the camp. At the sound of the gate, they stopped. In perfect, terrifying unison, their heads snapped toward us.

My breath hitched, a cold lump of ice forming in my throat. "f**k," I whispered. Then, at the top of my lungs: "Theo, run! RUN!"

We bolted toward the main glass-fronted building that housed the luxury suites and offices. It was our only hope for a door we could actually lock. I pulled my 9mm from my waistband, firing over my shoulder as we ran. The shots were frantic, aimed at the wall of grey flesh surging toward us.

"Inside! The glass doors!"

We reached the entrance just as the first of the horde reached the stairs. I shattered the glass with the butt of my shotgun, shoved Theo through the jagged frame, and scrambled in after him. We hit the lobby floor running, the sounds of scratching claws and hungry shrieks echoing off the marble walls as we fled deeper into the dark heart of the building.

The staircase was a concrete throat that seemed to swallow our screams as we climbed. Every floor we passed offered no sanctuary; the glass-walled offices were shattered, and I could see the distorted silhouettes of more Changelings prowling the corridors, their long limbs twitching in the dark. We were being funneled upward, pushed away from the exits by a growing tide of grey flesh.

I slammed the heavy steel door to the stairwell shut, my breath hitching as I shoved a discarded metal filing cabinet against the handle. The sound of claws raking against the other side started almost instantly—a frantic, rhythmic scratching that told me the barricade was only a temporary reprieve.

"Don't look back, Theo! Keep climbing!" I gasped, grabbing his hand and hauling him up the next flight. His small legs were shaking, his chest heaving with a wet, ragged sound that terrified me.

We reached the middle floor, a long hallway lined with executive suites. It was eerily quiet here, the air thick with the smell of stale coffee and copper. I didn't wait to see if the silence was a lie. I ducked into the first room with a solid oak door—a corner office overlooking the track—and threw the bolt. We worked in a panicked blur, dragging a heavy mahogany desk across the carpet until it was wedged firmly against the frame.

I sank to the floor, my back against the desk, clutching the shotgun to my chest. The only light came from the pale, bruised sky outside the window, casting long, skeletal shadows across the room.

"Rory?" Theo whispered, his voice so small it was barely a breath. He crawled over to me, burying his face in my shoulder. "What are we going to do now? How do we get out?"

I looked at the door, then at the sheer drop out the window, and finally at the spare handgun tucked into Theo's belt. For the first time since this nightmare started, the words stuck in my throat. I didn't have a plan. I didn't have a way out. We were trapped in a glass cage, and the monsters were already beginning to hammer on the walls.

"I don't know, Theo," I whispered, pulling him closer. "I just don't know."

The silence in the office was a lie. Beneath the floorboards, I could hear the muffled, frantic sounds of furniture being shredded and doors being splintered. The Changelings were methodical, moving room by room, their claws clicking on the tile as they drew closer to our door. They weren't just hunting; they were clearing the floor.

I looked at the window, then back at the desk we’d used as a barricade. We were on the fourth floor. Even if I tied every curtain and piece of clothing together, we’d only make it halfway down before we were dangling like bait for the things waiting on the ground. There were no fire escapes. No balconies. We were in a glass box, and the lid was closing.

I pulled Theo into my lap, hugging him so tight I could feel the frantic, rabbit-like thrum of his heart against mine. A cold, hollow realization settled in the pit of my stomach, heavier than the fear. This was it.

My hand traveled to the grip of the 9mm. My father’s voice, usually a source of strength, now echoed in my mind like a curse. If you can't get out, Aurora... if there is no other way... you don't let them take you. You don't let them turn you into a husk. You make it quick. He had shown me the exact spot at the base of the skull—the junction where the spine meets the brain—that promised instant darkness. No pain. No suffering. No coming back as a grey-skinned nightmare.

My vision blurred, the room dissolving into a watery smear as hot, jagged tears finally broke. I looked at the back of Theo’s head, his hair still smelling faintly of the woodsmoke. He was so small. He hadn't even lived yet.

"Rory? Are they coming?" he whispered, his voice trembling as the scratching started on our door.

"It's going to be okay, Theo," I choked out, my voice thick with a lie that felt like it was carving a hole in my chest. "Everything is going to be alright. I love you. I love you so much, Theodore."

I shifted my weight, bringing the handgun up behind him, shielding it with my body so he couldn't see the cold steel. I pressed the barrel gently against the soft spot I’d been taught to find. My finger hooked around the trigger, the metal feeling impossibly heavy.

The door groaned as something heavy slammed against it from the hallway. The mahogany desk shifted an inch.

My breath hitched, a sob racking my entire frame. I closed my eyes, the darkness behind my lids filled with the faces of my mother and father. "I'm sorry," I whispered into the silence. "I'm so, so sorry."

My finger was a fraction of a millimeter from the breaking point of the trigger when the world erupted.

A series of thunderous, chest-thumping booms shook the very foundation of the building, rattling the glass in the window frames until it screamed. It wasn't the mindless scratching of the monsters; it was the rhythmic, staccato roar of heavy machine guns and the sharp, concussive slap of high-grade explosives.

The scratching at the door stopped instantly. I heard the Changelings let out a collective, high-pitched shriek—a sound of confusion and primal alarm—before the weight against the door vanished. Their claws clicked frantically on the carpet, their focus shifting toward the new threat blooming outside.

My heart was trying to kick its way out of my ribs. I lowered the gun, my hand shaking so violently I nearly dropped it. I looked at the back of Theo’s head, my stomach turning at how close I had come to the unthinkable.

"Rory? What’s happening?" Theo asked, his eyes wide and wet with tears.

"I don't know," I gasped. I scrambled across the floor on my hands and knees, reaching the floor-to-ceiling glass. I peered down at the Speedway tarmac far below.

Through the rising smoke and the pale morning light, I saw them. Four armored Humvees had breached the perimeter, their roof-mounted turrets spitting lines of tracers into the mass of grey flesh on the concourse. A squad of soldiers in full tactical gear was moving in a perfect, lethal diamond formation, sweeping the area with the kind of cold efficiency I’d only seen in Dad’s training manuals. They were clearing the camp, moving toward the main structures.

"They're here, Theo! The military! They’re actually here!"

Hope was a violent, painful thing. I didn't wait. I knew how these sweeps worked—if they didn't find signs of life within minutes, they’d move to the next sector. We were out of time.

I shoved the 9mm back into my waistband and lunged for the mahogany desk. "Help me, Theo! Push!"

With a desperate, adrenaline-fueled heave, we managed to slide the desk far enough to clear the door. I grabbed his hand, my grip bruisingly tight. "Don't stop. Don't look at anything but the back of my head. We run until we hit those soldiers, you hear me?"

We burst out into the hallway, the air still thick with the smell of rot and the lingering ozone of the military's flash-bangs. We sprinted for the stairs, the sound of the battle outside growing louder, more desperate, as we raced down to meet the only salvation we had left.