Chapter 3
1024 Words
3
Our execution is a circus.
The prisoner transport van opens and there’s an ocean of people screaming at us.
“Humans First!”
“Make America Human Again!
“Up with Humans!”
A harpy guard reaches in and pulls me out. My hands and feet are connected with a thick chain, so I stumble. One of the humans takes the opportunity to throw their drink at me. It gets all over the First Brood too, and she turns and makes a noise that’s between a caw and a growl.
The humans take a few steps back. Everyone knows the harpies won’t hesitate to take a literal s**t on anyone that upsets them.
I’m thrust forward through the crowd, a line of guards creating a corridor through the bodies. When I turn to make sure the rest of the squad is behind me, I almost fall over. A guard pulls me to my feet and tells me to keep moving.
Behind me, I hear the others. Shauna is screaming at everyone, calling them bigots. Griff is stoic, as always. Mac is praying softly to any god that will listen. I don’t tell him that no one is listening. The gods don’t care. The three that matter most—the Triumvirate—have already sealed our fate.
Kit manages to shake off his guards and tries to make a break for it. He doesn’t get very far when he’s hit with not one, not two, but three separate stun beams. If that were me, you’d have to peel me off the pavement, but it only slows Kit down a little. He goes for one of the humans and almost bites him before he’s contained again.
It only enrages the crowd further.
“Animals!”
“Put them down!”
The last one is picked up as a chant. “Put them down! Put them down!”
I shuffle forward to a platform and pause briefly at the bottom of the steps, waiting for my knees to feel steady enough to climb. Something wet hits my face and I realize that someone spit on me. My face burns with anger as I climb the last steps.
On the stage—because that’s what it is, a stage—we are lined up. Hundreds of people are here to attend the execution, most of them from Humans First. They hold Make America Human Again signs. One says, Put the Animals Down.
That’s what we are to them. Feral beasts.
Several harpies drag Kit up to the stage and strap him on to an angled table that looks a bit like a hospital bed. At least I can be thankful they’re not going to hang us. Draw and quarter us. Put us in front of a firing squad. Not that I’d be surprised. I scan the crowd as a hush falls, their faces expectant as the executioner appears, a slim form in black robes, the cowl pulled over their head.
Kit grimaces and strains against his bonds, but even his freakish vampire strength can’t help him. He snaps and growls at the executioner as they draw a long needle from inside their sleeve. The crowd is entirely quiet now, entranced as they watch the executioner draw a clear liquid into the syringe.
“Don’t you touch him!” Shauna screams, breaking the silence as she makes a lunge for the executioner. She’s hit with a stun beam, but only one. There’s a huge roar from the audience as she falls backwards. A harpy catches her and they drag her to the hospital bed, already unstrapping Kit.
His body is limp and lifeless as he’s carried offstage, his head falling backwards as the harpies take his body…where? I didn’t even ask if we would be buried or burned. I’ve failed my team so completely I didn’t even look out for them post mortem.
Shauna’s strapped in now and I lean forward, straining against the harpy that is holding me.
“Don’t do this!” I yell. “Please! Why can’t it just be me?”
The executioner turns back to me, and I catch a glimpse of her face, I gasp.
Fern.
Marguerite's girlfriend and my one-time friend from MOA.
Her face is cold and expressionless. They don’t even need to bother with the outfit—she looks like death incarnate. There’s no glimpse of the girl I knew.
“Wait your turn!” someone yells, and I’m hit with an apple. Always in books and movies the crowd throws rotten fruit, but that would almost be better. This apple wasn’t even ripe yet, and hard as s**t. I feel a lump rising above my eye as I’m pulled back by my harpy guard. I don’t resist. The look on Fern’s face has taken the wind out of me.
My mother forgot me. My sister is gone. My friends are against me. I’ve got no one, and nothing. A sob escapes me as Shauna is pulled from the table, her head lolling as she’s carried away.
Another deafening cheer erupts and now Mac is being dragged to the table, his usual suave demeanor still intact, as are his man parts, which are painfully obvious. “Anyone for a last quickie?” Mac asks, and a human reporter at the front of the crowd almost looks like she might take him up on it.
I feel a weight at my back, the slightest pressure as Griff moves closer to me. He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his breath, warm and measured, on my neck. I relax, ever so slightly. There’s nothing I can do. At least my team is together at the end.
I can’t watch when Griff’s turn comes. I feel him move past me, smell his particular bear shifter scent—like woodsmoke—and pull in a deep lungful, holding it until I can’t any longer.
Griff doesn’t say a word as he’s strapped in and Fern shoots the poison into his veins.
I’m not as brave. Tears fall down my cheeks as I’m led to the table, which is still warm from Griff’s body. I look into Fern’s eyes, as she leans over me but her face is blank. How did she get caught up in this? Does she really think what she’s doing is right?
I shift my gaze to the crowd. Hundreds of angry, hateful faces. I got my whole squad killed. I deserve this.
The needle pinches my skin and I fall into darkness.
- Writer
