Page 184 of Sin Like the Devil

“I c-can’t make it…” He hisses in pain. “Leave me.”

“Like hell. Thought we were allies?”

“Enemies,” he whispers.

“Not anymore, Nox. Not in here.”

Struggling to prop him up despite my own throbbing body, I search around the cell for anything I can use. The only items are the table of torture instruments and Craven’s body. Biting my lip, I move to the corpse first. Warm blood slips beneath my bare feet.

“He d-dead?” Lennox mutters.

“Yeah. Looks a bit like a smashed egg.”

“Good.”

Searching his lab coat pockets, I find a folded handkerchief. A quick pat of his suit underneath reveals an old flip phone suitable for a dinosaur like him. Nothing else. This will have to do.

I shove the phone into my bra, stumbling back over to Lennox. He looks like he wants to yell at the pressure I apply to his bleeding face with the handkerchief, but it comes out as a tiny, child-like cry.

“Suck it up.” I press down as hard as my own throbbing injuries will allow. “You’re bleeding.”

“F-Fucking bitch.”

“That’s more like it. Thought you’d gone soft.”

“Not likely.”

Lapsing into silence, I let him rest as I focus on staunching the bleeding. It feels like an eternity has gone by before I hear the first incoming noises.

Shouting echoes from the corridor outside the cell. A multitude of different voices. The wet thunk of repeated, frenzied stabbing. Someone grunting with exertion.

“Rip?” Lennox whispers.

“Shh.” I hold him tight. “Be quiet.”

Gut-twisting screams follow. They sound so close, I wonder what’s unfolding just outside the cell we’re cowering in. More shouts ensue. The words permeate through the steel door to reach us.

“You’re going to fucking die for that!”

It’s a female voice. Unfamiliar. I hug Lennox even tighter to me, like I can shield him with my own broken body if the owners of those voices come looking. I don’t know if they’re friend or foe. We have to stay hidden here.

Bang.

Lennox flinches in my arms at the sound of gunfire. It cracks through the Z wing like an almighty thunderclap. Anguished shrills follow, the shouts all intermingling to form a terrifying mental image of a battle unfolding.

My face hidden in Lennox’s shoulder, I tune out the unimaginable sounds. Part of me wonders if we’ve both died when silence eventually settles what feels like centuries later.

“Are we dead?” he grits out.

“Not yet.”

Lifting my head, I strain my ears for any noise. There’s a far-off banging. It sounds like cell doors are being systematically opened and closed. Briefly releasing Lennox, I grab the first instrument I can find on Craven’s trolley of toys. A scalpel.

“Someone’s coming,” I whisper.

Lennox grunts, attempting to move, but he can hardly crack an eyelid let alone defend himself. I stand with my back to him, ignoring every last protest of my body. The scalpel rests in my white-knuckled grip.

Another bang.

---