Page 33 of Before Their After

His other senses had sharpened too, the sound of my heartbeat keeping him up at night in close quarters. The coppery smell of blood and toxins in the air damn near drove him mad. It was the height that failed us the most. He wasn’t yet used to the new proportions of his body. His clumsiness would be of no help for whatever the hell may be inside this house. There had beenno sign of me developing any new capabilities, no change in my stature or senses.

I was a ticking fucking time bomb. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if I turned into one of the zombie shits. The only thing that mattered now was getting Evander somewhere safe for when I was gone. The window shattered, and we paused, waiting for any movement inside. I stepped in, Evander taking a step inside. He closed his door behind me, gun raised and ready to fire.

“I told you to wait outside.”

“And I told you that I have your back.” He planted his feet, leaning his back against the door to hold his position in case someone tried to follow us inside.

I shook my head. Clearing this house was the first priority, arguing with him could wait.

“Fine. But stop pointing your gun in my direction.”

The downstairs was clear. I moved through it swiftly, thankful for the pile of groceries still on the counter. Whoever had lived here never had the chance to put them away. I tried not to think about who the sorry son of a bitch was. It was better that way. Easier.

Evander kept his place by the door as I edged up the steps. A creak sounded from the room down the hall. I drew my knife, not wanting the ringing of a gun to draw more attention than necessary. I crept down the hallway, pushing open the two doors on either side. A little girl’s room decked out in princess shit and what looked to be a spare room. They were clear, though I’d need to double back to check the closets and bathrooms inside.

Taking a shaky breath, I pushed the sole remaining door in. A gun cocked in my face as the man on the other side of the barrel held it with shaky hands. I knew enough from my time working under my father to say confidently that a nervous man with a gun was a man that would shoot.

The whole argument of “guns don’t hurt people, people hurt people,” had always been fucking stupid to me. The truth lay somewhere in the middle. Unstable people hurt people, and more times than not, the instability resulted in an overreaction. Nerves were lethal, the response to fear and desperation made people do anything to make sure they were the ones to survive.

I dropped the knife, the sound clanging against the wooden floor, hands going up as an indication of waving a white flag.

“Everything okay up there?” Evander called from downstairs.

The man motioned for me to answer his call, gun waving in my face. I planned on doing that, anyway. No need to drag him up the steps to get his head blown off too.

“Going fine, dropped my knife. Keep watch.”

Crouching low, I ducked off to the side, landing a firm grip on his wrist. A risky move, but the idiot didn’t even have his finger on the trigger. He was quick, dropping the gun, instead lighting his hands in flames.

A little girl peered around the corner. Tears falling down her bronze skin, not a muffle of a cry leaving her fear ridden mouth. The man’s hand flickered, and he released his grip before the flames could burn me. I shuffled for my knife, but he beat me there, a wild look in his eyes.

It slid across the floor, back out of reach. I put my fists up. For what reason? Who the fuck knows? The options before me were a bullet or fire. Fists would do me no good. Panic seized my veins at my lack of power. Recognition filled the man’s crazed stare.

Evander burst through the door at the commotion, gun raised, finger on the trigger.

“Wait,” I said, lowering my fists.

I would not let my brother take a life. Not yet. Not before he had to.Unlesshe had to.

The man raised his weapon again, this time moving it between Evander and me. “Late bloomer?” he asked, sweat beading along his hairline.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Language,” the man recoiled, a disgusted scowl on his face. “There’s a child on board.”

The little girl came around the corner, fingers in her mouth, fairy wings strapped to her back. She peered up at me, her tears replaced with an innocent grin.

“Do you take me for someone who enjoys the presence of a small child?”

The little girl giggled, waddling over to me with a slobbery hand. “Papi said if I get lost, the first person I should find is someone covered in marker or with crazy hair.”

“Cute.” I flinched as her cold spit slapped against my palm.

Evander lowered his weapon, the sweat beading against the tip of his nose. He wiped it with the back of his wrist, feet shifting back and forth.

“You lost?”

I studied the man, the question not one I was prepared to answer. He was around my age, his hair cropped low against his head. Brown eyes hardened as mine locked on them, waiting for an answer.

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