They dragged me toward the main building. I kept fighting but my body was small and weak and broken.
Lily wasn't moving. Still lying where she fell.
Maybe she was just hurt. Maybe she'd get up soon. Maybe maybe maybe.
But I knew. Deep down in the part of my brain that still worked. I knew.
Inside the building was chaos. Smoke. Fire. People running. People shooting.
The person holding me was big. Soldier-person with gear and weapons. They threw me into a room and locked the door.
"Stay there, kid."
I pounded on the door. Screamed. Nobody came.
Through the small window in the door I could see the hallway. People running back and forth. Shouting orders. Someone was screaming about a fire in the west wing.
Then I saw him.
The man in black. Fighting his way down the hallway. Blood all over him. Not just his shoulder now. Other places too.
But still fighting.
He shot someone. Then someone else. His movements were slower than in the house. Tired. Hurt.
Too many enemies. Too many guns.
He went into a different room. Following someone. His target maybe.
More gunshots inside that room. Lots of them.
Then nothing.
Silence.
The door to that room stayed closed.
I waited. Pressed my face against the little window. Watching.
Nobody came out.
After forever, soldiers went into the room. Carefully. Weapons raised.
They came out shaking their heads.
"Both dead," one said. "Got each other."
Both dead.
The man was dead.
Lily was dead.
I was alone again.
No. Worse than alone. I was the reason they were dead. My wanting to be useful. My wanting to matter. My wanting a purpose.
That's what killed them.
The processing room had broken me. But I'd broken them.
Someone opened my door eventually. Pulled me out. Asked me questions I couldn't answer because my brain had stopped making words.
They found out I wasn't important. Just a kid. Just nobody.
They let me go. Pushed me out the gate and told me not to come back.
I walked away from the compound. Away from Lily's body. Away from whatever room the man had died in.
Walked into the darkness. Into the wasteland.
No direction. No plan. No purpose.
Just walking.
My brain kept trying to count things. Kept trying to sort and organize and make sense.
But there was nothing to count. Nothing to sort. Nothing made sense.
Function. Quota. Pain.
But there was no function anymore. No quota to meet. Just pain.
Just walking.
Just alone.
Everything we'd done. Everything we'd tried. Every moment of hope or safety or connection.
All of it led here. To me walking alone in the dark.
To almost.
We almost made it. Almost were safe. Almost mattered.
Almost.