It started to get dark outside when a single black Toyota Tacoma parked in front of the house ten minutes after the clock struck nine.

I had thought they were never going to arrive. Perhaps Jun and Alfie had released the horde too soon, causing the Alphas to muster up a response against a vector siege. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard their engines entered Driscoll Street, headlights penetrating through the dwindling darkness, the driver's face obscured in the shadows.

"Alright. In positions, everyone," I said.

Peter stopped me in my tracks. "Hold up. Something's wrong." He then pointed outside the barricaded window. "Well, isn't this just wonderful," he hissed.

I peered down below the bedroom where the Alpha had parked the truck in front of the garage door. At first, I didn't know what Peter talked about until I saw more movement inside the vehicle. There were four of them instead of one.

"Ah, hell. It's never fucking easy."

"You lied to us again," Peter seethed, turning around and taking a step toward Charlie, but Logan stopped him, arm pressed against Peter's chest.

"Now's not the time, Pete," Logan said.

Peter swatted Logan's arm away. "Oh, don't worry, princess. I'll make this one quick." He then took out his knife.

"Wait! We are not killing Charlie," I said, taking Peter's wrist and pushing it back to his side. "Let's deal with these men first before we do anything beyond stupid." I reckoned the Alphas must be by the gates now, entering by the side. They would reach the sliding doors in less than a minute. Our voices remained hushed, and I doubt they'd be able to hear us arguing about how we were going to kill them.

Peter huffed and put the blade back in his sheath. "Ah, fine. Whatever. But there's four of them now instead of one."

"Four against four. We had worse odds before," Logan said.

I looked back to Charlie, shaking. "Ah, let's be generous and say three against four."

"Still better odds."

"We're gonna have to take them out at the same time with no hesitations."

"Quietly," Peter said.

"Yes. Quietly."

"Same positions then?"

"With some slight adjustments," I said.

——

The sliding doors hissed open, followed by the four men's footsteps entering the house. I also heard the faint breeze of the wind outside, the rustle of the leaves, their boots crossing the threshold where they stepped onto the carpet from the patio's hardwood floor, succeeded by the sliding doors closing again with a slam. Though their footsteps might be muffled, I was relieved that they continued to blather on among themselves, making it easier to find their positions. Their voices grew louder as they approached the stairs.

I kept close in the shadows, hatchet in hand, hiding beside the landing of the staircase.

"Where the fuck is Abel?" One man asked.

"Nah, he's probably upstairs, jacking off. I gave him a good company with the ladies after my shift the other night, " another replied, which was followed by the other three's laughter.

"He better not ruin those pages."

"I can't believe we're getting assigned to this shit."

"That's what you get for skirting clean-up duty."

I heard four distinct voices, and now I was sure all four of them were inside the house. It worried me that one of them was left behind outside, or worse, in the car. I hadn't planned farther than that, given we were pressed for time.

"Blame Carl. He's paranoid as fuck about those trespassers yesterday."

"Do you think they'll attack us?"

"We haven't been attacked today. Maybe they up and left, and we scared him off?"

"I doubt that. One guy wanted to kill us all."

The first man reached the stairs, his heavy boots thumped against the first steps.

"Oh? How can you tell?"

"Because he walked across town with literal dozens of bodies on his wake, you fucking idiot! It's obvious he's making his way for the mall if you would just look at the map in the nest."

I realized they were talking about me.

"Bah, it's one boy. I think we can take care of a fucking kid."

"And those escapees. One's a big dude, I hear. A mountain."

"But I hear the other soldiers who saw him say he fights like the devil's by his side—"

"He got lucky. That's all."

"He burnt down an entire school with people in it."

"Quiet. I don't want to hear any of this again. Bad enough listening to a bunch of pussies in the mall. Well, I ain't having it here."

"But if he is heading for the mall, then, hypothetically, this will be the safest place to ride out the shit storm, am I right?" The men started to laugh.

The footsteps halted midway, and their laughter quickly died out just as soon as it began. I realized they were almost up to the landing. Their voices were so close it felt like I could just reach out from where I was hiding and touch them. Then, I heard a loud smack, followed by a pained yelp. I presumed one of them had hit the other over the head.

"We are not here to hide. We are here to do a job. If we find that kid walking on the street outside, we report it, and if we're smart, we can take him out. Got it?"

"The school had four times our numbers, and most of them are dead."

"Do you want me to report all of you to Jameson? Carl won't pardon your asses if one of his lieutenants has you by the balls for being a fucking coward. Do you want that?"

A brief pause. "Er...no?"

"Good to hear."

"And if we kill the kid, Carl's gonna give us a reward."

I could practically feel their shit-eating grins at the thought of my death, their murmurs of agreement spreading among them. Their footsteps resumed as they continued climbing up the stairs. Flashlights beamed along the walls of the second floor. I clenched my hand around the hatchet's handle, nervous that they'd spot some of the blood had splattered along the walls. I was thankful for the darkness that it hid most of it.

They had three steps left.

This is it.

"He might be dead. He's stupid enough to ring the dinner bell for them with how much shit he's blowing up—"

There.

A flicker of his shadow illuminating the wall, his boots thumping against the landing, and I knew right away he saw all the blood on the floor.

I didn't give him a chance to gasp.

I stepped out of the shadows, two paces worth, hatchet raised. I didn't make a sound, letting the silence guided me toward the first Alpha. Panic struck hard on the first man I saw, his face forever frozen in both confusion and terror, and closer to my height, which made it easier for me to reach for his jacket's collar. It probably took only a second before he grasped what had happened to him, but the hatchet's blade had already sunk through his trapezius muscle. He cried out in shock.

I pulled out the hatchet, ignored the spray of blood on my face as I dove it deep into his flesh, again and again, pushing him against the wall until we were almost at the edge of the landing, feared that we might fall over the stairs. Pieces of foam from his jacket flew everywhere, and some got into his screaming mouth, coughed, almost choking in them. His nails dug deep into my arm, but fortunately, I also wore a long-sleeved jacket; it didn't feel like it bled.

A movement to my left and I saw three more figures. One was still at the bottom of the stairs, his back against the wall, carrying only a baseball bat in his hand. Surprised, he stumbled, dropped the bat from his grip, and it rolled back down to the carpeted floor below. Eyes wide, two crouched down in a huddled alarm on the middle, cradled low on their bellies were their rifles, which took them a second to realize to use. A slew of curses escaped their lips: shit, shit, shit, shit...

The two aimed their weapons at me.

I saw an edge of a flinch in their eyes, and striking the opportunity, I pulled the man against the wall in front of me as the hall erupted in crackling fury.

Well, too late now at making this quiet.

Automatic fire. The man did not stand a chance as his back got riddled with bullets, like being torn apart by piranhas. His body slacked when the light went out of his eyes. I stepped to the side with a troubled gait, forced not to let go of his body as the other two continued to shoot at me. I had no choice but to pull him down with me when we fell on the floor.

Five seconds had passed, I presumed. One called out the dead man's name, their footsteps coming up to the landing, but it was then I heard the scraping of wheels against the hardwood floors. Logan and Charlie emerged out of the darkness, pushing the wheeled dresser out of the adjacent room with lightning speed, and charged toward the two men.

One, two, three...

The two men turned their attention to them, but they were too late. The dresser barreled through the side railings like a wrecking ball; wood splinters exploded and rained down the stairs, bringing the dresser with it.

Momentum and gravity did their thing.

Logan and Charlie missed the second man, but the third stood at the right spot. The dresser crashed on top of him, pinning him down on the stairs in a crumpled mess of broken bones and turned flesh. He screamed like a banshee.

I wiggled out under the dead man, surprised by how heavy he was for such a small frame. I tried to pull out my hatchet from his shoulders, but it was stuck. I let out a muffled curse.

The second man regarded his attention back to the others, aiming his rifle at them. Logan tackled Charlie into the next room as a hail of bullets littered the spot they last stood.

Yeah, there goes the neighborhood. So much for doing this quietly! I thought.

A man's scream rang out below. I presumed that Peter had taken care of the fourth Alpha by jumping out of his hiding place inside a coat closet beside the stairs. That left me with the last man standing in front of me.

The man's rifle clicked empty. Taking my chance, I abandoned the hatchet and lunged forward. The man anticipated my move, pirouetting with his rifle raised, using it like a bat, and almost struck my right temple. I ducked and swiped to the right, avoided his second swing as he advanced swiftly. I tried not to keep my back against the wall. I scrambled to think of my next strike, forced to go on the defensive. He was a big man, at least three inches taller than me, big, burly, and strong. But in the confines of the hallway, his size would slow him down severely.

He wouldn't be able to reload his rifle with me invading his space, rendering it useless aside from using it as a bludgeon. I could work with that. I kept him engaged, putting a soft jab on his left shoulder (the only one I could manage so far), which only pissed him off. I didn't want him to retreat and gained more time to use the gun instead of fighting me with fists. I led him down the corridor away from the second floor's foyer next to the staircase, and I could already see how confined he was with his movements: slow, deliberate, calculated, soles scraping on the floor. Yet, his intention to kill me fast was not lost in his eyes.

My back hit a console table, and I immediately grabbed the vase with wilted red roses still inside and threw it at the Alpha. It smashed him square on the chest with some of the thorns slashing his cheek, and dead petals and leaves clung to his shirt. A split second and the man howled with fury, abandoning his vigilance, and made a move to tackle me instead.

I swerved to the right, but he had long arms and a better reach, slamming me against the console table and then against the wall. The table tipped over, spilling its contents of picture frames and home decorations all over the floor. Broken glasses crunched under our weight. The momentum carried me high, his fists curled around my shirt, clinging. I hacked down twice with my elbow on his shoulders, but it was all for naught. He lifted me up and pinned me against the wall, his fingers wrapped around my throat.

I was not going to let him even have a single squeeze. I grabbed hold of his thumb and wrist and twisted it upward. He squealed, and with an open palm, I struck him under the chin, forcing him to lift his head higher and left his throat open. I curled my fist and attacked for his Adam's apple.

He let out a strangled croak and let me go, putting his free hand around his throat, coughing to clear the pain. He took a step back, gaining me at least three more inches between us.

Good.

I whirled around. With my other hand still clutched to his twisted wrist, I placed my back against his chest, situating all the force on my hips and legs, and lifted him slightly with my back by pulling hard on his arm. He tumbled over, crashing on his back with a sickening thud. I never let go of his arm, placed my heel on his shoulder, and pulled his humerus out of his shoulder socket. He howled and squirmed, saliva oozing out of the side of his lips, his face and neck turning beet red in a snap.

I let go of his arm and tried to take a step back, expecting for him to clutch his now broken arm, but I did not expect for him to reach out with his other hand and pulled me down by my ankles. He still had a fight in him.

I fell down on the floor on my back beside him, surprised to find a blade raised over me. I rolled over to the side just as the edge hit the hardwood floor. He lifted it again and made a stab at my thigh (the only one he could reach). I scrambled backward, missing me by half an inch. I lay awkwardly in a heap, breathing hard, thankful to put some distance between us. But that would only buy me a couple of seconds before he decided to get up and used his blade again.

He raised the knife again, and I lunged.

I grabbed hold of his wrist and swiped it to the side. He lost his grip on the handle, and the knife clattered on the floor. I rolled over until I was on top of him.

I pulled out the icepick from my back pocket and stabbed him through his left eye. The Alpha screamed and writhed beneath me, trying to claw the icepick out of his eye while also trying to push me off. A single, small spurt of blood escaped, but the rest got clogged against the handle.

See, the thing about icepicks was that their blade was awfully narrow, and their length was short. It wouldn't kill him right away. So I put both my hands at the end of the handle and shoved the entire icepick deep inside his eye socket. The Alpha yelped, twitched twice, and didn't move again. His other eye remained open, staring blankly.

I took deep breaths, picking myself up guardedly, made aware that the man still pinned on the stairs was bawling. I didn't hear more of the fourth Alpha, and given that he hadn't come running to finish me off meant that Peter took care of him.

Remembering Logan and Charlie, I rushed toward the room they went into, found them on the floor, tangled in each other's arms. At first, I thought they weren't moving, but then Logan stirred, followed by Charlie. I crouched down beside Logan, pulling him on his back.

"Logan." I slapped his cheeks lightly. "Hey. Are you hurt? Come on, Logan. Did he shoot you?" I checked all over his body for a bullet wound, but I didn't see any blood. I didn't see any on Charlie as well.

Logan let out a weary groan. "Is it over?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Besides almost getting shot, ah, no?" He pushed my hand away from his face. "Christ. I need a drink. That fucking dresser was heavy to move. Why don't I get the easier job?"

I rolled my eyes. "Kinda nice to lie down and wait for once."

"Yeah, yeah. I rub that on my aching muscles."

"Hey, you're free to almost dying again."

"Oh? Like we weren't just doing that?"

"You okay. Charlie?"

"Fine. Yeah. I'm fine," he croaked.

"Woohoo. We won. Yay." Logan raised a lazy fist up but then dropped it again. "Everyone dead?"

"Er...almost."

I got up and walked back out to the stairs. The man was still alive beneath the dresser, saw me up the landing, and tried to grab his rifle. However, it was too far away from his reach. He struggled for a couple of seconds, then gave up. Instead, he gave me a deathly glare, his breathing labored and scratchy as blood oozed from his lips. The dresser definitely crushed his lungs.

I then noticed Peter standing at the bottom of the stairs, panting and drenched in blood. The fourth Alpha had been split into two...no, three pieces. The decapitated head had rolled over beneath the coffee table. His lower half lay crumpled on the stairs, while the upper half was right in front of Peter's feet in a tangled, hacked mess. Peter held a machete in his hand. I tried not to puke, keeping my expression wooden.

Peter wiped his face with his free hand, but it only smeared more blood on his face rather than get it off of him. He pulled out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around the wound on his upper arm.

"He tried to hack me with the machete. Almost got me," he said. He looked down on the body beneath him. "I got him back. Got him good."

Peter bent down and rummaged through the man's flannel jacket and pulled out his car keys. He then sauntered toward the lower half and took the CB radio that was still miraculously attached to the belt. Peter checked it twice, and it worked.

"We now have the car and the radio."

"Good job," I managed to say.

Logan and Charlie walked up and stood beside me and looked down.

"Oh, Jesus." Charlie ran off and pushed the bathroom door open and then threw up on the sink.

Logan shook his head. "Just stabbing him would have been fine, Pete."

Peter showed Logan his wounded arm. "He stabbed me first."

"But you cut his...well, everything." Logan grimaced.

Peter grinned and chuckled. "Yeah. I know, right?"

The last surviving Alpha's ragged breathing stopped abruptly, and I already knew what that meant.

We didn't waste any time looting their bodies for ammunition. They carried enough spare ammo for Logan and Peter's rifles and a full magazine for both my pistols (Betty and Kossa's). However, I didn't find any for my revolver. The others also found pistols and kept them. We didn't give Charlie any extra weapons, and he never asked for any aside from the lump hammer Peter gave him, which worked out fine for us. If he tried to beat us with it, the others would kill him. Peter would probably do it slowly, and maybe that's why he never used it against us. Yet.

I also didn't try to recover my icepick since it's pretty embedded deep into the man's skull, and I had no stomach to hack through his head just to get it. Peter offered to help, but I refused. We were already pressed for time. Instead, I took his combat knife, which meant I now had one extra, plus my hatchet (to which I retrieved with a hard yank from the other Alpha I killed). I gave the spare knife to Logan.

"Everyone ready?" Peter called over.

We climbed into the vehicle with me behind the wheel. We lucked out that we were not surrounded by vectors yet, and if some had heard the gunshots, we would already be gone. I was concerned that the nearby outposts might have heard us, but then again, they would be too preoccupied with a vector siege at the mall to do anything about it. I gradually stepped on the gas and left Driscoll Street.

"You got the bolt cutters?" I asked Logan.