Death Smith - Book 1 - Chapter 10

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Scotch and shards

Six and a half months ago.

August, 13 AR.

United Kingdom, London, outside Ealing Hospital.

The one-armed Rifter walked further down the hall, seeing the dozens of nurses and doctors rush in and out of rooms. Many of them were treating the wounded survivors on their beds while the heavily wounded were already undergoing surgery in specialised rooms. The Rift-hound had a bed as well, with no doctor daring to refuse the request from the blood and gore covered Daniel.

Daniel had checked in on every survivor, instructing the medical staff not to throw away their clothes or belongings but to keep them secure. Even if it was torn and heavily damaged, Rift-energy had infused each item. It meant that the fabric could pass through a Rift and that marked it as highly valuable. Even if the survivors wouldn’t want to become Rifters, those items would be theirs to sell or keep. It was a small reward, but Daniel wasn’t going to let them lose anything else.

‘Come on, guys. You endured so much. Just pull through,’ Daniel thought as he watched more nurses rush from one room into another, showing that there was another emergency going on. The horde of monsters that had descended on them at the end had killed and maimed so many of the survivors. Although they had escaped with their lives, the memories of that Rift would forever mark these people, both physically and mentally.

Daniel had a bruised and battered body, not to mention fatigued beyond words. Still, he stood tall in that moment. Some of these survivors would not survive the next few hours because of their injuries. The least Daniel could do was stand vigilant until they recovered or gave their last breath. Beyond his wounded state, his face was also showing signs of anger. Mostly because of the GRRO officers trailing him as they kept asking him questions. He knew why they were doing it, but fatigue drained him mentally, so he did not want to deal with them.

“Can you tell us more about how many people were with you? Do you have a-” a GRRO officer asked before Daniel interrupted the man.

“No, I cannot. And the GRRO will get my report when I check in on the others. Now back off,” Daniel said bitterly as he rounded the corner, wanting to check on the Rift-hound while Dieter was in surgery. He knew the bond that those two shared, even beyond what Dieter’s class as a Rifter gave him. The man loved that dog and would take a bullet for him.

Dieter would have wanted him to check up on little Hans. Daniel stopped when he heard the officers behind him continue to pester him with more questions. “That will not do. We need to debri-”

The Rifter suddenly grabbed the GRRO officer by the throat, easily lifting him with one arm. Daniel’s words came out quick and venomous. “You will get the report when I check up on the wounded!” Daniel growled, his eyes fixed upon the officer and almost daring him to even quiver and shake in a wrong way.

Normally, Daniel was a composed and calm individual. Now he was just one question away from slamming someone through a wall. Like vultures, the GRRO came rushing in with their red tape, paperwork, and record-keeping. He was once again reminded why he had chosen to not stick with being a GRRO lapdog back when he was still an active Rifter.

“Let’s give the man some room before someone loses a finger,” a tall and greying man said behind them. Like the others, the man wore a GRRO uniform, although he clearly had a higher rank. One nod from him was enough of a signal to the others that the Rifter, Daniel, was to be left alone for now. The other men and women quickly nodded respectfully and scurried away to check on other things. When it was just them, the greying man looked at Daniel, seeing the state he was in before speaking his mind.

“Did retirement not suit you?” the man, Samuel Jones, asked as he steered the Rifter towards Samuel’s private office to talk after letting him check on the Rift-hound first. Inside, he offered Daniel a chair and grabbed two random mugs he could find on a nearby shelf. Afterwards, he pulled out a small metal flask from his pocket that held some decent scotch. He poured a fair bit in both mugs, handing Daniel one of them.

The Rifter watched Samuel for a few seconds before he spoke. “Retirement? Well, I gave it a proper try. But you know how work pulls you back in,” Daniel said with a weak grin, accepting the mug and raising an eyebrow at the text on the mug; ‘#1 mom’.

Samuel ignored the raised eyebrow and spoke his mind. “I can only imagine Dieter and your old team taking this as a sign that you should come out of retirement.”

“Bah! Dieter could interpret me putting on the wrong pair of socks as a sign of me needing to come back,” Daniel said, sipping his drink and savouring the taste. Samuel clearly knew a lot about Dieter and Daniel, both from earlier interactions and from reading up on them.

Samuel smiled gently because of that for a minute before the mood shifted. He narrowed his eyes and focused on Daniel. “How is he?”

Daniel closed his eyes, lowering his head as he swirled the contents of the mug around. “Bad. Lots of fractures, lacerations, and a collapsed lung. Still, he has been through worse. Last time I checked, they were still performing surgery on him. As soon as he is stable enough, they will transfer him to St Thomas’ Hospital.” Daniel said, taking another sip from the mug.

“Let us hope he will pull through. The same applies to the survivors. I have rarely witnessed a scene as messy as this one,” Samuel said, replying like an old friend. He meant it, truly. Samuel’s position today was a delicate one. He had to balance mutual respect between men and maintaining enough distance because of his position as the head of the GRRO London branch. Still, interacting with Daniel as equals in this way would afford Samuel more information in the end.

Daniel knew what Samuel was doing but did not seem to get as irritated when compared to the other GRRO employees. Daniel and his former team had built up a bit of a rapport with Samuel, even taking on GRRO contracts for a few years until it had felt too constrictive. They had still clashed over the years, but Samuel had built up a reputation within the Rifter population of being fair and strict.

Sensing the tension, Samuel then shared a bit of the information that the GRRO had already gathered. “From what we have learned, this Rift scaled somewhere between a level six and level eight Rift. We should have an exact measurement within a few hours. But even if we were assuming a level six, it is still miraculous that you guys cleared it at all while taking care of so many survivors with barely any supplies,” Samuel said. His words were honest and respectful. He knew what he was talking about. He had seen first-hand just how often an initial Rift could cause the deaths of everyone inside of it instead of what had happened today.

Daniel was almost hesitant to ask, but finally forced himself to ask the dark question that loomed over him. “How many people?” He did not want to know the answer but knew that he owed it to the fallen to bear witness.

“Two hundred eighty-four people had been at the scene where the Rift occurred,” Samuel said, stating the horrible fact. It was a current number, seeing as time and further investigation might shift that number.

“Dammit,” Daniel said, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes. His thoughts wandering toward all those people that had died within the Rift. ‘Too many. There are always too many.’ He still remembered the confusion that had taken place in the beginning, with his room suddenly transported into the Rift and breaking apart. It had taken time to find his bearings, to equip himself before he could help the survivors. For every survivor he had found and protected, he felt like the monsters had killed a dozen more.

“I could only find and protect a few of them. Thirty at the most, in the beginning, I think. I do not know how many will survive their injuries. I doubt there were over ten of us when the Rift-event closed,” Daniel said before he paused, searching for words he could utter to describe what he had seen. There were none. He remembered how he had forced the survivors to huddle against the Rift-event when it closed. Most of them had appeared heavily wounded or even at death’s door. Those that had died wouldn’t be able to accompany the living as the Rift returned them to earth, their corpses now forever claimed by the Rift itself. He sighed once more before opening his eyes, seeing Samuel stare at a blank spot on the wall himself, no doubt feeling what Daniel was feeling.

Finally, Samuel broke the silence. “Despite what the press and the families of the fallen might say-”

“You mean the butchered?” Daniel interrupted, his voice calm and thick with the weight of loss.

“There wouldn’t have been any survivors if it hadn’t been for Dieter and yourself. It would have been another three days before a proper Rift team would be arriving. We had two simultaneous new Rifts forming, and an impending outbreak in Scotland,” Samuel said truthfully, eying the thick stack of papers on his desk that would contain a summary of everything that had happened since this Rift had formed here. On top of those stacks were the letters of condolences, or the drafts of those. Samuel’s phone was buzzing again, noting that new texts and calls were coming in, so he had to wrap things up with Daniel.

“We can only look forward, lest we drown in the blood we have been wading through,” The GRRO director said before he slowly got up, finished his drink, and made his way towards the door. “Daniel, you are still bleeding, and that infection needs to be taken care of. I’ll get a doctor to treat you here to give you some time to collect yourself. I’ll let the vultures know to leave you alone. Let’s talk more tomorrow,” Samuel said before he left the room, closing it behind him, not waiting for a response. After all, what was there to be said? Samuel had only asked what he needed to finish his report. He did not need to ask more, having seen all that he needed to know from Daniel’s gaze.

Experiencing hell had a way of carving a mark in one’s eyes.

* * * * *

The following morning, a GRRO representative would pay a visit to the survivors that were stable enough to speak. The occupant of room 3, Lance Turner, would be one of those survivors.

“The GRRO will take care of any further treatment and medical cost for the next twenty-four months. You will find all the information within the folder we have placed on the table next to you,” The man in the black suit said as he pointed at the table with a soft and reassuring smile. He had practised this smile before and knew how to calm people. Survivors of a Rift had been through untold horrors, but in his experience, a calm tone and a reassuring smile helped.

Still, the patient in room three paid no attention to what was being said. Instead, Lance appeared to be lost in his own mind as he focused on a single word. ‘Seven.’

“After they have moved you to St Thomas’ Hospital, a GRRO officer will check up with you every few days to see if there is anything we can do for you in the meantime,” The GRRO representative explained, trying once again to make eye contact. He knew everyone reacted differently when surviving a Rift. Still, this young man before him looked about as shell-shocked as could be. The nurse had told the representative that the young man had moments of clarity when a fellow survivor or one of the Rifters came to visit.

‘Seven,’ Lance continued to think about one number, blocking out anything else. The representative hesitated, seeing the blank expression on the young man. He guessed that anything he said to the young man would land on deaf ears during this time. Still, the representative pressed on and told all that he needed to explain before he said farewell and told the nurses and doctors what he had ‘discussed’ with the young man.

As the representative left Lance’s room, Lance simply stared at the window, repeating the same word over and over in his mind. ‘Seven.’

He still couldn’t deal with how many people had died within the Rift. He thought he had seen hell, watching Rachel and the others die right there in front of him. But the reality was far, far more sadistic. It turned out what he had witnessed was only a speck of how many people had died during the Rift.

‘Seven survived,’ Lance whispered inside the safety of his own mind. Just seven people had survived the Rift, including the Rifters, Thomas, and himself. Of those seven, the hardships had crippled two survivors to the point of never being able to walk again.

“This isn’t real… Hundreds had to die, so just seven could live… This is all a joke, right?” Lance said out loud as he continued to look at the window, ignoring the nurse that had come inside his room to change the fluids of his IV. He barely registered her presence in that moment, or the look of confusion on her face as Lance spoke to himself.

Twelve hours had passed since he had returned from the Rift. He had survived a fate that no person should have ever have to endure. He had seen the horrors of monstrous life-forms, the brutality of close combat, and the desperation of his own actions as he had killed things to survive.

“What the hell was the point of it all?” He said out loud as he glanced at the window, ignoring the nurse who was speaking to him, asking him if he needed anything or if he was all right.

Lance stared at the window, or what was in front of the window, observing something that only he could see.

[Congratulations, you have cleared this Rift.]

[You have now been registered.]

[You have been awarded with a Level up.]

[You have been awarded with a personal skill.]

[You have 3 unspent attribute points.]

The words simply kept popping up no matter what direction he was looking at, blinking now and again to demand his attention. Daniel had explained things to him when he had visited Lance, but it was still surreal to see a ‘status screen’ pop up whenever he concentrated on it. There was far too much information being displayed on the screen to make sense of, so for now he had mostly ignored it.

Instinctively, he knew that his life had changed. He had changed. He wasn’t the same person as he had been before he had entered the Rift. What he had endured physically and mentally had manifested within him, taking root, and forever changing him in more ways than one. He wondered if his life would ever return to some sort of normality after all of this. He had seen some of the other survivors make a phone call with their family, pouring out everything emotion they had kept bottled up since entering the Rift had started. Thomas as well had broken down when he had spoken to his parents, weeping as he told them they were alright.

In time, Lance might feel the same way, but for now, he simply felt numb. “What is the point of this joke?” Lance whispered as he slowly got out of bed, ignoring his protesting body, as he made his way over to the window. His gaze focused on something past the floating letters and numbers. He was staring at his reflection that he barely recognised at this point.

“Has this truly happened?” He asked himself as he held out his hands, seeing smaller wounds that had already partially healed before he brought his hand to his unshaven chin. He drew soft lines through the stubble before he moved his hand further downwards.

Pulling the hospital gown downwards as he exposed his chest and the bright white crystalline Rift-shard that was firmly embedded in the centre, marking him as a Rifter.

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Author: Osirium

Copyright: 2021 OsiriumWrites

Released: 2021