CH. 7

Lily's eyes were wide with terror, her legs frozen to the spot. Rachel took her hand, her grip firm and reassuring. "We need to go," she whispered, tugging gently. "We can't help him like this." But Lily broke free, her legs propelled by a force stronger than fear. She dashed to the cell, her heart pounding in her chest. "Daddy?" she called out, her voice trembling. Alex's head snapped in her direction, his eyes searching the group. His gaze fell upon Lily, and for a brief moment, the flame of recognition flared. His body trembled, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Emily," he whispered, his voice a rasp of pain and longing. The name hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the life he had left behind. The creature that had once been Alex took a shaky step forward, his eyes pleading. "Daddy, it's me," Lily said, her voice quavering. The creature that was once Alex stumbled, as if struck by a physical blow. His eyes searched hers, desperation warring with the hunger that fueled his undead existence. For a fleeting instant, the man Penelope had known flickered in his gaze, a flicker of love and recognition that set her heart racing.

"No, Daddy," Lily said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's Lily Bug." The child stepped closer, her hand reaching through the bars. Rachel's grip tightened on her arm, but she didn't pull her away. The air grew thick with tension, hope, and fear as they watched the interplay of emotions across Alex's contorted features.

The creature that was Alex took another unsteady step forward, his eyes never leaving Lily's. He reached out a trembling hand, his fingertips brushing against hers through the bars. The warmth of her touch seemed to resonate through his body, a jolt of life that sent a shiver down his spine. His eyes searched hers, the hunger momentarily forgotten in the face of his daughter's love.

For a moment, it was as if the world had stopped turning. The cries of the guards outside, the stench of decay in the air, the very fabric of the prison itself seemed to fade away. There was only Alex and Lily, two lost souls finding each other in the dark. Rachel and Penelope watched, their hearts in their throats, as the undead man and the living girl touched, the barrier between them as fragile as a spiderweb.

The creature's hand, so cold and lifeless, wrapped around Lily's warm, trembling fingers. His eyes searched hers, a silent question hanging in the air. Was this truly his daughter? The girl he had held in his arms, whispered bedtime stories to, and promised to always protect? The girl who had grown up without him, in a world that had gone mad?

"You need to go," he rasped, his voice strained with the effort of speaking. "It's not safe here."

Penelope's heart shattered at the words. "Alex, please," she begged, her voice cracking. "We can help you."

But the spark of humanity in Alex's eyes was fading, the hunger for flesh and blood rising once more. With a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the prison, he shoved Lily away from the bars, his hand slamming into the metal with a bone-crushing force. "Leave!" he bellowed, his voice a twisted mockery of the man they had known.

The group stumbled back, their hearts pounding in their chests. Rachel gathered Lily into her arms, her eyes never leaving the tormented creature that was her father. "We will," she promised, her voice firm. "We'll make this right. I swear it."

They retreated to the control room, the weight of their encounter heavy on their shoulders. Marcus slammed his fist into the wall, his eyes burning with anger. "We can't leave him like that," he said, his voice tight with rage. "We have to find a way to save him."

Rachel held Lily close, her own eyes filled with tears. "We will," she assured the girl. "But first, we need to make sure everyone is safe."

Penelope leaned heavily on her crutch, her mind racing. She knew Alex was lost to them in this state, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him like this. Her eyes searched the control room, seeking an answer. And then it came to her. The king's mark, the very thing that had bound her to the monster she had escaped, could be the key to saving Alex.

Her voice was steady, despite the turmoil within. "There's a way," she said, drawing the group's attention. "The king's mark, it's more than just a symbol of ownership. It's a bond, a connection." Rachel's eyes narrowed, sensing where this was heading. "If I can find a way to break the bond between the king and me, perhaps it will weaken the control the king has over Alex." Marcus crossed his arms, his skepticism clear. "You're talking about going back to the city," he said, his voice gruff. "Back to that... thing."

Penelope met his gaze, her determination unwavering. "It's the only way," she insisted. "If we can break the bond between the king and me, maybe Alex will be free from his control."

Marcus's expression was a tumult of doubt and fear. "But what if it doesn't work?" he countered, his voice gruff. "What if you're just walking into a trap?"

Penelope's eyes never left his, her resolve as unyielding as the bars that separated her from Alex. "It's a risk we have to take," she said firmly. "We can't leave him like that, not when there's a chance we can help him." Rachel's gaze flickered between them, her own thoughts a tumult of emotions.

Finally, she spoke. "Marcus," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You know as well as I do that we can't abandon hope. If there's a way to save Alex, we have to try."

Marcus looked at Rachel, then at Penelope, and finally at Lily, who was clutching Rachel's shirt, her eyes wide with hope. He sighed heavily, the weight of their decision pressing down on him. "Alright," he conceded, his voice filled with resignation. "We'll go back."

The group of survivors had grown close in the short time they had been together, and the thought of splitting up was a painful one. But when Marcus called for volunteers, only eight people stepped forward, willing to brave the city once more. The rest of the group, exhausted and traumatized, opted to remain behind, fortifying the prison and preparing for the long road ahead. Penelope looked over the small band of warriors, her heart heavy with the weight of their decision. They were a mix of ages and backgrounds, united by their shared determination to save Alex and any others who might still be trapped in the city. Rachel handed out weapons, her eyes meeting Penelope's briefly.

"We need to move quickly," Marcus said, his hand on the door handle. "The longer we're out there, the greater the risk."

Penelope nodded, her grip tightening on the crutch. She knew the dangers that awaited them outside, but the thought of Alex, trapped in his undead prison, fueled her resolve. Rachel handed her a pistol, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding. "Stay safe," she murmured, and Penelope nodded, tucking the weapon into the waistband of her pants.

With one last look at the sheltered walls of the prison, they stepped out into the night. The bus, their hope of escape and now their makeshift fortress, loomed behind them. Penelope's mind raced as she considered their plan. The king's guards would be searching for them, drawn by the disturbance they had caused. The air was thick with the scent of the undead, a constant reminder of the enemy that surrounded them.

"Hide in the bus," she whispered urgently, her eyes scanning the darkness. "I'll get his attention." Rachel and Marcus exchanged a concerned look but nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. They ushered the others into the vehicle, their eyes never leaving Penelope as she limped away, her crutch leaving a trail in the dust.

The night was alive with the moans of the undead, the distant wails of the king's guards searching for their prey. The open road stretched before her, a ribbon of black leading back into the heart of the city. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. With trembling hands, she reached up to her neck, feeling the warm pulse of the king's mark beneath her fingertips.

The knife was cold, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of her skin. With a grimace, she pressed it into the mark, gritting her teeth against the pain. The skin parted easily, a crimson bead of blood welled up, and then another, following the path of the blade. The mark was a living thing, writhing and pulsing with the king's power. As she cut, she could feel the connection to the monster who had claimed her weakening, like a frayed rope slowly snapping. The night grew still, the cries of the undead hushed as if the very air itself was holding its breath. And then, they heard it. The king's voice, a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the very earth beneath their feet. It was a sound that could not be mistaken, a sound that sent shivers down the spine of even the most hardened survivor.