Gary lifted Rain by her shoulders whilst James took her legs and they carried the unconscious assassin into the kitchen, placing her on the large table.

Gary swore as blood continued to pump out of the various bullet holes.

“Is she still alive?” Martin asked.

“Yes, but I don’t think she will be for much longer. I mean, what do I know? I think she should be healing, right? But it feels like her life is draining away.”

Gary’s panic was matched by James and Gemma. Gemma tore open kitchen draws and pulled out as many tea towels as she could, then handed them to Martin along with a pair of scissors.

“Strips, fast. We need to stop the bleeding.”

Gary’s mind was reeling from his uncle’s decision to have Rain shot, but there was no time to think about it now. He had to focus on keeping Rain alive.

“You need to tie her up,” one of two soldiers that were watching them said.

“Tie her up? Are you crazy? She’s dying here. She’s not a threat to anyone.”

“Tie her up,” the soldier repeated. “She’s dangerous. That’s what we’ve been told.”

“Bloody hell! What with?”

The soldier shrugged, “There’s a washing line outside, you can use that.”

“I’ll get it,” James said.

“No, you’re a medic. I need you and Gemma here helping Rain.”

“Gary, I can tell you if you’re developing astigmatism or need prescription glasses, and Gemma here can sort out a root canal if she has to. Neither of us have anything like the training needed to help.”

“Just tie the wounds off first, okay? The leg wounds. Try to stop the bleeding. Martin, go fetch the clothes line, okay?”

Gary had no clue if any of the things he was saying were the right thing to do, but if television dramas had taught him one thing, it was that stopping the bleeding was the priority.

Martin went out to fetch the washing line.

Gary, James and Gemma’s hands were covered in Rain’s blood.

Gary swore again.

“Come on, Rain, come on. You’re tougher than this, surely?”

It took them ten minutes to stop the worst of the bleeding, using a combination of the strips of towel, duct tape and the spare twine left over from tying Rain’s wrists and ankles to the table legs.

Rain was still unconscious, her stilted breaths sounding like little death rattles.

Gary fussed over the makeshift compressions, making sure they were as tight as possible.

“She didn’t deserve this,” he muttered.

“Gary, there’s nothing else you can do,” James said.

“Wait a minute, her knives, don’t they have some kind of healing liquid in them?” Martin said.

“They’re empty,” Gary said, “And they only way to refill them would be to kill someone.”

“Right,” Martin said “Right. That’s what I thought. Where are they?”

Gary frowned. He was used to seeing them strapped to the sides of her thighs.

“She must have stashed them. They’re no use to us.”

“Right,” Martin nodded.

“Can you take the bullets out?” Gary asked James and Gemma.

“Gary, I already told you we’re not medics. I wouldn’t know the first thing about removing a bullet, never mind half a dozen of them, even if I was in an operating theatre. We’d just make things worse, not better. I’m sorry mate, but I think she might be a goner.”

Gary sat down on the kitchen floor and swore again.

“What the actual fuck? Why would my uncle do that?”

*

An hour passed and Rain’s breathing became even shallower. The bullets lodged in her were causing too much damage for her healing to compete against. As the sky outside turned black, Gary, James, Gemma and Martin sat in silence.

James and Gemma held each other’s hands and said nothing. The soldiers had taken up position in the living room, leaving the intervening door open so they could monitor the others.

“Gary, I need to tell you something,” Martin said. “I’d prefer it if no-one else heard though. Not right now, anyway.”

“Martin, is this the right time for it?”

“Well, yes. It is. Even more so now than before.”

He looked across at James and Gemma.

“I need a bit of privacy, if you don’t mind. There’s something I need to tell Gary.”

James and Gemma nodded and stepped into the living room. James tried to strike up a conversation with the two soldiers, but got nowhere. In the end, he discovered the drinks cabinet and poured everyone a small glass of whiskey. The soldiers took one apiece and knocked them back gratefully.

Gary took a whiskey as well. Martin looked at the proffered glass and his lip curled, his face twisting in disgust.

Then he sighed, shook his head and took it.

“What the hell,” he whispered, “One for the road.”

He chuckled darkly at some private joke, then sipped on it. The soldiers were positioned in the living room sideways to the kitchen, glancing over at Gary and Martin but appearing to loosen up. Gemma asked permission to use the bathroom, and they nodded.

Martin took out his mobile phone and tapped an app.

“I’m going to record this, if that’s okay. You might need it later.”

He put the phone in front of him.

His voice was low as he talked.

“The thing is, Gary, I want you to know I was going to do it anyway. After the funeral and that. I was going to do it. I know you Gary. You’re a good lad. A good sort, and you’re going to try to talk me out of it, but... I’ve made my mind up, okay? I was only at the funeral to pay my respects. Maybe see the suffering.”

Beside them, Rain let out a pained gasp.

She’s fading away, Gary thought, and what am I doing? Listening to the ramblings of this accountant fella.

“Martin, look, I don’t think this is the best time...”

“No, listen,” Martin insisted with more force in his voice than Gary had thought he was capable of. “I just need you to listen. Please, Gary. Because... I need to tell someone and it has to be you and I’m sorry, okay? I’m really sorry.”

“Martin, you’ve done nothing wrong at all,” Gary replied. “You didn’t even attack me in the church, you’ve been fine.”

“Listen.”

Gary sighed. Fine.

“My wife left me a couple of years back. She said it was because of the drinking. She couldn’t handle me when I got... like that.”

“You were violent?”

Martin looked shocked. “Oh god, no. I did nothing like that. It was just, well, I was depressed, and the drinking was making it worse and... look, I was miserable to be with and I don’t blame her. She did her best, tried to get me help, but I just wouldn’t. Or couldn’t, I don’t know. So, she left me and I, well...”

He tapped the side of the half-emptied whiskey glass.

“I got worse, of course. Really bad. And then a month ago... I didn’t know him, you see. I wasn’t at the church because I knew him. Adam, the boy whose funeral it was. I was drunk, it was dark... he came out of nowhere.”

Gary closed his eyes as the pieces of what Martin was telling him fell into place.

“You were the hit-and-run driver that killed him.”

Martin let out a sob as he nodded.

“Nobody asked me anything at the funeral. I’ve just got one of those bland faces, haven’t I? One of those ‘seen him before somewhere’ faces. But I had to go because I needed to see what I’d done, and I’d already decided that I’d finish myself off after that. Because I couldn’t... I can’t carry on knowing what I’ve done. And then it all went mad, and I thought, you know, I thought you were doing the right thing, trying to help everyone. So I tagged along because I thought maybe I could help too. Because if you think about it, Gary, the only reason anyone was there, including you digging the poor lad’s grave, was because I, like a selfish fucking prick, got drunk and mowed him down.”

Gary was lost for words.

“So, you know the rest and here we are.”

Gary shook his head.

“Bloody hell, Martin...”

Martin nodded, “I know. Just a second.”

He stood up and reached his hands over Rain’s body. He glanced across at the soldiers in the living room, but they weren’t paying the pair in the kitchen much attention. Just glancing over occasionally to check they were staying put and keeping them on the edge of their peripheral vision.

Gemma had returned from the bathroom and was pouring them all another glass of whiskey.

“Yes, loot body,” Martin said at the system’s prompt.

He sat back down again, showed Gary what he’d taken from Rain’s stash. He’d moved to the edge of the kitchen, just out of sight of the soldiers apart from his legs.

“This is it, isn’t it? One of those Nightblades. The ones that heal with killing.”

Gary could see where this was going.

“Martin, you’re not...”

“Gary, I told you, I was going to do it anyway. I’d left letters for the parents and written a new will, making sure that everything I had went to them. It wasn’t anything compared to them losing their son, but it was all I could think of to do. And Gary, the way things are now, I don’t want to live with this, anyway. This whole new system, it’s horrible. I’ll just end up getting eaten by zombies, or worse. So I can do some good here. My death can mean something. Help the poor lass there, you know? Maybe redeem myself a little bit. Just a bit, anyway.”

Gary stared at Martin, his mind filled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.

“I don’t...” he began.

“Oh, hush, Gary,” Martin said, “I told you, you can’t talk me out of it.”

Gary closed his eyes.

“Why did you have to tell me all that? Why me?”

“Right, yes, sorry, sorry. I got wrapped up in my own guilt. There’s a reason I’m telling you all this. The thing is, when the system initiated, it gave me a hundred experience points.”

Gary re-opened his eyes and stared at Martin.

“What?”

Martin nodded.

“It awarded me a hundred experience points. I couldn’t work it out at first. I thought it was something everyone got, you know? But I asked a couple of the others and no-one had been given any experience points. It was just me.”

Martin paused, then his voice became more focussed and urgent.

“So then I realised what had happened. It was for killing the teenager. Back-dated if you like. I got a hundred experience points from killing someone before the system initiated. Do you get it? The system checked my history and gave me that. So, if you think about it, if that happened for everyone...”

Gary stared at Martin, his brain on overdrive. “My uncle...”

“Yes,” Martin nodded, “I don’t see any other explanation.”

Martin turned the knife to face his stomach. He closed his eyes and made a stabbing gesture. The knife stopped short. He tried again, but the knife didn’t enter.

“I can’t do it,” he whimpered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I had sleeping pills. What do I know about stabbing someone? Gary, you’re going to have to... I can’t do it by myself. I’ll just mess it up. Sorry.”

Gary reached across and took the Nightblade from Martin’s hands.

“You’re a good lad, Gary,” Martin said. “You might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, shovel joke intended, but you’ve got a good heart. Just keep fighting for what’s right, mate. No matter who tries to tell you that you’re wrong.”

Gary nodded.

He finished his whiskey in one swift gulp.

Then he plunged the Nightblade into Martin’s chest, straight into his heart.

To Martin’s credit, he died without a whimper.

He died without making any noise at all.