I lurched forward, rolling down onto the ground as I narrowly avoided its deadly grasp, but I lost my grip with my shotgun. The vector landed on the same spot where I once stood without a hint of pain crossing its face from the high fall, only letting out a venomous hiss.

It was a young boy—or used to be—probably no more than eight years old. And though he was smaller and leaner than any of us, his meek stature held no bearing against what his face looked like. Half of his right cheek was missing, including his eyebrow on the same side, revealing the circular milky white shape of his eyeball. Blood seeped from its punctured wounds—evidence that it had encountered other survivors before—and it soaked his white shirt in a mix of muddy red and black. What was worse was the pair of sharp scissors it held in his hand.

The vector jerked forward, screeching for my blood.

I gasped. My heart pounding. It was the first time I've ever seen a vector carried a weapon, and I frantically scrambled for my shotgun a couple of feet away and aimed for the kill.

"It got a—!" I tried to warn the others, but it was too late.

The vector swatted the barrel out of the way, and with a poor grip on it, the shotgun skid on the floor away from my reach. Weaponless and defenseless, I had no choice but to roll over to the side. The vector slashed through the air, followed my trail. I crawled away, but my back hit the seats.

I frantically looked for an exit. The only way out was the narrow space between the rows of chairs. I dove into the gap, missing the vector by a hair. My right side hit an armrest, and pain jolted through my body. Laying on my stomach, I rolled over and saw the vector stood in front of me, and I raised my arms to block his blows.

The blade slashed through my right palm. I jerked it back as I cried out in pain and saw blood seeping out of its hole. The vector raised its scissors again. I raised my left arm to block it, but the shock rooted me on the ground. I couldn't move. I didn't know where to go. Then, the vector brought the blade down and plunged it through my left shoulder under my clavicle.

I screamed. The vector went for my neck with his teeth, but I blocked him with my arm before he could snap them closed.

Suddenly, a blanket of pure white cloud engulfed the both of us, taking my breath away as it squeezed out my lungs and stung my eyes, the cold sticking through my skin like melted sugar. I let go of the vector as I clamored for air, only realizing too late that it made me vulnerable for its deadly bite. But the vector cried out and jumped off of me and ran away, jumping on top of the seats to escape the cold suppressed gas.

Hands grabbed my ankles, and I was yanked out between the seats. I kicked, and I screamed, and I didn't stop until Logan was inches away from my face, hands cupped firmly around my cheeks, shaking the shock out of my system as he shouted at me to calm down.

"It bit me! It bit me!" I repeatedly exclaimed, pointing at my neck.

Logan's eyes widened in fear, and he frantically looked at where I was pointing at. Then, they softened. "You're fine! There's nothing there!"

"It bit me! I felt it!"

"I told you. You're not fucking bit! I'll shoot you myself if you are."

"It's circling us!" Luke cried out behind me. My shotgun was on his hands, aiming it into the darkness, his ax sticking out of his backpack.

"I can't see. Where the fuck is it?" Yousef said, spraying a burst of O2 at an empty corner.

"Keep it tight. It doesn't like the cold," Luke said.

Now that Luke mentioned it, all I could think about was the cold. It wrapped my body like a blanket, and I couldn't shake it off. It was as if I was outside in the middle of winter for an hour only on my underwear. I feared that my limbs were about to fall off. Then, a new pain seized, originating out of my left shoulder. I looked to that side and saw the pair of scissors sticking out of my body.

I almost passed out as I screamed.

"Bren! Calm down!" Logan said.

"Calm down? That kid fucking stabbed me!"

"I'm gonna have to yank it out."

"What? No!" I grabbed the collar of his jacket and pushed him off. Logan held on to my wrist and didn't let go.

"I have to. Bren, I have to!"

"Don't you fucking touch me!"

"I'm sorry." Logan grabbed the ring handles and didn't hesitate to pry the blade out of my flesh.

I screamed again, kicking and thrashing my legs as a wave of pain gripped all of my nerves and muscles.

Logan grabbed my good arm and wrapped it around his shoulders, yanking me up to my feet. "Watch our backs!"

We ran toward the front of the theater, with me mostly limping my way through exhaustion. The pain lingered strongly throughout my body, and I couldn't help but trip over myself only for Logan to carry me forward. However, as we reached the entrance doors, we found them barricaded by a clutter of furniture, wooden blankets, and other junk that the previous survivors created.

"Shit!" Luke cursed.

"We're gonna have to dismantle it. Quick. Grab anything," Logan said. He lay me down against the wall and left me with his rifle on the floor.

Then, the vector child shrieked echoed across the theater; A piercing, guttural clicks and hoarse cries in a sequence of three, pausing for a few seconds before doing it all over again.

We paused, listening.

"It's calling for reinforcement!"

Logan realized what I meant, and he hurriedly pulled as much of the junk off the door. Beyond the stage, a cacophony of howls and screeches grew into a crescendo until the pounding of a dozen fists reached the backstage door.

"They're coming!" I said.

I tore off both the long sleeves of my shirt and wrapped it around my shoulder. It took me a minute to remember what I learned in Health class last year when Mr. Turner taught us first aid and what my mother taught me when I was young. I was never wounded before. Well, not like this where I had a gaping wound that a single band-aid wouldn't heal. It took me another couple of minutes to tighten it around my wound. However, the bleeding still didn't stop. I was afraid the vector might've hit a major artery.

Oh god, please no. Please. I don't want to die here, I prayed.

And when I looked up, standing on the middle of the aisle was the young vector, staring at me with true malice, blood frothing out of its lips as it snarled.

In a split second, I grabbed the rifle on my right and aimed. The vector charged toward me, and as I pulled the trigger, a resounding click echoed from the chamber.

Shit! I cursed.

I checked the safety, and it was on.

The vector closed in, charging a couple of feet away.

I flicked it down and aimed again.

Fire.

Bullets penetrated the boy's torso, blowing it wide open. Six bullets sank through, tearing flesh and blood, and the last slammed through his left eye. The vector's body flung across the aisle, farther than where he once stood, landing against the foot of the stage. The vector didn't move.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I was about to aim in that direction when Logan swatted the barrel away.

"Hey! It's just me!"

I dropped the rifle.

"Come on! We got the door," he said. He grabbed the rifle off of the floor and yanked me up to my feet. He put my arm around his shoulders.

The backstage door's hinges gave away, and dozens of vectors streamed across the stage. I pulled all the strength I have left to my legs and started running out through the door.