The Reyes Incident

by Briana Morgan

“No,” Ryan said. “You don’t get it, Alex. I mean… I love you, yeah? I’m in love with you. I have been for a while now.”

She grabbed him. She tore his arm off, spilling more blood into the water, and he screamed.

Molly pulled his leg off, and the cloud of blood in the water seemed to explode in a way I hadn’t seen before. I think the bleeding came from an artery in his leg — the femoral artery.

The water around me warmed, and I noticed a lot of blood. Claire’s head popped back out, and she let out a scream. I’ll never forget how it echoed. I knew I couldn’t save her, but… I didn’t even try. I used the feeding frenzy to get the fuck away, to get back to the hideout as soon as I could. Out of everyone who died in there, Claire’s death haunts me most.

I froze in the water, ice flooding my already chilled veins. Harper—or one of her sisters— had heaved Claire’s corpse onto the platform. Her body lay face down, one arm hanging off the edge into the water. I wasn’t even thankful that we couldn’t see her face because the rest of her was awful. Huge, gaping tears and red chasms stretched across her skin. Her ribs stuck out, exposed, some stubborn muscle and tendons clinging to the bone. As we got closer, I saw the puddle of blood around her and noticed— “Alex,” I breathed. He touched my shoulder. “Is that… is that Claire?” “It was,” I said. “But… it looks like she’s breathing.”

Before another awful moment passed, Alex twisted Claire’s head hard until her neck snapped. I cried out at the sound, burying my face in the crook of my elbow. Neither of us said anything for a minute. I couldn’t lift my head to look at him, and he didn’t try to make me.

Instead, I maintained eye contact with Alex even as Harper latched onto his thigh and ripped out a chunk of meat. The wound was so deep I couldn’t help looking. As soon as I did, I saw bone. I was too shocked to vomit.

Alex had scratches on his face and arms from the sirens’ claws. The gash in his thigh bubbled wet and red. He was losing a lot of blood and I feared they’d gotten his femoral artery, which meant he had little time.

Alex winced, clutching at his thigh. Blood soaked his pants and it was difficult to tell whether or not the wound was still bleeding. I wasn’t sure the tourniquet was tight enough, but even if it was, he’d lost a lot of blood already. He was too weak to move, and I was too weak to carry him. Fear knifed my chest.