Day 49: Anger
Eli's breath was ragged, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest as the chaos of the looters' assault consumed the museum. The sound of splintering wood echoed through the stone halls, mingling with the cries of pain and the clash of weapons. The museum, once a sanctuary, had become a battlefield, and it was quickly becoming clear that they were losing.
As the looters pressed their attack, Eli felt his mind race, desperate to find a way out of this nightmare. He had always been the one to follow Cass, to look to her for guidance, but now—now, he needed to think, to come up with something that could save them. But the more he tried to focus, the more the pressure mounted, the noise and fear clouding his thoughts.
Cass was fighting valiantly, her spear flashing as she fended off the attackers, but they were outnumbered, and Eli could see the exhaustion in her movements. Luke and Raya were holding the front, but even from here, Eli could hear the strain in Luke's voice as he shouted orders, trying to keep the looters at bay.
"Think!" Eli growled to himself, the helmet's visor narrowing his vision, making it harder to see the whole picture. His mind was a blur of panic and frustration, the sounds of battle only adding to the chaos in his head. He tried to focus, to come up with something—anything—that could turn the tide.
But nothing came.
His thoughts were jumbled, a mess of fear and desperation, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't think of a plan. His hands tightened around the hilt of his knife, the frustration boiling over into anger—anger at himself, at the situation, at his own helplessness.
"Why can't I think of anything?" he snarled under his breath, his voice filled with self-loathing. "Why am I so useless?"
The anger surged through him like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to fight—but all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by his own inadequacy. The helmet, once a source of comfort, now felt like a prison, trapping him in his own mind, suffocating him with his own failures.
Another crash from the front of the museum jolted him back to reality, the sound of the looters breaking through the barricades sending a fresh wave of panic through the group. Cass looked over at him, her eyes filled with desperation, but Eli couldn't meet her gaze. He felt like a coward, like a burden, unable to do anything but watch as everything fell apart around him.
Suddenly, Luke's voice rang out above the din, cutting through the chaos with a sharp, commanding tone. "We can't hold them off like this! We need to split up—they can't catch all of us if we scatter!"
The suggestion hung in the air for a moment, a stark contrast to the chaos that surrounded them. It was a desperate plan, but it was better than standing here and being overrun. Cass hesitated, her eyes darting between the looters and the rest of the group, but then she nodded, the decision made.
"Everyone, go!" she shouted, her voice hoarse from the strain. "We'll meet back at the rendezvous point if we can!"
The group didn't need to be told twice. Luke and Raya were already moving, slipping through the cracks in the defenses and disappearing into the shadows. Derek and Sarah, too weak to fight, followed close behind, clutching each other as they made their escape.
Eli's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, anger, shame. He knew he should stay with the group, that he should be helping them, fighting alongside them. But the anger inside him was too strong, the self-loathing too overwhelming. He couldn't bear to face them, to let them see just how useless he was.
As the group scattered, Eli made his decision. Without a word, he turned and ran, his movements fueled by a desperate need to escape—not just from the looters, but from himself, from the overwhelming sense of failure that threatened to consume him.
He sprinted through the museum's dark corridors, the sounds of battle growing fainter with each step. The helmet on his head felt like it was closing in on him, the narrow visor making it harder to see where he was going, but he didn't care. He just needed to get away, to put as much distance between himself and the others as possible.
The museum's twisting hallways became a maze, the shadows deepening as Eli ran, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. The weight of the helmet, the pain in his burns, the sounds of the looters—they all faded into the background, replaced by the roaring in his ears, the pounding of his heart.
But even as he ran, the anger didn't fade. It only grew stronger, feeding off his frustration, his self-hatred. He wanted to be stronger, to be smarter, to be better—but he wasn't. And now, because of his weakness, they were all in danger.
"Why can't I do anything right?" he snarled, the words spilling out in a venomous hiss. His vision blurred with tears of frustration, but he didn't stop running. He couldn't. If he stopped, if he let himself think, the weight of his failures would crush him.
He didn't know how long he ran, how many twists and turns he took in the labyrinthine corridors of the museum. All he knew was that he was alone, his thoughts and fears echoing in the hollow chambers of his mind.
Finally, when his legs could carry him no further, Eli stumbled to a halt, leaning heavily against a wall, his breath coming in ragged, painful gasps. The museum was silent here, the sounds of the looters distant, as if they belonged to another world.
But the silence offered no comfort. It only amplified the anger, the bitterness, the shame. Eli slumped against the wall, his body trembling with exhaustion and frustration, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles ached.
He had run away—abandoned the group when they needed him most. And for what? To save himself? To avoid facing the truth?
The truth was that he was weak. And no helmet, no mask, could hide that from himself.
Eli slid down the wall, collapsing onto the cold stone floor. The helmet, heavy and suffocating, pressed down on him, trapping him in the darkness of his own mind. He had no plan, no idea what to do next. All he had was the burning anger that consumed him, the knowledge that he had failed the people who had trusted him.
And he didn't know how to make it right.
So, he sat there, alone in the darkness, the weight of his failure crushing him as the sounds of battle continued to rage in the distance.