Marcus sprinted down the center of Maple Street, legs burning, lungs tight, chaos erupting all around him. He barely felt the grit under his sneakers or the shouts blurring in his ears. All he could see was Derrick. His friend’s body moved wrong—too fast, too erratic—arms flailing, mouth twisted in a snarl. Derrick’s scream was a raw, wounded sound that cut through the noise of the spreading violence.
As Marcus closed the distance, he locked eyes with Derrick and glimpsed a flash of the old Derrick, terrified behind the madness. That flicker was gone in an instant. Derrick barreled forward, slamming into Marcus with bone-jarring force. They crashed onto the cracked asphalt. Marcus’s vision spun; the world shrank to Derrick’s face inches from his own, teeth bared, sweat dripping.
For a heartbeat, Marcus saw in Derrick’s eyes not rage but panic—pleading. Then Derrick’s hands clamped around Marcus’s shoulders, nails digging in. Marcus twisted, wriggling free just enough to push Derrick back. Derrick tumbled, rolled, and sprang to his feet, head jerking as if listening to some secret engine revving inside him.
“Maya, get back!” Marcus shouted, not daring to take his eyes off Derrick. He heard Tom and Elena yelling behind him, Maya’s voice sharp with fear. But all that mattered was Derrick, trembling on the double yellow lines, fighting something Marcus couldn’t see.
A siren wailed nearby. Marcus looked up. A police cruiser skidded to a stop at the far end of the block. The cop—a young woman from town, Officer Redding—stepped out, gun drawn. But as soon as she took in Derrick’s wild eyes, she froze, caught between procedure and horror.
“Don’t move!” she yelled.
Derrick’s head snapped up. He staggered toward her, arms slack at his sides. The officer looked at Marcus, trying to assess who was the greater threat. Marcus’s mind raced—if Derrick lunged, if Redding fired—
“Derrick, it’s me!” Marcus called, edging forward. He tried to keep his voice steady, soothing, anything to anchor Derrick in reality. “You’re not alone. We can help—”
But Derrick’s fingers twitched, and his jaw shuddered. He whirled on Marcus with a guttural noise, something broken and desperate. One foot scraped forward, then the other. Behind him, the siren’s echo mingled with the distant, rising chorus of screams from the rest of town.
Suddenly, Derrick tensed—and collapsed to his knees. His hands flew to his head, fists clenching. He sobbed. Marcus staggered closer, ignoring Officer Redding’s warning shout. He reached Derrick’s side, dropped to a crouch, heart pounding.
“Derrick, talk to me,” Marcus whispered, grabbing his friend’s shoulder. “Tell me what you need.”
Derrick’s eyes flickered again. “Marcus…it’s inside me,” he rasped. “Don’t let me hurt anyone. Please.”
Before Marcus could answer, Derrick’s body went rigid once more. His head snapped toward the police cruiser. Something in his posture changed—a new, vicious intent. He sprang up, launching himself at Officer Redding with a snarl.
Marcus saw the glint of the officer’s pistol, her finger tightening on the trigger. Time froze, heartbeats stretching, every noise sharpening into a blade. Marcus lunged forward, barely thinking—caught between saving Derrick and stopping the next blow.
The world hung suspended, the next motion ready to shatter everything.