I cough and blink. “It’s just the smoke getting to me.” By this point, it billows up the front of the house. The first floor must be fully engulfed. “Get moving.”
Finn shimmies down the house with more bravery than I expected. Mary grits her teeth, closes her eyes and whispers. She leaps and lands in Finn’s arms. God helped her through another day—or at least part of one.
“Ready?” Jackson asks. He’s sweating. It’s getting hot up here, the shingles on the roof growing warm.
“You come right after me,” I say, feeling the sweat trickle down my back. “Don’t hesitate.”
He nods and takes my hands, following the procedure of those before me. His hands are slippery though, it’s too hot up here. “Ben!” he shouts. “She’s coming down fast!”
“I got her,” he calls back up and I make the stupid mistake of looking over my shoulder.
The firelight moves around the corner of the house—not just the flame but an engulfed body. Jackson sees it too, yellow fire reflecting in his dark eyes. He tries to hold on, but his skin is too slippery—it’s too late anyway. The whole house shudders, exhaling a loud moan. I fall, expecting to feel Green’s hands, but there’s nothing but air. Gunfire ricochets through my ears and the howling screams meet me as I land in the flattened, wet hay on my back. The fall is broken by my gun, still wedged in my waistband.
“Oof,” I breathe, sure I’ve broken my back or a dozen other bones.
“Ramsey! Move!”
I look up to see Jackson drop and I roll out of the way, bumping into feet. Green tussles with an Eater and I blink when the decapitated, charred head lands next to my face.
Jackson lands with a loud thud, but on both feet. I reach for a knife in my boot, because rolling proved my bones are fine. I flinch though, when I put weight on my ankle. Okay, fine-ish.
“Get to the barn!” Walker shouts, the second we’re all on solid ground. Dead, still-burning Eaters lay on the ground, the hay too wet to ignite. Smoke fills my lungs and I succumb to a coughing spasm. More Eaters round the corner.
I’m screwed.
Green rushes to me, looping an arm over my shoulder. He’s bleeding badly from a wound on his neck.
“You’re hurt,” I say, not liking the way it looks.
“So are you,” he replies, dragging me away from the house. We follow the muddy tracks of the others, passing smoldering arms and bodies along the way. Walker wants to get to the horses and use them for an escape, I get that, but the barn seems like another death trap.
A howl shatters the night, close behind us, but it’s cut short. A shadow steps from the fire-lit woods, hulking and massive. The figure isn’t on fire and he’s not moving with the speed and erratic gait of an Eater.
If it’s not a bear, there’s only one thing that can survive a battle like this.
A Hybrid.
My insides constrict. They’ve caught up to us at the worst possible moment. We’re injured, bloody, and oxygen deprived. The figure moves out of the woods carrying a blade that glints with blood and fire.
“Green, leave me—just go. The Hybrids won’t kill me. Not at first.” It’s wishful thinking but there’s a chance.
“Not happening,” Green says, tugging me away from the man and pushing his body in a protective stance.
Before he can move me along, two other figures appear, flanking the first. One kicks the recently decapitated head with their boot. I grip my knife and jerk away from Green, gritting my teeth with every move on my hurt ankle.
“Alex!” he whispers.
“I’m tired of running, Benjamin. I won’t do it again. Not now.” His wound looks bad. Very bad.
I step forward, the heat of the fire overwhelming. Sweat drips down my neck. My ankle throbs. The knife grip is slippery in my hand.
The three figures move toward me and I swallow back the fear.
A howl splits my eardrum, sending a chill down my spine. I spin too late, stumbling on my stupid ankle, with only enough time to see the Eater charging at me. It has no face—just melted skin--but greedy hands come after me, teeth snapping an inch from my face.
I get my knife in its shoulder, earning me no more than a second. With both hands, I push the decaying body back with a heave. My feet stick to the mud, my ankle swells. I lost my gun in the hay.
The figures race for me and I don’t know what’s worse, the Hybrids or this Eater, but it’s the sound of a blade slicing through skin and bone that makes the decision for me.