CHAPTER FOUR
“Help! Oh God, help!”
I wake abruptly to screams floating through the window from the courtyard. It’s still dark outside, and with a jerk, I jump up and grab my weapon, never far from my hand. Safety means always being prepared, a motto I should have tattooed on my forehead by now.
Around me, the women I share a room with follow my lead, the heavy rustle of them pulling their shit together muffling the shrieks from outside.
I glance around wildly, still fucking half asleep, but flinch when more cries fly through the window.
“Ahhh!”
Shit. My heart is racing as we make our jumbled way down the stairs. Someone bumps into me from behind and I tumble against the wall, swearing when my head rebounds off the surface.
But I have no time to worry about it as we bust through the front door to find about a dozen zombies roaming the area. With horror, I see they’re already attacking our people, and I search the throng for Cole and my group, only to sag when I don’t see them.
Moans and screams fill the air as I grip my tire iron in my hand and step down to the ground before moving forward to assist with taking down the interlopers. But when I grow closer, I realize these are our people, people that we ate dinner with just hours before, now fresh zombies.
I don’t have time to analyze it as I bring the tire iron down on the head of one of the freshly Turned, a young woman in her twenties who had been nothing but shy and quiet our whole time here. She helped without complaining, comforted the folks around her when they were down, and smiled at every new accomplishment she learned.
Now, half of her pretty face is torn off, her scalp hanging from it by a thread and flapping dangerously with her erratic movements. With a flinch, I push her arms away and bring the tire iron down on her head with vicious intensity because fresh zombies take more effort. Unfortunately, the newly Turned haven’t had time to decay, and their bones are stronger.
I refuse to feel any emotion as I turn to the next and begin hacking away at my fellow survivors, once again taken too soon. I’m halfway through the group when I spot him, and my heart stops in my chest. No. Not him, too.
No. No. No.
I fall to my knees when I see Manny, my Manny, walking toward me. His eyes are covered in a gross film, and his face is gaunt and empty. The smile I’ve grown to love is long gone as he raises his arms and hisses, saliva spilling in viscous puddles from his lips.
I can only stare in horror, unable to comprehend that this was Manny. My Manny. Sweet, wonderful, amazing Manny.
There are no fresh wounds that I can see, no bite marks, just his once open and friendly face now twisted into an ugly snarl. Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision and I pull myself up, stepping toward him.
He lunges at me with a growl that will forever be burned into my brain. A strange sound escapes my mouth as I bring the tire iron down in a heavy arc. It thunks into his head and stays.
I tug but it doesn’t move and my soul stutters in my chest when his sightless eyes drop to mine. With my heart in my throat, I scream and release my grip.
He falls forward, but I’m too overwhelmed to move back, and the upper half of his body strikes mine, causing me to fall on my ass and clutch my elbow painfully. He follows me down, and I sit and stare at him, twitching over my legs, as a strange mewling sobbing sound catches my attention, and I look around in a daze before I realize it’s me.
Luckily, the fight around me is over because I don’t have it in me at that moment to do anything but stare at my now dead friend.
I’m wrapped up from behind and pulled backward, the cocoon of Cole’s strong arms tight. He spins me around and I stare at him blankly, the air in my lungs trapped behind my swollen throat.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, pulling me up roughly and running his hands over my limbs.
But I press my face into his neck and sob, trembling so violently that he loses his grip and has to tighten his hold.
“Lo, please, are you hurt?” he demands again, and I shake my head against his neck.
He sags for a moment, his sigh parting my hair before he turns away from the group and carries me away. I collapse numbly against his chest and keen, the animalistic sound harsh in the quiet.
???
When I come to, I’m on the floor, with my head pressed into Cole’s chest. Listening to his heartbeat, I try to focus on how good it is to be in his arms, but it’s impossible with the specter of Manny’s end hanging over me like a black fucking cloud.
I can’t process what happened. My heart aches like I’ve been punched in the chest. My eyelids are heavy, and through the fog in my brain, I replay the events.
Did a zombie sneak in? How could a zombie sneak in without a single person noticing? Where were the fucking night guards?
Lifting my head, I meet Cole’s bloodshot eyes and he strokes his hand down my cheek, saying softly, “I’m sorry, baby.”