Dax turns toward me with the knife still in his grip. Blood coats his entire hand as well as the blade, and crimson liquid drips onto the floor. He stalks up to me, halting inches away, and wipes his knife off on his shirt. Then he tucks it inside his jacket.
I can't help cringing a little. He just murdered those two creatures without any remorse, without even trying to chase them away. Maybe he had no choice, but I've never witnessed such ferocity.
Breathing hard, he speaks through his clenched teeth. "Let's get back to that tunnel. We can't be above ground when the Echo reaches this section of the city."
He mentioned the Echo before, but he hasn't explained.
I don't get the chance to ask. He plucks up the lantern, then seizes my arm and tows me out of the building. I stumble over debris as we rush across the street, heading for the stockyards tunnel. A new pile of rubble blocks most of the entrance, but Dax tows me through the narrow opening without slowing down. My arm is starting to ache from how tightly he's gripping me. Not that I think he cares about that. Of course he doesn't. He might not be as hideous as those monsters in the mall, but he is a beast just like them.
Terrifying. Merciless. Alien.
A chill ripples through me. I'm the prisoner of a beast from…who knows where. Why hadn't I ever bought a stun gun or at least a can of pepper spray?
Dax halts and switches on the lantern. He sets it down on the cracked terracotta tiles of the floor. "You will stay here while I secure the tunnel at both ends."
He pulls his leather belt out of his pocket.
The creep wants to bind my hands again. Screw that. No more letting him drag me around.
I race for the tunnel's opening, scrambling through the narrow gap in the debris pile.
Large, powerful hands clamp onto my ankles and pull me back into the tunnel. Dax hoists me to my feet and lashes his arms around me, squeezing me to his body. "That was a stupid mistake. You can't outrun me. You can't overpower me. Give up."
"Never."
"Your sudden desire to be feisty will only make your situation worse." He snatches his belt off the floor. "You leave me no choice. Remember, this was your doing, not mine."
He spins me around until my backside is pinned to his front. His thick, musclebound arm restrains me, and I can't get any leverage that I might use to free myself. He's too damn strong. Too damn big. Too damn evil.
Before I realize what he's doing, Dax has bound my wrists with the leather belt. He shoves me against the concrete wall, then kneels in front of me. The jerk uses my own shoelaces to bind my feet. I'd worn my favorite boots today, leather ones with strong, thick laces. If I'd known what would happen today, I would have worn my Velcro tennies instead.
Dax takes a big step backward. "You have no choice now."
He stomps over to the debris that's blocking this end of the tunnel and starts shifting large chunks until he's sealed the entrance.
"What are you doing?" I demand.
He ignores my question and stalks down the tunnel in the other direction, disappearing from my view. Even the sound of his boots clomping fades away. Silence pervades the space, and the smell of blood fills my nostrils. My blood? Most of it probably is. But my boots had crunched on things I couldn't think about when I fled from the epicenter of the apocalypse. Who knows what I've got glued to my body.
I slide down the wall until my butt meets the terracotta floor.
Footfalls clap closer and closer, louder and louder. Dax emerges from the shadows, stopping just inside the circle of light from the lantern.
"You blocked us in, didn't you?" I say. "We're trapped."
"For our protection."
"How are we going to breathe with no ventilation? The air in here won't last forever."
"It will last long enough. I can reopen either entrance as soon as the worst of the Echo has passed through this area."
Time for the cretin to explain a few things. "Why do you keep talking about 'the Echo'? What does it mean?"
"You know as well as I do."
I want to cross my arms, but I can't do that with my wrists bound. So I scowl up at him instead. "Stop telling me I know what's going on. I don't. And I certainly did not cause it."
"That's bollocks." He walks toward me, then crouches close enough that our knees almost touch. "You are responsible for everything that's happening."