Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
OF ALL THE GIN JOINTS
LYLA
Flames tear into the sky through gaps in the trees, orange and alive. Groans rise—low, guttural, broken by sudden shrieks. Dozens of undead flail, stumbling over roots and splintered logs but never stopping. They charge toward the noise, jaws snapping at the air.
Gunfire cracks in sharp bursts. Screams follow.
“Shit!”
Jacob’s voice rips me around—Jessica’s gone. Vanished into the woods like smoke. No sign of her.
Lucky bitch.
“Let’s go!” Trish bolts, Leon and Jacob close behind.
I’m right after her, limbs pumping to my erratic heartbeat. Branches whip my arms. Bark scrapes my knuckles. Every step slams into the earth. My lungs tear, but I don’t stop.
We break through the trees—
Camp is hell.
The red truck explodes, metal shrieking as fire blasts through the hood. The ground bucks. Heat punches my face. Smoke curls thick and choking. I gag on the sharp bite of burning gas, rubber, and worse, flesh. The air tastes like death.
Screams carry across the wind. Storm clouds slide over the moon, rumbling low.
Joanie’s at the truck, blood streaking her arms as she claws at twisted metal. Her hands are raw, but she keeps ripping, trying to wrench the doors open. Inside, Edith and Earl slump still. Shadows behind cracked glass.
The swarm closes in. Some are impaled on the wall of stakes, others tangled in the stringed cans, pulling so hard the cords cut through their flesh. A few drag themselves forward, ankles left behind in the bear traps.
Holy mother of fudge, cracker, nickels, Batman!
Clair and Barbara hold the line near the vehicles, rifles barking fire. Each shot punches through rotting flesh, forcing space in the crush of bodies. Muzzle flashes light snarling faces, gaping mouths, clawed fingers. The horde doesn’t slow, gazes fogged with desperation and hunger.
“Stay in the van, Poppy!” Clair’s voice cuts through the chaos. The girl’s pale face presses to the glass, eyes wide.
Music still blares from the smashed car—a distorted rock–hip hop mix warped into something cruel. It needles through the gunfire and screams, a sick soundtrack to the end.
Three figures step through the smoke ahead. Not stumbling. Not lost.
The lead limps, blood streaking his chest, searching until his gaze finds mine. Black pupils dig into me like claws.
The fire roars. The undead shriek. But all I hear is the silence between us.
“Trish, help Joanie! Leon, cover us!” Jacob’s voice yanks me back.
Trish is already beside Joanie, both straining at the door. Joanie’s arms shake, fingers bleeding, profanity spilling out like it’ll give her strength.
Jacob tosses my gun to Leon. “Shut off that damn music!” He swings his machete into the head of a nearby infected. Leon melts into the shifting dead, gun popping with every step.
Fire glints across Franklin’s face—fresh cuts, someone else’s blood smeared on his skin. His knife hangs loose in his hand, dripping red. He raises it in a mocking salute.
“You didn’t think you could hide from me, did you, Lyla?” His voice is smooth and cruel. His smirk’s all show, but his eyes are empty. “Thanks for the music idea.”
Lars and Pete emerge from the smoke. Lars smiles wide, swollen tongue flicking out like a snake. Pete hangs back, eyes darting to the flames, the swarm, then me.
Jacob steps in front of me, sure and quiet. His stance is loose, but the tightness in his shoulders, the flex in his arms—he’s ready.
I lift my chin, eyes locked on the bane of my existence. “Jacob, meet da Vinci, real name Franklin, and Lars, the face licker. Old acquaintances.”
Jacob’s jaw tics. His eyes cut to Lars. “He licked you?”
“Yup.” I pop the p, sweet and sharp. Rage coils inside me, ready to strike. I want him dead.
Jacob doesn’t speak. He goes still. The dangerous kind. Quiet. Focused. Like a bomb seconds from going off.
I love it.
Pete twitches. Nervous.
Jacob turns to him. “I’ll take Pete and tongue boy. You handle that piece of shit.”
The music cuts. Leon’s knife severs the last cord, and the speakers die with a sharp pop.
No more distortion. Just undead moans, low and wet, sliding under my skin. The crackle of burning metal. The ragged breaths of the living.
“Leon! Keep the infected off Lyla!” Jacob calls.
Leon nods, gun firing—punching through skulls.
Jacob turns to Pete and Lars. “All right, boys. Shall we?”
He jerks his chin toward the clearing, drawing them away like it’s a dinner invite.
“Will do.” I don’t look away, even as he vanishes into smoke and flame. Two on one isn’t fair, but Jacob doesn’t play fair.
The undead are distracted by the fires and screams ahead. They haven’t noticed us. Yet.
My focus locks on the bastard in front of me.
“You’re all going to die,” Franklin says, smug.
“You know I’m actually happy to see you?” I mean it. I hate what he’s done, how he came for my people, how he ripped open the peace I had. I wish I’d stopped sooner. The clues, the marks, the notes—I left too many.
I glance at Pete’s retreating back. Yep. Should’ve killed him too.
But right now? Just me and Franklin, blades in hand?
That’s a gift.
I could’ve lived the rest of this broken life with Jacob, Joanie, and the others. We would’ve scraped together something real. But the opportunity to finish what should’ve ended long ago?
That’s not fate handing me a chance. That’s fate handing me a knife.
I smile slowly, draw Sweetness from my thigh, spin her once in the firelight, catch her by the handle.
Let’s kill this bastard, girl.
His grin falters—a flicker of doubt.
I advance.
“Welcome to the end of the game, Franklin.”
His eyes flare red—the monster beneath the man.
I raise the blade.
“You’re not the nightmare anymore. I am.”