Chapter 40 Final Boss
FORTY
FINAL BOSS
LYLA
Franklin roars behind me, driving his blade into the lumberjack Leon hurled his way.
I bury Sweetness into the soft skull of a soccer mom as Leon grabs my collar and shoves me backward, right toward my nemesis. Like he’s annoyed I dared to help.
“Thanks for the encouragement, asshole,” I snap.
Leon’s hatchet splits the neck of a teen girl in a shredded I Woke Up Like This tee. He throws me a sarcastic salute.
My eyes lock with Franklin’s—just as Jacob’s voice cuts through the chaos. He and Earl push forward, carving a path toward Leon to hold the line.
Relief slams into me.
He’s alive.
I exhale.
I love this man.
My gaze flicks toward him just for a second. Whole. Focused. Covered in blood, but alive.
Thank all that is holy.
I turn back to Franklin, blade ready, but call over to Jacob. “So, I’m guessing you were successful?”
Out of the corner of my eye, Jacob cleaves the head off an infected cheerleader with pigtails. Blood arcs like a geyser. He grins at me, “Were you worried about me, Trouble?”
Before I can react, Franklin charges.
“Enough!”
I drop low, feint left. He takes the bait, and I slash across his thigh.
A grunt rips from his throat as he stumbles, blood pouring down his leg. Hatred burns in his eyes.
“You should’ve stayed dead,” I singsong, rolling my shoulders loose.
Jacob’s voice cuts through the storm. “You done playing?”
Eyes locked on Franklin, I reply, “Almost.”
“Well,” Jacob grunts, driving his blade into another skull with a wet crunch, “if you could speed it up, that’d be great.”
A laugh slips out. “I always aim to please.”
That earns me a huffed chuckle from him.
Franklin straightens, blood dripping, knife glinting in the firelight—feral, gleaming, hungry. Still smiling.
What a demented, sick platypus.
I step forward, matching him.
“What kind of woman would you be without me, Lyla?” he sneers, circling. He buries his knife in the skull of an infected midstep, then turns back to me. “Don’t you remember? You had nothing before me. No purpose. I gave you something to live for. Something to be.”
My grip on Sweetness tightens, rage curling in my chest.
“I remember everything,” I growl.
He steps closer, smile twisting into something smug and delusional. “I made you. Without me, you’re—”
I strike. Fast. Hard.
He’s faster.
Pain rips through my shoulder, his knife cutting deep. Blood spills hot down my arm. I stagger, biting back a scream.
“You’re a shell,” he hisses, licking my blood from the blade. “Empty without me.”
Disgust flares. That can’t be sanitary.
“Lyla!” Earl’s voice snaps, sharp and protective.
Jacob stops him. “She’s got it.”
No hesitation. No panic. Just belief.
Earl growls but turns back to the fight. Leon moves through the undead—silent, efficient, heading for Clair.
Franklin lunges for my throat.
I dodge—barely. His blade whistles past my skin, but his fist smashes into my jaw, dropping me hard. Pain explodes across my face, vision blurring. His breath rasps as he closes in.
“You and I—we go down together. Always meant to.”
I cough blood.
“I’ll make it quick,” he whispers, fingers sliding through my hair. “I’ll follow right after. Then you’ll be whole again.”
Jacob shouts from the distance, “Quit milking it and finish him!”
I smirk. “Fine.”
I always was a good actress.
In a flash, I twist, drive both feet into Franklin’s chest, knocking him back and stealing the breath from his lungs.
Fuck. This. Shit.
With a roar, I surge forward—low, fast. His blade slices air as I slam into his chest. We crash to the blood-soaked ground.
He wheezes, scrambling for his knife. I’m already on top of him, straddling his chest, knees crushing his arms into the gore-matted dirt.
He can’t move.
His dead eyes stare up at me—still defiant.
Then I see them.
They’re with me now. Hovering behind me. Watching. Waiting for me to finish it so they can finally rest.
And through the screams, through the groans of the undead closing in, I hear Mark’s voice, steady and calm in my mind.
“Let it all go, Lyla.”
I raise my knife, rage and grief bleeding into the moment. Rain starts to fall, lightning cracking overhead.
“Without you,” I whisper, voice shaking, but true, “I am everything.”
Then I drive the blade straight into his heart.
Flesh tears. Bone gives. His body jerks, a last, desperate twitch. His eyes go wide—shock, pain, then nothing.
I twist the blade.
Deep.
Slow.
His chest rises once. Shudders. Then falls still.
A breathless exhale slips from his lips, the last of him leaving as his fingers twitch once, then go limp.
Blood spills thick and dark, pooling beneath his body, soaking into my jeans, my skin. The snarl of the undead, the shouts from the group, the roar of flames devouring our camp—they all fade.
The weight I’ve carried for years starts to peel away, like chains falling off bone.
Freedom.
I rip the blade free and bring it down again.
Once—for the woman he left tied to a tree.
Again—for the girl he carved in her own home.
A third time—for the brother who cried in my arms.
Again. Again. Each strike a sentence.
He will never hurt anyone again.
I drop back on my heels, dragging in a breath thick with the stench of death. The knot in my shoulders unravels. Exhaustion slams into me.
Rain drips down my face.
“Ammo’s almost gone!”
Barbara’s voice cuts through the snarls of the undead.
Across the clearing, the fight rages. Joanie works Jacob’s shotgun like a machine, Clair beside her, Barbara counting shots.
“Make every shot count!” Jacob’s voice booms. He and Earl move fast, blades flashing.
Trish bursts from the van, blood on her scrubs. “Edith’s stable for now, but we need to move! Now!”
Jacob calls over his shoulder, “You coming, or you gonna piss on his corpse?”
Tempting.
I look at Franklin’s ruined body. Part of me wants to burn it, salt the ground, make sure nothing of him ever rises again. But there’s no time.
The herd’s thinning. We have a chance.
I push to my feet—
BAM!
I hit the ground hard, breath ripped from my lungs as a body crashes on top of me. Pain bursts in my shoulder as Sweetness skitters out of reach.
My ears ring. Vision swims. Limbs feel like cement.
Hot, foul breath ghosts across my skin.
Well, shitsticks.