Chapter 7
Seven
I run up the stairs two at a time and dash across the house to the study. My first objective—protect our home. I slide the heavy mahogany doors shut, blocking out the glow from the fire and casting the house into darkness. Before I ease through the front door, I stop at one of the windows to make sure nothing decrepit is hanging around. With the coast clear, I ease out onto the porch. It’s unnervingly quiet, and each step is like ringing the feeding bell for any nearby Zs. I move into the snow and keep my back to the house, heading in the direction where I saw the Z from the study window. As I come around the corner, I find it lying in a puddle of infected, purple blood with a bullet wound to the head. The guys must have fired on it when I was in the bunker.
The sound of shouting in the far corner of the property draws my attention. I’m eager to join the fight, but first, I have to make sure nothing else is trying to get inside the house. As I reach the back, a young man steps out from the other side.
“Quinn,” he says in a low gravelly voice .
I pause as does the tall figure. I take in his sandy blond tousled hair and his unzipped Devil’s Lake High School jacket.
“Luke, what are you doing here?” The hairs on my arms raise on end and chill runs down my spine. Luke Aims and I were never close, but he did graduate with River and me. I’ve seen him around town, and we would wave hello. He was just another familiar face in town.
He takes a sluggish step forward, looking at me with a longing in his eyes. “I need your help.”
I sharply inhale as he reaches out. Several of his fingers are bleeding and so disfigured that the bone is exposed down to the first knuckle. I pull my gaze away from his hand and recognize the need in his eyes—hunger.
A low growl rumbles through him, and he sprints forward inhumanly fast. I line my gun with his head and pull the trigger. The bullet misses and hits him in the shoulder, but his nervous system doesn’t register the oozing, gaping hole. He rebounds within seconds, controlled by his desire for human flesh.
I fire again, and this time, his head whips back and dark purple surges from the center of his forehead. Luke crashes face-first into the snow. I brace my hands on my knees, catching my breath and fighting against my churning stomach.
Luke was in the first stage of the infection; it’s rare to come across a Z like him. Hours after he was bitten and exposed to the virus that lives in the Afflicted’s saliva, he began eating his fingers. When they lost their appeal, he went on the hunt for the flesh of others. Within the next two weeks, he would have lost his ability to speak and see. His nervous system would have shut down, and his sense of smell and hearing would have heightened. The teeth and fingernails of the Afflicted grow and sharpen at a rapid pace, helping them to become the ultimate predator.
After I finish my check on the house, I rush in the direction of Josh’s workshop. I slip into the shadows of the metal building, following along its walls toward the male voices. The Z groans grow louder the closer I get, warning me of the battle that lies ahead.
“Shaw, let it go,” someone yells, followed immediately by, “Goddammit, he never listens.”
I use their distraction to my advantage and move in next to Noah and Wes. We crouch in a line against the wall, trying to make ourselves as small as possible.
“Speaking of people who never listen,” Wes says, cocking a dark eyebrow and shooting his blue gaze my way.
I flash a feisty grin. “It’s my house, and I don’t have to listen to your dictator.”
“Ten o’clock,” Noah says, pointing his gun and releasing a shot.
Wes waits for the Z to drop before addressing me. “He’s only a dictator if he makes all the rules. We have a say.”
I pick off a Z bolting across a clearing of trees. “Sure you do, just keep telling yourself that. Where’s your fearless leader anyway?”
“He chased after one of them into the woods,” Noah says.
I scan the snow for Ryland’s tracks. Of course, he went through one of the worst areas. The forest is dense beyond the human-made trails, and with so much snow on the ground, there is no way he can follow the paths. If he gets lost, he won’t be able to find his way back until the sun rises. As a child, I spent hours lost amongst the trees and piles of snow. It was the perfect maze for Hide-n-Seek. But tonight, the woods are a Z funhouse with Ryland trapped inside.
I drop my satchel on the ground and grab a fistful of bullets and cram them into the pocket of my jeans. “Try not to shoot us when we come back through,” I say and dart across the yard.
“Quinn,” Noah yells, but I ignore him.
I take my time, listening for the sound of footsteps and sliding from tree to tree for cover. Zs are typically in a hurry when they smell flesh. Their one-track minds want to get to the food source as quickly as possible, but occasionally, they take their time and calculate their hunt. They play games and enjoy the chase before it’s over. I never know what kind of demented monster I’m up against, so I have to be always on high alert.
A gunshot goes off close by, echoing through the tall pine trees. It’s impossible to determine what direction it came from. I walk in circles, focusing on the snow to get a fix on Ryland’s tracks, but the trees are blocking any light the night sky may provide. I’m left with no choice but to head back in the direction I came and work through a plan with Noah and Wes to lure the Zs out of the trees.
Again, rapid gunfire blasts through the woods. Without reservations, I bolt toward the loud popping. My head whips back and forth as I frantically search for Ryland while anticipating a Z attack. I have no clue where I’m going until I come upon a small clearing. I skid to a stop just short of the open space. Ryland crouches against the trunk of a tree, using it for cover. In his haste to fight the Afflicted, he forgot to grab a jacket, and I can make out the dark lines of his tattoos on his arms. His head leans on the tree trunk, and his eyes are open to the sky above. All the while, four Zs slowly creep up on him like wild cats ready to pounce. With a huff, he tosses his gun on the ground between his legs. He’s out of bullets. He gnaws on his bottom lip, and I can almost see the thoughts swirling inside his head as he tries to find a way out of his dilemma.
My first instinct is to shoot, but if I do, we have no chance. The Zs will rush Ryland and me, and I’m not fast enough to clip off four of them and save us both. I need to get his attention without drawing theirs. If he knows I’m coming in, I can give him my gun and hope he fires right away while fending for myself with my knife.
I reach for a pinecone on the branch above my head and pick it off. The rustling of the pine needles sounds like a siren in my ears, filling me with dread. I swiftly toss the pinecone at Ryland, hitting him in the leg. He turns to me, and I hold up the gun. He discreetly shakes his head, and I counter with a nod. Without giving him the chance to object again, I race toward him. I close the last couple of feet by diving to his side and transferring my gun to him while unsheathing my hunting knife.
The Zs go wild and rush us.
Ryland fires two shots, but it’s not enough to stop the Z coming around my side of the tree. I wrinkle my nose at the smell of it—a rotten mixture of vomit, body odor, and human waste. I try to dodge away, but it grabs my arm. Long nails sink through the sleeve of my jacket and rake over my skin with burning pain. The only reason I can resist the urge to pull away is because I know the wound isn’t fatal. As long as the Z’s saliva doesn’t make contact with my blood, I’m safe. So, I wait for the perfect opening. With snapping teeth, it leans down to bite into my arm. When it comes closer, I plunge my blade into its eye socket. Dark blood oozes over my hand, and with a fast twist, I turn my weapon inside its head. Yanking on the knife, I kick its lifeless body to the ground .
The final standing Z picks up speed.
Ryland places his hand on my shoulder to hold me back as he steps out from the cover of the tree and shoots it in the chest. It staggers backward, but the blow is not enough. Again, it presses ahead, and Ryland fires, hitting it in the head. It tumbles lifelessly to the ground.
I slide down the rough bark of the tree and reach for my injured arm. I silently thank the stars that I was merely scratched. I would have been a goner if it sank its teeth into my flesh, directly exposing my blood to the virus.
Ryland kneels next to me. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. What about you?”
“Dammit, Quinn. I told you to stay with River and Aiden.”
I shake my head. “Don’t start in on me. I just saved your life. Now, we’re even.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a handful of bullets, pick up the gun Ryland discarded on the ground, and reload it.
His frustration is exactly how I feel when River does whatever the hell she wants when I’m trying to protect her, but this is different. She’s my family and my best friend. What’s transpiring between Ryland and me is a power struggle. He’s used to everyone following his orders without question, and I’m accustomed to only fighting River to get my way.
“We don’t need to be even,” he says in a solemn tone.
I push the clip back into the firearm and offer him the remaining ammo. “I don’t want to give you anything to hold over my head. You’ve made your feelings toward me abundantly clear.”
“Have I?” He sighs, taking the bullets from my hand.
I give him a sideways glance and quickly brush off the confusion written on his face. “Besides, this is my home, and I’m not standing by while someone else defends it.”
“You’re so fucking stubborn.”
I shrug and wait for him to finish loading his gun.
He stands and brushes the snow from his pants. “We’ll do this together, but you can’t go rogue on me. You have to stay with me, do you understand?” For the first time since I met him, he talks to me as if he wants to fight beside me and not with me.
I get to my feet. “Sure, but don’t be a misogynist and ignore my input. I know what I’m doing.”
Towering over me, he counters, “I’m not a misogynist or chauvinistic. I know you’re capable of taking care of yourself, but I want to help. You don’t have to do this alone. It’s called being chivalrous.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, let’s forget the chivalry. This isn’t a date, Prince Charming.”
He chuckles and takes the lead. “You have to admit that if it was, this would be one hell of a date.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I smile, jogging in front of him. “Incoming Z, straight ahead.”