Chapter 13
Thirteen
“ Y ou’re going to have to shoot the lock,” Wes says to Ryland as we stand in a semi-circle around the door leading behind the pharmacy counter.
“It’s going to attract attention as soon as I pull the trigger,” Ryland says.
Both men are splattered with Z blood and a total mess. Ryland tore a hole in the knee of his jeans, and Wes has a dark purple bruise forming under his eye. I’m not any better off, my head aches from being slammed against the wall by the Z and then the floor when we dove through the stairwell door. It’s surprising any of us are alert after the battle we fought.
“At least it’s locked, so that has to be a good sign, right? I mean, if we can’t just walk in, then neither can anyone else,” I say.
Ryland keeps his focus on the door and shakes his head. “I’m not assuming anything.”
I take a deep breath and turn to the pharmacy waiting room. It’s in shambles with chairs turned over, magazines littering the floor, and blood smeared on everything. I can’t help but think of all the people who were here waiting for their medication when brutally attacked. A single Z can overpower a handful of unarmed people, let alone those who are sick. This one room would have been a slaughterhouse.
“Just fucking shoot it, Shaw. I’ll stay here and keep watch while you and Quinn grab what we need,” Wes urges.
“I don’t like that option either. We stick together, remember?”
Wes runs his hand over his face. “Well, something has to give if we want to get this done and make it back to Aiden.”
“He’s got a point, Ryland,” I chime in.
In the short time that I’ve known him, one thing has become very evident—Ryland is the ultimate soldier who’s not only fighting to win, but fighting for the well-being of those most important to him. The idea of leaving someone behind unsettles him, and he wants a workaround. It’s all or nothing with him.
With a sigh, Ryland says, “Stay by the door and call if you need help.”
“Of course.” Wes assures him with a faint smile.
We take a step back, putting some distance between us and the door handle. In quick succession, Ryland lets loose two shots, and the lock falls to the floor. Using his booted foot to finish the job, he kicks the door open.
I sweep my flashlight over the contents inside, and my tense shoulders relax at the sight of the unscathed room and an array of medications. Ryland and I move forward, and without a word, we split up and hastily rummage through the shelves. We’re not only searching for the steroids to save Aiden’s life, but anything we deem useful. I remove my bag from my back, secure it to the front of my body, and fill it with medications.
My life no longer consists of simple tasks. Everything I do requires me to think outside of the box. There’s a series of questions I always ask myself on a supply run. Do I need this? Will I need this? Is this something I’ll regret leaving behind come tomorrow? I may never get another chance to raid an untouched pharmacy. Everything in here is something I want to take home.
“We’ve got visitors,” Wes yells from the doorway and fires a shot.
I rush through the shelves. My body shakes and perspiration trails down the back of my neck. My movements become sloppy as I read the labels, frantically looking for any jargon indicating the contents of the bottles. Every time Wes shoots his gun, the blast stunts me. It is almost deafening as it echoes through the waiting room. My ears ring, wreaking havoc on me. It takes a second for me to gather my bearings, rendering me useless and wasting precious time.
In the next aisle, Ryland curses to himself. There’s no doubt that the separation from his friend is making him anxious. If Wes isn’t with him, then Ryland has relinquished the control he wants the most—the ability to protect.
I peer between the shelves to the front door. With his hands full, Wes no longer communicates with us. I count each shot, knowing he only has fifteen until he’ll need to reload. Eight. I rummage through the next shelving unit. Nine. Tossing bottles of painkillers in my backpack. Ten. I check on Wes again to find two more Zs entering the waiting room. Eleven and twelve. I meet Ryland’s panicked gaze. Thirteen. I zip my backpack and put it on. Fourteen. Fuck it!
“Keep searching,” I say, sprinting for the door and removing my gun from my pocket.
“Quinnten,” Ryland yells.
Fifteen. Wes’s gun renders useless as I enter the waiting room, geared up for a fight. He’s on the ground with a large Z on top of him. The two desperately struggle for something they desire more than anything else—Wes for his life and the Z for flesh. Drool oozes down Wes’s hand as he holds his attackers face away from his body. The Z scrambles to find the perfect angle to sink his sharp teeth in and rip the flesh from his bones. They’re all over the place, and I can’t get a clear shot without putting Wes in more danger. Before I can come up with a plan, a new batch of the Afflicted storm into the room. I take down the first two, but it’s the third who has me tripped up.
At one time, he was a boy, no older than ten. His hair is missing, and bodily fluids stain his superhero pajamas. Not only was he a child when he was infected, but most likely a cancer patient. My heart shatters. Fate played a cruel joke on this kid, dealing him a horrendous hand.
My sympathy for the boy doesn’t last long; he’s a vicious little beast. The child Z leaps for me with his mouth wide open, and my pity for the life lost morphs into pure survival instincts. I take the butt of my gun, pistol-whipping him on the side of the head. The force of the blow throws him off for a second, but he rapidly recovers, charging at me again. Trying to avoid Wes, I align my gun with the Z’s head and take a step back. One of the many overturned chairs catches my foot, and I tumble to the ground, landing on my back. I keep a firm grip on my weapon, but the flashlight dislodges from my hand, casting everything into shadows .
The boy springs over the chair between us, and the limited glow of the light catches the raging hunger in his white eyes. I extend my foot, forcing him to keep his distance while holding my firearm with both hands in front of me. His small body clears my outstretched leg, and he plummets toward me. I pull the trigger, a bullet ripping through his tiny head. Blood sprinkles down as his limp body falls on top of me.
I stifle the overwhelming need to cry. The young boy has nobody to mourn his death. It’s cruel and unfair. Although I didn’t take his life and set him free from an unnatural existence, it still brings me anguish to know it had to be done. I forgo my usual harshness for a dead Z. Instead of shoving him off me, I gently roll him to the side. This will have to suffice as paying my respects to his sad, short life.
I rush to help Wes who is quickly losing ground to his rival. The big Z presses in on him, its teeth an inch from his cheek. Wes tightly shuts his eyes, his face contorting like he’s waiting for the second that his skin is ripped from his skull. Using my heavy boots, I kick the Z in the head every time it lowers to take a bite. When I’ve become an absolute nuisance, it bites down on the tip of my steel-toed-boot. I scream, trying to pull away. It shakes its head like a rabid dog, knocking me off my feet. I land with a thud vibrating up my spine. I don’t let the shooting pain slow me down. I’m not sure if its teeth can chomp through metal, but if it does, it will reach one of my toes and break the skin. As soon as the saliva pooled around its mouth reaches my bloodstream, I’m a goner. I pray the steel is a strong enough barrier to withstand its sharp teeth.
The hulking Z traps Wes and me. Half of its body is on top of Wes, whose arms flail as he tries to get loose. I’m jostled around while it whips its head side to side. I can’t line up a straight shot, so I give up on my gun, leaning back on my hands and kick. The sole of my shoe lands directly in the middle of its face. It’s enough to break its grip on me. The Z screeches and turns back to Wes. I don’t give the monster time to position itself for the kill, jumping onto its back and grabbing a fistful of its hair. The black strands are greasy, difficult to hold, and smell like the embodiment of death.
The Z thrashes with an unending supply of energy, but I’m determined to win. I press my gun to the Z’s temple, waiting for the perfect moment. It pivots and snaps aimlessly at my arm as I squeeze the trigger. The Z topples over, pinning me to the ground underneath its dead weight. The air in my lungs drains out, and the pressure on top of me stops me from inhaling. It figures I kill the damn thing only for its corpse to suffocate me. I squirm around, trying to find a way out. My lungs burn, and my face heats from the lack of oxygen.
Muffled gunshots ring out, and the chaos dies thrusting everything into silence.
“Are you all right, Mac?”
“I’ll be okay, but I need help getting this fucker off Quinn.”
They roll the Z from me, and I gasp for air only to regret it right away. I brace my hands on the floor and dry heave. The adrenaline from the fight and shock from everything I endured is too much for my body to handle.
“Hurry and get it all out. We’re not done yet,” Wes says, resting his hand on my shoulder.
Fingers wrap around my arm, pulling me to my feet. “No time. Up you go.”
It’s not surprising that Ryland is entirely driven by the mission. Things like sympathy for almost being crushed to death are clearly beyond him.
My head spins, and I slump, gripping my knees to keep upright.
“Quinn, we don’t have time for this. I’m going to need you to run,” Ryland says.
I take two deep breaths and say, “Tell me you found it.”
He knows right away what I’m asking. “I found it.”
I couldn’t do this again if we had to, at least not anytime soon. All I have left in me will be enough to escape this hell-hole alive.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say with a lazy smile.
It’s what we all need to hear. We can return to the barn and wait out the night. It may not be as safe as the bunker, but at least it’s a warm, safe place where we can rest our aching bodies. Of course, we first need to find our way out of this nest.
We exit the pharmacy and jog the opposite way we came, running through double doors and wide corridors, searching for anything that hints to a way out. The darkness makes it hard to see any distinguishing marks. It isn’t long before we arrive at the pharmacy again and realize we ran in one gigantic circle.
“I think we need a plan B,” Wes says, gasping for air.
“There were elevators located next to the stairs we came up,” I suggest.
Ryland shakes his head. “That would be amazing if there were electricity.”
“That’s not what I mean. We can climb the elevator shaft.”
He blows out a puff of air. “Confined spaces.”
I toss up my hands. “You’re going to have to suck it up, cupcake.”
“I agree,” Wes adds .
Ryland shoots his friend a warning glare and turns back to me. “Let’s just get this over with.”
There should be another stairwell located on this floor, but we don’t have time. Our goal is to make it back to the barn before nightfall. For all we know, the sun set hours ago. When in a bind, it’s best to use what you know, and in this case, we’re sure there’s an elevator shaft. The question is—where did the elevator car stop when the power went out? If it’s between the first and second floors, we’re screwed.
When we reach the elevator, the doors are closed. Wes and Ryland set to work using nothing but their hands to pry them apart. I stand watch, scanning in all directions for any unwanted followers. My nerves are worn thin, and I’m irritated listening to the two go on about how to open the doors. I clench my jaw and hold in the need to scream. Rubbing my fingers over my eyes, I try to ward off my headache and fatigue.
I drop my hands and shine my flashlight down the hall. It doesn’t reach far, leaving most of the hallway in shadows and me squinting into the darkness. I blink once. Then twice. But the bodies at the end of the hall don’t fade away. They’re lined shoulder to shoulder with their hungry stares glued on us.
“Figure it the hell out boys because shit is about to get ugly really quick,” I say, without taking my eyes off the Zs.
“Oh, fuck,” Wes drawls.
“What are you waiting for, Quinn?” Ryland asks, scooting in beside me.
I take a moment to survey our surroundings. We could run left or right, but honestly, what’s the use? They’ll follow us and possibly attract more Zs. Standing here and shooting is not going to work either, we need an escape route, and fast.
The red cabinet mounted on the wall catches my attention.
“Wes, get the ax out of the emergency cabinet and pry those damn doors open,” I command before firing my gun.
Wes runs to the wall and kicks in the glass while Ryland opens fire next to me. The Zs keep the steady pace, closing in on us, stepping over the dead as they fall to the ground. Shattering glass resounds throughout the corridor, and Wes yanks out the ax, swinging it at the stainless-steel elevator doors. The pounding of metal-on-metal mixes with the blasts of the guns, setting the approach of the Afflicted to a hectic beat. Ryland and I continue to decrease their numbers, but it’s not enough.
“How’s it coming, Mac?” Ryland’s voice rises over the loud pop of my gun.
“Almost there,” he responds with a grunt.
The ax skids across the floor in front of us and the leisurely pace of the Zs speeds up to a brisk walk. Ryland doesn’t wait for confirmation. If Wes let go of the ax, it’s because he has accomplished what he set out to do.
“Go, Quinn,” Ryland demands.
I quickly turn to see Wes lower himself down the elevator shaft and hold his hand out to me. I hesitate. The Zs are halfway to us, and I can’t leave Ryland to fight by himself.
He briefly meets my eyes. “I’m right behind you. Now, go!”
I back up and shoot one more Z before Wes’s hand wraps around my ankle. He guides me to the first rung of a ladder along the front wall of the shaft. I divide my attention between the Afflicted and trying to descend to the next floor.
Hoping to clear the way for Ryland, I yell at Wes, “Move, move, move!” I hurry to get down, and before I can’t see him anymore, I call to Ryland, “Come on.”
I continue into the musty space, periodically glancing up. Each step I take causes a gut-wrenching fear inside of me. Ryland should be coming down by now. What if the Zs broke into a sprint once I couldn’t see them? The Afflicted had already lost two perfectly good bodies, what if they were set on not letting the last one get away? My chest tightens, and I’m poised to dart back up when a body free-falls down the shaft. Its arms and legs flail and an unnatural screech echoes around us. The Z lands on the top of the elevator with a thud. I jump at the sound of a gun discharging and find Wes below me, releasing a fatal shot. I don’t hear any gunfire from above, only the grunts of the Afflicted. Unadulterated dread takes over. I won’t leave Ryland. Even if they have him, I won’t let him suffer while they rip him to pieces. I’ll do the most merciful thing I can—kill him myself. Tears sting my eyes as I grip the rung above my head and pull my body up. I shouldn’t have abandoned him. We could have figured it out together, and both of us could have escaped. But I left him to fend for himself. How stupid! I set my resolve, dry my eyes with the back of my sleeve, and begin to rush upward.
“Wrong way, love.”
My head whips back as the black soles of Ryland’s boots move above me.
“Watch out,” he calls down before letting go of the ax. It crashes onto the roof of the elevator next to Wes and the dead Z.
A frustrated scream calls to us, and Ryland stretches his arm and shoots the Z who appears in the opening above. It falls forward, landing next to its friend on the elevator.
Wes gets to work shoving the bodies to the side and splitting the metal roof of the elevator car open with the ax. It doesn’t take him long to create a space big enough for us to slide through. The doors below are open, giving access to the first floor and freedom. Wes lowers himself inside and waits for me. With little grace, I wiggle past the jagged metal until his hands wrap around my waist, guiding me safely to the ground. I can’t risk letting Ryland out of my sight again, so I stay put until he jumps down.
The minutes flash by in a blur. The three of us tune into our surroundings, making sure that nothing holds the element of surprise. We come head-to-head with a Z or two, but they don’t stand a chance against our desperate need to get out of the hospital. We rush to the exit, bolt out the side door, and sprint away from the building.
I’ve never been so grateful for the setting sun painting the sky in pink, orange, and blue. Cold fresh air stings my face and fills my lungs, reminding me that I survived again. I want to drop to my knees and worship the concrete jungle around me. I swear I’ve been a prisoner in the depths of hell for decades and battled grotesque demons in a war for my flesh for a lifetime. Against all the odds, I prevailed with my friends and won another day on earth.
With the hospital well behind us, my body drains of adrenaline. The damage done to it in the last few hours is impossible to ignore. My arms and legs are heavy, and every movement I make feels overly complicated. Each breath is restricted by the buildup of thick mucus in my throat, and my head throbs from the multiple collisions it had with rock-hard walls and floors. But none of it is as painful as the burning in my foot. I fall behind the guys, my jogging hindered by my need to limp. Glancing at my shoe, I find the yellow fragment of a Z tooth embedded in the tip.
“Shit,” I mutter, falling to the ground and frantically unlace my boot.
I toss my combat boot to the side and stare in horror at the blood staining my pink polka dot sock. The pulse in my neck pounds like a drum as my worst fear comes to fruition. The massive Z from the pharmacy gnawed through leather, steel, and cotton to reach my big toe. I don’t bother with a brave face and holding back my emotions. I let the tears slide down my face and surrender to my fate.
Ryland stands over me, his eyes wide. “Quinn?”
They can’t take me home. I might not be out of my mind yet, but come tomorrow, I’ll start eating my own flesh. In the next two weeks, I’ll lose my ability to verbally communicate, my sight will vanish, and I’ll become immune to physical pain. By the end, I’ll have a never-ending craving. There are no other options. This must end now, or in the middle of the night, I’ll unknowingly attack the people I care about. I’d rather go on my own terms and still be me.
My voice is hoarse as I say, “Please take River with you when you leave. I know you guys will keep her safe. Tell her I love her, and I hope that in time she can forgive me.”
Ryland shakes his head, his entire body rigid as he stares at me. He always possesses an awareness, like he is planning every step he takes, holding so tightly to the reins of what he can control. But now, it has slipped through his fingers, and the way his eyes dart around like he is searching for answers tells me he’s at a loss.
I reach into the pocket of my jacket and hold out my gun. “I don’t think I can do it myself,” I say, urging him to take it.
He swallows and looks blankly at my weapon. “I can’t.”
Tears and snot run down my face, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. Unleashing my emotions doesn’t make me weak. My strength is found in my willingness to accept my fate and forfeit my life for the safety of others. This is a dignified way to die.
“Please, Ryland. It’s a mercy killing,” I plead.
He clenches his jaw, and his eyes become glassy. “Please don’t ask me to do this. I can’t, Quinn.”
As difficult as it is for me to accept, I understand why he says no. Although I was determined to crawl up the elevator shaft and do this very thing for him, I’m not sure I would’ve gone through with it. I may have just as soon chosen to go down with him rather than snuff out the light in his bright green eyes.
I won’t risk the lives of those I care about for the selfish purpose of living one more day. The danger I swore to protect them from is now me. And I know what must be done.
I aim my weapon at my temple. Self-preservation screams at me and activates a rational fear. Will I die instantly, or will the kick of the gun throw off my aim, causing a long, drawn-out death? If my mark holds true, will it hurt, and for how long? I’m terrified of the suffering I might endure, but I can’t let it rule me. It must be done.
Needing to control my fear, I turn my attention solely to Ryland. His handsome face with its minor imperfections is a flawless distraction. I wish he would smile so I could admire the deep dimples on his cheeks and the way it washes away the toughness of his demeanor. I’m saddened that I didn’t get to witness the playful side of him more. He’s more than handsome, he’s beautiful, even in his state of disarray. The tips of my fingers tingle with the desire to touch him one more time and prove he’s real. If things were different, I could have eventually fallen in love with him.
But things are what they are, and there’s nothing I can do to change it.
I pull as much cold air as I can into my lungs and hold it. The gun at my head is heavy and my hand shakes under its weight. This is the right thing to do, I tell myself as my trigger finger tenses and prepares to discharge a bullet into my brain.
“Quinn, stop!” Wes yells. “It didn’t break through. You’re bleeding from the metal digging into your foot.”
He steps into my view, holding the broken tooth in his gloved hand and my boot in the other. Ryland snatches my shoe from him and looks it over before tossing it to me. I lower my gun and examine the exposed steel at the toe. I blink a couple of times, making sure I see it correctly. The steel at the toe is bent but not broken. The indentation must have dug into my toe as I was running. I’m so thankful that I want to jump up and hug them, but I’m brought to a halt.
Next to me, Wes bends over with his hands on his thighs, catching his breath. His black hair sticks up on its ends around his head, and there is a greenish tone to his skin. Blood is smudged on his bruised face, and his jacket is shredded in several places. He looks terrible, and I’ve added to his stress.
Across from me, Ryland is in constant motion, with his eyes closed and both hands clench his hair. He’s entirely drenched in the purple blood of Zs. He didn’t look so filthy in the pharmacy and the only time I lost sight of him was when I descended the elevator shaft. There were no gunshots before he lowered himself, he must have used the ax. The carnage of hacked off body parts he left behind must have been substantial. As crazy as it sounds, I kind of envy him for having the opportunity to do it. I bet it was therapeutic to violently take out his aggression on the Afflicted. And yet, my blunder may have undone all of that.
I sigh as I watch the two. I’ve tried to keep space between us, but it’s been impossible. The last thing I wanted was for the four men to wiggle their way into my life and hold some importance to me. Yet here I am risking my life for the spirited boy who lies dying in my bed. I’ve trusted Noah to take care of the person I love most, and when I saw Wes struggling with the Z, all I wanted to do was get to him and save him. I was totally set on not risking my life for anyone but River, and I crossed that boundary for him today.
And Ryland… For a moment, I believed he’d been taken by the Zs. My fear ignited an immense pain in the depths of my soul, which is crazy. He’s a walking contradiction—an enigma I’m tirelessly trying to figure out. I can draw a definitive line with the other three men, but the same can’t be said for him. There’s so much to learn about Ryland Shaw and to think my chance may have been lost is unbearable.