Chapter 3
Kate
My head is killing me.
It throbs against my skull, making me physically ill. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to ward off some of the pain, when I remember what happened. An infected fucking threw me off my horse and knocked me unconscious.
My eyes fly open to stare up at a ceiling. Confused, I furrow my brows. Am I back at camp? Did someone come looking for me and find me before I could get infected?
That’s when I realize I’m tied to a bed. I tug against the restraints, but they’re expertly secured to the bed frame. My eyes skate around the room, noticing the space is in disarray and disrepair.
This isn’t camp. I doubt anyone has been inside this place for years.
“What the fuck,” I whisper, trying to put the puzzle together but realizing I’m missing pieces.
As if appearing out of thin air, the infected that knocked me out stands in the doorway.
Newly infected are quick on their feet and can sneak up without being detected until it’s too late. As the infection progresses, their motor skills deteriorate, making them slower, louder. A person would rather not come across a horde of newly infected.
I don’t know if it’s wise, but I let out a scream loud enough to bring this abandoned house down.
Quick as a viper, it charges at me, slamming its hand over my mouth.
A cloth covers my lips, making me panic.
Is it going to suffocate me? I’m struggling to make sense of why it’s not ripping me to shreds when it leans down, its infected eyes burrowing into mine as it says, “Be quiet. You’ll wake the others. ”
My brain stops working for a moment. Did it—
There’s no way. Infected lose their ability to speak—all they do is grunt and snarl.
There’s no way she isn’t infected; she has large purple half-moons under her eyes, a sickly pallor to her skin, elongated canines.
Eventually, their teeth will all sharpen.
The red ring around her dark irises almost glows as she stares me down.
I must be suffering from a concussion. Or I’m actually dead.
She raises her eyebrows and says, “If I remove my hand, you must promise not to scream. You’re going to attract other infected. Do you understand?”
I nod furiously, causing my head to pang. Her hand eases off my mouth, and I take in gulping breaths, fighting the urge to wince.
“How are you talking right now?” I ask.
She tilts her head, examining me the way I was doing to her, but doesn’t answer.
“I’ve never heard one of you utter a word,” I push, needing to know why the hell this is happening.
“It takes considerable effort,” she offers. “Usually, the beast is in control.”
“The what?” She gives me a look that says she won’t elaborate, but I can’t accept that.
“Listen, I’m a researcher in safe zone two.
I need to get back to the city. Please, I need you to let me go—people are counting on me.
” My vision blurs as panicked tears pool in my eyes.
There’s no way I’m getting out of here alive.
The outbreak happened five years ago, and I have yet to experience something like this—no one has experienced a talking infected. If anyone had, it would be the first thing Parker would share.
And yet, I’ve been kidnapped by one, dragged into this old house, and basically told to keep quiet.
Maybe my psyche has finally broken. Live in a traumatic reality for too long, the brain tries to protect itself. Maybe I’m slowly being eaten alive, but my mind is saving me by conjuring up this dream sequence so I don’t have to experience a slow, agonizing death.
I feel the bed dip, and I blink the tears from my eyes. She’s perched on the bed like a gargoyle, her eyes burrowing into my skin. My breath catches in my throat as she prowls over me, hovering.
Is she going to bite me now? “What are you doing?” I demand, straining against the ropes holding me hostage. “Don’t,” I warn, but my voice comes out strained.
She peers down at me, her white hair creating a curtain around us as she slowly leans in. Little frightened whimpers pass my lips as she sticks out her tongue and drags it up my cheek. She pulls back, a contemplative look on her face.
“Salty,” she comments, smacking her lips together.
I need to get the fuck out of here. I tug my wrists against the ropes, the fabric burning my skin the longer I twist and pull.
“You won’t get out of those.”
The red ring around her dark irises is ominous, dangerous. I fight to keep eye contact with the creature before me. “What do you want from me?” I ask, my voice betraying my fear.
She cocks her head, strands of hair shielding an eye. She seems to struggle with finding the words—her throat bobs as she swallows a few times before biting out, “I don’t know.”
My mind goes blank with shock. “So you knocked me off my horse, hit me over the head, dragged my unconscious body to this abandoned place and strapped me to this bed, but you have no idea why you did any of that?”
“I didn’t drag your body,” she mumbles.
“Unbelievable.” An incredulous giggle bubbles in and out of me. “Let me go!” I scream, thrashing against the mattress.
Before I can react, her body is flush against mine, pressing herself on top of me. I try to buck her off, but I’m useless without full range of motion. The infected are always going to be stronger, faster.
“Get the fuck—” I shout in her face, but she presses her hand against my mouth again. My instinct is to bite her, to startle her enough to stop doing that, but it’s too dangerous—biting can break the skin, and consuming her infected blood would guarantee my death.
So I press my lips together and stop moving, waiting for her to get off.
“I will only let you go if you behave.” My eyes narrow in defiance. “Being too loud will attract others. I need to clean your wound so they don’t scent you. Let me do that, and I’ll free you.”
I didn’t even know I was bleeding. Fuck, that’s not good.
“Okay,” I say into her hand, the word muffled but she seems to understand. She climbs off and reaches for my supplies. Opening the bottle of antiseptic, she douses the thin cloth in her hand.
“Whoa,” I caution. “You don’t need that much.”
She ignores me, slapping the drenched fabric to my temple. My skin burns, making me hiss and jerk away. “Fucking hell, that hurts.”
“You’re whiny.” She bares her teeth at me. “Stop moving.”
“Let me do it,” I argue, moving my head back and forth, trying to avoid this torture.
She hisses and snaps her arm forward, gripping my chin with her free hand as she wipes the side of my head with the other.
After going back and forth, she finishes cleaning the wound she created and drops the bottle and now-red fabric onto a nightstand next to me. The grip on my face doesn’t lessen.
“Can you let go of me now?” I grunt.
Her eyes dart from my face to her hand, her eyebrows bunching. “I’m trying,” she grits out.
I blink at her, not following. It seems like she’s having a mental argument with herself, the muscles in her arm straining, her hold tightening. “Um…”
She lets out a low snarl before she rips her hand from my chin and cradles her arm to her chest, her breathing uneven. We stare at each other with matching bewildered expressions before she leaves the room without a word.