Chapter 11
Kate
The days pass in a blur of monotony. We continue the same routine each day, doing it over and over until I’ve lost track of how long I’ve been here.
The mattress may soon have an imprint of my body permanently dented into it.
I’ve come to welcome time with Jordan—partly because I want to figure out this puzzle of her infection, but I also don’t want to be alone. I hate staying still, time with myself. Keeping myself moving stops the horrors and panic from eating me alive.
For the millionth time, I tug on the restraints restlessly, my wrists sporting angry burns from my pathetic escape attempts. Agitation bubbles in me. Why do I still need to be tied down? I don’t have any opportunities to run, and even if I did, she’d catch me immediately.
I need to move around, to think about anything but every horrible thing that’s happened to me. My mind isn’t as occupied as I need it to be while I’m prone and by myself.
Harry’s face won’t leave my mind—it’s as if he’s painted on the inside of my eyelids.
I kick my feet as a shriek of pure aggravation rips from my throat. I thrash, desperate to be free, to do something other than think about Harry and my parents and Sal—
Distracted by my outburst, I nearly miss the sensation of the fabric moving down my foot.
I freeze, my eyes darting down to see the tie around my ankle has loosened.
An incredulous gasp escapes me as I wriggle my foot back and forth, easing the fabric down my skin until one of my legs is free.
Immediately, I rotate my other ankle, trying to work my second leg free, but something occurs to me that makes me pause.
Jordan has yet to be sloppy with her knots. Is this some kind of trick? Is she waiting for me to break free?
I shake my head and start working my ankle loose. It doesn’t matter if this is a test or not.
My ankle is nearly free when I hear a thud downstairs. I still, my ears perking as my heart accelerates.
She rarely makes a sound when she’s moving around the house; I only know she’s near the bedroom because of some sick sixth sense I’ve acquired being locked up here.
Floorboards creak on the floor below, and my stomach drops.
Someone else is in this house.
I yank my leg back and forth, the need to be freed now dire. Whoever is down there, I doubt they’re going to be a friend to me.
Heavy steps get louder, though it’s hard to tell with the blood pounding in my ears. Panicked tears are sliding down my cheeks as I fight this knot. I can’t die here, I can’t—
My ankle finally gets free as my new visitor staggers into the room.
The infected is worse for wear: its head is caved in on one side with dried, crusted blood covering most of its face. It only has one eye, which is bloodshot as it locks in on me.
I don’t have time to scream before it snarls and lunges for me.
I draw my knees into my chest as it lands on the bed, it’s gnarled fingers outstretched.
Putting all my strength into my legs, I kick it square in the face.
Its nose breaks from the force. A pained bellow fills the room as it reaches for its face.
I don’t give it time to recuperate—I slam my feet into its face again, jolting the entire bed forward.
The infected waves its arms helplessly, trying to stop me but is unable to see around the blood now coating its face. I’ll kick this fucker’s face in completely if that’s what it takes.
But when I go to land another blow, the infected is yanked backward off the bed.
Jordan grabs the other infected by its hair and tosses it to the ground, letting out a deafening roar that doesn’t sound like her. The other infected hisses back and tries to rise, but Jordan is stronger, faster; she places her hands on each side of its head and pulls.
A sickening rip reaches my ears as Jordan removes the infected’s head from its body. Blood spurts from the severed neck, landing on the floor with a soft splat.
Shock overtakes me. The infected are strong, but not like this.
She stares at the head for a few moments before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor beside the body and turning to face me. Her upper lip curls in a snarl as she climbs onto the bed. I scramble up, my back pressing into the headboard, desperate to get away.
Jordan moves like a panther locked in on its prey, her eyes zeroed in on me. Her tongue swipes over a fang as she cages me in.
My breath nearly gets stuck in my throat, but I muster enough to rasp, “No.”
She gives me a growl in reply.
“Jordan,” I say, forcing my voice to be stronger, firm. “No.”
Her nostrils flare as she breathes deeply, seeming to scent me as she nearly presses her face into mine.
“Don’t,” I demand, staring her down, not letting my fear be the reason I die.
She blinks as if remembering herself and pulls back, examining me like she wasn’t aware I was there. A muscle in her jaw ticks before she prowls backward with preternatural grace. She grabs my blood-covered foot and inspects the sole.
“Bitten?” she grits out.
Relief floods my system at hearing her voice. “No,” I pant.
A rumbling sound comes from Jordan’s chest before she climbs off the bed. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Untie me first.”
She looks over at me and seems ready to argue against it, but the look on my face seems to convince her to remove my other limbs from their traps. I hug my arms around myself before scampering off the bed, my eyes glued to the decapitated corpse. “How did it get in?”
“I don’t know,” she answers gruffly, squatting before gathering the body in her arms. “It’s possible this one scented you and came looking.”
A shudder moves through me. “I didn’t know their sense of smell was that good.”
Jordan stands and the trickle of blood hitting the floorboards makes me queasy. “They can do more than you think.” She heads to the door, but my eyes snag on the infected’s wrist. The dark veins from the dead infected I saw outside the safe house.
“Wait,” I blurt out.
Jordan pauses, and I step forward, trying to avoid the bloodbath on the ground. Looking closer, something about this infected is…off.
I didn’t notice before, too lost in fight-or-flight, but this doesn’t look like the infected I’ve seen—part of its rib cage is protruding from its chest and back. The only infected with this protrusion are shadow stalkers, but this infected has no other clear signs of being one of those.
“What are you doing?” Jordan asks. “I need to dispose of the body.”
“Set it down,” I murmur, gaze tracking over it.
“Kate,” she warns, “I’m not leaving a dead infected here.”
“I haven’t seen one like this before. I need to study what’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I think this is a variant of the virus.”