Chapter 6
EVELYN
I was right there, right at the edge, and in danger of falling completely apart in Trent Dalton’s arms—
A crack split the air as something punched through the window.
He threw me off the bed, his weight slamming me into the floor hard enough to knock the air from my lungs. Glass rained down on his back, red lines opening across his shoulders, blood welling up as he covered me with his body.
Another crack.
My ears rang. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I needed to get up. I needed to—
A bullet drilled into the wall inches from his head.
Oh. My. God. Someone was shooting at us.
“Stay down!” Trent’s voice was hot against my ear, his arm pressing across my back to keep me flat against the thin carpet.
Another shot tore through the room, punching a hole in the wall above us. Plaster dust sprinkled down like snow, coating my hair and sticking to the sweat on my neck.
My heart hammered so hard I thought it might crack a rib.
I turned my head sideways, cheek pressed against the rough carpet that smelled of old cigarettes and cheap cleaning solution.
Through the jagged remains of the window, I could make out a figure standing in the parking lot with a rifle.
But I didn’t understand what I was seeing.
Carol Ruper. Her hair was pulled back in that severe bun she’d never worn before today. Blue top. Khaki pants. And a hunting rifle pressed against her shoulder, aimed directly at the motel room.
“Carol,” I gasped. “It’s Carol.”
Trent shifted, raising his head just enough to confirm. “Shit.”
Her face was completely blank, eyes fixed and vacant as she mechanically worked the bolt to chamber another round. No expression. No anger. No anything. Just empty purpose as she raised the rifle again.
“Move!” He grabbed my arm, yanking me toward the bathroom as another shot splintered the headboard where we’d been seconds before.
We scrambled across the floor, broken glass slicing into my palms. I was completely naked, every inch of skin exposed.
My clothes were scattered somewhere behind us—jeans kicked off near the bed, shirt lost in the chaos.
Trent stayed half-covering me, one arm extended back with his gun drawn.
He wasn’t shooting, just ready. His jeans hung loose around his hips, zipper open, shoved down just enough that the fabric bunched at his thighs.
“Why is she—?” I couldn’t complete the thought. Sweet, gossipy Carol with her never-ending stories and her collection of ceramic cats. Carol, who brought soup to sick neighbors and remembered everyone’s birthdays.
“It’s not her,” Trent said grimly. “It’s what they’ve made her.”
Another shot, this one punching through the mattress, springs, and stuffing bursting outward. Trent pulled me faster, and we finally reached the bathroom doorway.
He shoved me inside first, then followed, slamming the door behind us. He immediately pressed his back against it, bracing it shut with his weight.
“That won’t stop bullets,” I said, my voice coming out higher than normal. I looked around frantically for something to cover myself with. A towel hung on the rack. Thin, rough, motel-grade. I grabbed it and wrapped it around my body.
“No, but there’s concrete between the rooms. Bathroom walls are the only solid ones in places like this.
” He was already pulling a small device from his pocket—a phone, but it was unlike any I’d ever seen before.
It looked like it belonged in a sci-fi movie.
As he dialed, he yanked his jeans up properly and fastened them.
Sophia.
The thought stole my breath, and I looked back at the bathroom door. Sophia was at school. With Beth Morris. Beth with the same blank stare. The same mechanical movements. The same...emptiness behind her eyes.
“Sophia,” I said, grabbing Trent’s arm so hard my fingers dug in like claws. I was only dully aware he was bleeding, and his blood was now all over my hands. “We have to get to her. Now.”
“Working on it.” He pressed the phone to his ear.
“Grim, we’ve got a situation. Live fire.
Local under control, showing aggression.
Backup needed at location.” He gave coordinates, then listened, his face hardening.
“No, don’t send a chopper—too visible. We need to extract without—” Another pause.
“Copy that. We’ll move to position alpha and wait. ”
“We’re not waiting. Sophia is with one of them!” I looked around the small bathroom, desperate for a way out. The tiny window above the shower was our only option. But I couldn’t climb through a window in just a towel. “My clothes. I need my clothes.”
Trent lowered the phone, his gaze meeting mine. “One of who?”
“The people like Carol. Beth Morris, her teacher. They’ve all got the same look—blank eyes, blue shirt and khakis, speaking in that flat voice.
Beth had her hand on Sophia’s shoulder this morning, and she was looking at her like.
..” I couldn’t finish the sentence. The memory of Beth’s fingers curling into my daughter’s small shoulder made me want to vomit.
Understanding and alarm flashed across Trent’s face. “When did Beth start acting differently?”
“This morning. She’s never been like that before.” My hands trembled as I clutched the towel tighter. “The others, too—it started yesterday for some of them, I think. Dutch said so.”
Trent cursed under his breath and glanced at the small window. “We need to move. Now. Before reinforcements arrive.”
“I can’t go anywhere like this.” I gestured at the towel. “My clothes are out there.”
He peered through the gap between the door and frame, checking the main room. The gunfire had stopped. Silence pressed in from outside, somehow worse than the shooting.
“She’s reloading or repositioning,” he said quietly. “We’ve got maybe thirty seconds.” He looked back at me. “Where are your clothes?”
“Jeans near the bed. Shirt... I don’t know. Somewhere on the floor.”
“Stay here.” He started to ease the door open.
“No.” I grabbed his arm. “We go together. I’m not letting you—“
“Evelyn—“
“Together,” I said firmly. “You need clothes, too. I’ll grab mine. You grab yours and whatever weapons you have.”
He studied my face for a beat, then nodded. “Fast. Keep low.”
He moved away from the door and opened it just enough for us to slip through. The motel room looked like a war zone—glass everywhere, holes punched in the walls, the mattress torn open. Afternoon light streamed through the shattered window, illuminating dust particles floating in the air.
My jeans lay crumpled near the foot of the bed. I spotted my shirt draped over the chair by the table, my bra on the floor near the nightstand. Everything was within ten feet, but it felt like miles with that broken window gaping open.
Trent’s duffle sat near the closet, his tactical vest draped over the chair.
Trent moved to the side of the window, back pressed against the wall, gun raised. He checked the parking lot with quick glances. “She’s moved. Can’t see her. Go.”
I dropped the towel and ran, bent low, glass crunching under my bare feet. Pain lanced through my soles, but I ignored it, grabbing my jeans first. I yanked them on without bothering to button them, then lunged for my bra.
A shadow moved outside the window.
“Down!” Trent barked.
I hit the floor as another shot cracked through the air, the bullet punching into the wall where I’d been standing. My heart slammed against my ribs. I army-crawled toward my shirt, stretching my arm out.
“She’s circling around,” Trent said, still watching. “Trying to get a better angle.” He fired twice out the window—keeping Carol’s head down—then pivoted and grabbed his vest, slinging it over his bare torso in one motion. The straps hung loose.
My fingers closed around the fabric of my shirt. I pulled it to me and shoved my arms through the sleeves, not bothering with the buttons yet. No time for my bra. I left it where it lay.
Trent ducked low and moved toward his duffel, dragging it back toward the bathroom door. He kept the gun up, watching the window. Another round punched through, hitting the TV. The screen exploded in a shower of plastic and glass.
“Bathroom. Now.” He fired twice more out the window, then shouldered the duffle. “Move!”
I scrambled back across the glass-strewn floor, feeling fresh cuts open on my palms and knees. Trent grabbed his duffel bag and backed toward the bathroom, still covering the window. Another shot came through, closer this time, punching through the cheap particle board dresser.
We tumbled back into the bathroom together. Trent slammed the door and wedged the trash can under the knob again.
I leaned against the sink, breathing hard, and fastened my jeans with shaking hands. My shirt hung open, half the buttons missing from where Trent had torn them free earlier. The fabric gaped, useless.
Trent dropped the duffel on the floor and yanked it open. He pulled out a black t-shirt and tossed it to me. “Here. Put this on, then the vest.”
I caught it and stripped off the ruined shirt, pulling his on instead. It was too big, hanging loose on my frame, but it smelled like him, and it covered me completely.
He held out the tactical vest. “Arms up.”
I lifted my arms, and he slipped it over my head, adjusting the straps at my sides. His fingers worked fast, pulling them snug but not too tight. The weight settled on my shoulders, heavier than I expected.
“This won’t stop a rifle round,” he said, “but it’ll help.” He pulled on another T-shirt from his bag and nodded to the window. “Can you fit through there?”
My thoughts raced ahead to Sophia, sitting in a classroom with a woman who now moved like a robot and spoke in flat tones about transformation. About changing entirely. “Yes. I don’t care if I have to break every bone in my body, I’m getting to that school.”
The gunshots had stopped again, but that was almost more terrifying than the shooting. Had Carol gone for help? Were others coming? Was the entire town already compromised?
Trent boosted me toward the window. I pushed it open, wincing as my palms left bloody smears on the glass. The cuts stung, but I ignored them, focusing only on squeezing through the narrow opening.
“Once you’re out, stay low and move toward the tree line,” Trent instructed, his hands steady on my legs as he helped push me through.
I wriggled through the window, my hips catching on the frame before I finally squeezed free.
I dropped ungracefully to the ground outside.
The fall knocked the wind from my lungs, but I rolled to my feet immediately, scanning for threats.
The back of the motel faced an overgrown lot that bordered the woods.
Twenty yards of open space to cross before we’d reach cover.
Trent appeared at the window, pushing his duffel through first. It hit the ground with a thud. Then he tried to follow, his head and one arm making it through before his shoulders wedged tight in the frame. He twisted, trying different angles, but the opening was too narrow.
“Trent—“
“I know.” His jaw clenched. He braced his free hand against the outside wall, then his face went hard with determination. “Turn around. Don’t watch this.”
“What are you—“
He didn’t answer. Just took a breath and threw his weight forward while simultaneously pulling his trapped shoulder at an unnatural angle.
The sound was awful—a wet pop that made my stomach lurch.
Trent’s face went white, sweat beading on his forehead, but he didn’t make a sound.
His shoulder collapsed inward at a wrong angle, and suddenly he was sliding through the window, dropping to the ground beside me.
He landed hard, his left arm hanging loose and wrong. He grabbed it with his right hand and wrenched it back into the socket with another sickening pop. This time, he hissed through his teeth, his breathing ragged.
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“I’m fine.” He rolled his shoulder experimentally, wincing, then scooped up his duffel with his good arm. His left hand found mine, his grip weaker than before but still warm and solid. “Let’s go. Stay close.”