Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
JULIEN
The machete slices through rotted bone with a wet crunch, and dark fluid sprays across my face, warm and thick like motor oil. The dead thing drops, its milky eyes still fixed on me with that empty hunger.
Not today.
I wrench the blade free and pivot to the next one.
Three more at the gate. Two or three more minutes before we’re overrun.
The bell has done its job. In the distance, dozens more shuffle toward us, drawn by the sound like moths to a fucking flame. We’re lucky they’re not in a hurry.
“On your left!” Cameron punches his firepoker through the eye socket of a woman. He kicks the body back as it crumples, creating space for himself.
I duck under grasping arms, drive my blade up through the soft underside of a jaw. The thing—a man in mailman clothes with half his face missing—twitches, then goes still. Its weight drags against my blade, and I have to brace my boot against the fence to pull free.
“Sienna, gate!” I don’t turn to look, trusting she knows what to do.
She darts past me, cleaver dripping as she reaches the padlock.
Behind her, Cameron dispatches the last one near us—an older man in what was once an expensive suit, things I don’t want to identify dangling from his open stomach.
My brother’s face is splattered with blood and gore, but his eyes are clear and focused.
“Got it!” Sienna yanks the chain free, the metal links clattering as they drop to the gravel.
Beyond the fence, the horde grows, more appearing with each second from all sides. If we don’t move now, we never will.
“Everyone, let’s go!” I scan our ragtag group, counting bodies.
Carmen sits in the front with Nicklas inside the minivan. Amelia is in the back. Rosa sits in the pickup’s backseat.
One missing. I turn a full circle, chest tightening. Where’s—
I should fucking collar her.
“Where’s Dakota?” I sweep the area again. “Anyone seen her?”
No response. Blank faces. Confused glances.
“She went back inside,” Rosa says, rolling down the window of the pickup. “After talking to Amelia.”
I sprint to the minivan, opening the side door where Amelia lies. “Where’s your sister?”
Amelia’s pale face crumples. “I’m not sure. I thought I forgot my pills.” She lifts her hand to show a small pink pill case. “I called after her, but I think it was too late. She went inside anyway.”
“When?”
“I’m sure she’ll be right back.”
Dakota’s not the type to wander off, not now. Not after everything. She fucking promised.
The first zombie reaches the street, stumbling over the edge and dropping to the ground.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “You go. We don’t have time.” I snap the door shut and cross to Cameron, who’s standing at the pickup’s driver’s door. “We meet at Pine Lake.”
“We’re not leaving you,” he says. “We can wait. Five more—”
“No.” I gesture toward the approaching dead. “Every second brings more of them. Get Abuela to safety. Get everyone to the lodge. I’ll find Dakota and catch up.”
“How?” Sienna steps forward, eyes fierce. “On foot? With what vehicle? That’s suicide!”
“I’ll find a way.” I grab Cameron’s shoulder, pulling him into a rough embrace. His body tenses, then relaxes against mine. “Take care of them and stay alive, you hear me? Love you, little brother.”
He clutches the back of my shirt, like when we were kids, and he was scared of the dark. “You fucking better meet us there.”
“I will.” I release him, turning to Sienna. “Keep him in line.”
She nods once, face grim. “We’ll wait for you at the lodge.”
“Go.” I shove them toward the truck. “Now.”
Cameron slides into the driver’s seat, Sienna taking shotgun. The pickup’s engine growls to life.
I cross to Rosa’s window. “Abuela, I’ll see you soon.”
“Don’t you die on me, mijo.” Her papery hand cups my cheek, the familiar scent of her lavender perfume cutting through the stench of death. “I’ve lost too many already. You find Dakota, and you both come back to me. Entiendes?”
“Sí, Abuela.”
She smiles, though her eyes glisten. “Take care.”
I step back as Cameron starts the engine. The pickup rolls forward, followed by the minivan through the gate and to the right. Through the back window, I see Rosa’s hand flat against the glass, her lips moving. Three zombies change direction, following the sound and movement.
Small mercies. Every one that follows them is one less for us to deal with.
I sprint across the yard and up the steps, shoving through the heavy doors. The silence inside hits like a physical force after the chaos outside.
“Dakota!” My voice echoes through the empty hallway. “DAKOTA!”
Nothing.
I move quickly through the corridor toward our makeshift camp, scanning for movement.
“Dakota?”
No response.
I crouch near where Amelia slept, finding a dark stain on the blanket.
Fresh. Blood.
My stomach tightens.
Could be Dakota’s.
I touch the stain. Still damp. Recent. My eyes follow the floor, picking up faint smudges.
Drag marks.
That sanctimonious piece of shit.
I follow the trail, moving silently, machete raised. The marks lead toward where everything began.
The chapel.
The heavy oak doors stand partially open. Through the gap, flickering candlelight casts long shadows across the stone floor. I ease closer, straining to hear.
A voice, low and sonorous, chanting. Latin. The words mean nothing to me, but the tone sends ice down my spine. Religious fervor and madness are a dangerous combination.
I edge the door open another inch.
The scene freezes my blood.
Dakota lies sprawled across the altar, arms and legs secured with what looks like strips torn from clerical robes. Her head lolls to one side, eyes closed, face pale, a dark stain matting her hair, while blood trickles down the white marble from cuts on her arm.
“Accept this sacrifice, Lord.” The reverend stands before her, back to me, arms raised toward the vaulted ceiling. “Cleanse this unholy place with blood. Turn away the demons you have sent to test us!”
In his right hand gleams a knife.
White-hot rage floods my veins.
I step into the chapel, the door groaning.
Shit.
The reverend’s head twists around, eyes wild, pupils contracted to pinpoints, but he doesn’t lower the knife. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Put the knife down. Please.” I advance slowly, keeping my voice even. “She’s not a sacrifice. She’s a person. Let her go.”
“Don’t you see? This is mercy.” He shakes his head. “Her blood will sanctify this place. She’ll be remembered as a martyr, not a sinner.” He gestures toward Dakota with the knife. “I’m saving her. Her sins brought them here.”
I take another step. Ten feet between us. “The bell brought them. Not her. That fucking bell YOU didn’t warn us about.”
“The bell called the cleansing fire!” Spittle flies from his lips. “The Lord’s judgment! It was supposed to be.”
Dakota stirs slightly on the altar.
“This must be done.” The reverend’s attention shifts back to her. “For all of us.”
“If you touch her—” I tighten my grip on the machete. “—I’ll make sure you meet your God today.”
“He waits for me with open arms.” He hauls the knife back before plunging it straight toward her chest.
I throw myself forward, dropping the machete in the process, and catch his wrist mid-strike.
The knife’s edge hovers inches from Dakota’s heart, trembling with the force of our struggle.
Over my dead body.
I wrench his arm back, twisting until he gasps, but he doesn’t release the knife.
“Let go,” I growl through clenched teeth.
“Never!” He slams his forehead into my nose.
Pain explodes through my face, blood flooding my mouth. My grip falters for half a second, and he tears free, knife still clutched in his hand, breathing hard.
“You can’t stop His will,” he pants.
“Watch me.”
I feint left, then drive right, my shoulder connecting with his chest. We crash into the altar rail, wood splintering beneath our combined weight, and the knife flies from his grip, skittering across the stone floor.
The reverend scrambles after it on hands and knees, but I grab his ankle and yank him back. He kicks out, catching me in the chest. My lungs empty in a rush. He reaches the knife, fingers closing around the handle as he rolls onto his back. Triumph blazes in his eyes as he raises it again.
I dive forward, tackling him before he can throw or lunge.
We roll across the floor, trading blows, neither gaining advantage.
His knuckles connect with my temple, stars bursting across my vision as I keep his hand with the knife hostage.
I drive my elbow into his ribs, feeling something give way with a satisfying crack.
He howls. I grab his wrist with both hands, slamming it repeatedly against the floor until his fingers around the knife finally open.
It slides away again. We both lunge for it. His fingers brush the handle first—
I grab the nearest object—a heavy brass cross—and bring it down on his reaching arm.
Bone crunches.
He screams, cradling the broken limb. “You’re damning us all.”
“No.” I drive the broken end of the cross into his stomach. “Just you.”
He gasps, face inches from mine. I twist the metal, driving it deeper.
“This,” I whisper as the light begins to fade from his eyes, “is for her.”
“God is—” His body goes slack, the cross protruding from his abdomen as blood spreads across the stone in a dark stain.
I don’t waste time checking if he’s dead.
Dakota needs me more.
I turn back to the altar where she lies, after grabbing the knife to slice through the makeshift restraints binding her wrists and ankles, bruises already forming.
Her skin is too cold, face too pale. A cut on her cheek, already clotting.
Please stay with me.
The back of her head is matted with blood, but the bleeding seems to have slowed. Head wounds always look worse than they are.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
I tear strips from a nearby altar cloth, wrapping them around Dakota’s arm where the worst cuts are.
“Dakota.” Her name scratches my throat. “Wake up.”
Her body remains still.
I check her pulse. Steady but weak. Her breathing is shallow but regular.
“Come on, princess.” I cradle her face between my hands. “Naptime’s over.”
Still nothing.
My vision tunnels. Liam’s face superimposes over hers. Broken, gone, my fault.
Not again. Not like this.
I can’t lose another person.
Not her.
“Dakota.” My fingers tremble against her cold cheek. “Please.”
My fault then. My fault now.
I should have been watching her. Should have kept her close. Should have known that the psychotic reverend would do something like this.
“Julien?” Her eyelids flutter. “Wait.”
“That’s it.” I brush hair from her face. “You promised not to do anything stupid, remember? This definitely qualifies.”