Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
JULIEN
The wolf zombie’s jaws snap inches from my arm, and I twist, driving my knee into its distorted ribcage.
It’s stronger than the regular dead—faster, smarter.
But I’m angrier.
And right now, that makes me more dangerous. I slam the machete up under its jaw, feel the resistance as the blade punches through flesh and bone, into the brain.
Blood sprays on my clothes.
The creature convulses, its body going rigid before collapsing, and my breath comes in harsh pants, adrenaline singing through my veins. That’s two I’ve killed tonight. Because normal zombies would be too easy, right?
A woman’s scream slices through the night. Then a man’s voice. I pivot toward the sound, already moving before I register whose voice it is.
Nicklas. He can die for all I care, but the woman.
I sprint between cabins, boots crunching on gravel, machete ready. More screams. Snarls. The wet sound of tearing flesh.
The scene unfolds in the narrow space between two cabins. Nicklas tumbles out the door, wrestling with a wolf zombie twice his size. His shirt is torn, soaked with dark patches that can only be blood. In the doorway, Amelia appears, face bone-white in the moonlight and a knife in her hand.
“Get back inside!” I shout at her.
She doesn’t move. Fear has locked her in place as her father fights for his life, not three feet away. Nicklas lands a solid punch to the creature’s throat, but it barely reacts, slamming him against the ground with enough force to crack wood. I’m still too far. Too fucking far.
“Amelia! Move!” I push harder, legs burning with effort.
The wolf zombie pins Nicklas down, jaws unhinging like a snake’s while his hands scramble for purchase on the creature’s face, trying to keep it away.
“Dad!” Amelia runs to him, knife clutched in both hands.
No. Don’t—
The wolf zombie’s teeth sink into Nicklas’s cheek with a wet crunch as Amelia drives the knife down, blade catching the creature between its shoulder blades.
Not deep enough. Not the brain.
It howls like the fucking animal it resembles and swivels toward her, jaw still working, strips of flesh hanging from its blackened teeth.
“Run!” I roar, forcing my legs faster.
She spins, rushing back toward the cabin door, but it’s faster. Its jaw clamps around her calf with a sickening crack. She screams, high and thin, collapsing face-first onto the porch.
I run the last few feet, machete already swinging. The blade connects with the base of its skull, striking the brain. The creature’s jaw goes slack, releasing Amelia’s mangled leg as it drops.
Dead.
Amelia scrambles, hands clutching her twisted leg, face contorted with pain, and her breath shallow. Blood seeps between her fingers, darkening the floorboards beneath her.
I kick the corpse away, dropping to one knee beside her. The bite goes deep, all the way to the bone. Too much blood. “Stay with me.”
“I—” She stares past me, eyes fixed where her father lies. “Dad?”
I follow her gaze.
Nicklas is still alive, somehow. “Pl—” His mouth works, trying to form words through the gurgling of his own blood. One hand reaches toward us, fingers twitching.
I know what he’s asking. He’s dead already, just hasn’t stopped moving yet. And the pain is written across every line of his face.
This man blackmailed my family. Arranged to sell his daughter like property. Hit her—And now he’s asking for my fucking mercy?
“Julien.” Amelia’s voice cracks. “Please. He’s suffering.”
Yeah. He is.
Blood pools around his head, spreading in a dark halo.
Part of me wants to walk away. Let him experience even a fraction of the pain he inflicted over the years. Fair, right? An eye for an eye. A lifetime of bruises for a few minutes of agony.
I move toward him, machete heavy in my hand.
His eyes track the movement. Recognition flares in them, followed by something that might be gratitude or might just be desperation. Hard to tell when someone’s drowning in their own blood.
“I’m sorry.” The words bubble from his ruined throat. “Dak—I—”
“Don’t.” I kneel beside him, keeping the blade out of his line of sight. “You don’t get to do this now. The deathbed confession thing.”
He coughs, red spray flecking his lips. “Please.”
“You were a shit father.” My voice stays flat. Clinical. “But you’re about to find out what mercy actually looks like.”
I dive the machete under his chin. His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before I angle it up.
It’s over in less than a heartbeat. I wipe the blade on his shirt before returning to Amelia.
She’s managed to drag herself further into the cabin, leaving a streak of blood behind her. The wound on her calf is deep, savage.
“Don’t look so shocked.” She attempts a smile that comes out more like a grimace. “I could think you would miss me.”
I crouch beside her, ripping off my shirt to wrap around the wound. Pressure might slow the bleeding, but it won’t stop what’s coming. Nothing will.
“My mom?” Her voice is small.
“I don’t know.” I tie the makeshift bandage tight, ignoring her sharp intake of breath. “There was an attack by the main gate. I haven’t seen her.”
She nods, a single tear tracking down her cheek. “It happened so fast. Those things—they’re not like the others, are they?”
“No.” I sit back on my heels, studying her face. She’s already paler than usual. The infection works quick. Too quick. “They’re not.”
She laughs, the sound dissolving into a wet cough. “Dakota will be devastated.”
My chest tightens at Dakota’s name. Is she safe? The thought of her out there with those things hunting—
“She’s stronger than you think,” I say, not sure if I’m reassuring Amelia or myself.
“Yeah.” She shifts, wincing as the movement jostles her injured leg. “She is.”
“Julien!” Dakota. “Julien, where are you?”
Relief floods my system, making my hands shake for the first time tonight. “Here!” I stand to peer through the doorway.
Three figures sprint toward us through the shadows between cabins. Dakota in front, Sienna and Cameron close behind. They skid to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, taking in the scene: Nicklas’s body, blood pooling under him; the dead wolf zombie; Amelia bleeding on the floor inside.
“Dad?” Dakota’s eyes dart from her father’s still form to me.
“He’s gone.” What else can I say? That her father died begging for mercy from the man he hated? That I granted it, and felt nothing but relief?
Her gaze shifts to Amelia, and the blood drains from her face. “No. No, no, no—”
She brushes past me, falling to her knees beside her sister. Sienna follows, her usual brashness subdued.