TWO #3
As soon as I’m done, wrapping my arm carefully before slipping my arm back into the sleeve of my jacket, I take one of the newly found blockers with a small sip of water.
The pill sits bitterly on my tongue before I swallow harshly, but my whole body seems to exhale with relief.
Not because it works quickly, because they don’t.
But there’s a strong dose of comfort that comes with doing something to prevent myself from turning into a commodity for others.
Tucking the blister packs away, I lean my head against the desk and sit quietly for a long moment. Outside, distant gunfire cracks through the afternoon. Once. Then twice. Followed by a male scream that carries through the broken window and makes me wince.
Thankfully, it’s far enough away that I don’t need to care, so I close my eyes and take a deep, steadying breath.
Just as I manage to steady my heartbeat, another scream tears through the air, closer this time. I open my eyes and glare at the ceiling before muttering, “No.”
The universe, the cheeky bitch that she is, doesn’t answer. Not that I expected her to.
I also don’t expect her to bring me another scream that follows quickly after the second, right before the unmistakable snarling symphony of Zeds who have found something to kill reaches my ears.
I stay still for a full ten seconds, remaining on the floor behind the teacher’s desk, wounded arm throbbing with pain, backpack half-dead, blockers freshly swallowed, and every smart and sensible part of me listing all the reasons not to get involved.
It would be reckless.
It would be stupid.
I don’t know this person. They’re probably armed. They could have been one of the pharmacy bastards. And even if he isn’t, men screaming in an apocalypse are very rarely accompanied by good news and sweet things.
And then there’s the soup. Or, the soup that remains. I can’t very well risk the soup. Not again. The soup deserves peace. It’s been through enough.
But then the scream comes again.
It’s not Dale. Not the Beta. And it doesn’t sound like the scarred Alpha. It’s a different voice, and it sounds pained and angry, maybe younger than the pharmacy fucks. Then I hear a gun click uselessly somewhere beyond the school wall, chamber empty, and my eyes close with a defeated sigh.
“Fuck my entire existence into oblivion,” I sigh.
With a little snarl that feels just as pathetic as I’m sure it looks, I shove my bandana back over my face, haul myself upright, snatch my backpack from the floor, and haul it over my shoulder by the remaining good strap before climbing onto the desk under the window.
Outside, across the playground and beyond the wall, I can see the street I escaped into.
A small cluster of Zeds moves between abandoned cars, crowding toward the mouth of the alley, and I know something alive is trapped there.
Someone alive.
I should leave. I absolutely should leave.
But then I pause as a thought crosses my mind.
Maine would help.
That thought lands so hard that it knocks the breath out of my lungs, because it’s true.
Maine wouldn’t hesitate to help, even if it meant helping was a stupid idea.
Especially if it was stupid. He would sigh, grumble about idiots getting themselves killed, and then run straight toward the danger as if he held a personal grudge against common sense.
I hate him for that.
I fucking miss him for it, too.
But I’m moving before I even fully decide what I’m going to do.
I’m out of the window, across the classroom ledge, and down into the playground.
My boots hit the ground too loudly, but the Zeds are far more focused on the alley, so I take advantage of the distraction and sprint low.
I use the climbing frame and overgrown shrubs and grass as cover until I reach the wall, stopping just in time to spy seven Zeds.
No, wait, there are nine. Nine Zeds. Fabulous.
Even better, I catch the sight of a man standing with his back against a rusted gate at the alley mouth, one arm clamped around his side and a long blade clutched in his other hand.
Dark hair falls into his eyes, blood slicks his fingers, and his empty gun lies at his feet.
He’s still fighting, though. Badly, but the effort is still there.
A Zed lunges toward him, so he drives the blade up beneath its jaw and kicks it back, just as another grabs his shoulder and forces him sideways.
The idiot is going to die, that much is clear, so I pull out one of my last two good throwing knives from my belt before I whisper, “This is stupid. So stupid. A terrible idea.”
And then I throw it.
The blade buries itself into the skull of the Zed closest to the guy’s throat, and the dude’s head snaps up. Even from here, through the smoke and rot and blood, something in his attention suddenly hits me like a truck.
Alpha.
Another fucking Alpha.
My body grows still as his gaze finds mine across the street. For one long, agonizing breath, neither one of us moves. Time stands still. Everything fades away for much too long.
Then three Zeds turn toward me and I curse.
“Of course. Fucking universe,” I mutter, right before I draw my knife, vault the wall, and run straight into the mess I had every intention of avoiding.
Nothing ever goes my way.