FOURTEEN #3
A Zed lingers in the stairwell when I reach the second floor, passing through the landing only to meet a decaying obstacle.
I slam into it before it fully turns, driving my knife through its temple and using its falling weight to yank myself around the railing.
Blood splatters across my sleeve, but my hat remains pressed against my chest under my jacket. Safe and sound.
Apparently, we’re not done yet, though.
Footsteps sound out from the floor above, right before I hear Fletcher’s voice. “Don’t crowd her!”
That command hits something weird inside me.
Not chase her, or grab her. Don’t crowd her.
My lungs stutter, and I absolutely despise that I even notice the words.
But worse, they know I’m not the Beta boy I’m pretending to be.
I don’t know how they’ve already sussed it out, but the her in that sentence slaps me with a hand the size of King Kong and I want to scream into a void for at least an hour, just to vent my frustration that this is how my day is panning out to be.
Shaking my head, I shove through the second-floor door into a hallway lined with peeling wallpaper. A balcony walkway runs across the outside, several sections broken and one hanging at a dangerous angle over the courtyard.
Perfect. Just… perfect.
Taking a deep breath, I sprint across the first section. It shudders just as Ewan appears in the goddamned doorway. Eyes wide, he shakes his head and calls, “You really have to stop choosing the structural nightmares as your form of transport!”
“Stop following me,” I snap back.
“I’d fucking love to, actually,” he counters.
But then the balcony drops half an inch under my next step.
Ewan’s face changes completely, just as he blurts, “Shit, careful!”
The warning is real, and I hate that too.
I leap the broken gap, grabbing the opposite railing and swinging my body over.
Pain shreds through my shoulder, but I hold on with all my might, gritting my teeth through it all.
My boots hang over empty air before catching the edge and, for one breath, I’m half-hanging over a courtyard full of walking corpses.
Then I pull myself up just as Ewan stops at the far side of the gap. The bastard is too broad to make the jump safely. Ha-ha, sucker.
I take that opportunity to run again.
The hallway ahead funnels into a passage between buildings. Maintenance access, I think. It’s definitely narrow, dark, and smells overpoweringly like mold, old water, and a heaping dose of regret. I take it without slowing down.
Behind me, the voices fade, and for three beautifully glorious seconds, I think I’ve done it.
Then someone grabs me from the side, right before a body slams into mine.
I hit the floor hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs, pinned under heat, weight, and the scent of burning wood and worn flannel.
Panic detonates inside me and I twist, knife already moving.
Kaito catches my wrist before the blade reaches his ribs, clamping his other hand over my mouth.
Every single part of me goes feral. I buck under him, teeth snapping against his palm, knee driving upward.
He absorbs the hits with a silent grunt, face tight with pain, but he doesn't once let up or let go.
I see red.
Not fear.
Not thought.
Just hands. Weight. Trapped.
I tear my other hand free and go for his eyes, just as Kaito leans in and presses his forehead briefly to the side of my hood. There’s nothing affectionate about it, and it’s not soft. It’s just close enough for me to hear the breath he forces through his nose. Then he shakes his head once.
Slow.
Sharp.
His eyes lock on mine. There’s no anger there, only warning. He lifts his hand from my wrist, just enough to point. Through the cracked hallway window, I catch movement from across the park below.
Men. Armed men. And not the Alphas who just chased me through a fucking apartment block like their lives depended on my capture.
Oh, no. These ones are different. Rougher.
Louder. Five of them move between the trees and abandoned cars near the crash route, rifles raised and flashlights covered in red cloth.
One has a shaved head and a yellow scarf wrapped around his arm.
Another carries a pack I recognize, the one that had been near the crash, the bag dangling from his hand by a single strap.
These must be the shooters. The ones who brought the helicopter down.
My body grows utterly still under Kaito. His hand only remains over my mouth for one more beat before he removes it slowly. I don’t even bite him, and I consider it personal growth. Terrifying, horrifying growth.
Below, one of the looters kicks a Zed corpse, spitting, “Spread out. Bird went down over here. Anything worth shit is coming back with us.”
Another laughs. “Pilot better still be alive and breathing. Boss’ll want answers.”
Boss.
Fucking great.
Kaito shifts off me carefully, finally giving me space in the cramped hallway. My lungs drag in air a little too loudly, and he glances down, noticing the hat tucked under my jacket before he looks back up at me.
“You got it,” he whispers.
My hand clamps over the hat and I nod once.
For a brief moment, his eyes seem to soften.
Then a looter fires a shot that explodes through the park like a fucking alarm bell.
Below the apartment block, the Zeds answer first. Groans rise from the courtyard, the park, and the road.
Slow figures turn and dragging feet move in the direction the shot came from.
The looters swear and shout, and then the Runners respond to their stupidity from the surrounding buildings.
Screams split through the night air suddenly, right before one Runner bursts from the lobby opposite, moving too quickly for the red flashlights to follow. Another one drops from the first-floor balcony, hitting a looter directly in the chest as he tackles him, screaming, into the grass.
The looters open fire then, and noise detonates all around. Zeds surge forward, Runners pouring from dark windows and broken doors, drawn by gunfire, blood, and all the living idiots currently sounding their dinner bell.
Kaito and I stay pressed in the narrow shadow under the hallway window and I realize then what he did. He didn’t tackle me to catch me. He tackled me to hide me. And that scrapes at me with sharper teeth than any Zed could possess.
I look at him, finding him watching the looters below with a tight jaw, body angled between me and the window without trapping me against the wall. Blood has soaked through his bandage again, dark under his shirt. He’s pale, and hurt, and breathing carefully.
Still, he found me.
Still, he stopped me before I ran straight into the hornet's nest, unprepared for the armed men who would have seen my pale hair, smelled my unreliable blockers, and put a bullet in my head or a collar around my neck before I could take my next breath.
My throat tightens suddenly.
I hate it.
I hate him.
But I don’t.
The hat is warm under my hand now, pressed between my chest and jacket securely. Maine’s. Mine. Safe. At least for the time being.
Above us, boots pound against the stairwell. The three Alphas, of course. And below us, looters are screaming as the Runners collide with them and their bullets.
Kaito looks at me with a silent question in his eyes.
Run? Hide? Fight?
For once, I don’t instantly choose on my own. I press my fingers to my lips and point toward the hallway ahead where shadows and darkness bend around the corner.
He nods without argument or jokes or grabbing and, together, silent as the dead used to be, we crawl deeper into the dark while the park below shreds itself apart.