FOUR #3
“I can help,” I try, doing my best to appeal to whatever side will cave first.
Apparently, it’s not that side, because they blandly refute. “I don’t need your help. If anything, it’s you who needs mine, and I’m all out of favors.”
“That cut on your arm says otherwise,” I push, bracing for whatever they’re going to throw at me.
“My arm isn’t any of your business,” they snap.
“Neither was my alley rendezvous,” I argue, keeping my gaze on theirs, refusing to look away this time. Begging to get through to them.
Sure enough, their gaze hardens, my words hitting something close to home. “Evidently, that was a mistake.”
“Was it?” I counter.
They don’t reply. They simply glare at me with an intensity that almost feels like hatred.
If it wasn’t for the fear I can still smell coming from them, I would believe it, too.
But there’s no hiding it, and it steals some of the intensity of their glare enough that I manage to stand slowly with one hand pressed against my bandaged side.
They lift the gun again, but this time, it doesn’t come up as quickly.
Their exhaustion is showing now, and honestly? So is mine.
“Look, I’m not going to hurt you,” I promise.
“You keep saying that like if you repeat yourself enough, I’ll believe it,” they huff, a little less bite in it now.
I shrug. “What would make you believe it?”
“You leaving,” they answer instantly, and I could shoot myself in the fucking foot for asking such a stupid question.
I nod once, because I know pushing now would cost me. It could very well be a mistake I don’t come back from if the way Stranger is aiming the gun at me again is any indication. Although, something tells me they won’t actually shoot me. I mean, if they wanted to, they would have done it already.
And if Stranger doesn’t shoot me, something tells me that if I put a single step out of line, it might cost me just as much. It could be the kind of mistake that would have Stranger disappearing on me so thoroughly that I’ll never find them again.
I don’t even know why that thought bothers me as much as it does. It bothers me far more than it should, that much I know.
Moving toward the window after gathering my backpack, I’m careful to give them space as I put distance between me and them. As soon as I reach it, I pause with one hand on the frame and glance back, keeping my voice low and genuine as I say, “Thank you.”
Stranger doesn’t answer, not that I expected them to. Their eyes are guarded, gun steady in their unshaking hands, and their cap pulled low enough to hide whatever truth hides under it. A small Beta male is what the world would claim to see.
My Alpha doesn’t believe the world, and neither do I.
With nothing more to say or do, I climb out of the window first, fully aware of how eager they are for me to leave.
After all, pretending to obey seems like the best way to make sure I don’t spook them any more than I already have.
My boots hitting the ground is the only sound that echoes around me the moment I land in the empty playground.
Biters are still dragging themselves along the street beyond the wall, but there are fewer of them now, scattered by the movement of the horde still shuffling toward the burning house down the street.
Just another thing that joins the ruins this town has become.
Fighting the urge to look back, I take three steps away from the window.
Then five.
Then ten.
Behind me, the classroom remains eerily silent.
I almost miss it when the faint sound of movement reaches my ears, straining my hearing enough that I only just catch it.
I’m impressed once more knowing how quietly Stranger moves.
How fast. How trained. I wonder what the hell happened to them in the past six years that has honed their ability to pass through an apocalypse like a ghost.
By the time I turn around, Stranger is out of the window and moving in the complete opposite direction to me. They’re quick and low, passing through the overgrown shrubbery and grass that has claimed the playground.
Of course they’d go in a different direction.
Holding back, I watch them go, something restless and sure burrowing beneath my ribs.
This stranger saved my life. They threatened me, lied to me, and are hiding their scent beneath blockers I didn’t even consider were still around.
And they looked at me with a kind of fear no rational Beta should feel from a stranger simply offering their gratitude.
That Beta is not what they’re pretending to be.
I should leave it alone. In fact, I repeat the mantra in my brain as I watch Stranger scurry away like a phantom.
I should go back to my own path, stitch my side properly, and forget all about the tiny masked savior with hazel eyes and knives much too sharp for comfort.
I should leave feeling grateful and alive.
Instead, I wait until enough distance grows between me and them. Enough for them to feel safe.
And then I follow.