NINE
DAKOTA
“Dakota,” Kaito calls down from the hole very quietly but loud enough that it reaches my ears from where I stand.
My stomach drops instantly, and not because of the Runner this time.
But because of my name. Not Kota, but Dakota.
He must have heard me talking to myself before his head popped into view, my talking out loud giving my name away unintentionally.
It’s that, or he must have guessed, though that seems a lot less likely.
Either way, hearing my name in his voice while I’m trapped in a basement with a Runner nearby feels like the floor is collapsing under me all over again.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap suddenly.
He nods rapidly, instantly conceding, “Okay.”
No argument, no question, and no fucking time to deal with any of it.
The Runner suddenly screams, this shrill sound that chills my bones, right before it bursts from behind the shelving on all fours.
It’s too fast, mouth stretched wide, eyes clouded but with far more focus than normal Zeds.
Its limbs smack onto the concrete in a horrible, uneven rhythm as it launches itself across the basement.
My hand is wrapped around my gun before my mind can truly form a thought, yanking it out of the holster and aiming at the speedy Runner just as Kaito jumps through the hole.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout, fear making me forget to control my voice before the words are out of my mouth.
He hits the basement floor with a grunt that sounds like stupidity and pain fucked and had a baby together.
His hand clamps against his stitched side for half a second, but he doesn’t stop there.
He comes up swinging a metal pipe he’s apparently pulled from thin air, catching the Runner across the jaw mere seconds before it reaches me.
The impact snaps the Runner’s head sideways, but it doesn’t fall.
Runners very rarely do.
It shrieks like a banshee before diving at me again, and I hold my gun steady before pulling the trigger.
I fire once, and the shot cracks through the basement far too loudly.
The bullet catches the Runner in the shoulder rather than its head, because the bastard moves at the very last second, but the force spins it into a shelving unit.
Above us, every Zed in the building answers and the clinic explodes with a symphony of wet, hungry groans and rumbles.
Kaito looks at me. I look at Kaito.
“Well,” I grumble, voice shaking. “That wasn’t the smartest idea I’ve ever had.”
The Runner lunges again before Kaito can agree, forcing him to duck left as I move right, my bad knee wailing as I will it to work for a little while longer.
The Runner splits between us, momentum carrying it past us.
Kaito swings the pipe into its leg while I throw myself forward, grabbing my knife from the dead Zed’s eye as I pass.
Twisting too fast, the Runner turns and its claws catch my jacket.
I slam into the concrete with a meaty thud and a muted groan, the collision winding me worse than the fall did.
Kaito moves instantly, no shouting or posturing or making the mistake of turning my fall into some grand Alpha moment.
He simply steps into the space, putting the pipe between the Runner and me long enough for me to roll onto my back.
I drive my knife up just as the Runner dives, and the blade sinks under its jaw. At the very same time, Kaito brings the pipe down onto the back of its skull, and I hear the sickening sound of bone cracking. The Runner collapses on top of me a split second later, body twitching haggardly.
For one horrifying second, its face lands inches away from mine, teeth still snapping weakly.
“Oh, ew, absolutely not,” I growl, right before I shove it off with a disgusted sound.
Kaito helps, grabbing the body and rolling it away, careful not to touch me. Even now, he’s cautious, and I don’t know why that annoys me so much. Worse, it actually matters to me.
Distracting me, the Zeds above are working themselves into a frenzy. Boards are creaking and cracking, plaster raining down into the hole as more weight presses around it.
“We need to go,” Kaito declares.
Pushing myself upright, I refuse the hand he offers, and I grumble, “Oh, you think? I was considering redecorating the place first.”
His eyes flick over to me, ignoring my sarcasm as he assesses me quickly before asking, “Can you walk?”
“Yes,” I answer shortly.
“Can you run?”
This time, I don’t answer fast enough, but his expression doesn’t change. Something in his gaze sharpens, but that’s the only indication I get that he even heard me.
“I can move,” I assure, nodding once.
He matches my nod. “Okay.”
That’s all there is to it. There’s no lecture, no insistence, no reaching for me and risking his life worse than he did when the Runner came at us.
Just a simple “okay” and that’s that. I hate needing help.
I hate that he can tell I need it. But more than that, I hate that he doesn’t even make a thing of it.
A Zed suddenly drops halfway through the hole, its torso dangling as its legs kick above.
I can see the boards dig into its stomach, splitting it open and pouring blood into the hole with the sprinkles of dust, but it doesn’t seem to notice.
Another Zed shoves beside it, bowing the boards under the pressure, and there’s no doubt the room will fill within minutes.
Limping toward the far wall, I swallow back the pain like it’s a pill too big for my throat. “There should be a service exit down here.”
Behind a fallen shelf, I find a rusted metal door etched low into the wall. The maintenance access. The sign above it has half-rotted, too grimy to actually read, but the handle still exists and, right now, that makes it my absolute favorite thing in the whole world.
I yank at it. “Shit. Locked. Of course it’s fucking locked.”
Kaito steps up beside me, pipe in hand, and asks, “Can I?”
I look at him and he gestures to the handle, asking without words.
Asking again. Even with Zeds dropping through the hole in the ceiling like dead hailstones and a dead Runner’s corpse chilling behind us, he still asks.
I’ll be damned if it doesn’t short-circuit something in my brain for a second, only the collapsing ceiling pulling me back to the here and now as a big chunk falls on top of the dead Runner.
Dramatically gesturing to the handle, I mutter, “Be my guest.”
He doesn’t hesitate the moment he has my permission, swinging the pipe down hard enough that the sound echoes all around us, my ears momentarily ringing.
Then he does it again. On the third swing, he finally breaks it, and the door squeaks open, revealing nothing more than darkness, stale air, and a narrow tunnel barely wide enough for him to fit through.
“Oh, how charming,” I mutter. “A murder hallway.”
“Maintenance tunnel,” Kaito corrects, a little amusement sneaking into his voice.
I nod. “That’s what I said.”
I hear Kaito inhale as if he’s about to reply, but there’s a sudden thud of a Zed hitting the basement floor behind us, stealing his thunder and effectively forcing the issue that we need to get the fuck out of Dodge. Another Zed falling only cements it.
“Go, go, go,” he says urgently, gesturing for me to go ahead of him, right before immediately adding, “Please.”
His manners make this entire situation worse, but I duck into the tunnel before I can decide whether to shoot him or thank him.
The space is tight enough that my shoulders almost brush both walls.
Pipes run overhead, and the air smells like rust, damp concrete, old sewage, and mold that probably has a few opinions to share.
Behind me, Kaito squeezes into the tunnel with a pained breath, because it’s very clear this tunnel wasn’t built for dudes his size.
Good. Maybe architecture is on my side.
In the tunnel, Kaito stands too close behind me, his heat pressing through the narrow walkway, the air threaded with his scent that slowly bleeds into the rot and damp.
Burning wood.
Worn flannel.
Blood.
Alpha.
My Omega lifts her head again, the little hussy more than hopeful, and I mentally spray her with an entire bottle of “nope” before pausing when the tunnel turns left.
I hesitate, listening, and only the sound of dripping water reaches me.
Behind us, the sound of Zeds clawing at metal rings faintly through the tunnel, and somewhere in the walls, there are groaning pipes and the sound of an old building doing its best to survive.
I glance over my shoulder, but the space is so narrow that the movement brings Kaito’s face much too close to mine.
Both of us freeze, his eyes meeting mine in the dark.
There’s next to no light here, but I can still see the way his gaze drops for half a second to my bandana and then lifts again immediately, as if he didn’t mean to look down at all.
He doesn’t stare, doesn’t lean in closer, and doesn’t ask any questions. But still, my entire body grows as taut as a bowstring. When his voice comes next, it’s barely a whispered breath as he asks, “Which way?”
It’s a simple question. Some would argue that it’s practical. Me? I view it as an escape route out of the weirdly charged atmosphere that suddenly sparks to life with just one look.
“Left,” I answer, gripping my knife harder as I turn to face forward once more.
He answers easily, voice still low, “Gotcha.”
And so we go left, only for the tunnel to narrow that much more the further in we get. Because of course it would, since it seems the building was designed by someone who held a very obvious grudge against broad shoulders, oxygen, and the small case of personal boundaries.