FIFTEEN
FLETCHER
The rogue Alpha has her pinned to the ground.
It’s the first thing I see when I reach the second-floor hallway with Ewan on my right and Xeon moving quietly behind me. Not the looters outside, not the Rots gathering in the courtyard, or the gunfire splitting open the night and calling every single dead thing for half a mile.
Her. On the floor. Under him. His hand over her mouth and his body covering hers.
My rifle comes up before that thought is even fully formed. Every nasty possibility lines itself up in an orderly little row inside my skull.
Rogue Alpha. Injured but still strong. Found with the possible Omega at the crash. Followed her, maybe? Cornered her, possibly? Definitely tackled her in a dark hallway while we were still three turns behind them.
I don’t fuckin’ like unknowns, and I hate this one the most.
“Off her,” I command bluntly, my voice low and quiet. The kind of quiet that makes men who’ve spent any time around violence either listen or die surprised.
The rogue Alpha’s head turns and I catalog everything about him in rapid succession.
Dark hair. Dark eyes. Pale face. Blood through his shirt.
Eyes sharp despite the pain. His hand isn’t covering her face anymore, so that means he’s either smart enough to know when to let go or quick enough that he’s already made his point.
Still, his body is angled over hers, one arm braced near her shoulder, not pinning her down now but keeping himself between her and the cracked window. Between her and outside.
My finger settles close to the trigger. Not on it, but close.
The Omega twists under him like a knife with a pulse, one hand clamped tightly around the old cap under her jacket, the other gripping a blade with white knuckles. If she’d wanted him dead, I’m pretty sure he would already be bleeding somewhere new, and that matters a whole lot.
Doesn’t mean I lower my rifle. I wasn’t born yesterday and I wasn’t raised stupid.
“Fletcher,” Xeon says softly behind me.
I don’t take my eyes off the rogue Alpha. “I see him.”
“Then see where he’s looking,” Xeon instructs gently, making my jaw tighten.
Shifting my eyes only half an inch, I follow the angle of the rogue’s body.
Through the cracked window, I spot movement cutting across the park.
Men. Five at first. Wait, no. Seven. Seven unknown variables.
Two near the road, using rusted cars as cover, rifles up and flashlights beaming red light.
Yellow cloth is tied around one man’s arm, and another carries the helicopter pack by one strap.
One has something long slung over his shoulder that doesn’t belong in the hands of just random, ordinary looters.
My blood turns cold in a way that I trust.
That’s a launcher. The kind built to punch an aircraft out of the sky. I’m talkin’ old military style, maybe even modified. It ain’t clean work, but more field work. The kind of weapon pieced together by people who definitely know enough to be dangerous and not enough to be careful.
“Down,” I order.
Ewan drops without uttering a single joke, and that tells me enough. Xeon lowers beside him, eyes narrowing on the park below. The rogue Alpha slides off the girl slowly, keeping both hands visible for a moment before he points toward the armed men.
The masked scavenger doesn’t thank him, nor does it look like she even wants to.
Instead, she rolls to her feet, cap still tucked tight inside her jacket, blade in hand and shoulders squared with both fury and fear.
Her hood has slipped a little, enough for her pale hair to show in thin strands close to her cheek.
The old bandana hides half of her face, but it doesn’t hide the way her eyes dart to each of us in order.
Me. Ewan. Xeon.
The rogue.
Exit. Window.
Me again.
She refuses to turn her back on any of us, and that matters too.
“Those your people?” I ask the rogue sharply.
His dark eyes harden. “No.”
“Name,” I command shortly.
“Kaito Kanai,” he answers instantly, and the girl makes a low sound in the back of her throat, irritated as hell even when she’s crouched in the middle of an active kill zone.
“Really?” she snaps, eyeing me like I’m an idiot with a newly sprouted dick on my forehead. “We’re doing introductions right now? Shall I get us a round of coffee while we’re at it?”
Ewan, because he apparently has a death wish disguised as a personality, murmurs, “Actually, I wouldn’t say no to that. Or a cuppa. Oh, boy, I could clap the cheeks of a good cup of tea right now.”
“Shut up,” I snap.
“Yup,” he answers shortly. “Shutting up. Fully shut.”
Kaito’s eyes don’t leave the looters as he interjects. “They shot down the helicopter.”
“Figured as much,” I answer with a tight nod.
“They’re searching the crash zone,” he adds.
“I can see that, too,” I say.
The girl shifts suddenly, subtle enough that anyone else could have missed it. I don’t. I see the way she takes the weight off one knee and favors the other leg. Hurt, then. Still steady, though. Then she mutters, “One has the pack from the wreck.”
“We saw,” Xeon says softly, and her eyes flick to him suddenly. Something in her expression seems to shut down even more, which is one hell of a feat since there wasn’t much that was open to begin with.
Below, one of the looters fires again. Not at anything useful, just piercing the air with bullets.
The sound ripples through the park, and Rots answer immediately.
Slow groans rise from under the apartment block, from the park, and from the road where the helicopter continues to burn.
The infected turn toward the gunshot in one slow, deadly wave.
The looter with the yellow scarf laughs before calling, “Bring ‘em to the right. Keep the west clear.”
Not random, then. Because there’s no panic, only control. And that has my grip on the rifle tightening as I quietly inform everyone, “They’re redirecting the horde.”
Ewan leans toward the cracked window, careful not to show anything more than a single eye, muttering under his breath, “Oh, so they’re using sound like an apocalypse version of a sheepdog but with more bullets and less adorableness and charm. That’s cute.”
Another looter fires his gun twice toward the east courtyard and the Rots pivot again, following after the sound and clearing a path toward the crash. Smart. Fuckin’ annoying but smart.
Just then, screams come from somewhere inside the building opposite and a looter near the gate lifts his rifle and fires into the dark lobby. More screams answer, and it’s clear they’re not human. Fast Rots. I’d know those screams even in my nightmares.
“They know what they’re doing,” Xeon comments, voice quiet and observant.
I nod, answering, “They’re flushing out the fast Rots.”
Ewan’s face loses the last scrap of humor he’s been clinging to. “They’re literally weaponizing them.”
“Looks like it,” I agree.
The masked girl mutters something behind her shabby bandana that sounds like a curse aimed at the universe’s mother, so it’s no wonder I glance at her.
She’s staring at the looters instead of the Rots, knife in hand and body coiled.
She doesn’t waste motion, I notice. There’s no panic in her stance now, despite the fear that still simmers under her skin.
Violence doesn’t scare her, I realize. Touch does.
And that shouldn’t press on my chest the way it does.
The fast Rots provide a distraction from the feeling, hitting the park like throwing blades.
One slams into a looter too slow to fall back, driving him harshly into the weeds.
The man screams only once before teeth close on his throat, tearing into flesh with a wet gurgle.
His friend shoots him and the Rot together, then steps back without so much as a small flicker of grief.
Military discipline, but twisted into something mean. There’s no hesitation, no mercy, and no waste unless that waste serves some fucked-up purpose.
“They’ll push the dead up here if they spot us,” Kaito says lowly.
I look over at him again, noticing how pale he is from the blood loss, but his eyes remain sharp and clear.
His body stays angled toward the girl without touching her, looking more protective rather than possessive.
There’s a very big difference, and I hate that I notice, because I still don’t know if I can even trust it.
I don’t trust easily. Never have.
“Can you fight?” I ask him seriously.
The girl snorts. “Now that’s debatable.”
Kaito glances at her. “I can fight.”
She actually raises an eyebrow at him with countering words. “The best you can offer is bleeding dramatically while standing upright. Don’t oversell yourself.”
His mouth twitches, but mine doesn’t.
“We need outta this building,” I tell them. “They’re clearing toward the crash. Once they find the pilot missing, they’re gonna start sweeping the upper floors.”
Ewan looks over at me with a nonchalant expression I know hides his worries. “Well, good news on the front lines, soldiers. We’ve stashed the pilot upstairs, so that’s a little added convenience.”
“Xeon,” I mutter.
He nods. “I’ll get him moving.”
“No,” the girl snaps immediately, and every single head turns toward her.
She looks painfully annoyed by the attention, which is bold for someone who just issued an order in a hallway full of armed Alphas.
Her knife lifts half an inch, and then she says, “Stairwell is too obvious. They’ll expect anyone hiding to go up or down.
The hallway links to the next building, right? ”
Ewan blinks. “And that’s something you just know?”
She gives him a flat look. “This might surprise you, but I have working eyes.”
“And a genuinely scary relationship with architecture, too, apparently,” he volleys.
Another eyebrow raise, though this one is more annoyed than the one before. “It’s a better relationship than the one you had with my hat.”