Chapter 6 #2
He heard exactly what they were planning when they were talking among themselves.
It could be the most idiotic thing he’s done so far, but rather than wait and see what happens, he pulls a move he saw play out in the middle of the first wave up in Alaska, when one of the soldiers fought a looter.
Wyatt leans away from the gun at the same time he shoves a knife into his opponent’s crotch. After that, all hell breaks loose.
He didn’t stop to think if she’d be able to defend herself, and he’s only one guy against four others. Three now, since the first is still on the ground, grabbing his balls as he bleeds out.
“Run!” he yells, trying to give Addison a chance even if he’ll pay for it.
Turns out he didn’t have to tell her because she’s already being chased.
Two men struggle to subdue him. Right around the time he feels a blade slide into his thigh and then shank him a second time in the side, he falls to the ground with a clear view of Addison.
She’s pinned on her back, trying and failing to kick her attacker away.
Wyatt expects a bullet to the head at any moment, but it’s like they want him to watch.
The others stand there while he bleeds a river into the dirt, trying to drag himself toward her and cursing obscenities, knowing he’s useless.
He’s about to watch something terrible happen, and all he can do is lie here stemming the flow of his own blood.
And then the struggle in front of him stops abruptly.
The man on her freezes and falls backward while she scrambles away.
The others rush toward their fallen friend and turn him over, and that’s when Wyatt sees the knife handle sticking out of his eyeball.
He’s never seen one turn so fast. He’s watching someone transform into a runner right before his eyes. The body goes limp, then twitches and contracts, limbs curling into the cool air before latching onto one of the others to rip a chunk from their flesh.
“We have to get inside,” It’s Addison, who’s given that whole mess a wide berth and joined him again.
Hooking an arm under his shoulder, she helps him up. The moment he puts pressure on his leg, he cries out. It erupts from his throat like lava from a volcano and draws all sorts of wrong attention in the process.
She snaps up his fallen gun, and they narrowly make it inside before the runner slams against the glass, growling like he doesn’t have three other good meals at the ready.
They attempt to keep the door shut with sheer willpower, but he is of little help to her in his condition. His energy seeps out of him with every droplet of blood hitting the floor. Everything is spinning. He can hardly breathe. It’s gonna break in soon, and—
Addison pulls over an entire shelving unit to block the entrance. It wedges behind the counter, keeping anything out unless it comes through the window.
Oh. He offers her a slight nod. That works well enough.
“Lemme see,” she kneels beside him, peeling away his shirt to reveal blood spurting through his fingers. “Shit, shit, shit.”
He’d fuss about her fussing, but he’s too busy dying to do more than lie there. She strips her shirt off to reveal a gray tank top underneath and shoves it against his wound. Then rips his belt through the loops and secures it above the second hole in his thigh.
“Saw what you did,” he slurs. “That was…you were…” Words tumble out of his mouth without a single coherent thought put behind them. “So hot…that’s what it was.”
Oh shit, did he say that out loud?
“Did you hit your head too? You wouldn’t be saying that if you knew how close I am to throwing up right now,” she pauses, sitting back on her ass. “I killed someone, didn’t I? Oh my god, I killed that guy.”
“Deserved it. They’d have killed us both, but not before they all got a turn at you. Hell, maybe not before they got one with me, too. One of them kept eyeing me weird.”
“It wasn’t the same as killing the rotter in the woods. It didn’t feel the same.”
“Fresher,” he drawls. “Less crunch.”
“Wyatt, I’m serious.”
“If you hadn’t killed him, we’d both be dead.”
She saved them all by herself. Maybe he’s grinning like a blood-deprived idiot because she gives him a look, all soft and sweet with that bashful half smile.
The same one he saw last time he gave her a compliment.
Like she ain’t sure how to deal with it but likes it, anyway. He knows that feeling all too well.
“You’ll be okay,” she says gently, pulling the shirt away from his side. “This one is already clotting. Has to mean it didn’t hit anything important.”
She replaces her hand on his leg with his own before she disappears. He lets out a pitiful noise meant to sound like ‘come back’ but more closely resembles a dying animal.
“Here, eat this.” She shoves a mini donut at him until he has no choice but to eat the damn thing before she stuffs it in his mouth.
“What? Why?” Powdered sugar puffs around each word.
“I dunno, it’s all I can think of to do. They make you eat sugar after giving blood, right? I saw that on a poster once. It can’t hurt, might help.”
He doesn’t know how they’re getting out of here alive.
They don’t have a kitchen timer or alarm clock to toss across the parking lot.
Even if they did, there’s nowhere to go.
The runner might be the first up, but the others are starting to rouse.
Soon, they’ll have four of the dead trying to snack on them.
“There’s a car on the side of the building. I can hot wire it.”
She tilts her head. “If we can make it out there.”
If he can make it. That’s what she’s too kind to say. He might bleed out before they even reach the door.
“I’ll tell you how, then you go and I’ll make noise to distract ‘em.”
“I’m not leaving you here.” Her glare is sharp. “Just shoot them. We still have the gun.”
“There’s only one bullet. If one of the others are runners too, then we’re back where we started.”
She pouts, grabbing a t-shirt off a rack to replace the one she stuffed against his thigh. “We get out of here together.”
“I’m not saying leave me for good. I’d prefer that you didn’t. You can go back to the house and get the shotgun and—”
“And there are a million things that could happen between here and there, plus I can’t use a shotgun, Wyatt. I don’t know how. How would I get back in? I’m not leaving. I’m not.”
The firmness in her tone leaves no room for argument. “Okay. Then we need a plan B.”
She looks around the shop like there’s a hidden answer before getting up to fetch a bottle of vodka.
“Now you’re talking.” He half grins. “Let’s get shitfaced drunk.”
She narrows her eyes, grabbing a lighter from a display and another shirt off a hanger. “We’re not drinking it. We’re lighting it on fire.”
“Wait, what?”
“Molotov cocktail. I’ll toss it out the service window behind the counter, and it’ll draw their attention. Then we can shuffle out back and to the car.”
He gapes at her. “Have you ever made one of those before? Was that standard curriculum in the cult?”
“No, but I’ve seen twenty-three movies and two full series from start to finish, and one of them just so happened to feature this very skill. It can’t be that hard, right?”
He squints. “Twenty-three movies and two full series from start to finish. I stand corrected, you’re an expert.”
“Well, have you ever made one?” she counters.
She’s got him there. “Nope. Can’t say I have. Do it. Light ‘em up.”
He shouldn’t be thinking what he’s actually thinking at the moment. Watching her make a mini explosive is the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life. Now ain’t the time, but apparently, his dick isn’t broken despite the rest of him falling apart.
It’s the first stirrings of clear attraction he’s had for anyone since his late wife. Back before he realized those kinds of feelings never led to anything good. They won’t this time either. The sooner he gets control of himself, the better.
She hands him a second bottle after uncapping it, and he takes two giant swallows, wishing he could have a third to take the edge off the pain and fuzz his brain. Then she props him up at the back door before taking her new weapons to the service window.
“I can do this. I can do this,” she whispers to herself, so low he can hardly hear it.
“You can,” he tells her. “We still have to find Emma. Gotta get out of here first to do that.”
The runner has three slow friends now. They’re all mildly distracted by a rabbit, but the moment she opens that window, they’ll be on her in no time.
The satisfying crunch of glass breaking and the following fireballs lighting up the space tell him she pulled it off without a hitch.
It’s distraction enough to let them slip out the back door and pile into the Jeep. It’s only when they’re safely inside that he realizes they’d be extra screwed if it were locked.
He hot-wires it in under thirty seconds, and they peel out of the parking lot just as the runner claws at the bumper.
For the first time in the last hour, Wyatt breathes a sigh of relief. Half his adrenaline goes with that exhale, and his injuries flare hot, but that isn’t what makes him yell out for her to stop the car.
Their tires kick up dust two miles down as the car halts in front of a tattered old stuffed bear in the middle of the road.
The same one he saw peeking out of that box in the attic.
Emma is close. She’s here. They can’t stop now.
That’s the last thought he has before everything goes dark.