Without A Whisper (Songs of the Tangled Elegies #2)

Prologue

Kate lay curled in the fetal position, sweating and shivering against the floor tiles. Vomit filled the toilet beside her, chunks of regurgitated canned goods spattered across the porcelain and ceramic.

Kate pushed herself into a sitting position and took deep, gulping breaths. An acrid taste coated her tongue. A fire trailed down her esophagus, igniting pain each time she swallowed. A yawn forced her mouth open, and her eyes threatened to close as their lids drooped with exhaustion.

Freedom was finally within her grasp. Kate never risked believing she would escape Connor and his depraved torments.

The end result would inevitably be Connor tiring of her and dispatching her in a way she dared not imagine.

The human body could only endure so many beatings and neglect, and hers was sure to wither away in no time at all.

There were times, however, when Kate allowed herself to dream.

She dared to imagine someone coming to her aid and rescuing her.

She never expected a disease to eradicate society, creeping into humans until they lost control of their limbs and their minds and developed an appetite for flesh.

Covered in her own filth, groveling on the floor beside the commode was not how she pictured herself after these delirious liberations.

If this was the price for freedom, she would gladly pay with all that she had.

Navigating the upturned world had been precarious, at best. Kate had found herself stumbling from one home to the next, in urgent need of food and barely able to fend off the Infected she met along the way.

Once a home started to feel secure, the provisions thinned, forcing her to move on.

Which eventually led her to this home, chosen in haste after her limbs burned with anguish and nausea gripped her insides.

Kate exited the bathroom and scanned the closed doors in the hallway. She chose the one closest, craving only a soft, warm bed to collapse into. Extending her arm to the doorknob was enough to send aches pulsing along her bones. The determination to rest overpowered the pain.

When Kate pushed the door open, she strode toward the bed, only to freeze in place.

An Infected stood on the far side of the bed, gaping at her.

Drool spilled over its cracked lips along with a low, rumbling groan.

The creature only needed a moment’s gaze at Kate’s tender flesh before it lunged.

Its bruised, knobby legs propelled themselves clumsily after her.

Kate dashed from the room and pulled the door closed, if only to buy some time, and took off toward the stairs.

The Infected barreled through the doorway behind her, and heavy footfalls grew closer.

Kate’s feet plodded down the first few steps until her throbbing muscles gave way.

Her knees buckled and ankles bent until she was plummeting down the steps, head and limbs thumping against the hardwood with each impact.

Once the fall had ended, Kate lay face down at the bottom of the stairs.

The Infected descended two steps at a time, eyes fixated on its next meal.

Kate cried out as she lifted her battered body from the floor.

A wave of nausea nearly doubled her over, and she fought the urge to expel what contents of her stomach remained.

Forcing her feet to move, Kate shambled through the house. When her right leg weakened, she grabbed onto a side table in the hall for stability. Picture frames and a flower vase crashed to the floor as her shaking hands groped along the wooden surface.

When she entered the kitchen, Kate knew she was not up for a chase.

The time to make her stand was now. She searched the counters and spotted a suitable weapon.

The monster rounded the corner just as Kate lifted a cast iron skillet from the kitchen island.

The Infected stared at her, watching her movements curiously as though understanding her intentions.

The Infected’s face turned from side to side, then it released a gravelly snarl.

When the creature stepped closer, Kate lifted the cast iron pan like a baseball bat, despite her feeble muscles. Her body quaked as adrenaline merged with fear, but she had not come this far just to be eaten alive days after her escape.

Kate drew in her breath, then let out a ferocious scream.

The Infected recoiled a few inches, its black eyes seemingly curious to the sound.

Kate drew the skillet back and swung it with all of her strength.

The iron pummeled the Infected’s mouth with an explosion of cracking bone.

The lower half of the creature’s jaw swung loosely from its skull, connected only on one side.

The collision sent the diseased monster stumbling sidelong until it crashed against the fridge.

The overexerted muscles in Kate’s arms pleaded with her to rest. Instead, she slammed the pan against the creature again, shattering the bones around its temple.

Its hair reddened with gore as blood seeped to the surface.

The Infected made a desperate, furious sound, and its arms thrashed toward Kate, nearly grabbing her vomit-soaked shirtsleeve.

Kate stepped backwards on weary legs. Her lungs heaved with effort. Every body part ached and cried out in anguish, longing for respite. Nevertheless, Kate lifted the hefty skillet with the last ounce of strength she had and swung. The Infected’s head caved in, and it slumped to the floor.

Standing over the Infected, Kate gazed at the fleshy mosaic of bones, blood, and tissue.

Once she was certain the creature was dead, Kate staggered and fell to the floor.

Goosebumps crawled across her skin as chilled sweat formed a film over her body.

She gazed up at the ceiling, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.

Nausea clamped its vice-like grip around her abdomen, and she sat up just before vomiting on the floor.

After several moments of dry heaving, the muscles in her stomach relaxed. Kate steadied her shuddering breaths, then impelled her wobbly legs to carry her back upstairs. She did a quick scan of the remaining bedrooms before finding a suitable bed to topple into with an exhale of relief.

For hours, Kate tossed and turned on the mattress, perspiring and shivering, ignoring bouts of stomach cramps, and dipping in and out of fever dreams. Even when her body seemed relaxed, her mind raged—flooded with memories, fears, and incoherent thoughts.

Instead of the sleep Kate desperately needed, she lay there in quiet suffering as the opioid Connor kept coursing through her body worked its way out.

Kate being held hostage and subjected to a man’s sadistic cravings had not been enough.

Fighting and killing for her freedom had not been enough.

Now, Kate would battle through days of grueling withdrawal from a drug she never wanted in her system to begin with.

Connor was sure to be laughing at her from beyond the grave for thinking her woes ended with his death.

Though the pain was immense and the world uncertain, this felt like the final step. Once the poison ran its course, all traces of Connor would be eviscerated. And it made Kate feel bulletproof.