The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3)

by Madeline Sheehan

  “Maybe not the cafeteria,” I muttered.

  “Aw, come on, Willow—I haven’t gotten to kill anything all dang day.” Britta began maneuvering furniture away from the doors. Without the heavy obstructions, the rattling increased; the doors pushed open a fraction and skeletal fingers tipped in long, yellowed nails slithered through the openings.

  “Don’t look like too many to me,” Britta said, trying to peer inside. “I reckon there’s maybe a dozen or so. You good with that?”

  Gripping tightly to the bat, I nodded, even as Logan’s voice pounded through me. Absolutely not, Willow—you’re not even suited up!

  “Shut up, Logan,” I muttered. I could absolutely handle a half dozen Creepers.

  “Time to dance with the dead.” Britta whipped her machete from its holster and pulled the lacrosse sticks from the handles, tossing them aside. Three Creepers stumbled into the hallway and Britta started swinging, nimbly slicing through all three necks.

  Stepping over the fallen carcasses, we moved inside the room. The cafeteria was a disaster—the gruesome remnants of a decade old bloodbath. Tables and chairs lay overturned, bones and backpacks strewn among them; clusters of Creepers, half petrified, turned in unison, their sunken expressions perking up at the sight of us.

  “Take the ones on the right.” Britta gestured with her machete. “I got left.”

  Britta sang as she swung her blade, hitting high notes each time she made a killing strike. The noise she made called to every Creeper in the room, turning their attention away from me. Taking advantage of their distraction, I rushed up behind them, swinging. My first hit struck gold; the Creeper crumbled at my feet. The next stumbled sideways and I swung again, sending it hurtling across the floor in a tangle of motionless limbs. A third and fourth Creeper staggered toward me—two teenagers, one distinctly male, one unmistakably female. The boy’s neck was broken, his head lolling to the left, while the girl’s shriveled legs were wrapped in torn fishnet stockings, her gore-coated combat boots bumping noisily over the rubble-covered linoleum.

  My breath hitched; the bat sat heavy in my grip as I watched their approach. It had been a long time since I’d assigned a Creeper any sort of identity; they’d been only mindless monsters among millions of nameless, faceless enemies that needed to be disposed of. But these were different. These reminded me of… me. And of Lucas, and what might have been.

  Perhaps even… what should have been.

  Both Creepers were nearly upon me now, snarling as they reached for me. I’d waited too long to swing, forcing me to take several steps back in order to find my momentum. I hit the girl first, the barrel of the bat cracking alongside her face, and then the boy, sending the end cap into his rotten middle and shoving him away.

  The girl stumbled, growling pitifully, an old gash in her neck having likely damaged her vocal cords. I instantly hated her for that—for being so useless she couldn’t even growl properly. Hating her for not being able to save the boy beside her, hating her for being so incapable she hadn’t even been able to save herself.

  I continued to swing and shove, only hitting hard enough to maim, unwilling to end their miserable existence just yet. I hit her again, her skin sloughing off as my bat merely grazed her arm. And then again, the crunch of bone shattering in her leg forcing her to fall to her knees.

  Facing the boy, I shoved him back again, a scream building deep within my gut. With each shove, the scream only grew, ballooning in my throat until I had no choice but to release it.

  Swinging the bat as hard as I could, a wail burst past my lips as the bat collided with his head. Crushing through skull and brain matter, his snarl slipped away as he collapsed to the floor, silent. Meanwhile, the girl continued toward me, dragging herself across the floor, one bleak, miserable eye staring at me from within her dented, deformed skull.

  “You’re fucking useless,” I bit out. “You can’t do anything right. Nothing. You couldn’t even save him.”

  One last swing, wood collided with bone, shattering what was left of her skull, and killing her on impact. She fell forward, half slumping over the boy.

  The bat dripping with gore, my brow drenched in sweat, I glanced around the room, finding Britta propped against a wall, a large tin can in one hand, a spoon in the other.

  “Feel better?” she asked, one blonde brow cocked high.

  Glancing down at the battered Creepers, I shrugged. “A little. What the hell are you eating?”

  Grinning, Britta pointed her spoon at me. “Well, now, while you were busy makin’ Dead Head smoothies, I found myself some motherfuckin’ puddin’.” Shoveling a spoonful of pudding into her mouth, she flashed me a toothy, pudding-covered grin. “And I found us a nice little place to wait out the storm. Come see.”

  “So much for waiting out the storm,” I said dryly.

  Inside the school’s kitchen—a direct offshoot from the cafeteria, Britta and I were seated on a steel countertop, a flashlight and an emptied tin of chocolate pudding between us. Britta was humming with her eyes closed, while I stared off across the dark room, listening to the rapid drumming of raindrops hitting the roof and the violent whip of wind whistling all around us. A crack of thunder erupted from above, lighting up the sky with bright white light.

  “It’s a whopper alright,” Britta absentmindedly replied, soon humming again.

  “What song is that?” I asked.

  Cracking an eye open, Britta sang the first few lines.

  I shook my head. “Never heard of it.”

  “Wait, what? Sugar, are you tryin’ to tell me you ain’t never heard of Rick Astley?” Britta’s eyes were wide and glowing white in the otherwise dark. “You ain’t never been Rickrolled back when the internet was still a thing?”

  “Rickrolled?”

  “Christ, Willow, I don’t know if we can be friends now.”

  “All over some Rick guy—who’s probably dead?”

  “You don’t know Rick. He don’t give up, ya know? He never lets anyone down. And he don’t run around an’ desert you—”

  “Okay, okay.” I laughed, hands up. “I get it. I’ll have to brush up on my Rick Astley.”

  “Damn straight, you will.” Chuckling, Britta’s hand went to her stomach, her smile soon fading into a grimace. “Dang, I think this puddin’s goin’ right through me… Oh, yeah, I need to go… right fuckin’ now.”

  Sliding off the counter, Britta ran across the kitchen, noisily dislodging the chairs we’d stacked in front of the door. The door slammed open and Britta’s heavy steps pounded the cafeteria floor, echoing throughout the large space.

  Smiling, I leaned my head back against the wall, wondering what Logan was doing right now, my smile quickly fading into a scowl. Was he freaking out? Was he cursing my very existence? I’d never told him about our shopping excursion; I hadn’t even thought about telling him because I hadn’t planned on being gone long enough for him to need to know.

  He would know by now, of course. And in typical Logan fashion, he’d be livid.

  I eyed the small pile of food we’d collected. My hope was that if I returned to Silver Lake with enough goods, Logan’s anger might be somewhat mollified. Even better, maybe he would finally see me as a capable person—an equal even. At the very least, someone he didn’t need to constantly fret over as if I were a child.

  Across the room, the door creaked loudly; glancing over my shoulder, I called out, “That was quick—did you even make it to the bathroom?”

  Silence followed my words, permeating the surrounding darkness. Gripping the flashlight, I swung the beam toward the door. “Britta?” I whispered, suddenly abundantly aware that when she’d run from the room, she’d removed the barrier of chairs.

  Cursing myself for not securing the door after her departure, I slipped quietly off the counter, fumbling for the bat at my feet. Flashlight in one hand, bat in the other, I started slowly across the room, careful not to step on any of the broken dishes and dented cans that cluttered the floo
r.

  Approaching the door, I pressed my ear to the metal, listening for the telltale shuffle of a Creeper. Hearing nothing, I gripped the handle and was slowly pulling it open when it was suddenly ripped from my grip and it smashed into my face. Crying out, I stumbled backward, my hands flying to my nose, the flashlight and bat clattering to the floor.

  “We’ve got a live one here,” a nasally, unfamiliar voice rang out. Shrieking, I scrambled backward, tripping in my haste to get away. I was reaching for my boot—for the blade I had tucked inside—when a beam of light blinded me, freezing me in place on the floor; heavy footsteps echoed all around.

  “Hey there, pretty little thing.” A second unknown voice—deep and grating—punctured the silence. “My, my, what a fuckin’ treat you are.”

  More lights joined the fray, bouncing wildly across the dark room. Looming shadows surrounded me; one shadow drawing close and leaning down. The man was soaked through, rainwater dripping from his crudely cut hair and short, scruffy beard and on to me, while he stared down at me with a slow-growing smile, as if I were a prize he couldn’t quite believe he’d won.

  “Room’s clear,” the nasally voice announced. “Just her.”

  “You’ll have to forgive us,” the scruffy man rumbled, roughly taking my face in his hand. “It’s been so goddamn long since we’ve seen a woman worth lookin’ at.” His hand slid into my hair, gripping a handful of it and using it to painfully force me to my feet. My back hit a wall, an involuntary whimper escaping me as the man pinned me in place with his body. The bitter stink of him engulfed me, making me gag.

  “I call shotgun.” The deep voice laughed, the sound like gravel thrown against glass.

  “The fuck you do,” the man grinding against me growled. “You’ll be waitin’ your turn with this one.”

  My shirt tore beneath his greedy grip, cool air and clammy hands colliding with my bare breasts. I tried to shrink away from his touch, only there was nowhere to go. My pants were yanked open and his hand shoved crudely inside. As his fingers fumbled for purchase, my heart kicked into overdrive, echoing loudly in my ears, beating in tandem with the rain coming down on the roof. This was happening, I realized with darkening dread. This was happening and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

  “No,” I gasped, turning my face from his eager mouth. “Please, no.”

  Laughter rang out all around me. “I sure do love it when they beg,” the nasally voice proclaimed. “Hell, I’m already hard thinkin’—”

  The nasally voice abruptly cut off, his halted words followed closely by a clatter and a thud, and a spiral of light as his flashlight rolled away.

  A second flashlight beam began pitching violently around the room. “Dean? Dean, what the fuck? Oh shit—oh shit! Jesus, Mitchell, we ain’t alone in—” The second voice cut off with a clatter and a second flashlight rolled away.

  Cursing, the man holding me swung me around; gripping my neck in a choking hold, he held me in front of him like a shield. “Who’s there?” he shouted, panicked. “Who the fuck is there?”

  “I’m your Huckleberry.” Britta’s boots gently tapped the floor, only the barest shape of her visible in the glow from the flashlights gone askew. The click-click of a gun cocking echoed throughout the room.

  “I’ll kill her.” The man tightened his grip on my throat, leaving me struggling to breathe. “Take another step and I’ll fuckin’ kill her.”

  “Nah,” Britta replied. “That ain’t at all how this is gonna go. You see, I’m the one holdin’ the gun, so unless you wanna lose your head like these two fool friends a’yours, you’ll be doin’ as I say.”

  A third beam of light clicked on, swinging across the mess on the floor, where two headless bodies lay in a growing pool of blood.

  “You’ll shoot me the second I let her go,” the man protested, a hitch in his voice at the sight of his dead companions.

  “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” Britta replied. “But that’s the chance you chose to take when you put your hands on my friend here.”

  The man hesitated for only a moment before releasing me with a frustrated growl, shoving me hard as he turned to run. I’d only just found my balance when a gunshot cracked across the room with a deafening boom. The man collapsed to the floor, breathing hard.

  “Please,” he cried, holding one hand in the air while the other clutched his bleeding stomach. “Don’t. Please.”

  “Man, oh, man,” Britta drawled, stepping closer. “I sure do love it when they beg. Hell, I’m already hard thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

  With a wink in my direction, Britta pulled the trigger twice more.

  As the concrete road turned to dirt, eventually ending at the edge of an empty gravel lot, Britta veered off into the surrounding woods, skillfully weaving us through the trees until the imposing wall surrounding Silver Lake became visible in the distance. It was late morning; the residents of Silver Lake would be finishing breakfast and heading off to work. After the attack last night, Britta and I had waited out the rest of the storm on the side of the road, sleeping in shifts until daylight. Not that I’d actually slept; I was too worked up over my near miss, and even more worried over what Logan’s reaction was going to be.

  “You ready for the third degree from Leisel?” Britta glanced over at me, concern creasing her features as she took in the state of my face. I’d been able to change my torn shirt; however, thanks to the would-be rapists, I had a swollen nose and a fat lip, along with a visibly bruised neck, none of which were easily hidden.

  “It’s only Logan I’m worried about,” I muttered. “He’s going to kill me.”

  “You gonna tell ‘im the truth?”

  “God no!” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “He’s already going to freak out because I left without telling him—if he finds out what happened, he will lose his fucking mind. Please don’t say anything,” I implored her.

  “Sugar, my lips are sealed. I would never hear the end of it from Lei if she found out; worrywart, that one.” Snorting, Britta shook her head. “As if I need worryin’ over.”

  As we approached the wall, shouts rang out from the guard tower; the gate opened, revealing Davey waving us forward. “Where ya been, Brit?” Davey banged on the driver’s side door as we passed him. “You get lost out there?”

  “When pigs fly,” she cracked back, flipping him off through the half-open window.

  “How ‘bout when the dead walk?” he shouted after us, laughing heartily.

  Instead of returning the truck to the garage—a canopy-covered area where all the camp vehicles were kept—Britta pulled to a stop just past the guard tower. “Here come Mom and Pop,” she said, gesturing with her chin. “And they look mighty pissed.” Following her line of sight, I found Leisel and Joshua walking briskly toward us, their expressions severe.

  Pulling the keys from the ignition, Britta jumped out of the truck. “Mornin’,” she said cheerfully. “Is that eggs I smell? Did ya’ save me some—y’all better have saved me some.”

  “What happened out there?” Leisel asked Britta, her voice tight.

  “Got caught in the storm, is all,” Britta replied, “Knew we weren’t gonna make it back in time so we parked for the night—no need to be frettin’, Lei, we was safe as houses.”

  “That’s it? Just the storm? You didn’t run into anyone out there? No issues with the infected?” Leisel’s attention turned to me as I came to stand beside Britta. “My god, Willow,” she exclaimed. “What happened to your face?”

  “She’s fine, Lei.” Britta waved her hand dismissively. “Tripped down a flight of stairs in the damn dark and fell flat on her face.”

  Clutching my pack to my chest, I let out a nervous laugh. “It was stupid. We found this school and it was dark inside and I tripped over a bunch of garbage—”

  “It wasn’t stupid,” Britta interjected. “Smarty-pants here came up with the idea of checkin’ a school for their drama stuff, and sure enough…” Ducking back in the truck, Britta
pulled forth a pile of garment bags. “We got shit here for everyone—even found an honest-to-God weddin’ dress for Maria. And we got some food too, so don’t you be naggin’ me for stayin’ out past curfew.”

  In a rare display of warmth, Joshua smiled at me. “Well done,” he said softly, inclining his head.

  “Very well done,” Leisel added stiffly. “However, I’m not sure everyone will be as easily appeased.” Holding my gaze, Leisel jerked her eyes toward the path; following her gaze, my lips parted in silent surprise. Logan, his stance rigid, his hair a mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it all night long, glared across the grass at me. Swallowing, I lifted a tentative hand—a greeting that only caused his expression to darken further. Shaking his head, he turned away, stalking off.

  Great. Mumbling my goodbyes, I hurried after Logan, calling his name. Ignoring me, he picked up his pace.

  “Logan, wait!” Growling in frustration, I matched his speed, reaching him. As I grabbed hold of his arm, he spun around, roughly shaking me off. His blazing gaze took in the full length of me, his fury flaming brighter at the sight of my swollen face.

  “What the fuck,” he growled, his chest heaving, “happened to you?”

  “I fell,” I hurried to explain, tentatively touching my nose. “I tripped down the stairs at this school and—”

  Logan grabbed my chin, turning my head to one side and exposing my neck before I could flinch away.

  “Who did this?” he demanded, clearly not buying my lie for one second.

  Shoving away from him, I moved my hair to cover the bruising. “No one. Like I said, I fell—”

  “Bullshit,” Logan spat, advancing on me. “You tell me who, you tell me where, and you tell me right the fuck now, Willow.”

  I released a hard breath, letting my hands fall helpless to my sides. I’d been foolish to think I’d be able to hide anything from Logan; he’d always been able to see straight through me.

  “They’re all dead,” I whispered. “Britta killed them.”