No Such Thing As Werewolves
Page 42
“What the goddamned fuck, Sheila?” Trevor growled. His hand was on fire.
Sheila staggered jerkily to her feet, lumbering in his direction. Her eyes were milky white, arms outstretched. She looked just like a…fucking zombie. Trevor acted with reflexes honed in preparation for just this occasion. He ripped his combat knife from its sheath around his calf, dancing on the balls of his feet as Sheila closed.
As soon as she was close enough, he grabbed her arm, jerking her toward him. She tripped, falling heavily to the ground. Then he was on her, jabbing the knife into her skull. He twisted it, jerking the blade free and staggering back. She flopped to the ground and twitched once before she lay still.
He punched the hood of the pickup. Sudden rage flooded him. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, of all people. He’d spent years preparing for something like this. “Are you fucking serious?” he shouted to the universe. “The zombie apocalypse starts, and I get bitten in the first thirty seconds? Really?”
Trevor’s hand began to tremble. He held it up near the light inside the truck’s cab. Black veins had already begun crawling up his wrist.
Wow, that was a pretty messed up cliff hanger. Trust me, I didn’t want to leave it there but the novel is already 130,000 words and my editor threatened to hurt me if I didn’t cut it here.
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