Beneath Blood and Bone

by Madeline Sheehan

  But she never reached me. Only inches from contact, her face exploded in a burst of blood and brain matter, and I rolled onto my stomach, covering my face from the rain of infected flesh erupting all around me.

  “E?”

  I waited a moment, cracking open one eye to survey my surroundings before rolling over onto my back. The truck was at a standstill, and Adam stood off to one side, peering at me over the edge of the truck bed. His lips quirked as he looked me over, trying hard not to smile.

  “She turned quick,” I muttered angrily. You never knew how fast they would turn. Some took days and others only moments. Pushing myself upright and getting to my feet, I took in the bloody mess coating my truck, as well as the numerous infected still shambling toward us.

  “Start killing,” I said, jerking my chin toward the oncoming threat. Again, I reached for my keys, quickly unlocking my tool chest and pulling free two handguns. I checked the clips and when satisfied they were full, swung my body over the side of the truck.

  Side by side, Adam and I moved forward and began shooting. Doing what we did best.

  Killing.

  • • •

  It was three hours before I was able to make my way back home—one hour of dragging dead rotters to the fire pit, an hour ensuring the gates were standing tall and fully functioning again, and yet another hour spent cleaning off the mess Adam had made in my truck.

  Tired, hungry, and more than pissed off, one by one I freed the padlocks from my front door, hanging them off my belt before going inside. The moment I stepped foot into the dark space, the smell that greeted me nearly sent me staggering backward. I clenched my teeth and stalked inside, hard pressed to see much of anything in the dark. Fumbling for the wall, I found the switch and with one flick, the low-hanging work lamps affixed to the ceiling beams crackled and sparked to life.

  My gaze landed first on the puddle of vomit that hadn’t been cleaned up before coming to rest on the girl. Directly across from me, she was crouched between my couch and a tall dresser, wide eyed and snarling at me, and smeared in her own shit.

  The voice in my head started to laugh.

  Chapter Twelve

  Autumn

  “What the fuck!”

  Eagle stood in the doorway with the sunlight as his backdrop, highlighting the blood splattered across his clothing, thick black blood that I knew to be the blood of biters. He glared at me, his angry black eyes burning holes straight through me even from across the room.

  I shivered uncontrollably, afraid not only of him but of the biters that would be coming. I knew they would come, that these people could only hide behind their gates for so long. Now they were here, and they would get me and they would eat me, and I would be dead, dead, dead! Terrified, I clasped my hands over my ears and fought for control of my emotions.

  My father’s voice had rung out in my head after Eagle had left, leaving me feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach. His final words had been a stern blend of a lifetime of fatherly advice and a survival manual.

  He had protected me after my mother had died. He had defended me at every turn, never allowing me to fight off the biters myself, and always insisting that he would be there to do it for me. Yet in his final moments of clarity he had apologized, begging for forgiveness for never teaching me how defend myself and survive on my own.

  And so he had given me different advice, a different gift. Instead of telling me to fight, he had told me to hide. Above all else; hide. Hide in plain sight if I had to, but hide I must. Because for me, that was the only way I would survive.

  And so I had done exactly that. I had hidden away from the world. I had smeared myself in anything that would disguise my scent to the biters, and I had locked myself away in a cave. And when Eagle left me here in this awful place, locked inside this building with the blare of sirens in the distance and the biters coming for us, I had chosen to hide again.

  Then, I’d thought about taking my own life, about ending it all. I’d even taken one of his knives and held the tip of it against my heart, piercing my own flesh. But when the first vivid drop of blood appeared on my clothes, I knew I couldn’t do it. Instead I’d decided to disguise myself in the only way I knew how, the one way that had kept me alive all this time, in hopes that they wouldn’t smell me and would leave me be.

  “Fucking fuck!” he yelled again, then slammed the metal door shut behind him and beat his fist repeatedly against it.

  “Fucking . . . mother . . . fuck.”

  He turned and glowered at me, his nostrils flaring in anger, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the sight and the smell of me.

  I knew how bad I smelled; I had gagged and vomited while covering myself. Only a few days in this place and I’d forgotten how bad the smell actually was until I was smearing it all over my clothing, and up my arms and down my legs. But that realization had only spurred me on. Knowing I was already forgetting how to survive in this world on my own, that I had almost become comfortable with being clean and being cared for. Which led me to the most dangerous realization of all.

  I was beginning to trust him.

  Or at least I had been. But as he stormed across the room toward me, fury raging behind those black eyes of his, the meager trust he’d earned went flying out the window and now only fear and wariness remained.

  Would he kill me? Hand me over to the people in charge? Throw me to the biters? I shook and trembled, my filthy hands clinging to the dresser next to me, my nails digging into the wood. Yet he didn’t come toward me, but instead stormed past while continuing to curse loudly and disappeared out of sight.

  “The . . . the biters,” I mumbled, trying to explain, my teeth now chattering so violently I could barely get the words out.

  Minutes crept by as I waited for his return. Urine trickled down my thighs as I waited for him to reappear, for a gun to discharge, for my brains to splatter across the floor, for him to put an end to my suffering. But nothing came. What was he doing in there? How angry was he?

  My thoughts continued to buzz, nagging incessantly at me as his ranting from the other room continued. He would be even angrier once he saw I’d peed again, and God only knew what he would do.

  No, God didn’t know. There was no God. Just like there was no salvation.

  As I scanned the room wildly, my panicked gaze landed on the door, and I realized at that very moment he hadn’t put the locks back in place.

  Excitement tinged with panic fought against my desire to run. The biters were here; he’d said as much. Should I remind him to lock the door, to secure us from them, or should I make a run for it? But if I ran . . . how many biters were out there? And worse, how many people? At least here I knew my enemy—a lone man with a penchant for cursing who for some unknown reason had saved my life. But out there, I didn’t know if I could make it to the gates, let alone get past them.

  An angry sob bubbled up in my dry throat. I hated this place, hated it fiercely and was desperate for my freedom.

  The sound of something being dragged across the concrete floor screeched through the air, accompanied by more of his angry cursing, and followed soon by the unmistakable sound of water being poured. My eyes widened, my heartbeat spiked, and I found myself jumping up and taking off across the room with only one thing on my mind.

  I have to get away from here. From him. And from the water.

  I slammed into the door, the sound of my body crashing against metal echoing loudly all around me. Fumbling for the handle, I pulled it down and was about to pull it open when a hand landed heavy and hard on my shoulder, clamping down.

  Screaming, I swung around, fists clenched, teeth snapping, swinging and biting at whatever I could find. I couldn’t see straight, couldn’t think clearly. I just knew I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t have his hands on me, couldn’t have him wash me clean again, couldn’t be here inside these gates.

  “Let me go!” I screamed as I slammed my fists against his hard chest. “Let me go! The biters!”

 
My punches were no match for him, nothing more than an irritant he easily swatted away, much like one would a bug. But I wouldn’t relent—I couldn’t—and continued to try to break free, no matter how futile my efforts.

  Unfazed, his expression hard and cruel, he gripped both my shoulders roughly and proceeded to drag me across the room. “They’re gone!” he shouted. “The biters are gone, and now you’re just an idiot covered in shit for no damn reason!”

  His words gave me pause, but only for a moment once the realization of where he was taking me came into sight. He was still hauling me across the room, the large plastic tub full of water now only a few feet away, when I resumed my struggling and started to scream, shrieking so hard it felt as though I split my throat open.

  His hand came down hard across my face in an attempt to stifle my scream, but as it clamped over my mouth, I used my teeth and bit down on his hand so hard he jerked back in surprise, giving me the opportunity to twist out of his grip.

  “Fuck!” he roared, and I took off running.

  The sound of his angry footfalls followed right after me, unnerving me, causing me to run faster and promptly trip over my own feet. My hands broke my fall as I went down face-first to the floor. But just as quickly as I’d fallen, his body fell on top of mine, crushing me to the floor and forcing the air from my lungs in one breathless whoosh.

  Grabbing a handful of my hair, he rolled off me and forced me upright. I let out a startled squeak as he dragged me off, my hair pulling painfully at my scalp. Once we reached the tub, I tried to fight him again, flailing and twisting in his hold, but nothing I did mattered. No matter how hard I fought him, no matter how much I cried, he was unrelenting. My pitiful strength was no match for his brute force.

  “Like a goddamn rabid squirrel,” he muttered, and tossed me carelessly into the tub.

  Water sloshed out of the bath on both sides as I sank below the cold depths, my hands clawing at the rough plastic container, clawing at his arms. I thrashed violently until I breached the surface, gulping down lungfuls of air, and once I could breathe, I screamed again and resumed clawing at him with vigor, digging my nails into his skin, scoring it until he hissed in pain.

  Snarling angrily, he straddled the tub, trapping me inside it and leaving me little room to move. Still holding my hair in one hand, he gripped my neck with his other, using it to force me down and beneath the water. We had both gone feral now, back to our most primal states, fight or flight, and lost inside our dueling emotions.

  I continued to scream and thrash beneath the water, choking on it until he made the decision to pull me up. I coughed and sputtered, glaring up at him, ready to fight once again until I caught sight of the knife in his hand. As he brought the blade forward, pressing the tip of it to the hollow of my throat, I froze in place, staring up at him.

  “Are you done?” he asked, his tone shockingly even. Even and calm. Far too calm.

  I tried to speak, but my throat was on fire. Screaming and swallowing water had rendered me verbally useless.

  “Are you done?” he shouted, twisting his fist in my hair, the pain causing my eyes to water.

  Although I couldn’t speak, I nodded vigorously.

  Yes, I was done. I was as good as dead.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Eagle

  Sheathing my blade, I stared down at her with her head between my knees, just barely above the now filthy water, trying to gauge whether she was telling me the truth. Flat and sad, her gray eyes stared back at me.

  “You keep fighting me,” I continued, “and you’re going to end up forcing me to do some really nasty shit to you. Not that I mind, but I’m damn sure you won’t like it. That what you want?”

  I was lying through my teeth. I wasn’t going to hurt her, but she didn’t need to know that. If I’d wanted to hurt her, I’d have done so ten times over by now. Instead, I kept saving her from herself, but for what reason? I still didn’t know.

  But I wouldn’t shy away from a fight with her either. And if I had to backhand her a few times to beat some sense into her, I’d have no problem with that.

  She seemed to realize this—that I would do whatever it took to clean the shit off her—and after several seconds ticked by, the two of us staring at each other, she shook her head in defeat.

  Releasing her hair, I reached into the tub, through the layers of grime that had come free from her body and risen to the surface, and grabbed hold of the shirt she was wearing. As I attempted to pull it off over her head, she made a distressed sound in her throat and stopped me, quickly yanking the material back down.

  I grabbed her wrists and pried her arms from her chest. “Take your fucking clothes off,” I demanded, gripping her until she cried out in pain.

  She refused to budge and stared at me, her body tense and her eyes wide, wild with indecision.

  Feeling my temper start to rise again, I shook my head. “You’ve seen one pair of tits, you’ve seen them all, you squirrelly bitch. And I’ve already seen yours. So whatever thoughts you have going on up there in that crazy-ass head of yours, you can forget ’em. I’m not fucking interested in you. I like my women a little more . . .” I trailed off and grinned crudely down at her. “A little more womanly.”

  As she continued to stare up at me, I watched as her features briefly pinched with . . . hurt? Strangely disgusted with myself, I dropped my grin and released her wrists. Moving off the tub, I backed several feet away and pointed to the bar of soap lying in a puddle of water on the floor.

  “Take your fucking clothes off and clean yourself,” I muttered, then crossed my arms over my chest.

  Maybe it was the change in my demeanor, or maybe it was her realization that I had no interest in her sexually. Whatever it was, she released the iron grip she had on her shirt and, on shaking legs, tentatively pulled herself up and out of the tub.

  I stepped forward, ready to grab her and throw her back in, until I realized what she was doing.

  Her teeth chattering, she rolled the filthy wet boxer shorts down her legs and stepped out of them. Turning her back to me, she pulled her shirt over her head with quivering arms and dropped it on top of the shorts.

  My gaze dropped to her bare ass, surprisingly the cleanest part of her body, all things considered, and remained there for a moment, appreciating a firm and well-rounded backside. Maybe I’d lied, maybe I was interested—

  My thoughts came to an abrupt stop as she turned back around. With her hands covering her breasts and her thighs pressed tightly together, she was now quivering from head to toe. Her eyes downcast and her cheeks red with humiliation, she stepped gingerly back into the tub and quickly dropped beneath the water.

  “Soap,” I ordered, pointing again to the bar on the floor, feeling ridiculous. This was the last thing I should be doing, babysitting a crazy person covered in her own shit. Why was I doing this? Why?

  Still feeling guilty? the voice asked. For sending those women off to die? For killing—

  “Fuck you,” I ground out.

  From inside the tub, the girl’s gaze snapped to mine, fear and confusion creasing her features. Realized I’d spoken aloud, embarrassment caused my temper to spike.

  “Wash, damn it,” I said, biting out the words. And when she made no move to reach for the soap, I took a step forward. “Fucking wash.”

  Another distressed noise burst from her throat as she moved quickly. Still holding her breasts with one arm, she reached over the side of the tub and attempted to pick up the soap. It slipped free from her grasp twice before she started to cry and gave up altogether. As she sank back into the water, her shoulders began to quake.

  Grinding my teeth together, I stepped forward and scooped up the hard, jagged bar of homemade soap from my own stash, then grabbed a handful of her hair to yank her out of the water.

  “I should just kill you,” I said furiously, scraping the bar over her cheek.

  She flinched in pain but I continued roughly washing her, dragging the soap up an
d down her arms, the gathering suds quickly turning brown and dirty. I continued across her neck and then down to her chest. As I touched upon the beginning slope of her breasts, she let out a garbled shout, quickly followed by a sob.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, throwing the soap in her lap and getting to my feet. “Do it yourself, then!”

  Storming away, I crossed my twitching arms over my chest as my body trembled with rage. I was going to either strangle her or knock her the fuck out if things continued this way. Locking my jaw, I turned away from her, wanting nothing more than to put my fist through something.

  What the fuck was I doing here? I’d fucked up again. And again for a female I hardly knew. I should leave now, right this second. Pack up my truck and hit the road. Find another place, somewhere far away from Liv and Jeffers and all the poor souls of Purgatory. Away from this shit-covered mess of a girl.

  “I knew it!”

  The angry shout came from behind me, and as the girl began to growl, I whipped around, my blade already in my hand.

  “I knew you were hiding something!” Liv sneered, her disbelieving and rage-filled gaze flitting between me and the snarling girl in the tub. “I just had no idea you were hiding—”

  The girl chose that very moment to leap from the tub. Splashing water everywhere, she fled naked into the other room.

  I glanced back at Liv, who was watching the spectacle with a sick sort of satisfaction. She cocked her head of pink hair to one side, a sneering smile pulling her thin lips tight as she ran her eyes up and down my body.

  “She’s the one everyone has been looking for, isn’t she?”

  Still holding my blade, I tightened my fingers around the polished wooden handle. “Your point?”

  Liv’s grin grew even more gruesome. “Let’s see,” she said sweetly, holding up one finger. “First you help the trio from the wild escape”—she held up another finger—“which also makes you responsible for ruining the gates.” Holding up another finger, she took a step toward me. “Now, you’re hiding a wanted fugitive in your home. That’s three strikes, Adler. Three strikes and you’re out, baby.”