by Tera Shanley
“At least he’s not yelling at me.”
Steven gave a wry smile. “Touché.” He’d been in trouble the whole week.
She rested her cheek on her arm and glared at the stumbling Deads. “Of course, that may mean that Sean has faith that you are worth the effort of correcting. I get the feeling he’s going to fail me and send me packing back to the gardens.”
“What? That’s stupid.”
“He’d be an idiot not to pass you,” Jackson agreed.
It was true that she’d contributed to the team. Sure they’d all saved her neck a few times too, but she’d repaid the favor and always jumped right into the workload. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, boys.” The trio of Deads had joined up with another small herd and now numbered seven. “Trouble headed our way.”
The monsters seemed to wander aimlessly, but they were definitely headed for the front door, which was pried open at the moment. Maybe some instinct pulled them toward their prey.
“Sean?” Steven said into the radio.
“Yeah?”
“You’ve got incoming. Seven Deads headed toward the front entrance. Can you go out the back?”
“Negative. The back part of the building is collapsed around the door. It’s nothing but rubble. We need another ten minutes in here. The pharmacy in this place is big and everything was tossed on the floor.”
“How do you want us to handle them?”
Sean’s sigh morphed into a growl. “Can you three handle them quietly?”
Steven arched his eyebrow at her. If this was day one of the trip, she would’ve peed her pants. As it stood, she’d killed more Deads than she could count in hand-to-hand combat and had her rhythm down to a science. She nodded with a toothy grin.
“Yep,” Steven said. “I’ll radio you when it’s done.”
“Carpenter?” Sean said over the static.
“Yeah?”
Crackle, crackle, crackle. “Never mind.”
Steven took his finger from the button and pointed at her. “That was for you.”
She rolled her eyes and stood, wiping the gravel dust from her pants before moving toward the ladder across the roof. Let him try to guess Sean’s problem. She was done with that mind game. It got her absolutely nowhere.
She climbed down first, followed by Jackson and Steven. When her hands were warm and comfortable around the hilts of her biggest knives, she loped toward the corner of the building. With one quick glance around the side to make sure the number hadn’t grown, she gave a rushed huff of air and sprinted for the loosely strewn herd.
Steven and Jackson ran like the wind beside her, a comfort as it always was to have her team so close by. Whatever was about to happen, they were going to weather it together.
She engaged a scrawny Dead with a tattered button-up shirt and dress pants. Poor sod had probably been getting off work as a banker when he was eaten. So focused were his filmy eyes on her, they followed as she dipped down at the last moment and pummeled him with her shoulder. He flipped over her and hit the ground with a sickening thud, and she brought the blade down on his face. The guttural moan of another was so close, she barely had time to stand with an upward arch of the knife before it was on her. Long, dark hair covered the Dead’s face, which made it creepier not to see her features when Vanessa hit her mark with the wet blade.
She kicked the she-monster viciously in the chest, and the Dead crumpled just in time for a pair of cold, clammy hands to clamp around Vanessa’s arms. With only an instant to spare, she yanked forward and hurled her opponent over her. The Dead’s grip didn’t waver, and the bones in his arms made a sickening crack as he flew forward. Two weeks ago, that noise would’ve brought her food back up. Now, there was a sense of satisfaction that she’d bested a creature evolved to kill her. He had only enough time to stretch his neck toward her before she brought her knife down.
A few seconds and the skirmish was over. Jackson wiped his machete blade on a tuft of grass growing wild out of a huge crack in the parking lot concrete, and Steven was already belting his crowbar.
The smile spreading across his face froze, then fell at something he was looking at behind her. The hair on the back of her neck lifted in the chilly breeze, and she gasped as she turned. “Run,” she breathed. “Run!”
There had to be at least twenty of them. She didn’t have a guess where they’d been hiding, but there they were, charging the three of them like an angry herd of rhinos.
“Sean, we have to go,” Steven huffed into the radio.
“We need another few minutes, can you buy time for us?”
Jackson looked at her in that serious way of his and jabbed a finger at her. “You go in and help them. Steven and I will take the Terminator for a spin and try to lose them. Five minutes is all we can give you.”
She nodded and pulled ahead. Blasting through the front doors, she could only hope the Deads followed the others. Not too close, but close enough where the boys could lose them in the Terminator. Where was the pharmacy? Maybe at one time, helpful signs had pointed busy shoppers where to go, but now the store looked like a tornado had hit it. Maybe one had.
Clumsy footsteps squeaked against the tile floors behind her. She couldn’t tell how many Deads hadn’t been fooled by their bait and switch, but by the sounds of it, probably more than she could handle alone. Dodging upended cans that littered the floor and broom handles that booby trapped the aisles, she bounced toward the back of the store. The sound of her frantic breathing filled her head until it was hard to hear anything else.
She dared a glance over her shoulder to find the Deads weren’t being so careful about the debris, and it was to their advantage. One fell, and others used the struggling creature for traction. Shuffling her feet, she skidded to the end of an aisle and lost her balance. With a half shriek, down she went, crashing into a shelf of scattered laundry detergent. Hefting a gallon of winter’s eve scented soap, she whacked the closest Dead in the face and scrambled to get up as he fell beside her. When he latched onto her leg with a clawed hand, she brought the detergent down onto his face with as much force as she could muster from her disadvantaged position. Kicking her leg out, she broke the knee cap of the next Dead with a clean snap and pulled her knife upward as it fell onto her. She pushed the body off her just in time for three more Deads to lunge at her.
Hang the no guns rule.
In a smooth motion, she pulled her Glock and pulled the trigger. The intended target fell, and she rolled out of the way as the other two lurched forward over the stiffened bodies of their fallen comrades. She brought the butt of the pistol down on the Dead’s face and kicked at the other to give herself time. The Dead sunk her teeth into Vanessa’s tough, leather boot, and she screamed as she pulled the trigger. The moaner released the deadly grip of her jaw on Vanessa’s shoe and slumped to the side.
An endless trail of Deads streamed down the aisle, and she bolted before she was even upright again. “Sean!”
She was going to die, and she was going to do it alone. Her team wasn’t there to back her or protect her weakest side. Slipping again, she twisted to land on her back. No way was she going down crawling away. Can in hand, she chunked it at the closest Dead and rolled to pull a shelf over on top of the other two nearest the fray.
This was it.
Her last stand.
She had been counting, and only two bullets remained in her magazine. One left in the chamber.
She squeezed them off. One. Two. Three. She stood and dropped the Glock before pulling two knives. Hunched inward, ready and enraged by circumstance, she screamed, “Come on!”
And then the aisle lit up like a meteor shower. Deads fell like a domino effect until none remained standing.
She stood there, stunned and ready for a death that wasn’t coming, and Sean hooked a hand behind her head and pulled her into his chest.
“I called for you,” she said in a voice that sounded very far away.
“I heard you.” His voice dripped with emotion as he
held her to him like she was part of his skin. She couldn’t breathe but couldn’t find it in her to care. She’d rather die suffocated by the strength of Sean’s arms than the fate that had released its grip on her just moments ago.
“Brandon, shoulder the bag. Finn, you take point. Where are the others?” he asked against her ear.
“Five minutes. They gave us five minutes while they try to lose the bulk of the horde. They’re in the Terminator.”
“Let’s go,” he barked and pulled her behind him.
His hands fit perfectly over hers, tanned against her fair skin, like soft leather covering porcelain. She must be in shock. That was the only explanation for the strange crawling sensation from the palm of Sean’s hand to hers and up her arm. Like their skin was melding together, and they’d have to stay connected forever or sever their limbs.
It was then she realized how his cold shoulder burned like a wedge of dry ice embedded in her soul.
She dipped to retrieve her gun in a smooth action that didn’t dislodge her from his grip. She’d rather face another horde than let go of the comfort that swam in the molecules between their skin.
Chapter Eleven
AS LONG AS HE LIVED, Sean wouldn’t forget how frightened Vanessa sounded when she’d called his name. To hell with the rest of the medical supplies. He’d burn the entire mission to the ground if it kept her from the gnashing teeth of a Dead.
She fought like some wild thing, cornered and desperate for survival. The Deads closest to her hadn’t stood a chance against her fierce, weapon-filled hands. She’d dropped her empty Glock and pulled her blades in one smooth motion. She was fearless.
Chills had rippled up the back of his neck as he raised his rifle to protect her. Enraged, he didn’t miss a one. He couldn’t. She was ready to die, but he wasn’t equipped for the loss.
He’d go back to distancing himself once they got in the truck, but for now, he couldn’t pull away from the temptation to touch her. To physically reassure himself she was still breathing—still with him. He clutched her hand like it was a lifeline and he’d been drowning.
He spun just as autumn sunlight warmed his face out front of the store. “You called for me.”
Emotion churned in her eyes. “Because I knew you’d come. And if you didn’t—” Her delicate neck worked as she swallowed. “If you couldn’t, it still felt nice to say your name at the end.”
His breath shook as he studied her face. Her perfectly arched eyebrows drew up like she wondered what he was thinking. Her full lips pursed in question, and he fought not to reach out and brush his fingertip across the smooth skin of her cheek.
“That’s what I was afraid of,” he said, swallowing the urge to take those necessarily horrid words back. He dropped her hand and turned away before he could see the hurt on her face. He wouldn’t have the strength not to kiss her if he did.
“We’ve got company,” Finn said.
Sean kneeled beside his second-in-command and steadied the scope of his rifle on the dozen Deads running their way. “Snipe ’em.”
By the time the fourth Dead fell, the throaty rumble of the Terminator rattled the asphalt beneath their feet.
“The cavalry is here,” Finn said with a grin in his voice.
Sean shouldered his rifle just as the Terminator barreled around the corner and slammed into another cluster of Deads with the metal grille made to maul. Bodies flew through the air, and he yanked open the passenger door. The team was loaded before the second wave even made it to the front of the truck.
Sean pushed Vanessa into the back of the Terminator with Brandon and Finn and slammed the door as he sank into the passenger seat. Deads fisted rotted extremities against the metal sides of the truck like war drums, but she couldn’t take her eyes from Sean’s turned face. As they pulled away from the horde, he leaned his head against the window and rubbed the stubble on his face like he was irritated. He looked good with scruff, real good, but it hid the scar down the side of his face and that seemed a little tragic. She knew the secret story that went along with the beautiful imperfection, and now the evidence of that was hidden, much like he was doing with his gaze at the moment. What had she done wrong?
“You smell like blood,” Brandon said with his nose scrunched up like she was an unsavory offense to his delicate senses.
Finn leaned over Brandon and pulled her forward by the arm until her back was exposed, and then he yanked the hem of her sticky shirt out of the way.
She knew it was bad. Fresh stitches hadn’t stood a chance against the strain of fighting for her life, and the warmth of the burn had her gritting her teeth. Really, did guards just have to get used to pain? It had been an annoying constant over the past week. It was becoming quite clear the only dependable occurrence in life after the outbreak was discomfort. And sitting here in a truck full of foul-mouthed men, with Brandon glaring at her like she was a mosquito, with Finn’s gargantuan hand wrapped unapologetically around her arm, with Jackson and Steven singing “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap” at the top of their lungs, and Sean ignoring her once again, it all became a little too irritating to stand.
She opened her mouth to say so, but Finn beat her to it.
“I think we need to be done for the day.”
Clacking her mouth shut, she turned a suspicious glare at him. What was his game? Finn-never-cuts-out-early wasn’t exactly one for taking an evening off for some rest and relaxation.
“Carpenter!” Finn snapped. “I swear if you don’t stop singing the guitar parts to that song, I’m going to put you in a sleeper hold. Hand back the first-aid kit.”
Sean jerked his head, and his impossibly blue gaze crashed into hers like a cannon ball. Ignore her all he wanted, and hang his reasons, but worry shaped his downturned eyebrows.
“I’m not bit,” she murmured. “The stitches just didn’t hold.”
He slumped and turned back around. “Jackson, get us somewhere in the woods away from the population. We need running water.”
“You got it, boss man,” Jackson said with a tug of the wheel. He steered them from what used to be a main road toward the outskirts of town.
Finn rifled through the first-aid kit and shoved Brandon down the bench seat before jamming a wad of gauze to her back. He clucked behind his teeth. “You’ve made an awful mess of our handy work. Look at this.” A little pluck pricked against her back, and he held a tiny loop of suture in front of her. “Remember how we said to be gentle on them?”
She didn’t even have the energy for a snarky retort. Instead, she leaned against the window and closed her eyes against the ache. Everything was so confusing. These life or death situations happened at such a high frequency, she was a little desperate to even out for a day. Just one day where someone wasn’t almost killed, or where needles and thread weren’t needed to put the team back together like a pack of Frankenstein monsters. One day where all of the medical buildings they hit went to plan. Where Sean picked a temperature—hot or cold.
On they drove until the early evening light turned to dusk and the dirt road Jackson found was lost to piled leaves from the coming fall. The drive seemed to have subdued the others, who didn’t talk as they exited the Terminator and did a perimeter search of the area.
“Is there any point in re-stitching you?” Finn asked, shoving the sliding door in the back of the eighteen-wheeler up to reveal a level, if not sanitary, surface for her to lie down on.
“Probably not,” she muttered, plopping onto her belly and dangling her arm off the side.
Boxes had slowly but steadily filled up the back of the truck, which now neared capacity. They’d be going home soon, and the relief of the approaching end was a satisfying warmth that spread through her. She just had to live a couple more days.
“There,” Finn murmured after a few minutes. “I did you up tight with butterfly bandages, but you still have to be careful with them.”
With a lazy salute from the comfort of the dirty bed of the truck, she said, “Will do
, Finneas,” as he walked away with a shake of his head.
The needles on the evergreens made a pleasant swooshing sound as the wind caressed them. Evening light penetrated the foliage and cast mottled shadows across the forest floor, and she lifted her fingers to touch the breeze. Without the bother of switching positions or hunting up a more comfortable headrest, she fell asleep with her boots crossed at the ankle and her shirt pulled up to invite the touch of that cool wind against the heat of the injury.
A moment later she woke up, or at least that’s what it felt like, but the sun had had time to sink, and a mystery hero had covered her body with a thick blanket. She didn’t want to get her hopes too high, but it smelled like Sean had when he’d held her earlier today.
She closed her eyes and inhaled noisily, trying to place the smell for certain.
“Are you okay?”
“Aaahhhh!” She lurched forward and flipped off the back of the truck where her arm had retained its dangling position through the duration of her nap. With a thud, she landed in a pile of pine needles, which offered no cushion whatsoever, and she groaned as she tilted her head to find Sean himself, standing over her with a twitch to the corner of his lips like he was trying to hide a smile. He really was lovely to look at from that position, and as soon as she caught the wind that had been knocked out of her, she would ogle him more thoroughly.
“Were you just sniffing my blanket?”
Okay, maybe she could pretend she couldn’t get her breath back for the rest of her life. She eyed the underbelly of the truck and debated log-rolling under there and not coming back out for the rest of the night.
Sean was already bent down, offering her a hand up though, and she didn’t want to be rude. Besides, she was a fighter, not a runner. She would’ve told him so, but he hefted her up like a bouquet of dandelions, and she nearly toppled into him. Steadying her elbows, he frowned and took a step back like she had some disease that was catching.
“What gives?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”