Carrionites.
Fuck!
But it’s just two and not a pack— not sure I’d be able to survive if it was more of them.
One keeps watch while the other peers through the dirty windows.
Neither looks weak or starving, yet I really don’t want to find out if the stories are true, that they actually eat the flesh of those they kill or come across.
But with how filled out they are . . . .
"Must be around here somewhere," window guy whispers. "Saw 'em yesterday. Might've holed up for the night. The big one was sick."
My lips press together into a tight line, muscle ticking in my cheek from clenching my teeth.
Don’t care what happens to me, but they ain’t getting Rex.
They stack their crap, packs most likely scavenged from recent victims, against the building, then ease the big door open, clearly trying to be quiet.
I flex and relax my fingers to warm them up before sliding my knife out of its sheath.
When the first man has been in the warehouse for a minute, I creep up behind the second.
I slam my foot into the back of his knee. It gives out, and he goes down, falling backward into me. I loop my arm over his shoulder, then yank his stubbled chin to the side while simultaneously covering his mouth, stabbing him twice in the neck.
Hot blood sprays my arm and hand, and I smirk as he gurgles and squirms above me. When his body goes limp, I shove it off, then scoot against the wall beside the open doorway and slide my knife back into my belt. Wiping hands frantically down my sweatshirt, I get them as dry as possible, then lift the bottom hemline to wipe my face.
One prick down, one to go.
“You see them? It’s empty in here.” The first man’s voice is getting closer.
“Fucking hell.” He comes through the door with a gun outstretched, gazing at his companion’s dead body.
Rex taught me to clear doorways with my head up and with the gun close to my core. Center re-lock something or other.
I grab the man's outstretched arms and smash his wrists against the corner of the doorway. The gun clatters between our feet. I kick out, sending it skittering along the asphalt.
“You’re dead, kid.” The man shoves free hard enough to send me staggering backward. He twists, looking for the gun.
We spot it at the same time. He goes for it, and I launch at his waist, tackling him to the ground.
“I’m gonna gut you like I did your friend.” My words are full of murderous promise. Fucker threatened Rex.
Threatened what’s mine.
His elbow cracks into the side of my face as we wrestle, and blood floods my mouth, my grip loosening, and he takes advantage, twisting until he ends up on top. I’m able to get my knees between us, but it only creates a bit of distance as he punches at me.
He lunges forward, getting inside one knee as his hand locks onto my wrist, yanking it down so I can't block him. “You’ll make a good meal. Skin you alive. Make you suffer some. Bet you sound real nice screaming.”
My head bounces against the pavement each time his fist connects with my face, jolts of painful electricity racing through my skull with every impact. But I don’t give up. Fucker doesn’t know—I’m too stubborn to quit.
“Fuck you. You’ll be the one screaming.” I grope blindly for his ear with my free hand, finding it and yanking it toward me. His head follows as he yells and lets go of my wrist, trying to free himself.
I grip the back of his neck with my arms and shift my hips up, locking my legs high around his back when he tries to pull away. He ducks out of my arms, rearing back to try to hit me again. I let him, capturing the arm that punches me and pinning it down between his chest and mine.
He growls, hitting me repeatedly in the ribs with his free hand as his teeth sink into the area where my neck meets my shoulder. A maniacal laugh erupts from him. “Taste so good raw. Maybe I’ll just eat your flesh that way.”
He bites down again, this time his teeth break through my skin and I scream.
