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. My father taught me how to fight from early on. Mom never intervened, even when he’d go full out with me.
All his friends were the same way with their kids. Some sort of militia mindset. Like it did them any good in the end—can’t stab a fucking virus.
When the first man has been in the warehouse long enough, I creep up behind the second and 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 Relock something or other. This fuck obviously has no clue what he’s doing.
Using one of the disarming maneuvers Rex made me practice over and over, I grab the man’s outstretched arms and smash his wrists against the corner of the doorway. The gun clatters between our feet and I kick out, sending it skittering along the asphalt.
“You’re dead, boy.” 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. The prick 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, then capture the arm that punches me and pin it 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. “Tastes 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.
“Knew you would sound so good. Scream some more.” He punches me even harder in the ribs.
My father’s voice thunders in my ear, yelling at me to breathe and wait for my moment, even through all the pain.
Only time his words are helpful.
