I kick the body to make sure it’s really dead.
Nothing. Good.
My shoulders ache from the constant tension of moving through this place, room by room, corner by corner. How long have we been clearing? An hour? Two? Time blurs when every second could be your last.
A nap would be nice.
“Clear in here,” I call out, keeping my voice low enough not to attract more of them, but loud enough for Cameron and Sienna to hear from the hallway.
They appear in the doorway, Cameron’s face pale beneath splattered blood. He’s holding the fire poker like a baseball bat, knuckles white around the metal. Sienna stands slightly behind him, her blonde hair turning pink.
They’ve been holding up better than I expected.
“That’s the last in this section,” I say. “Kitchen’s the priority now.”
Cameron nods. “We’ll handle it. What about you?”
“I’ll finish checking the rooms toward the other end, make sure we haven’t missed anything.” I roll my neck, trying to work out the kinks. “Then circle back.”
“Be careful.” My brother’s concern is genuine, his face softening. “Come on, Sienna.”
They move off down the corridor, shoulders close but not touching. I continue down the other side, controlling and passing empty rooms we’ve already cleared.
A Sunday school classroom. A small library. An office. The corridor narrows as I approach the bridal suite. Probably empty, but we can’t afford assumptions. I strain to hear over the pounding of my own heart.
Something rustles behind the door. A soft thump. Then silence.
Fuck.
Another one.
How did we miss it?
Slowly, I turn the handle, easing the door open just enough to slip inside. The room is dim, heavy curtains drawn across windows that face the green outside. A vanity mirror reflects fractured light, makeup scattered across its surface. A dress form stands empty, abandoned.
The rustling comes again, behind the folding screen in the corner. Chinese design, painted with delicate cherry blossoms that look obscene in this context. Something shifts behind it.
Sniffling?
I advance silently, letter opener raised, muscles coiled.
One quick strike. That’s all it takes.
I whip around the screen, arm already in motion?—
A scream tears through the quiet. Not the guttural moan of the infected. Human. Female. Terrified.
Dakota.
My hand flies to her mouth, stopping the sound before it can fully form, dropping the letter opener to the carpet.
Her eyes, wide with fear and glistening, lock onto mine. I pin her against the wall, my body shielding hers as I listen for any sign that her scream attracted attention. But all I hear is her breath coming in panicked gasps through her nose and ghosting over my fingers.
“Quiet,” I whisper. “You want to get us both killed?”
She shakes her head, eyes still huge. I ease my palm from her mouth, registering several things at once.
First, she’s no longer wearing the ruined wedding dress.
