“Not going to say anything about it? That’s your thing, huh? Silent and brooding?” Santiago asked.
What was it with everyone just assuming I was this huge grumpy asshole?
“I can be fun,” I told him. “I’ve got a sense of humor too.”
Santiago glanced up at me with a dubious look. “Listen, all I’m saying is I want to have a relationship with my brother.”
“Am I the one standing in the way of that?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I don’t know, are you?”
“I don’t think so, but here’s some advice. Maybe you should start by making an actual effort. Tell him why you abandoned his ass last summer. Then follow it up with why you never bothered to find him when you finished your trial in Atlanta. Maybe ask him a few questions about himself. Pretend like you give a shit.”
Santiago stood and squared up with me. Shit, were we about to fight? Honestly, unfair. I only had one good arm. Kitten would kill me if I broke my other one punching his brother in the face.
“I do give a shit,” he snarled. “You think you know my brother better than me?”
“I don’t know, but at least I’m not trying to put my own bullshit on him. Own your shit, Santiago.”
“Well, since he seems to have some kind of co-dependent, hero-worship thing going on with you, let me giveyousome advice. You need to toughen him up.”
“What?”
“He’s too soft. Always has been, and you’re definitely not helping.”
This motherfucking asshole…
“The fuck are you talking about? Your brother’s a badass. He’s saved my life, like, a dozen times already. He knows how to grow stuff and mend things and he gives a shit about other people, which is rare these days. And not that it matters, but he can also bench press like a beast and probably kick your ass if he tried.”
“He’s soft here.” Santi pointed to his temple.
“Yeah, I should probably bully him and ignore him, right? Maybe abandon him too? Is that the move, Santiago? Is that how I toughen him up?”
“Fuck you.” He lunged at me, shoving me hard in the chest.
“Well, fuck you too,” I said and gave it right back to him. He scowled and it looked like we were about to throw down when I heard a twig crack.
“Shut up,” I said, still gripping his shoulders. My senses kicked into high alert as the hairs on the back of my neck raised, a sure sign of trouble. I scanned the treeline again. Movement behind the towering pines, too large and human-like to be a woodland creature.
“We need to get out of here,” I said, plucking his bag off the ground and shoving it at him. Santiago turned to follow my gaze just as a dozen or more Rabids emerged from the woods. They weren’t shuffling and half-dead either; they were hauling ass, heading straight toward us.
“Fuck, let’s go.” I grabbed Santiago’s shirt collar and yanked him hard. We both started running toward the nearest house, the only shelter available. The back door was locked, so I knocked out the glass pane with the butt of my Glock, then reached inside to unlock the deadbolt from inside, cutting my hand in the process. Throwing the door wide, we hustled inside and locked it behind us.
“Check the windows to make sure they’re shut and locked. Lock the front door,” I told him. “I’ll start picking them off from here.”
I crouched down and aimed my Glock through the broken pane, using the wooden frame to steady my aim. Adrenaline made my hands shake, my finger on the trigger slippery with sweat. I took a deep breath and started firing–as many kill shots as I could manage. Several Rabids dropped to the ground butcontinued to drag themselves toward us with alarming speed. There were too fucking many of them. I ejected the empty mag and replaced it with a fresh one.
“Are we secure?” I asked Santiago.
“Yeah, all good.”
I reached down for my radio to call the other Assholes for backup, but it wasn’t there. I must have dropped it in the yard.
“Fuck, I dropped my radio. Where’s yours?” I asked.
“I didn’t bring it with me,” he said, sounding panicked.
We were on our own then. How long could we hold them off with limited ammo? The Rabids were crowded around the back door now, throwing themselves against the wooden frame to get inside. Some were close enough to try prying open the door with their rotting fingers, leaving behind streaks of grime and blood. The door wouldn’t hold up against their relentless assault. I had to conserve my ammo, so I stabbed as many as I could with my machete. Meanwhile, several more circled the house like the pack of hungry predators they were.
