When she’s granted a short reprieve, she turns over until her back presses against his chest. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I’m so scared. I feel out of control, not safe, and I know that’s stupid, but…and then when she’s here, she’ll be real, and I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready.”
“Let me keep you safe,” he says, echoing what she told him so long ago, when they were stuffed up in the attic, and he’d beenout of his mind. She soothed him then, made everything awful seem right again, and he can only hope to offer her a fraction of that, knowing he won’t come close. “I know you’re afraid, but you’ll get through this. You will. And when she’s here, we’ll keep her safe, too. Together.”
“Talk to me about the mountains in Seattle,” she says suddenly, pushing her face into his neck where tears wet his skin. “Did we get all the cows up there yet?”
They play this silly game sometimes, talking about how they’ll move their whole farm across the country and settle atop the western peaks. He nestles his chin atop her head, rubbing slow strokes from shoulder to elbow. “Sure did. All four of the dogs helped.”
“Four now? Nice.”
“We got more goats, too. I keep trying to make cheese, and it comes out terrible every time.”
She huffs, shivering as her body tenses again. “Double the chickens by now?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you remember any of those breathing lessons you read? I could use a few of those skills.”
Thankfully, he does. “Focus on one thing. Anything you want. Got something?”
She nods. “Yes.”
“In through your nose, out through your mouth, five fast breaths, then one long and slow one. Like this.”
They keep time together through the next contraction, even if that last slow breath turns into a curse and a half scream.
He’s grateful that she isn’t pushing him away. This is where he’s supposed to be, with her in his arms and little crescent moons from her nails in the skin of his hand.
A crash from the kitchen caps off her next cry, making them all jump, followed by a splinter of wood that sends a chill down his spine.
He leaves Addison on the floor and grabs the shotgun against the wall just in time to find the dead breaking in.
“Runners trying to get inside!” he yells. How it happened is a mystery they’ll have to worry about later.
With Addison unable to walk, he hands the gun to Emma and lifts her into his arms, carrying her upstairs to the bathroom.
“Stay here. Don’t come out, no matter what happens. Understand?” he tells her.
“No! Don’t leave. Wyatt, please, you said you wouldn’t leave. I can’t do this without you.”
“I have to. If they can get through that door, then they can get up here. I’m not letting anything happen to you. Any of you.” He pushes a swift kiss to her lips, shoves the shotgun in her hands, and then he’s gone, leaving Addison on the floor with a baby about to make its way into this world any minute.
He’s been through some hard shit in his life, but walking away from her takes the top spot. Her screams filter through the walls, tugging him in one direction while necessity pulls him in the opposite.
His pistol is in their bedroom, and he snatches it from the corner, determined to end this threat so he can sprint back upstairs before their baby is born.
Their baby. He can’t miss it. He has to be there. This can’t happen without him.
The runners have other plans, though. They’re already through the door by the time he gets downstairs. Their aggression has only increased over the years, mutating into something that hardly resembles the first few he saw up in Alaska.
He gets a bullet through one right away, but he’s no match for three in closer quarters. He runs for the dining room, sliding across the old wooden table. A dead man slams chest-first into the edge, and it gives him a moment to aim and get the next rotten forehead in his crosshairs.
Addison’s cries catch him off guard, and he misses. Then he watches in horror as two of them veer away for the new sound calling like a siren, while the last lunges straight for him.
It’s stronger than he expected and so much larger than Wyatt. He’s forced him up against the wall with a thunk, all snapping teeth and rotten breath inches from his face. His gun falls to the ground, and it’s all Wyatt can do to keep the monster at arm’s length, losing another centimeter each second until the drip of saliva falls on his collarbone.
