Page 31 of Faith Among Monsters

Chapter Twelve

Faith

Dax tucks me against his side as we cautiously make our way to the med wing. His arm is solid and warm around me, his grip firm. I fit there like we were made for each other. A thought that should be ridiculous in the middle of all this, but it lingers anyway.

The hallway stretches ahead of us, dim and silent except for the faint echo of our boots against the floor.

As we move, Dax recounts what he and Wilkes saw in the yard, his voice low and gruff, each word heavy with disbelief.

Wilkes is quiet, his face pale. Processing, probably.

Me too.

“What about the one that was in my room?” I ask, my voice steady despite the unease curling in my chest. “It, he, could be spreading whatever this is.”

Dax’s jaw tightens, his eyes flicking toward me. “I need to get names and numbers from Doc. We’ve got to put a lid on this before it gets worse.”

I glance at Wilkes, who walks just a step behind us, his rifle at the ready.

“I’m going to need a minute alone with Doc,” Dax adds, his tone hardening. “To get the numbers.”

The way he says it makes his meaning clear. Dax isn’t asking for cooperation. He’ll get what he needs, one way or another.

Wilkes nods, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his voice when he says, “I’ll keep an eye on Faith.”

Sincerity? From Wilkes? A guard.

“You’ll do more thankeep an eyeon her,” Dax snaps, his voice sharp.

Wilkes gives a faint, almost grudging smile. “She’ll be safe.”

I know better than to remind Dax that I just managed to kill two of those things with nothing but a knife. This isn’t the time to argue, and I understand the dynamics here. They have a hierarchy, one that needs to be maintained.

The air changes as we approach the med wing. My nose wrinkles at the sharp, acrid scent of bleach failing to mask the stench of blood and sweat.

I stumble, my foot slipping slightly on something slick. I glance down.

Blood streaks the floor, smeared like someone was dragged across it.

Dax’s grip on me tightens, steadying me.

The sounds hit me next.

Shouts.

Raised voices echoing down the halls.

The sharp, guttural scream of someone in pain.

My heart clenches.

“You got a spare?” Dax asks Wilkes, his voice tense.

Wilkes nods, but his jaw sets stubbornly. “I can’t arm her.”

“Youbetterarm her if shit’s like it was in the yard,” Dax snaps, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Wilkes hesitates, then hands over a knife instead of a gun. He glances at me. “If.”