Page 54 of Faith Among Monsters

Wilkes frowns. “Dax, those assholes ran. You think they’ll fight with us?”

“Not once we get them out of the shit.” I think they’ll turn on us.

Wilkes catches the look in my eye and mutters, “Shit.”

Zachs grins, already liking where this is going. “Well. That’ll be fun.”

Faith squeezes my hand, her pulse quick against my palm. “They’re going to screw us over, aren’t they?”

I smirk, a sharp, humorless thing. “They’ll regret it.”

The path ahead looks like the best bet, clear enough, no major clusters of the dead in sight. But that’s not the deciding factor.

This isn’t about me. It’s about that fucking boat. And it’s about Faith.

Those cowards at the dock don’t get to ride away and leave her here to die.

We only linger in the armory long enough to make sure the other groups understand the plan. Do I expect to see them all again? Hell no.

I’ll be shocked if we end up with a dozen left standing.

The dead outnumber us. And most of the survivors are dead weight. Doc gave the shots to the most ruthless which is going to work against us now. The zombies might just win.

I grind my teeth.

That can’t fucking happen.

I’m getting Faith out of here, even if it means locking ourselves in a cell and waiting for the next ferry.

As we move toward the exit, it hits me differently this time.

I’ve walked into firefights, riots, ambushes. Never once hesitated. But now? I want to take her and go.

If something happens to me, who keeps her safe? I exhale sharply. Not the time for that.

“All three of you,” I say, voice low. “When shit gets sticky, and it will, priorities are…” I flick my gaze to Faith.

I don’t need to finish the sentence.

Wilkes nods once. Trip grunts. Zachs smirks, but doesn’t argue.

“Then the boat.” My jaw tightens. “Those bastards don’t leave with that boat.”

I push the door open. The daylight is sharp and angry.

But so the fuck am I.

Trip, Zachs, and Wilkes file out, keeping Faith sandwiched between us.

If she notices we’re boxing her in, she doesn’t complain.

We don’t get twenty feet before the first of them spots us.

It’s not a real threat, legs mangled, dragging itself toward us. Pathetic.

I let Zachs handle it. He enjoys killing.

He slips out of formation, twirling his knife between his fingers like this is just another day. The blade flashes, then buries deep in the thing’s skull. A sharp jerk, and it crumples.