Page 67 of Faith Among Monsters

Dax’s arm shoots out in front of me, bringing me to a sudden stop. “Low,” he orders.

Everyone drops.

Zachs, who’d been at point, flattens and crawls forward on his elbows, his usual smirk nowhere to be found.

It’s not the zombies we’re worried about.

It’s the people.

That realization chills me to my core.

Because if the monsters aren’t the biggest threat right now, then what the fuck are we about to walk into?

Zachs crawls back, his grin a little too easy for someone who just scouted a death trap. “This is gonna be a real dance,” he says, dusting off his hands. “Brass tacks are heavy on the ground.”

Dax shifts closer, his body heat steady against my side.

Zachs wipes a smear of dirt across his cheek. “Looks like we got three pure brass. Real skeezy. Klaus and Preston are down there.”

Wilkes exhales, sharp and pissed. “Fucking Klaus. He’ll kill Dax if we stroll up, even if we help him clear zombies and pack his boat.” He lets out a humorless chuckle. “Preston’s there too. He’ll kill Dax first chance he gets. Then Trip. Then probably,” He flicks his gaze to Zachs. “Hell, maybe you first, considering you dumped his coffee all over his desk.”

Zachs shrugs. “It spilled.”

Dax’s fingers flex against his knee like he’s already preparing for the worst. “How many total?”

“Three brass, plus a few lapdog guards and some real boot-licker inmates,” Zachs says, stretching his neck like he’s getting ready for a morning jog. “Should be able to pop the brass first. The rest’ll either scatter or fall in line.”

“Everyone get behind the fucking door,” Dax orders.

We all crawl, gravel biting into my palms and knees as we move. All of us, except Zachs.

My heart stutters.

I whip my head toward Dax, my stomach in knots. “What if they have a rifle and scope?” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I want to shout for Zachs to drag his crazy ass back here so we can make a plan that isn’t total shit. “They’ll shoot him.”

Dax grabs my wrist and pulls me into his lap, positioning me between his legs with my back against the door. His arms cage me in, protective, steady. “Zachs is the luckiest bastard to ever step foot on this rock.”

I want to believe him, but luck isn’t bulletproof.

Then—

A soft pop.

Another.

Another.

Another.

Faster than any bolt-action rifle should be able to fire. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he had an automatic, but no, he’s just that fast.

Silence.

I can’t breathe.

I don’t hear gravel shifting, no sign of Zachs retreating. My pulse is hammering, panic clawing its way up my throat. I turn to Dax, begging for reassurance.

His smile melts me. Slow. Confident. Prideful.