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24

AUbrEY

D awn arrives with grudging reluctance, pale, weak light that gradually illuminates the horrors inside the Benson Hut. Red remains bound to the support beam, his transformation seemingly complete. The man we knew is gone, replaced by something feral and hungry that strains constantly against the ropes, blue eyes tracking our every movement. He doesn’t speak anymore, just makes grunting, growling noises.

None of us slept. How could we, with the things tapping at the windows all night and Red’s inhuman rasps filling the hut? We passed the night in tense silence, broken only by whispered discussions of what to do next, wrapping extra rope around Red for good measure.

“We can’t stay here,” Jensen says for perhaps the tenth time, pacing the small confines of the cabin like a caged animal. “We’re sitting ducks. Supplies are running low, weather radio says the weather is gonna get worse, and there’s no telling how many more of them are out there with Hank. Last night with the tapping, it could have been him, could have been a bunch of them. We don’t know.”

“We can fight them off,” Eli suggests tiredly, rubbing his hand over his face, looking in no shape to fight anyone. “We haven’t tried to kill any of them yet. We’re only assuming they’re hard to kill. They might not be.”

“Perhaps,” says Jensen, “but I also don’t want to stick around and try it out. Do you?”

“What about Red?” Cole asks, nodding toward the bound figure that once was his friend.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the group. What remains unspoken hangs in the air between us—there’s no taking Red with us, and there’s no leaving him behind like this, either.

“We can’t bring him,” I finally say, meeting Cole’s eyes. “And we can’t leave him here like this.”

Cole stares at me, understanding dawning in his eyes. “You want to put him down? Like a rabid dog?”

“That’s not Red anymore,” Jensen says quietly, moving to stand beside me. His steady presence gives me a little strength. “You know that, Cole. Whatever made him your friend is gone.”

Eli turns away, unable to look at what Red has become. “Maybe there’s a cure,” he suggests, though his tone makes it clear he doesn’t believe it. “In the movies there’s always a cure,” he adds wistfully.

“There’s no cure,” Jensen says bluntly. “We all know what needs to be done.”

“So do it, then,” Cole snarls, grief and anger warring in his expression. “Murder him in cold blood. If you’re so fucking sure.”

Jensen reaches for his gun— my gun—but I place my hand on his arm, stopping him.

“No,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

Everyone looks to me in surprise. Even Red raises his snarling face.

“You don’t have to,” Jensen says, his voice low as he shakes his head. “This isn’t on you.”

“I’m FBI,” I remind him, the admission still raw between us. “I’ve been trained for this. And…” I swallow hard, forcing myself to continue. “And I need all of you to trust me if we’re going to get out of here alive. So I’ll do it. Take one for the team. So you don’t have to.”

I don’t bother mentioning that I’ve never killed someone before. I feel that wouldn’t help the situation.

Jensen studies me for a long moment, then gives a short nod, a flicker of appreciation in his gaze. “Okay.”

He hands my gun back to me and I think he understands that I’m not giving it back after this after I kill Red.

If I kill Red. I’m going to pull the trigger.

But does that mean he’ll stay dead?

Red’s blue eyes find mine as I approach, my gun feeling heavy in my hand. For a split second, I think I see recognition there—a flicker of the man he once was, trapped inside the literal monster he’s become. Then, like a candle being snuffed, it’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, though I know he can’t understand why I have to do this. I don’t know if he understands anything at all.

I look over at the others and meet Jensen’s eyes. His mouth is clenched shut and he gives me a small nod.

Do it.

Everyone covers their ears and I take in a deep breath and ask the universe for forgiveness. I think about my father. I think about my colleagues and the tough choices they’ve faced, the lives they’ve taken. I think about how damn lucky I’ve been that I’ve never been in this situation before.

And if I don’t do something, there’s a chance that luck will run out.

I aim for the center of his forehead and my finger tightens on the trigger. The shot echoes across inside the cabin, causing the horses outside to whinny. Before he can slump, I take another shot at his heart for good measure.

Red’s body goes limp against the ropes, the unnatural light in his eyes finally extinguished. I stare at him for a few moments just to make sure. We all do.

He’s dead.

Cole turns away, shoulders rigid, making the sign of the cross over his chest. Eli murmurs something that might be a prayer. Jensen says nothing, but his hand finds my shoulder, a brief squeeze of understanding before he moves to help the others prepare for our departure.

We gather supplies, checking weapons, preparing what food remains for the journey. The practicalities of our escape occupy the next hour, all of us grateful for tasks that keep our minds from what just happened.

That is, until we have to move Red. We can’t leave him tied up in a backcountry hut that’s frequented by hikers. It could only be a matter of days before someone discovers him and this would be one big crime scene.

So we move Red outside. The morning is clear and cold, sunlight glinting off fresh snow. No sign of Hank or any other hungry ones, though the tracks around the hut tell a disturbing story—multiple sets of footprints circling the building throughout the night, some human-shaped, others distorted, as if the feet making them were no longer entirely human.

Jensen drags Red past the cabin and into the trees, ready to bury him in the snow, since the ground is too frozen to dig a grave. With any luck, predators and carrion will make quick work of him before he’s discovered.

“And if someone finds him?” Jensen questions me with a poignant stare. “With your bullet in his head?”

Fuck me.

Serves me right for being petty and using my own damn gun. They’ll be able to trace them right back to the bureau.

“I’m going to have to dig the bullets out,” I say blankly, my stomach churning. Red’s lifeless eyes stare up at nothing but the thought of having to fucking break open his head to get that bullet out is enough to make me want to puke.

“I’ll do it,” Jensen says.

My heart skips a beat. “Are you sure?” I ask warily. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

He grunts, rubbing his hand over his beard as he stares at the body. “You ain’t asking. I’m just doing. Besides, and no offense, but have you butchered any kind of animal before?”

“I’ve watched autopsies.”

“And you’re welcome to watch this one, but watching is different than doing. Besides, you’re a tough cookie, but getting through a skull takes a lot of brute force.”

I grimace at the thought but step away.

“What do you need?” Eli asks him. “What can help?”

“Hammer and a nail, I suppose,” Jensen says, peering down at Red. “As long as the nail is the size of a railroad spike.”

“We have our tent spikes,” Eli says. “Will that hold?”

“Can’t believe you’re fucking talking about this,” Cole mutters, his face looking as queasy as mine.

“If it doesn’t I’ll just have to bludgeon the head until there’s nothing left. Either way, will get the bullet out,” Jensen remarks. “Get my axe too.”

So Eli gets a hammer and tent spikes from the gear, Cole, despite his reservations, gets the axe for backup.

And I turn away, because this isn’t an autopsy by any means, and go back inside the cabin. I can hear Jensen grunting outside, the sound of someone vomiting, and the even grosser sound of bone breaking and squelching brain matter. I concentrate on cleaning the hut, scrubbing away every single sign that anything happened here. Thankfully this is where my training is really coming in handy, though I’d never thought I’d be on the other side of things.

Eventually the cabin door opens and Eli appears, blood splattered on his shirt.

“It’s done,” he says, his face ghostly white. “Time to go.”

I do a once over in the hut, confident that there’s no evidence left, and follow Eli outside and over to the horses to try and borrow some of their energy, though they seem as anxious as I am.

Three horses remain—Jeopardy, Hank’s gelding Storm, and Cole’s paint Harry. The others, including Duke, bolted during the chaos last night. My heart aches at the thought of Duke alone in these mountains, potentially prey for the hungry ones. I’d grown ridiculously fond of him and can only hope that he and the others ran all the way back to the ranch, if not just out of these cursed mountains.

“Duke will be okay,” Eli says, seeming to read my thoughts as we step outside to check the remaining horses.

“I hope so,” I say. “I just hate the thought of him out there, afraid.”

“Horses are smarter than people give them credit for. If Duke bolted, it was because his instincts told him to run. That’s probably what saved him.”

It’s small comfort, but I appreciate the attempt. Eli has been the least openly hostile since they found out my secret, perhaps because he’d already suspected something wasn’t quite what it seemed with me.

“So who do I ride if Duke is gone?” I ask, glancing at the three horses.

“You’ll double up with me on Jeopardy,” Jensen says. “He’s the strongest. Can handle two riders better than the others.”

The idea of pressing against Jensen for hours of riding, after everything that’s happened between us, sends a complicated flutter through my stomach. Anger, yes, and something entirely inappropriate, given the situation. I mean, I just fucking killed a guy. A zombie, sure, but he was a guy. And suddenly I have butterflies over a man I’ve already slept with.

One that was keeping secrets from you, don’t you forget , I remind myself.

“Fine,” I say shortly, gathering my pack. Whatever personal discomfort I might feel is irrelevant in the face of our survival.

Compartmentalize, compartmentalize, compartmentalize.

Then Jensen walks over to me, something in his fist and holds it out over mine.

I open my palm expectantly and he drops two bullets in them, one from Red’s head, the other from his chest.

“Cleaned them off in the snow. Might wanna hold onto those.”

I close my hand over them, the metal cold, the guilt sinking in deep.

So much for compartmentalizing.

“Let’s ride out,” Jensen then announces.

Mounting up proves awkward. Jensen swings into Jeopardy’s saddle first, then extends a hand to help me up behind him. I hesitate only a moment before taking it, allowing him to pull me onto the horse’s back. The saddle isn’t designed for two, forcing me to sit pressed closely against Jensen’s back, my arms draped loosely—and awkwardly—around his middle.

“You’ll need to hold on tighter than that, Blondie,” he says gruffly. “Unless you want to fall off.”

Reluctantly, I wrap my arms around his waist tighter, feeling the solid warmth of him through his jacket. It’s distressingly intimate, especially given the tension still simmering between us. But he’s right—there’s no other way to stay secure on Jeopardy’s back over rough terrain.

We set out in silence, Jensen leading, then Eli on Storm, and Cole bringing up the rear on Harry. The morning air is crisp and clear, our breath forming white clouds that dissipate quickly in the sunlight.

But the beauty of our surroundings is the last thing on my mind as we pick our way carefully along the trail. The weight of what I just did—ending Red’s life—sits heavy in my chest, another burden to carry. Though I’m sure Jensen isn’t feeling too dissimilar. I may have killed Red so he didn’t have to, but he just had to bash Red’s skull in so that I didn’t have to retrieve the bullet.

Maybe we’re even now.

For the first half hour, our progress is slow but steady. With all of our gear and only three mounts, the horses are weighed down with all our stuff, and they move cautiously through the snow, picking their way along the trail Jensen has chosen. If we went north, back the way we came, it would take too long to reach the ranch, so we’re heading a little south towards a trail that is supposedly passable even in the highest snowdrifts, which should have us shaving a day’s worth of riding. It feels wrong to be heading in the opposite direction, but I have no choice but to trust him.

We skirt the edge of a ridge, the terrain opening up, offering views of the valley below. In the far distance to our left, I can make out buildings dotting the mountainside like miniature toys.

“Where is that?” I ask.

“Olympic Valley,” he says. “Couple of days ride. Looks close but the ranch is quicker.”

“How much longer?”

“Four hours, maybe five if the snow slows us down,” he replies, voice clipped. “Assuming nothing else delays us.”

The unspoken threat hangs in the air. We both know what—who—might be out there, watching, waiting.

“You said we have nothing to worry about in the daytime,” I remind him.

“I say a lot of things I hope are true,” is his answer.

Great.

Eli suddenly calls out from behind us, his voice sharp with alarm. “Jensen! Something’s here!”

I twist in the saddle to look back just as Storm rears, nearly unseating Eli. He fights to control the panicked horse, but Storm bolts off the trail, plunging into the deeper snow among the trees.

“Eli!” Jensen shouts, already turning Jeopardy around and I’m hanging on for dear life.

Before we can reach him, Storm stumbles in the drift, losing his footing on the steep slope. Horse and rider go down in a tangle of limbs and snow. I hear Eli cry out in pain as they tumble, then Storm springs up, rising out of the snow with a panicked snort, and gallops off the way we came, seemingly unhurt.

Jensen is off Jeopardy in an instant, leaving me clutching the saddle to keep from falling. He sprints toward where Eli disappeared, holding his rifle as he runs. Cole dismounts and is right behind him, both men shouting Eli’s name as they run to him.

I slide awkwardly from Jeopardy’s back, my boots sinking into snow up to my knees. By the time I’ve gained my footing, a movement catches the corner of my eye.

A figure moving with unnatural speed.

Hank. Or what used to be Hank.

Running toward Eli with a snarl.

“Jensen watch out!” I scream.

But Jensen already sees him. The rifle is raised but Hank reaches Eli first, claws sinking into his shoulder. Eli’s scream cuts through the morning air as blood sprays across pristine snow and they both tumble down into the snow, obscured for a moment.

Jensen manages to pull the trigger as he runs, the bullet going straight through Hank’s head, causing him to fall back into the snow. A good fucking shot.

Cole reaches Eli, dragging him away while Jensen keeps the rifle aimed at a motionless Hank.

“Aubrey, get back on!” Jensen yells at me. “I’m out of bullets.”

I turn back to Jeopardy, who shuffles uneasily in the snow. Cole half-carries, half-drags Eli toward me, the latter’s face pale with shock, blood pulsing from the wound in his shoulder.

“Get him up,” Jensen orders Cole. “Aubrey, ride till you see a sign for Tinker Knob then head left down the ravine. Follow it until you come to a road, find any help for him you can.”

“What about you!?” I cry out as I shuffle back in the saddle, Cole heaving Eli’s writhing body up between me and Jeopardy’s withers. Blood pours from the wound, saturating the white streaks in the horse’s mane.

“We’ll catch up,” Jensen says, holding his hand out as he stares at Hank’s body, still unmoving in the snow. “Cole, bring me my axe. We’ll have to take off his head. I don’t think a bullet is going to stop him the way it stopped Red.”

“Jensen!” I protest, but Cole is already grabbing the axe from the pack at the back of Jeopardy and running back to Jensen.

Eli is slumping against me, consciousness fading, staring up at me with absolute fear in his eyes. I have no choice. I don’t want to leave Jensen but I don’t want Eli to die on my watch. I can’t be responsible for another death.

I hold Eli tight and urge Jeopardy forward, away from the struggle behind us. He responds immediately, seemingly understanding the urgency, breaking into a canter that carries us quickly through the snow and away from the scene.

I glance back once to see Jensen taking the axe from Cole, both of them standing over Hank. Then a bend in the trail cuts off my view, leaving me alone with an injured Eli, with no idea if Jensen and Cole are going to be okay.

For a terrifying moment, I consider turning back. The thought of Jensen facing Hank alone makes my chest tight with fear. But Eli is bleeding heavily, his body a deadweight against mine. He needs medical attention, and soon.

I focus on keeping Jeopardy at a sustainable pace, one that won’t exhaust him but will put distance between us and danger and would allow Jensen and Cole to catch up. Eli drifts in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherently when awake, his blood soaking through my jacket where he leans against me. I keep having to make adjustments so he doesn’t fall off the horse.

“Stay with me, Eli,” I urge him, unsure if he can even hear me. “Just a little longer.”

Which is another lie, because Jensen said it was another four hours at least.

How the hell are we going to survive this?

The trail winds through stands of pine, occasionally opening to offer glimpses of the terrain ahead. I keep Jeopardy pointed south, toward the faraway valley of Olympic Village, hoping I’m reading the landscape correctly, that I’m taking us toward help rather than deeper into danger.

Suddenly I spot movement among the trees ahead. Jeopardy senses it too, ears pricking forward, steps faltering.

I rein him in, scanning the forest with growing dread. There—a flash of movement between pines. And there—another, off to the left. Multiple figures moving parallel to the trail, keeping pace with us through the trees.

Not approaching. Not fleeing.

Following.

“Shit,” I mutter, nudging Jeopardy forward again. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Whatever’s out there, stopping is not an option. Not with Eli barely conscious and bleeding out against me.

I reach for my gun, keeping it at the ready, trying to calculate how many bullets I have left after using two.

The shadows among the trees keep pace easily, occasionally visible through gaps in the forest. I count at least three distinct figures, moving with an unnatural fluidity through the snow. Too fast for normal humans struggling through knee-deep drifts.

Feral people.

Hungry ones.

Oh god.

A branch cracks sharply to my right, startlingly close. Jeopardy snorts in alarm, shying sideways, nearly unseating me and Eli. I fight to control him, heart hammering against my ribs, and grip the gun tighter as I aim it around me.

“Easy,” I murmur, though my own panic threatens to overwhelm me. “Easy, boy.”

Another crack, this time to the left. Then another ahead.

They’re surrounding us.

Jeopardy balks, refusing to go forward, his entire body trembling beneath me. I can’t blame him. I’m trembling too, every instinct inside me screams danger, predator, run.

Run, run, run.

A figure suddenly steps onto the trail ahead.

A man…or what used to be a man.

Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the tattered remains of what might have been hiking gear. His skin has a purplish waxy pallor, eyes the same unnatural blue. He stands perfectly still, watching us with predatory focus, though his neck looks broken, head on an angle.

He looks dead.

Which means my bullet might not make much of a difference.

Still I aim the gun at his head, just as more figures emerge from the trees on either side. Five, six, seven of them now, forming a loose circle around us. All with those same blue eyes, those same too-sharp teeth visible when their lips pull back in hunger-driven anticipation.

We’re trapped.

And I don’t have enough bullets for them all.

“Aubrey!”

The voice cuts through my panic like a lifeline. Jensen and Cole trot out from the trees behind us, both of them riding on Harry. Jensen has his rifle in one hand, axe in the other. Cole has his pistol drawn, both men breathing hard, covered in blood, though they seem otherwise fine.

Relief floods through me, so intense it nearly brings tears to my eyes.

They’re alive. They made it.

And they have ammo.

“I only have six rounds in the mag,” I tell him.

“Then you should know that shooting them won’t do any good,” Jensen says, advancing carefully toward us, eyes on the hungry ones surrounding us.

“It worked on Red.”

“Didn’t work on Hank,” Cole says grimly, and that’s when I noticed the blood and gore on Jensen’s axe. “Bullets didn’t keep him down. Only removing his head did.”

Oh, fuck.

“I think they’re herding us,” Jensen adds. “They showed up after we took care of Hank.”

“What do you mean herding us?” I say, keeping my voice low despite the panic bubbling in my chest.

“They’re smarter than they look,” Jensen explains, finally reaching Jeopardy’s side, the two horses snorting at each other. “They’re not trying to attack.”

“Oh, well did they know that Hank didn’t get the memo?”

Jensen grimaces. “They’re driving us in a specific direction.”

“Where?” I ask, glancing nervously at the silent watchers still surrounding us.

Jensen’s expression darkens. “I think the caves,” he says. “Where I lost Lainey and Adam. They’re driving us back to their territory.”

“For what purpose?” I whisper, acutely aware of Eli’s deadweight against me, of how vulnerable we are out here in the open.

Do they have…plans for us?

Jensen’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment all the anger between us is forgotten, replaced by the simple, desperate need to survive. To protect each other from the horror surrounding us.

“I have no idea,” he says grimly. “But even if we could take them out momentarily with the bullets, all together we don’t have enough, not when we don’t know how many there are. Shooting might spur them to attack and they have the advantage right now, not us. I think we should play along. Look for an opening. And hope to god we can take it.”

I nod, understanding the unspoken truth beneath his words. These hungry ones could take us at any time. Their restraint isn’t mercy—it’s calculation. They want us alive for now, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom.

And I’m not sure which is more terrifying—the thought of being torn apart by monsters, or the thought of what they might have planned instead.