Page 18

Dax

I stare at the monitors, flicking from one screen to the next. Things have gone from bad to fucking dire in a matter of hours.

The sun is rising. And now we can see it. The island isn’t ours anymore.

It belongs to the dead.

Faith stands at my side, where she’s staying.

Every time I walk away from her, shit goes sideways. Ain’t happening again.

Trip taps a finger against one of the screens, his mouth twisting. “Small group in the chow hall, holed up in the pantry. Looks like inmates.”

“That’s five groups,” Wilkes mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Counting the ones still in solitary.”

Four groups we need to get to.

I scan the faces in the room. We don’t have enough hands. We all know it. No one says it.

I look back at the screens. Zombies lumber across every camera feed, but they aren’t mindless. They gather near people, move toward them.

They’re hunting.

“Faith, Wilkes, Trip, Zachs,” I say, weighing our odds.

They are the only people in the room, hell, on the whole island I half trust. “We’re down to about thirty.

Split into groups of five or six, all armed to the teeth.

” Against hundreds. Maybe more. “Silencers only. We take out as many as we can, get to the survivors, and fall back to either solitary or the block.”

Zachs tosses a box of walkies onto the table. “Got about ten.”

I nod. “Us five first. The rest, I don’t give a shit who.”

The remaining guards scramble for the spares. It won’t be enough.

I weigh our options.

Group One – The big one. Nearly twenty people.

No way to move them quietly. Already attracting a horde.

Getting them out will be a full-scale battle.

Group Two – The pinned inmates. Trapped in close quarters.

Surrounded. A bloodbath just to reach them.

Group Three – The guards. Stranded on top of the cabana in the yard.

Armed, but completely fucking useless. Group Four – The ones on the dock.

More guards. Made a run for the warden’s boat.

If they get it working, they’ll abandon the island. If they can’t, they’re sitting ducks.

I don’t like any of these options.

Then Faith slips her hand into mine.

Grounding.

I should lock her in a cell. Safe. Done. No question.

But not with guards I don’t trust still having keys on their belts. Not after Sinclair.

My jaw flexes as I study the screens, balancing survival against the one thing I won’t lose.

I exhale. “We’re taking the fucking dock.”

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.

Easy. Too easy.

The sound draws more.

Two. Three. More heads snap in our direction.

Wilkes sighs, checking his silencer. “Here we fucking go.”

Faith pulls her gun. Good girl.

Zachs grins. “Well, boys and girl… let’s get our hands dirty.”

Soft pops fill the air. Shots are true.

And then, just like that, the clear path turns into a nightmare.

I zero in on the closest group, gun steady, aim clean. Gravel crunches behind us. More coming from the rear.

Pops. Another grunt.

My focus splinters.

Zombies. Faith.

Faith is in control, her movements sharp, practiced. Her gun tracks her target, her hands don’t shake. She’s handling herself.

Good.

I snap my attention back to the horde.

Something feels wrong. They aren’t just lurching toward us. They’re… “Fucking boxing us in.”

They’re thinking. A cold weight settles in my chest. What the fuck were they making?

I fire. One. Another. Drop two fast.

Bioweapons. Doc fucking told me. I just didn’t want to believe it.

Thinking zombies.

Trip snarls, taking down two with clean headshots. “They’re cutting the angles.”

We’re getting surrounded.

“Move, roof side!” I snap, snatching Faith’s arm.

We stay tight, backing toward the nearest escape ladder. It’s the only high ground.

Zachs whirls behind us, pivoting fast, gun in one hand, blade in the other. He’s not running. He’s clearing the path.

I hear pops, a grunt, then the wet crunch of a skull caving in.

Fearless bastard.

“Cover us!” Zachs shouts, then moves.

Before I can stop him, he grabs Faith and pulls her away.

She goes with him.

I fire, spraying the encroaching zombies, keeping them off her as she runs at his side.

Zachs moves fast, ruthless. No hesitation. “Up, darlin’,” I hear him say.

She goes first.

Trip and Wilkes close in beside me.

We hold the line.

Metal grinds.

I glance back. Faith is climbing. The stairs groan under her weight, looking as unreliable as the guards who built them.

Fuck, she fell from stairs to a zombie last night.

Brave. So fucking brave.

“Let her get all the way up. They won’t hold you both,” I bark.

“The fuck you think I’m doin’?” Zachs mutters, plunging his knife into a zombie’s skull.

The four of us are pinned at the base of the stairs. Zombies keep coming. We’re running out of ground.

“Wilkes next,” I decide. He’s lightest. Fastest.

“Up!” Faith shouts from above.

I flick my gaze up for a split second. She’s already kneeling, gun aimed past us.

She’s fucking breathtaking.

“Stop pissin’ around, Wilkes,” Zachs says.

Not that Wilkes needs to be told. He’s already halfway up the stairs like he’s got suction cups for hands.

“Trip, you’re next,” I say.

Trip doesn’t move. Just reloads. He gives me a slow, steady shake of his head. Not happening. Not a debate.

“Zachs, go,” I snap.

Faith’s cover from above is helping, picking off zombies before they get too close. Doesn’t mean we aren’t still drowning.

“Doc said they’re bioweapons,” I say to Trip. He’s the least likely to panic. He’ll process it for exactly what it is, a problem to be solved.

The second I say it, I see the understanding click behind his eyes.

I exhale. “They boxed us in. They’re…”

“What? Learning?” Trip grunts.

I don’t answer. We may be totally fucked.

Trip nods like I just told him the weather report. “We’ll be fine. Get up the ladder.”

We may be fine. The ladder isn’t fine. It’s hanging at a brutal angle as Zachs pulls himself onto the roof.

“Son of a bitch,” Zachs shouts down. “Y’all wanna hurry the fuck up.”

I glance at Trip, whatever’s up there has Faith looking horrified. And Zachs’ tone feels more like a warning.

“Up, son,” Trip says, giving me the kind of no-bullshit look a man gives when he knows he’s about to do something reckless.

I grab the railing. Start to climb.

That’s when the metal wails, echoing through the yard loud enough to call every dead thing on this fucking island.

Shit.

Zachs and Wilkes lunge forward, grabbing the stairs.

I move, fast, hard, climbing like a beast.

Trip turns, eyes locked on the building behind us. The doors. The open fucking doors.

We’re at an unrestricted building. Nothing keeping them out. Them or us.

He glances at me, casual as hell. “Meet you up there?”

I’m half up, half down. “Fuck this.” I’m not falling to my death and leaving Faith alone with these… I snarl, and jump down.