Page 20

Dax

I can’t see straight as Trip and I push through the open doors. My head is too full of Faith, of Zachs’ weird-ass tone. He doesn’t rattle. If he couldn’t say outright that the roof was secure, it wasn’t fucking zombies he was worried about.

Inside, the lights flicker, stuttering against the blood-slick floor. Bodies are piled up, twisted wrong, some still twitching, some not. The stink of death is thick.

I shove the doors shut behind us, and slide the bolt into place, the soft click too damn loud in the silence. “Locking us in.”

Trip doesn’t question it. He knows. We’re sitting ducks if too many of those things swarm in behind us. Best to take the fight to the ones already inside. Neither of us wants to find out if these things can think enough to unlock doors.

We move fast, clearing the space as we go. If it doesn’t have a hole in its head, it gets one. Knife, boot, bullet, whatever it takes. No hesitation. No second chances. Trip works like I do, quiet, efficient. No wasted movement.

Gunfire snaps through the air, deeper in the building.

I freeze, blood like ice. That wasn’t outside. That was here.

Trip’s head tilts, listening.

Not Faith.

If it had been the roof, we’d already have heard Zachs running his mouth over the radio.

Another shot. Then another.

There are men here. Armed ones. No telling who’s shooting, or what the hell they’re aiming at.

“Trip.” I say it low, just enough to pull his attention.

He exhales, a short, quiet sound of acknowledgment.

We don’t separate. We’re not idiots.

Still, my gut is clawing at me. Faith is waiting. Faith is up there.

I shove it down.

“Let’s check it out.”

Trip nods once.

We turn from the stairs and move toward the gunfire.

As we move through the halls, everything is eerily still.

Too still. Every step feels like we’re walking deeper into something we won’t come back from.

I tighten my grip on my gun, moving on instinct, and take out anything that twitches.

The last thing we need is one of these fuckers getting back up behind us while we’re busy dealing with whatever fresh hell is waiting ahead.

The gunfire grows louder, echoing through the corridors, drawing us forward. Then we see it, a bottleneck of zombies swarming a door.

Shit.

Whoever’s inside better have the damn sense to back up when they hear the shots. I lift a hand, signaling to Trip. We’re close enough. The gunfire inside isn’t stopping, but we don’t have time to wait. I draw my pistol, glancing at Trip.

His jaw clenches. He nods.

We fire. Silent. Precise. Headshots only.

The silenced rounds cut through them, but the horde doesn’t turn toward us.

Whatever is inside that room is holding their attention, and that works to our advantage.

We move fast, taking them down one by one.

The bodies pile up, forming a blockade of the dead.

When the numbers dwindle, I take the chance.

“Who we got?” I shout.

One of the remaining zombies turns toward the sound of my voice. A shot rings out, and it drops.

“That you, Dax?” A familiar, gravel-rough voice carries from the other side of the door.

“Yeah,” I answer, eyes still scanning for movement. “Who we got?”

Trip fires at a straggler lumbering toward us.

“Jinx,” the voice says.

Shit. Jinx of all fucking people.

I eye the stacked bodies. Some are still twitching, others leaking out the last of whatever made them human. I don’t particularly want to dig him out.

“You alone?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

Jinx coughs, rough and wet. “Yeah. Sampson and his goon left me.”

Trip and I exchange a look.

We don’t have time for this.

Sampson’s with Faith.

Fuck.

Sampson isn’t someone to fuck with. He’d kill her just to piss me off.

“Sampson’s with Faith,” I say, already moving. I don’t have the patience for Jinx’s usual bullshit. “Trip—”

Trip doesn’t hesitate. He yanks a body aside and tosses it.

I join him, working just as fast. Once we’ve moved enough of them, Jinx crawls his lanky ass over the pile. He looks more strung-out than usual, eyes darting, fingers twitching.

“I was almost out of ammo,” he says. “Found this on a dead one.”

He holds up a gun.

I don’t trust him. No fucking way.

I take it from him without a word and slip it in my waistband. “You’re not taking that.”

His mouth opens like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

“We’re going after Sampson,” I say. “Once we clear the roof, you stay put.”

Jinx nods. He won’t fight me on that, not when he knows it means he doesn’t have to be out here with whatever the fuck the doc turned these things into.

Faith is up there. And Sampson is with her.

I roll my shoulders, grip tightening around my gun.

I don’t give a fuck how many things I have to kill. I’m getting to her.

We move fast, retracing our steps through the halls we cleared. Nothing stirs. Anything that had twitched on our way in has long since gone still. Trip and I made sure of that.

Jinx stays too close, his breathing ragged, footsteps uneven, making more noise than a fucking motorcycle engine. He’s jittery, nerves shot to hell. I don’t know if it’s the situation or whatever he’s been riding in his bloodstream for the last decade, but I don’t care.

The moment we reach a corridor we hadn’t passed through before, I tense.

The air is thick with rot, the chemical stink of gunpowder, and the sharp, metallic tang of blood.

It’s darker here, the overhead fluorescents flickering like dying fireflies.

If anything is still hungry and lurking, Jinx is practically ringing the dinner bell.

“Move fast,” I say, but it’s meant for Trip, not Jinx. Trip gets it. We don’t have time for slow and careful, not with this fucker fumbling behind us like he’s never moved in a straight line before.

Faith. Sampson. That’s all that matters.

We race through the corridor. No moving bodies. Good. Probably means anything mobile already ran for the noise at Jinx’s door. I stab a corpse on the floor, just to be sure. Quick. Efficient. Move on.

Trip works the same way, our knives slicing down without hesitation. We’re at the stairs in no time.

The door to the stairwell is open.

“We’ve got hostile fire on the roof. Possible inside with you,” Wilkes’ voice crackles over the walkie.

I barely get mine out before movement in the stairwell catches my attention.

Then, bang. The front doors burst open.

Three guards come barreling in, wild-eyed, covered in sweat. Two more stumble behind them, the useless cowards we sent a team to pull off the cabana. Rescuers and rescues. All for nothing. I figured as much.

“Close the door, dipshit!” I snap.

One of them slams it, but it doesn’t latch.

Trip and I are already on it, shoving our weight against the steel. The others catch on, pressing in. A second later, something hits the other side, hard. The impact rattles up my arms.

Then another hit. Another.

The snarls are inhuman. They know we’re in here now.

The door bows, groaning under the pressure. This isn’t going to hold.

“We’re going up and out,” I say, my voice sharp, leaving no room for debate. My gaze flicks over the guards, cataloging which ones are worth a damn. None of them.

Not surprising. They didn’t even follow the shoot-on-sight order on me. Useless. All of them.

Then my eyes land on Quince.

Of course, that bastard is still breathing. The universe has a sick fucking sense of humor.

But I don’t have time to deal with him. Not now.

The second we start up the stairs, I hear it, movement above us. Shifting. Rushing. The sound of bodies scrambling, a scuffle. Faith.

I push harder, taking the stairs two, three at a time, heart hammering. Then, silenced shots.

“Shit,” I growl. “Hey! Over here!”

I want the things turning for me. I’d rather fight them in this narrow stairwell than let them reach Faith on the roof.

More shots. Fewer sounds.

I move faster. My legs burn, but I don’t stop. Trip is right behind me, steady as ever. The others struggle to keep up, but they don’t matter. Not to me.

We hit the last landing. The door is cracked open, the metal vibrating like something heavy slammed against it. It took too fucking long to get here.

Bodies.

Too many bodies.

I scan them, frantic. No Faith. No Wilkes. No Zachs. No fucking Sampson.

I step over a fresh corpse, eyes locking on the guard’s uniform. Still warm. Not Faith. Not her.

Movement.

I snap my gun up, ready to fire.

Then I see her.

Other roof. Standing. Alive.

Blood.

The whole world tilts.

She’s covered in it.

I can’t think. My pulse slams through me like a war drum. Is it hers? Is she hurt?

I don’t remember moving, but suddenly I’m running.

Trip is still on my ass.

“Faith!” My voice is raw, half-relief, half-rage.

The catwalk sways under me as I take it in long, ground-eating strides.

She’s running toward me now. “Dax!”

The second I make it to the roof, I grab her, pulling her against me like I need to feel her breathing to believe she’s still standing. She’s so fucking small, but she’s solid. Warm. Whole.

Then I see it up close.

Blood. Too much fucking blood.

I grip her tighter, my hands moving over her arms, her waist, searching. If she’s hit, if she’s hiding it from me, I’ll fucking lose it. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m not.” Her voice is steady, like she’s reassuring a wounded animal. “It’s not my blood.”

I stare at her, at the red streaked across her skin, her clothes. I feel it, tacky and warm, smearing under my fingertips.

Not hers.

Fuck.

I tip my forehead against hers, dragging in air like I can pull her into me. “Every time I leave you.” I can’t even finish. I turn to Zachs and Wilkes. My pulse is still hammering. They let her get bloody. “You let her get bloody.”

Faith exhales, exasperated. “It’s not my blood.”

Zachs grins, easy and sharp, like this is all some big fucking joke. “She’s savage.” But as the guards behind us finally start closing in, something shifts. He smooths a hand over his jaw and laughs. “I call seconds, when you’ve had your fill of her.”

I go rigid.

I know what he’s doing. Playing his part, keeping the guards from getting suspicious. Doesn’t mean I like hearing that shit. I pull Faith closer, tight enough to remind everyone watching who the fuck she belongs to. “Fuck around and find out.” My voice is low, dangerous.

Zachs smirks but doesn’t push it. Wilkes doesn’t say a damn thing, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes.

I don’t like this. We’re outnumbered.

Trip and I stand alone with only Jinx, a tweaked-out wildcard, as backup.

Not great odds.

I turn to Quince. “We’re going to pull some fuckwits off the back dock,” I tell him, voice flat. “Take everyone to solitary. It’s already locked down. Stay to the roofs, clear as much as you can along the way. You won’t have to fight your way in when you hit the ground.”

He doesn’t argue.

The others? They hesitate. Tension tightens the air like a tripwire. No one speaks up, but I catch it, the flick of eyes, the way shoulders stiffen, the way fingers tighten around weapons. They don’t trust this arrangement. Don’t trust me.

They’re right not to.

The inmates still outnumber the guards. For now. But if we start losing men, if the scales tip back in their favor, we’re fucked. They’re not stupid. They know it, too.

We split up.

As soon as it’s just us, my people, my circle, my problem children, Zachs gives me the full fucking rundown of what happened on the roof.

In detail.

“Threw Sampson off the edge,” Zachs says, grinning like it’s his favorite memory. “Figured he deserved to get chewed on slow. If he’s still shambling when we come back, I’ll finish the job.”

I exhale, slow and sharp. “I told you to keep her safe.”

Wilkes lets out a long, exhausted breath like he’s been holding it in.

Faith doesn’t even blink.

“She tossed Wilkes off her like he was a fuckin’ housefly,” Zachs continues, his smirk widening. “Didn’t need us. Lured the sniper in, slit his throat, real pretty. Messy, though. That’s why she’s covered in blood.”

I look at her. She’s watching me. Calm. Challenging.

She knows.

Knows what I’m thinking. Knows exactly how close I am to bending her over my knee and teaching her what reckless gets her.

Later.

She cocks her head like she knows that too. Like she doesn’t give a shit how angry I am.

And just like that, it fucking melts.

I’d never lay a hand on her. Not unless she begged me to.

We move, leaping from roof to roof, clearing our path, securing doors, taking shots when needed. Every movement is calculated. Every second counts.

Faith is at my side. Where she’s staying.

No more leaving her behind.

No more fucking close calls.