Page 22

Dax

The ladder vibrates under my grip as I descend, my mind running at a speed I can’t fucking match. That boat is everything.

It was our ticket off this island before. Now? Now it’s a lifeline. The moment Zachs told me other sites had been compromised, that the mainland was already fucked, everything changed.

We aren’t just surviving this island anymore. We’re surviving whatever’s left beyond it.

Faith drops down first. Lands steady. Hands flexing around the gun like she’s been holding one her whole damn life. She’s pulled together, too pulled together. Her control is a sharp edge I want to smooth down, but there’s no time.

Wilkes follows, then Zachs, then Trip.

As far as I can see, nothing is moving. No silhouettes in the distance. No dragging feet. No snapping jaws.

And still, the fuckers on the boat are shouting.

“Box her,” I say.

Zachs moves out first, slipping into point. Trip and I take the sides, Wilkes holds the rear. Same setup. Same plan that’s kept her alive this long.

Then we round the corner.

Fuck me sideways.

The dock was clear when we started down. Now? It’s a goddamn bloodbath waiting to happen.

The three left on the boat are fucked. Good.

Trip flicks a look my way, a silent Wait it out? Let the dead handle it?

Then the gunfire starts. The fuckers on the boat start picking them off.

Shit.

Trip exhales like that was expected and raises his gun. I do the same.

Zombies drop. We move in.

We’re halfway to the dock when we get fucking ambushed. From the side.

The smart ones.

I’ll give those lab-coat bastards credit, the bioweapon freaks they pumped full of this shit? They know how to fucking hunt.

The first one crashes into me. The weight of it slams me sideways, claws tearing at my shirt. I brace, swing my gun up, and put a bullet through its fucking eye.

“Close,” Zachs singsongs, already cutting through two more with his knife.

Wilkes fires behind me. Trip drops another.

Faith, my fucking Faith, spins toward one lunging at her, gun raised. Shoots. Perfect. Clean. Right through the forehead.

We tighten around her. Form the wall. We are not losing her.

“Got your ass!” someone shouts.

Preston.

Son of a bitch.

The last of the zombies drop. The air still feels wrong.

Then Preston and the other two, the lapdog and the inmate, step in, their weapons pointed but not raised. Covering our backs.

A shiver crawls up my spine.

“There’s a problem with the getaway?” Wilkes asks, casual as hell.

“Yeah, some dipshit tried to hotwire it and fucked it up,” Preston says.

“Zachs, you go this?” Wilkes asks.

Zachs barely spares him a glance. “Boats?” He huffs. “Not me, boss.” His eyes flick to Faith, checking her. Then back to Wilkes.

Trip steps forward. “I’ll fix it.”

I don’t know if he can, but I like the confidence in his voice.

More importantly, so does Preston.

Trip moves toward the ignition like he knows what the hell he’s doing. Maybe he does. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Because I see it.

Preston’s eyes. The promise there.

The second that engine roars to life, we’re fucking dead.

I scan the dock. The direction we came from. No monsters. Not the dead kind.

No, all the monsters are right fucking here. In arms’ reach of my Faith.

Zachs’ gaze is ricocheting again. That flickering madness, like he’s calculating something completely insane.

I narrow my eyes at him. Not yet.

Wilkes shifts, subtly maneuvering the lapdog away from the rest of us. Creating space.

Then Preston’s attention snaps to Faith.

My trigger finger twitches.

Preston is the only one who needs to die. The other two? They’ll fold like cheap fucking chairs.

The second he realizes it, that we all know how this ends, his expression changes. He knows. He’s an asshole, not an idiot.

The lapdog moves fast. His gun swings up, barrel locking on me. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Dax.”

The inmate, his gun is on Faith.

Fucking Faith.

“Lower your weapon,” Trip says, his voice calm. Controlled. Like we aren’t a breath away from absolute war.

And then…

Everything happens at once.

Fast-forward. Slow-motion.

Gunfire.

Preston lunges.

I fire.

Faith moves.

Trip yanks at the ignition.

A scream.

Then pain.

White-hot. Burning. My shoulder yanks back.

I’m hit.

But it doesn’t register, not until I feel air.

Not until the dock vanishes.

Not until the sky is in front of me instead of above me.

Not until I realize I’m falling.

Fuck.

Cold.

The ocean swallows me whole.