Page 2

AUTUMN

T he bullet misses me by inches.

It slams into the lamp post behind me with a crack that explodes through my skull like a physical blow. I drop low on instinct, my body reacting before my mind catches up. My chest locks tight, my lungs freeze in place, and my heartbeat punches through my ribs. No time to find the shooter. I run.

My hip clips the trunk of a rusted car when I whip around the corner. Pain blooms sharp and hot, but it’s nothing compared to what a bullet would do. I don’t slow down.

This part of the city is a labyrinth with narrow alleys, broken buildings, and shattered concrete creating a maze of decay, but I know how to move through the chaos.

I know how to vanish. I’ve been slipping through the shadows since the day they took her from me.

All I need to do is keep moving, keep running, and I won’t have to stop and fight. I can outlast whatever’s hunting me.

Another shot rings out behind me, wide again. They’re either sloppy or inexperienced. Doesn’t matter which. One lucky hit is all it takes. Still, the persistence tells me something important: I’m getting closer to finding her.

I round another corner and skid to a halt when I hear the unmistakable chorus of groans punctuated by the wet sound of bones dragging and feet scraping against pavement.

Shit. I’ve traded one problem for another.

A cluster of rotters stumbles out from behind a wrecked bus, their broken bodies jerking at the sound of my boots.

One’s missing an arm, with ragged flesh hanging from the socket.

Another’s jaw dangles sideways, held together by strips of gray skin.

They’re slow, but their milky eyes burn with that endless, insatiable hunger.

Panic spikes through me like ice water in my veins.

The tightness I’ve been fighting claws up my throat, making each breath shallower than the last. My airway clamps down.

Panic rises, sharp and suffocating, until each breath is a fight I’m losing.

My chances against bullets are better than facing rotters in the cramped streets of the city. I need to get somewhere safe. Now.

I spin around and bolt in the opposite direction, the wrecked pavement blurring beneath my feet.

My sense of direction vanishes, replaced by pure survival instinct, and I no longer have any idea where I am.

I round the next corner at full speed and slam hard into something solid.

A wall. No, not a wall. It’s warmer than that, and breathing. Walls don’t breathe.

The impact knocks the air from my lungs and I stagger back, dizzy and gasping for air. Strong hands catch me before I can fall.

“Hey, easy,” a low voice says. It’s unfamiliar and rough. The hands help balance me before pulling me against a broad chest.

Still fighting for breath, I look up into eyes so dark they’re like staring into twin abysses.

He’s impossibly calm for someone surrounded by death and danger.

His presence is simultaneously alarming and oddly reassuring.

“You’re either my guardian angel or the grim reaper.

Which is it today?” I manage to joke, despite the vise tightening around my chest and the shuffling of hungry undead not far behind.

A smirk twitches at one corner of his mouth. “Haven’t decided yet.”

I open my mouth to respond, but the growing chorus of moans cuts off any clever comeback I might have wasted precious seconds forming.

The man’s grip slides from my arm down to my hand. His fingers wrap around mine and he tugs. “Guess I’ll have to let you know later. We gotta go now.”

We run together, dodging rotters that reach out with gray, decaying fingers when we pass.

One catches the hem of my shirt, but I tear free with a sharp jerk.

We push through an open doorway, slam through a half-broken door, and take the stairs two at a time.

The building groans in protest around us.

Dust rains from the ceiling with every impact of our boots.

We hit the roof right as the first rotters stumble up the stairwell below.

The mystery man slams the metal door shut behind us, and the boom of dead bodies piling against it reverberates through the air.

My chest heaves. I lean against the door, struggling to pull in enough oxygen.

The sunlight is harsh up here, but it does nothing to warm the cold fear sinking into my spine.

“Seems like I keep finding myself at dead ends,” I say between ragged breaths, attempting to mask my growing desperation. It comes out as a pant, thin and ragged as a dying animal.

The man turns to look at me, and he nearly shadows the sun. He’s taller than I realized, muscular, and has black hair that’s as dark as his eyes. “Dead ends or just detours?”

I shoot him a look that’s equal parts gratitude and frustration. I’m too exhausted for cryptic exchanges. “Look, if you know something about my sister, now’s a good time to stop talking in circles.”

His eyebrows draw together and humor vanishes from his face, replaced by genuine confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Right. So he knows nothing. Of course not. That would be too easy.

This is a waste of precious time. I push away from the door, ready to find another route and move on, but my chest seizes again, reminding me my body is still in revolt. My airway constricts, as if invisible hands are tightening around my throat. My vision swims and the edges darken.

No, not now.

I claw for air.

The wheezing starts low and sharp, like a whistle buried somewhere inside my chest. My throat constricts and my ribs feel like a cage shrinking inward, crushing everything vital beneath them.

“No, no, no. Come on.” Panic claws its way up my throat and my vision narrows with darkness creeping in from the edges. The seconds slip away.

I drop to my knees. The irony isn’t lost on me.

After everything I’ve survived, all the bullets, rotters, starvation, every horror I’ve fought tooth and nail to overcome, I’m going to suffocate in the middle of nothing, with all the air available.

Taken out by the same useless lungs I’ve been dragging around since the dead rose a year ago and the panic attacks began.

“Hey,” the man says when he drops beside me. His voice is sharp now and stripped of all sarcasm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

I try to speak, but my voice has abandoned me. My hands flail uselessly, and my fingers tremble when I attempt to communicate. All I manage to do is slap the air with desperate, humiliating helplessness.

Summer always knew what to do when this happened, but now she’s gone.

The stranger surprises me. Something shifts in his dark eyes with recognition and understanding. “Panic attack?”

I give a barely perceptible nod, and he moves with startling efficiency. The uncertainty vanishes from his face even as my world spirals further into chaos. Everything about him snaps into focus like someone flipped a switch.

The darkness pushing at the edges of my vision creeps closer.

I’m blinking against it, chest heaving and ribs seizing, when I hear two words that somehow cut through the storm.

“Got you.” He settles beside me and steadies my trembling shoulders with both hands.

“You’re okay. You’re not alone. Look at me. You’re safe.”

I try. My eyes flick toward his, and he nods encouragingly. I can barely make out his features through the fog consuming my vision.

The man, however, is impossibly calm despite the growing horde of rotters pounding against the door mere feet away. How is he not panicking like I am?

“Breathe with me,” he says, keeping his voice even. “In through your nose…good. Hold it. Now, out through your mouth. You’re safe. You’re here. You’re not alone.”

My lungs battle against themselves, but I follow his lead.

Once.

Twice.

The spinning slows, and I finally draw a deeper breath. My limbs still tremble, but the violent shaking subsides. I tip backward, collapsing onto the roof in relief, breathing hard. My heart continues to race, but I’m breathing again.

Air, such beautiful air, rushes in and out of my lungs. “I love breathing. It’s so underrated. ”

He gives me a look that’s equal parts confused and relieved, then crouches beside me. “You okay?”

I blink back the heat building behind my eyes and nod. “Yeah. Just…a little bonus round on apocalypse hard mode.”

His mouth quirks into a smile. It’s softer than I expect, a stark contrast to his earlier death glare. “You’re tough.”

“Damn right I am,” I say. That earns me half a smile, and it almost makes me want to smile, too. Almost.

We sit in momentary silence, listening to the symphony of rotters pounding against the door behind us, like a rhythmic, rotting drumbeat.

The wind stirs ash from my clothes and whips strands of hair across my face.

The man doesn’t flinch when I cough. He simply stays, which is somehow worse than if he’d left.

“Guess you’re my guardian angel after all,” I joke, trying to fill the silence with anything that isn’t the deafening sounds of the rotters scratching at the door, which now groans beneath their increasing mass.

I don’t want to discover exactly how many are piling up there, mere feet from where we sit.

His lips turn up in a small smile, and he shakes his head. Those dark, intense eyes somehow seem softer now. “Got lucky.”

I raise a brow. “You got lucky, or I got lucky?”

He chuckles. It’s a pleasant sound. A low rumble deep in his throat. “Both.”

I force myself upright, ignoring the persistent tremor in my arms that’s still lessening, and reach for my bag. Until I remember I abandoned it when the first bullet flew past me. Perfect.

Normally, I would assume this guy was trying to kill me, but considering he just saved my life today, I’m inclined to believe otherwise. That doesn’t mean I can trust him. “I should go.”

He stands first and offers a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I take it, and he helps me to my feet with surprising gentleness. He surveys the rooftop, then eyes the buckling door. “Where?”

I hesitate. That’s a damn good question.

He walks to the edge of the roof and raises his rifle, scanning the distance through the scope.

He waves a hand in the air like he’s signaling to someone, which sends a warning prickling down my spine.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’ve got people.

They’re not far off. We can help…if we ever get off this damn roof, that is. ”

He looks straight down, and I follow his gaze. Rotters cluster in the alley below. We won’t be climbing down that way, either.

“Well. Not exactly the refuge I had in mind, but at least we’re no longer down there,” he adds.

People. Has people. As in plural. No. That’s a hard no for me.

“I don’t do groups. Not anymore,” I say, stopping myself before adding how attachment only gets people killed.

“That’s a shame.” He frowns, still looking below. “We’ll find another way out. Too many rotters to wait this out forever.”

The sealed door behind us groans in agreement.

“Who are you, anyway?” I ask.

“Mars.”

“Like the planet?”

He raises an eyebrow and looks at me with something gleaming in his black eyes. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but I steamroll right over him. “Well, Mars, I’m sorry for getting you trapped up here and in this whole mess.”

He dismisses it with a shake of his head. “No need to apologize, Autumn.” Then he grins wide. “Like the season.”

His joke soars past me, because a different kind of panic seizes my chest. “How… ”

“I was tracking you. It’s my fault you’re in this mess. You only ran because of the mess we made trying decide what to do about the sniper. I should have taken my shot on him when I had the chance.”

“We?” I question, but he’s not looking at me anymore. His gaze is fixed on something in the distance. He raises his arm and waves again. Someone is out there, watching and waiting for him. For me, too, by the sound of it.

He had claimed not to know anything about Summer, but he was looking for me specifically. That doesn’t add up. What else is he hiding? Was anything he told me true?

My mind races through worst-case scenarios. I can’t be captured. Not like this. If I’m going to be taken, it’ll be by the same people who took Summer. At least then I’d find her and we’d be together again.

Mars continues making hand signals in the air. He’s distracted. Now or never.

I glance around, gauging the distance. If I take a running start, I can make it to the next rooftop. Maybe. It’s a risk, but it’s my only chance.

Seizing the moment, I slowly back away, then burst into a sprint. My boots slam against the rooftop with each step. The edge approaches at a rapid pace. With my breath held tight in my newly functional lungs, I leap.

The gap is wider than it appeared. My boots hit the far edge, but the landing is rough. Pain shoots up my wrist when I stumble forward into a roll, but I bite back a cry before pushing to my feet and hurrying toward the nearest door.

It’s locked. I curse and bolt for the fire escape instead. My legs burn and my lungs strain, but at least they work. I descend the metal stairs with haste, putting distance between myself and Mars, escaping the most immediate danger.

My options are limited. I force my quickening breaths to slow. There won’t be a dark-eyed guardian angel to save me if I lose control again.

At street level, I press against the brick wall. My chest heaves. My heart thunders against my ribs.

Then the moaning intensifies. Ahead of me and above me. My moment of reprieve evaporates.

The air reeks of rot. I’m not done running yet.