Page 24 of Glass Rose (Where Roses Rot #1)

SEVENTEEN

SOFIA

Through the darkness of the night, the run-down gas station reveals itself piece by piece—canopy, pumps, boarded storefront. Gavin kills the headlights as we approach, rolling the final hundred yards.

Green’s men could still be hunting us, and the last thing we need is to announce our presence with a spotlight. John’s breathing has grown shallower, each inhale a wet, rattling sound that twists my stomach into knots.

I can save him. I have to save him.

“We should be good here.” Gavin scans the surroundings. “For now.”

The SUV rolls to a stop behind the building, hidden from the road.

My legs ache as I climb out, muscles stiff from adrenaline and fear.

The silence after the engine dies feels absolute, broken only by the distant cry of a very early morning bird who hasn’t gotten the memo that the world’s gone to shit.

I circle to the other side and open the door carefully, preventing John’s slumped form from tumbling out. “Help me with him, please.”

It takes both of us to extract him from the back seat, his arm slung over Gavin’s shoulders while I support his other side. Blood has soaked through my makeshift pressure bandage.

Gavin kicks in the back door of the gas station, the wood splintering around a rusted lock. Jagged shards crunch beneath our boots as we enter.

“Cozy,” John wheezes. “Five-star accommodations.”

Gavin eases John off his shoulder, lowering him against the wall. “Stay here.”

“You’re going to be fine.” I wrap my arm around John’s waist, supporting his weight as Gavin disappears into the darkness, knife in hand.

“I’m always fine.”

A thud from the back of the store makes me flinch. Then another.

“Gavin?” I call.

“Clear.” He emerges, wiping his bloody forearm on his pants.

“Let’s get him on the counter.” I nod toward the checkout area. “And I need light to work.”

We half-drag, half-carry John across the grimy floor, his boots leaving bloody smears on the linoleum.

“Almost there,” I say.

Almost where? To safety? To death?

The line keeps blurring.

Gavin sweeps merchandise off the counter with one arm, sending beef jerky and cigarette lighters clattering to the floor, before we hoist John onto the surface, his body too light for his size. Or maybe it’s just that he’s lost too much blood.

“Flashlight.” I hold out my hand without looking at Gavin.

The weight of it slaps against my palm. I click it on, positioning it to illuminate John’s shoulder. The makeshift bandage is soaked through, useless now .

“How bad?” John asks.

I peel back the gauze. The bullet entered rather cleanly but tore through muscle and possibly nicked bone. Without proper medical equipment, without antibiotics, without—or even proper training?—

“Sofia.” Gavin’s hand closes around my wrist, steadying the tremor. “Tell me what you need.”

I meet his eyes, finding an unexpected steadiness there. Not hope—Gavin doesn’t deal in hope—but certainty. The absolute conviction that I can do this because I have to.

“Alcohol, if you can find it.” I swallow, forcing my voice to remain calm. It seemed to help Dr. Ch—no, Min-ji. “Fresh bandages. The bullet has gone through, so we have to make sure infection doesn’t set in.”

“Lucky me,” John says.

“Stop talking.”

Gavin vaults over the counter and rummages through shelves. Glass shatters as he knocks something over.

I dig through the remaining supplies in my pack. Bandages, antiseptic wipes, medical tape. Basic shit, but better than nothing.

“Here.” Gavin sets down a bottle of cheap whiskey.

“Perfect.” I unscrew the whiskey cap, the sharp smell burning my nostrils. “This is going to hurt.”

John attempts a smile that is more like a grimace. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Drink some first.”

His hand trembles as he takes the bottle, amber liquid sloshing against the sides. He takes a long pull, before handing it back to me.

“Don’t waste good whiskey on a wound,” he mutters.

“I believe your taste buds got hit, too.” I pour it over his shoulder. “It’s not good.”

His entire body goes rigid, a strangled sound escaping through clenched teeth. Bloody foam bubbles from the wound, washing away dirt and fabric fibers.

“Fuck.” His head falls back against the counter.

“Almost done.” I apply fresh gauze over the wound. “Just hold still.”

Gavin positions himself by the window, rifle ready.

“You know what I miss?” John asks. “Internet. Used to waste hours watching those funny dog videos.”

I tape the bandage in place, careful not to put too much pressure on it. “What’s your favorite dog?”

“Staffies. They look like seals when they smile.”

I snort. “Sounds cute.”

“Your hands are steady,” he says. “That’s good.”

They’re not. They’re shaking so badly, I’m surprised I can hold the tape. But I force them to cooperate, because the alternative is watching another person die. And I’m so fucking tired of death.

“You’ll need medication.” I pack up the remaining supplies. “And real medical attention.”

John’s laugh is a dry, brittle sound. “Sure. I’ll just pop over to the emergency room.”

“We could try finding a pharmacy,” Gavin suggests. “Might be picked clean, but worth checking.”

“At least I won’t turn from a bullet wound,” John says.

The memory of Marcus rising from death, despite a bullet through his heart, flashes through my mind with horrific clarity.

“Actually…” My voice sticks in my throat. I clear it. “That’s not true.”

John’s eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

Gavin turns from the window, catching the gravity in my tone.

“Everyone turns,” I say. “It doesn’t matter if you got bitten or not, or how you die. The virus is in all of us. ”

“You sure about that?” Gavin asks.

“Marcus.” The name feels heavy on my tongue. “He turned after being shot. Not bitten, not infected through normal transmission. Just… dead, then not.”

“Could have been infected before,” John says.

I shake my head. “The symptoms are unmistakable. Fever, aggression, disorientation. We were with him constantly. He wasn’t sick.”

“So we’re all infected,” John says. “All of us. And when we die…”

“We come back.” I take a bottle of water from the shelf. “Unless the brain is destroyed.”

No peaceful deaths. No chance to say goodbye. Just the certainty that every corpse is a ticking time bomb, waiting to reanimate and attack the living.

“That’s why the military response failed so quickly,” Gavin says. “Heart attacks, strokes, accidents—any death created new infected.”

“And in crisis situations, people die all the time,” I add. “Especially in hospitals full of the already sick and injured.”

John shifts on his elbows, wincing. “So what you’re saying is, we’re all fucked.”

“Pretty much.” I hand him antibiotics and the bottle of water. “Take these. They might help with the infection. The normal kind, at least.”

He downs the pills, grimacing at the taste. “What’s the plan? Keep running until we drop? It’s just delaying the inevitable.”

“Everything’s always been delaying the inevitable.” I remove his blood from my hands with an antiseptic wipe. The coppery smell clings to my skin despite my efforts. “We were all going to die someday. This just… changes what happens after.”

Gavin returns his attention to the outside. “I have somewhere we can go. An island compound about fifty miles north of here. Defensible, stocked with supplies.”

“Your team?”

He nods. “If they followed protocol, they’d have retreated there. Solar power, rainwater collection. It’s designed for long-term sustainability.”

“An island,” John repeats. “Water barrier against the infected.”

“Assuming they can’t swim,” I mutter.

John attempts to stand but immediately sways, face draining of what little color remains.

“Hey.” I catch him before he can fall, easing him back onto the counter. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. You need rest.”

“Rest is a luxury we don’t have, sweetheart.” But he doesn’t fight me, which tells me just how weak he really is.

Gavin moves away from the window, coming to examine John’s condition for himself. “How long before he can travel?”

“I don’t—Ideally? Days.” I meet his gaze. “Realistically? Hours. Maybe.”

“We need to move before Green’s men pick up our trail again.” Gavin checks his watch. “Give him an hour. Then we go.”

John closes his eyes. “Wake me when it’s time.”

His breathing evens out almost immediately, exhaustion and blood loss pulling him under. I check his pulse—rapid but steady—and adjust the bandage one last time.

It worked. He’s not dying.

I huff out a breath, closing my own eyes.

Marcus’s eyes appear instantly, turning milky. Alex pointing a gun at us. Min-ji’s face with tears drying on her cheeks. The sound of my father’s skin giving under my knife.

Everything keeps piling up.

Bodies and betrayals and blood on my hands that won’t wash off. My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe properly. I can’t?—

“I need air.” I wrench myself away from the counter, stumbling toward the door. “Just—I need a minute.”

Outside, the night is quiet save for the distant rustle of leaves. I lean against the SUV, tilting my face up to the sky, and fiddle with my mother’s necklace.

No city glow obscures the stars. One small, terrible gift of the apocalypse. The Milky Way sprawls across the heavens, a river of light that makes me feel infinitesimally small.

The crunch of gravel announces Gavin’s approach. He doesn’t speak, just settles beside me against the vehicle, his shoulder a whisper away from mine.

“You should stay with John,” I say.

“He’s stable. You’re not.”

I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. “I’m fine.”

“You can be honest with me.”

“What do you want me to say?” I face him. “That I’m falling apart? That I keep seeing Marcus’s face when he turned? That I’m scared for Min-Ji? That I keep wondering who’s next?”

He just weighs me with his eyes, silent and steady.

“It’s in all of us.” I tap my chest. “The virus. Right now. And when we die—There’s no peace. No rest. Just… becoming one of those things.”

“We knew the virus was bad.”

“Not like this.” I shake my head. “This changes everything.”

“Does it?”

“How can you ask that? We’re all walking time bombs.”

“We were always going to die.” He echoes my words from earlier. “This just changes what happens after.”

“Don’t throw my words back at me. ”

He reaches out with his hand, hesitates, then drops it back to his side. “What do you need?”

“I need—” What? A cure? My parents back? A world that makes sense? “I don’t know.”

“Then let me tell you what I know.” His voice drops lower. “I know we’re getting to that island. I know we’ll figure out how to survive this. I know you’re stronger than you think.”

I almost laugh. “You have that much faith in me?”

“I have that much evidence.” His eyes hold mine. “I’ve watched you. Since the facility. Since your parents’ house. You keep going.”

“Because what’s the alternative? Giving up?”

“Exactly.” A bitter but hopeful smile touches his mouth. “So don’t start now.”

I step close enough to feel his warmth. “I’m scared.”

“Good.” He cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek “Fear keeps you sharp.”

“Is that what they taught you in the military?”

“No.” His fingers thread through my hair. “That’s what I learned in a cell.”

I melt into his touch, eyes drifting shut. Just for a moment. Just one fucking moment of comfort in this nightmare.

“We should go back inside,” I whisper, not moving an inch.

“In a minute.” His forehead touches mine, breath warm against my lips. “Sofia?”

I answer by placing my lips on his. They are softer than expected, contradicting the hardness of everything else about him.

I brush my fingers along his nape, running them through his hair before drawing him to me.

His hands bracket my waist, lifting me against the SUV until my feet don’t touch the ground and my legs are around his waist .

“Thought you needed air,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“Shut up.” I bite his lower lip, earning a sharp inhale. “Just… shut up.”

He laughs—a rough, broken sound that fills my heart back up with warmth. “Yes, ma’am.”

The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that makes me squirm, seeking more contact, more pressure, more anything.

I gasp as his lips trace my jawline. “We shouldn’t?—”

“Probably not. Want me to stop?”

“Fuck no.” My head falls back, giving him better access to my neck. “But John?—”

“Is unconscious.” His hand travels under my shirt, calloused fingers tracing my spine. “And we’re still alive.”

That’s the thing, isn’t it? We’re alive. For now. In this moment.

I angle away to study his face. In the starlight, his eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he waits for me to decide. But there’s too much on my mind right now.

“Do you think Min-ji will be okay?” I ask.

His expression shifts from desire to something harder. “They won’t kill her. She knows about the virus just like you.”

A soft groan from the other room breaks the tension. John, waking up, in pain, or both.

“We should check on him.” I reluctantly ease away.

Gavin seizes my hand, squeezing once before releasing me. “We move in twenty minutes. Get what you need.”

I nod, gathering my composure as I walk back to our patient. John’s eyes are open, watching me with a knowing look.

“Ready to roll?” he asks, his voice stronger than before. The brief rest has done him good .

“Almost.” I check his bandage, relieved to see no fresh blood seeping through. “How’s the pain?”

“Manageable.” He sits up straighter, testing his range of motion. “Had worse hangovers.”

Gavin joins us with a handful of supplies scavenged from the back office—bottled water, some protein bars, and a road map. “Found these.”

I help John down from the counter, supporting him as he tests his legs. He’s unsteady but determined, jaw set against the exhaustion I know he must be feeling.

“Our destination is here.” Gavin spreads the map across the counter, pointing to a small island north of us. “We’ll need to find a boat when we reach the shore.”

“Your team has one?” I ask.

“Hidden in a boathouse on the mainland. If they’re following protocol, they’ll have maintained it.”

“And if they haven’t?” John asks the question we’re all thinking.

“Then we’ll find another way across.”

The certainty in his voice is comforting, even if it might be false. Right now, I need something to believe in, some direction to move toward instead of just running away.

Toward an island I’ve never seen and people I’ve never met. Toward hope, however fragile. Toward a future, however uncertain.

Life goes on, even as it ends.

The irony isn’t lost on me.