Page 26 of Glass Rose (Where Roses Rot #1)

NINETEEN

SOFIA

I shove my knife back into its sheath, darting for John’s arm, and yank it over my shoulder, muscles straining as I lock my other arm around his waist. His weight sags against me while we zigzag between abandoned cars.

Behind us, hungry moans echo closer, accompanied by the scrape of dragging feet. Ahead, Gavin’s blade flashes in the sunlight as he clears anything that blocks our route.

“There!” He points to a city bus, its door standing open. “Inside, now!”

We sprint the final distance, John stumbling, and I catch him, half-dragging the last few steps as Gavin provides cover, picking off the closest infected. Mercifully, the bus interior is empty.

“Tore something.” John collapses onto a seat, face sheen with sweat, breathing ragged. “Too much running.”

Gavin slams the door shut, securing it with a length of seatbelt he tears from a nearby seat.

Outside, infected surround the bus, plastered against windows, fingers clawing on metal in a chaotic rhythm that makes my skin crawl. There must be thirty of them, with more arriving every second.

I dig through my backpack, fingers finding the roll of gauze beneath a protein bar and a half-empty bottle of water. The medical supplies are running dangerously low. John’s face has gone ashen, the skin around his eyes tight with pain he’s trying not to show.

“Let me see.” I remove the blood-soaked bandage, wincing at the fresh crimson oozing from the reopened wound.

John musters a brave smile. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s going to be okay.” I press fresh gauze against the wound, trying to be gentle. “You’re not going to die.” At least I hope our luck hasn’t run out on that front.

The infected outside have another opinion, mouths working soundlessly.

“We need a diversion.” Gavin paces the length of the bus. “Something to draw them away from the bus.”

“Got any grenades hidden in that tactical vest I don’t know about?” I ask.

“Fresh out.” Gavin’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “Noise attracts them. Movement.”

The wound looks angry, inflamed. Infection? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a doctor. Not the kind of doctor he needs.

I tape the edges of the fresh bandage.

Noise… What about—”We could use the SUV or any car that starts.” I hand John another set of antibiotics. “I’ll do it.”

“Absolutely fucking not.” Gavin’s eyes flash with that dangerous glint I’ve come to recognize. “You’re not separating from us.”

“He’s right.” John’s voice is strained. “We stick together.”

I throw one hand in the air. “And how exactly do you propose we all get out of here? John can barely walk, and those things aren’t going anywhere. ”

Gavin grinds his teeth.

“This isn’t a debate.” I stand my ground. “I’m the logical choice. I can’t carry him. But I’m smaller, faster—” Okay, I don’t know about that part…

“And what’s your brilliant escape plan?” Gavin looms over me. “Run until they catch you?”

“I’ll create as much diversion with the SUV as possible, then…” The plan forms as I speak it. “Drive it away from here, radio blasting, do a little bit of honk honk, and draw them away. Once I’m clear of the bridge, at a lower height, I’ll ditch it and jump.”

“Jump?” John’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Into the water. I was on the swim team in college.” I took exactly three swimming lessons before quitting, but they don’t need to know that. “I’ll wait until you pick me up with the boat.”

“That’s at least a thirty-foot drop,” John says. “Hit the water wrong from that height?—”

“I know how to dive.” Another lie. “Look, you get John to the marina, find the boat. I’ll wait in the water.”

“And if you don’t show?” Gavin asks. “If I can’t find you?”

“Then leave without me.” This has to work. “But I will. You will.”

“It’s not the worst plan I’ve heard,” John says. “Might actually work.”

“See? John gets it.”

Gavin grabs my wrist. “We need to talk. Alone.” He drags me to the other side of the bus, far enough from John that our voices won’t carry. “You’re not doing this.”

“I’m not asking permission.” I wrench my arm free. “I’m telling you what’s happening.”

“You’ll die out there. ”

“John definitely dies if we stay here.” He’s slumped against the window. “And probably us too, eventually.”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I can’t protect you if we’re separated.”

“I don’t need your protection.” I kind of do, but… I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body. “I need your trust. I need you to believe I can do this. Like you normally do. Remember our little fight?”

His eyes search mine, looking for weakness, for doubt. He won’t find any. Not on the surface, anyway.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he finally says. “You were never on any swim team.”

I blink. “How did you?—”

“Your heart rate spikes with a slight hitch when you lie.” His hand reaches up, thumb brushing across my throat where my pulse betrays me. “Just like now.”

“Fine. I can swim enough not to drown.” I don’t back down. “The point stands. This is our best option.”

He’s silent for what feels like forever. “If you die?—”

“You’ll what? Miss me?” I attempt a smile. “Avenge me? Move on?”

“Don’t.”

“Then stop acting like I’m already dead.” I grab the front of his shirt, hauling him down to me. “I’m coming back.” I hope.

I seal my lips to his, hard and desperate, pouring everything I can’t say into the contact. His hands find my waist, fingers digging in like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.

“I’ll get you out.” His lips linger on mine.

I open my eyes, meeting his. He’s scared. For me. We both know this plan is batshit crazy, but it’s all we’ve got. And I’m going to make damn sure it works.

“I’m serious, Sofia. I?—”

“I know.” I cover his heart with my hand, feeling the thunderous beat. “That’s what scares me.”

John clears his throat. “If you two lovebirds are done, we’ve got a horde of dead assholes waiting to eat us.”

Gavin releases me, his eyes still locked on mine. “Ready?”

I nod. I’m anything but.

We move back toward John, who’s looking considerably worse than he did two minutes ago, the bandage on his shoulder already soaked through with fresh blood.

We have to get him out.

“So,” John says, “we make noise at the front, draw these fuckers away from the back door. You slip out, get to the SUV.”

“Sounds good,” I say. “Once they’re after me, you two make a break for the boat.”

“And when we’re off the hook, not any second later and no unnecessary risks,” Gavin grabs my backpack, “you ditch the SUV and jump. Water entry feet first, legs together. Don’t try any fancy dives.”

“I’ll be fine. It’s just water,” I say.

“It’s just thirty feet of falling before you hit water,” John corrects. “And if you land wrong?—”

“I won’t.” I can’t handle another lecture on all the ways I might die. “I’ve jumped off cliffs higher than that. You know, in my wild college days.” My college days involved lab coats and petri dishes, not cliff jumping, but what’s the difference?

“You’re either braver than you look or dumber,” John says.

Probably the latter. I check my grandfather’s knife strapped to my thigh, ensuring it’s secure. “Let’s do this before I change my mind.”

Gavin grabs a metal handrail that’s come loose from the side of the bus, testing its weight in his hand. “Give us two minutes to draw them away from you. When I yell ‘now,’ you go. Don’t hesitate. ”

“Don’t die,” I say.

He almost smiles. “Copy that.”

Gavin helps John to his feet, supporting his weight as they move toward the front. If this is the last time I see him…

No.

I won’t go there.

I crouch by the rear door, peeking through a crack in the seatbelt barricade, but there are too many infected. So many of them that their combined weight rocks the bus.

A sudden, deafening crash reverberates through the enclosed space, making me flinch. It’s Gavin slamming the metal rail at the front.

“Hey!” John’s voice booms, stronger than I thought possible given his condition. “Fresh meat over here, you brain-dead fucks!”

Another crash, louder this time. The infected on my side pause, heads swiveling toward the commotion. A third crash, followed by Gavin’s voice joining John’s. The infected begin to shuffle toward the front of the bus, hoping for easier prey.

Sadly, not all of them are that stupid. A few remain fixated on me, pawing at the glass, but enough that the exit might be viable.

The bus rocks harder as the horde redistributes, clustering where Gavin continues his percussion performance against anything metal he can find.

I have one shot at this. One.

“NOW!” Gavin shouts through the chaos.

I rip away the seatbelt barricade and surge with my shoulder against the door. It gives with a reluctant screech, opening for me to squeeze through. The remaining infected hurl toward the sudden movement, but I’m already out, already running, my feet barely touching the pavement.

My lungs burn after just twenty yards.

Fuck cardio, seriously .

I should have spent less time in the lab and more time on a treadmill, but who could have known a zombie apocalypse was going to be the next big crisis?

Imagine the ads for it: Don’t want to die in a zombie apocalypse? Join Lasting Survivors Fitness, because Cardio Saves Lives!

Add it to the pile of ‘things I wish I’d prioritized in my early twenties.’

The SUV waits where we left it, a sleek black beacon of potential salvation, if I can just reach it before my body gives out or the infected catch on to our plan.

I don’t look back. One foot in front of the other, my side cramping, sweat stinging my eyes despite the cool air, but I don’t slow down.

How did I ever think I could pull this off? I’m a scientist, not an action hero. I identify viruses in petri dishes, I don’t outrun them in the streets.

The black frame grows larger with each step. Twenty yards. Ten. Five. My hand slaps against the driver’s side door, fumbling with the handle before swinging it open and throwing myself inside as the first infected reaches the vehicle, leaving smears of black fluid on the window.