Page 27 of Glass Rose (Where Roses Rot #1)

I lock the car and turn the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, a beautiful sound in this nightmare landscape.

Let’s do this.

I crank the radio to full volume, some electro-pop song blaring through the speakers with obscene cheerfulness.

The bass thumps hard enough to vibrate the entire vehicle.

I jam the horn until my palm aches, creating a wall of sound that cuts through even the moans of the infected.

They respond exactly as hoped, turning from the bus toward this new, louder stimulus.

“Exactly. Follow the nice loud car.” I rev the engine aggressively, the SUV jerking forward a few feet before I slam on the brakes, creating another attention-grabbing noise.

More infected peel away, streaming in my direction.

Then I see them. Gavin, with John on his back, piggyback style, bursting from the far side of the bus. It worked.

This stupid, crazy plan is actually working.

I honk the horn again, drawing the attention of any infected who might have spotted Gavin and John. “Dinner bell’s ringing over here!”

I throw the vehicle into reverse before the infected can cage me in, backing up and leading them further from the bus, away from Gavin and John’s escape route.

Whatever happens next, I’ve done my part. They’ll make it. Gavin will get John to safety, find the boat, maybe even come back for me if I survive the jump.

“Now I just have to get wet, and not the pleasurable kind.”

The bridge railing waits, marking the point of no return. Once I’m over that edge, there’s no going back. Just a long fall into unknown waters.

The infected creep closer, their rotting faces contorted in perpetual hunger. Wait…

One infected moves differently from the others. Faster. More coordinated.

Is it running?

What the?—

Mid-thirties maybe, wearing the tattered remains of a business suit, one arm missing below the elbow. Mutations. Adaptations. It makes horrifying sense… viruses evolve, responding to environmental pressures. Why wouldn’t this one?

“No, no, no.” I accelerate. “That’s not supposed to happen.”

I’m not looking for a man in finance, trust fund, 6.5, blue eyes. Thank you very much. Although the last two I like, but only if it’s Gavin .

The runner—because that’s what it is, a fucking runner—breaks free from the pack, its pace increasing as it narrows those milky eyes on me. Its mouth opens in what almost looks like a grin, black fluid dribbling down its chin.

A sadist, too. Great.

I check the side mirror, trying to gauge how much farther to the bridge railing. Twenty yards, maybe, until it’s safe for me to jump.

My heart hammers against my ribs as the runner gains ground, moving with the unnatural speed of something that doesn’t need to worry about muscle fatigue or pain.

Not fair.

The back of my neck prickles with warning just before a sickening crunch of metal rattles through the SUV. The impact throws me forward, my forehead smacking against the steering wheel as the vehicle crashes to a stop. No airbag deploys.

Stars explode across my vision, warm wetness trickling down my temple. I blink rapidly, trying to clear my sight as I search for the seatbelt release. My fingers are numb, clumsy, refusing to cooperate with my brain’s frantic commands.

The runner closes in, its pace never faltering despite the wreckage littering the bridge. Behind it, the horde continues its relentless advance, slower but no less deadly.

“Come on, come on,” I plead with the seatbelt, finally locating the button.

The strap retracts with a zip, freeing me just as the runner’s face appears at my window, its features contorted, jaw dislocated to reveal—in need of a dentist—blackened gums and jagged teeth.

It smashes his head against the glass, a spiderweb of cracks spreading outward from the point of contact. Another hit like that and it’ll shatter.

I dive for the passenger door, forcing it open and tumbling out onto the hard concrete of the bridge. My knees scrape painfully through my jeans, palms burning as they break my fall, and dizziness threatens to take over.

The runner’s on me before I can fully stand, and we collide with bone-jarring force, my back hitting the concrete as its weight pins me down. The rotting stench is overwhelming, making me gag.

I jam my forearm under its chin, holding those teeth at bay as my other hand grips the knife. Its strength is incredible, inhuman, overpowering my resistance with steady, inexorable pressure.

Lucky for me, it’s not intelligent.

“Not today.” I thrust the knife toward its temple, but it jerks sideways, the blade skitting across its cheek. I can’t hold it much longer. “Can’t you—Stay still, please!”

The runner freezes above me, its weight still crushing my arm, but the relentless pushing stops. Its muscles twitch and spasm like it’s fighting some invisible restraint. Black drool drips onto my cheek as its jaw works, teeth crunching together once with a sound like breaking chalk.

What the actual fuck?

Its milky eyes still track me, still hungry, still aware. This thing wants me dead, is literally dying to take a bite out of me, but something’s holding it back.

No time to question miracles.

I adjust my grip on the knife, fingers slick with sweat and blood, and drive the blade up through its temple. The resistance gives way with a sickening pop, like puncturing overripe fruit. Hot, viscous fluid gushes over my hand, down my wrist, soaking my sleeve.

Its body goes rigid, then slack, collapsing on top of me.

Deadweight in the truest sense.

I lie there for a precious second, gasping for breath beneath the corpse, the smell of death filling my lungs. The moans of the approaching horde grow louder, closer.

Way too fucking close.

“Get. Off. Me.” With a grunt, I heave the body aside, roll to my knees, and then stagger to my feet, the world tilting dangerously.

Blood trickles into my eye from the gash on my forehead, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

If I wasn’t infected before, I sure as hell am now.

My clothes are soaked with black fluid, the viscous substance clinging to my skin like oil. I retrieve my knife from the runner’s skull, the blade coming loose with a sickening squelch.

The gap between me and the group of infected shrinks. Slower, but inevitable.

The railing’s right there. Ten feet away.

I limp toward it, and my lungs are on strike, each breath insufficient, like I’m trying to suck air through a straw.

I reach the railing and plant my hands on the cold metal, peering over. My stomach drops. The water is much farther down than it looked from a distance, dark and uninviting. I’ve never been afraid of heights—Correction, I never had the opportunity to be afraid of heights.

Waves crash against the bridge pillars, white foam marking where water meets stone.

Fuck.

My hand closes around the heart pendant at my throat, my mother’s voice echoing in my head. Mija, language .

Sorry, Mom. The situation calls for it.

The moans grow louder.

Die by infected teeth or take my chances with the fall.

“You’ve done stupider things.” I climb onto the railing, balancing precariously as wind whips my hair across my face. “You can do this. ”

What if I hit wrong? What if there are rocks? What if?—

I glance back.

Big mistake.

The closest one reaches for my ankle.

Or blessing.

I kick out instinctively and lose my balance, the movement sending me into a wild, flailing free-fall. No graceful swan dive. Just a dumb scientist descending ass-over-teakettle toward the water below.

Gavin’s face flashes through my mind. Those beautiful blue eyes, the unexpected gentleness of his touch despite his scarred hands, the way he looks at me like I matter in a world where nothing should.

I’m sorry.