Page 15

I take us to a section of houses in the opposite direction of where I was earlier. No need to run across those two men. I’ve got plans for them anyhow. But right now, my focus is on Rex.

We find a brick house with some boarded-up windows. Doors are still on their hinges, and I help Rex up the creaky stairs to the master bedroom. “Get comfy, old man. I’ll go make sure everything’s locked up.”

He grunts and places his pack down near the nightstand then flops onto the mattress, his eyes drifting closed.

I swallow hard, dropping my own gear next to his, then head back to the first floor. The place is dusty as hell, but mostly intact. Kitchen is empty, no canned goods in any of the cabinets.

Once the house is as secure as I can get it, I head back upstairs. Kneeling at Rex’s pack, I rifle through it and pull out some dried meat and canned beans, then hand it to him. “Eat.”

He sits up and huffs. “Keep ordering me around, and I’m going to bend you over my knee and spank you.”

Any other time, heat would flood my groin. The promise of a spanking from him gets me hard. Except for now.

He launches into another coughing fit, and it scares the shit out of me. No matter how hard I try not to think about him dying, I can’t.

“Just eat, please.”

With a snarl, he takes the food then finishes about half the meal before pushing the rest my way. “Your turn.”

“No, you need it more.”

He goes to stand up, staring me down and I take the rest of the food, shoving some into my mouth. Anything to get him to rest.

And he calls me stubborn.

Fucking old goat is worse than I am.

Rex sits back down, pulling off his coat. My gaze drops to the tattoo again, focusing on the second string of words—Fall as One—and my stomach roils.

I fight the nausea but can’t shake the fear digging its claws into me.

We aren’t in a battle, he is.

And I’m not ready to lose him.

After swallowing the last bite, I grab the medicine and hold out the green cough syrup and sleeping pills, but he shakes his head.

My chest constricts as if I’m buried under a pile of bricks, jaw clenching so tightly my teeth might fucking crack. “Rex, please?”

“Can’t believe all I had to do was get sick to knock that defiant little shit attitude out of you.”

He takes the two bottles, then gulps down the cough syrup. “Jesus. Damn Nyquil is fuckin’ expired.”

He reads the label on the pills twice before taking two and washing them down with some water. “Happy now?”

“Yeah.”

A lie. One he can read on my face because he leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead.

For once, I don’t scoff or roll my eyes. Instead, I lean into it, my eyes drifting shut.

“Going soft on me, Dev?”

“You wish.”

He chuckles, then slumps back on the bed, tugging the blanket up real high. He eyes me as if waiting for me to join, but I stand, then grab my pack.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“Hunting. Kitchen was empty, and we’re running low.”

“Won’t find much. Everything is going underground for winter.”

I shrug. “We’ll see ’bout that.”

I gotta be a little defiant or he might catch on to my lie. I don’t need him worrying about what I’m actually hunting—because like fuck am I going to let anything hurt him. Or have the bastard try to stop me.

He’s mine to protect.

Hopping out of the window and onto the porch roof, I climb to the ground, then head off toward the warehouse district, making sure to cover our earlier tracks to the house.

I take the long way, making sure I’m not tracked. I’m not making the same mistake again, not when Rex is in no shape to protect himself.

No one’s touching what’s mine.

Ever.

The warehouse we bunked in last night is empty, so I drop my pack down and settle outside near the entrance behind some stacked crates. Sooner or later those two pricks will show up. I just gotta be patient.

Something I happen to be good at now. Learned the hard way what happens when I rush things. My fingers run over the left side of my stomach, where I’d gotten stabbed once.

I was only thirteen.

Had been stalking a man one winter. He’d been traveling alone. At night I’d gotten too impatient, didn’t wait long enough for him to fall asleep. So, when I tried to steal some food from his pack he’d caught me.

When he punched me I’d taken out my knife and attacked him. But once the blood started to coat my hand, the blade slipped. The prick grabbed it and stuck me. But I’d picked up a nearby rock and bashed his head in with it.

It was the first time I’d taken a life. Thought it would bother me, haunt me, but it never did.

After I’d eaten some food, I patched myself up as best as I could. First Aid was one of the few helpful lessons my father ever taught me. Was lucky the wound never got infected.

The corner of my mouth starts to quirk up on one side as I recall the day my dumbass decided to take on Rex.

Still not sure what made me jump out from between the cars. Having seen him naked when he fucked that man, I knew he was dangerous.

But, fuck, I’d been hungry.

Voices cut through the chilly air, and it ain’t long before the two men come into view.

Patched clothes. Deep scars across their faces. A string of ears as necklaces.

Fuck!

Carrionites.

Luckily, it’s just two and not a pack—not sure I’d be able to survive if there were more of them.

One keeps watch while the other peers through the dirty windows.

Neither looks weak or starving, yet I really don’t want to find out if the stories are true, that they actually eat the flesh of those they kill or come across.

But with how filled out they are . . .

“Must be around here somewhere,”

Window Guy whispers. “Saw ’em yesterday. Might’ve holed up for the night. The big one was sick.”

My lips press together into a tight line, muscle ticking in my cheek from clenching my teeth.

Don’t care what happens to me, but they ain’t getting Rex.

They stack their crap, packs most likely scavenged from recent victims, against the building, then ease the big door open, clearly trying to be quiet.

I flex and relax my fingers to warm them up before sliding my knife out of its sheath. My father taught me how to fight from early on. Mom never intervened, even when he’d go full out with me.

All his friends were the same way with their kids. Some sort of militia mindset. Like it did them any good in the end—can’t stab a fucking virus.

When the first man has been in the warehouse long enough, I creep up behind the second and slam my foot into the back of his knee.

It gives out, and he goes down, falling backward into me. I loop my arm over his shoulder, then yank his stubbled chin to the side while simultaneously covering his mouth, stabbing him twice in the neck.

Hot blood sprays my arm and hand, and I smirk as he gurgles and squirms above me.

When his body goes limp, I shove it off, then scoot against the wall beside the open doorway and slide my knife back into my belt. Wiping hands frantically down my sweatshirt, I get them as dry as possible, then lift the bottom hemline to wipe my face.

One prick down, one to go.

“You see them? It’s empty in here.”

The first man’s voice is getting closer. “Fucking hell.”

He comes through the door with a gun outstretched, gazing at his companion’s dead body.

Rex taught me to clear doorways with my head up and with the gun close to my core. Center Relock something or other. This fuck obviously has no clue what he’s doing.

Using one of the disarming maneuvers Rex made me practice over and over, I grab the man’s outstretched arms and smash his wrists against the corner of the doorway. The gun clatters between our feet and I kick out, sending it skittering along the asphalt.

“You’re dead, boy.”

The man shoves free hard enough to send me staggering backward. He twists, looking for the gun.

We spot it at the same time. He goes for it, and I launch at his waist, tackling him to the ground.

“I’m gonna gut you like I did your friend.”

My words are full of murderous promise. Fucker threatened Rex.

Threatened what’s mine.

His elbow cracks into the side of my face as we wrestle, and blood floods my mouth, my grip loosening, and he takes advantage, twisting until he ends up on top. I’m able to get my knees between us, but it only creates a bit of distance as he punches at me.

He lunges forward, getting inside one knee as his hand locks onto my wrist, yanking it down so I can’t block him. “You’ll make a good meal. Skin you alive. Make you suffer some. Bet you sound real nice screaming.”

My head bounces against the pavement each time his fist connects with my face, jolts of painful electricity racing through my skull with every impact. But I don’t give up. The prick doesn’t know—I’m too stubborn to quit.

“Fuck you. You’ll be the one screaming.”

I grope blindly for his ear with my free hand, finding it and yanking it toward me. His head follows as he yells and lets go of my wrist, trying to free himself.

I grip the back of his neck with my arms and shift my hips up, locking my legs high around his back when he tries to pull away. He ducks out of my arms, rearing back to try to hit me again. I let him, then capture the arm that punches me and pin it between his chest and mine.

He growls, hitting me repeatedly in the ribs with his free hand as his teeth sink into the area where my neck meets my shoulder. A maniacal laugh erupts from him. “Tastes good raw. Maybe I’ll just eat your flesh that way.”

He bites down again, this time his teeth break through my skin and I scream.

“Knew you would sound so good. Scream some more.”

He punches me even harder in the ribs.

My father’s voice thunders in my ear, yelling at me to breathe and wait for my moment, even through all the pain.

Only time his words are helpful.

As soon as the man reaches just a little too far, I bring my leg up over his dropped shoulder and slide a hand under his right arm, cinching him into an arm bar and heaving to dislocate his shoulder in one go.

He unleashes a vicious cry, then bites into my inner thigh. I fight through the pain and tighten down, using his arm to twist us to the left before driving my hips up and yanking on his dislocated arm again. His elbow snaps, and he writhes like a harpooned whale.

Quickly I unwind from the tangle of limbs, then yank my knife out of my belt.

My blade pierces his neck and torso over and over, tears streaming down my face as I put all my power into every move, strangled cries erupting with every blow.

The blade turns slippery, my hand sliding down the hilt and slicing my palm open, finally causing me to stop. My limbs are heavy and I gasp as if I’d just sprinted ten miles.

But the drum inside my head pounds away, becoming fiercer by the second.

I crawl away from the bodies, my vision darkening around the edges, agony shooting through my palm. My stomach lurches until I vomit, while blinding pain shoots through my skull and bolts of lightning explode behind my eyes.

I slump onto the unforgiving ground as everything goes black.