Page 36 of When the Living Fall (Song Of The Dead #2)

The rain has softened, its steady rhythm fading into a light drizzle. Droplets cling to the edges of leaves, glittering in the muted light, while Zoey and I hobble along the cracked asphalt of an abandoned road. The crutch is helping my ankle a lot, but it digs into my armpit more with each step. I’m pretty sure even my palm is getting blisters from the handle.

“I don’t think I can keep going much longer,” I finally admit out loud, my voice breaking the silence.