Page 18

ZOEY

T he sound of the lock turning snaps me out of my restless daze.

Footsteps move down the corridor at a pace that makes me suspicious. They’re slow and deliberate. Too slow. I rise to my feet and watch the long, dark corridor that stretches ahead, and wait.

Something feels off. Maybe the dregs are tired of waiting for us to eat their drugged food. Maybe they’ve taken another approach. If that’s the case, then where’s the usual clank of keys?

Feet dragging along the concrete floor accompany the silent footfalls.

Clouds smother the sky, muting the faint light that normally spills in through the high window.

Shadows crawl across the stone floor, but barely reach the stretch of corridor outside my cage.

I strain to see beyond the bars, but the darkness is absolute.

The lock on my door clicks, signaling they’re right in front of me. I brace myself, expecting one of the dregs with their smug grins and cruel taunts, but what shuffles through the open door is worse.

Much worse .

A low, guttural growl sends ice through my veins. The sound drags me back to every nightmare I’ve tried to bury.

My stomach lurches when a rotter staggers forward. Its milky, sightless eyes lock onto me with eerie precision. The barred door slams shut behind it, and the lock re-engages with a cold finality.

“No.” My breath hitches. My body recoils before my mind catches up and I slam my back against the cold, damp wall behind me. “No, no, no.”

The screams. The blood. The bodies that fell and never got back up.

My colony being overrun not once, but twice.

The memories flood my vision and fill my ears.

At least back then, I had access to weapons.

In here, though, I have nothing. Only the pressing darkness around me and the window above filtering in sunlight like all those flames eating my colony.

Not even the whispers in the dark can help me.

“What the fuck?” Benji’s voice cuts through the haze. Groggy from sleep, but sharp with confusion.

“Fuck,” Damon spits out. “Come here, blondie.”

I want to. I want to listen to him and believe he can help, but I can’t move. My body is frozen in place. I can’t even think straight.

The rotter lurches toward me with stiff, jerky movements. The stench of decay clogs my throat, and my stomach churns. It reaches for me with skeletal fingers curling through the air, its blackened nails caked with filth.

A dreg snickers and I snap out of my stupor in time to slam my boot against its chest. Instead of knocking it backward, my foot sinks into the decaying corpse. The ribcage caves inward with a sickening squelch.

“That’s fucking nasty,” Benji groans out.

“Get away from it, blondie,” Damon barks out.

I rip my foot free, but the boot stays inside the chest. Guess I won’t have any shoes anymore. My breath comes in ragged bursts when I dart a quick glance around my cell. I plaster myself against the wall once again. Think, Zoey. There has to be something.

My hope dims when I look at the rotter they’ve shoved in here with me. It’s body is too squishy to finish off with a few kicks and punches. I need something sharp. A weapon of some kind. Anything. What do I have?

My tray. A fork. That could work.

My pulse leaps with hope until a hand darts in through the bars and snatches away the fork. Damn dregs. They really do want me dead now.

A snicker drifts through the dark. “Oops. Look like you’ll have to get creative.”

Panic rises in a tide and threatens to drown me. The rotter lunges. I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact. For the tearing of flesh, the agony of pain. It never comes.

Instead, there’s a sudden thunk, followed by a wet squelch. A heavy body collapses at my feet.

My eyes snap open to see a knife jutting from the rotter’s skull where it’s buried to the hilt. The creature twitches once, then goes still. I stare at the sight with my chest heaving and my mind racing.

The knife. How…?

Boots pound against the floor and I whirl toward the sound right as two dregs storm into my cell. Their faces twist with fury.

One dreg rips the knife from the rotter’s skull and holds it up with barely concealed rage. “Where the fuck did this come from?”

His gaze sweeps the cell. There’s nothing here but me, a bucket, and a tray of untouched food. Nobody speaks.

The dreg lunges forward and wraps his hand around my neck, but only for a brief moment, until his eyes shift to the darkness of the corridor. “You,” he snarls. “Where’d you get this?”

I follow his gaze. Cole’s green eyes glint in the shadows, cold and unwavering. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. All he does is stare.

The dreg’s lip curls. The second one mutters something under his breath before pulling out what looks like a stick. He steps back into the corridor. A crackling sound fills the air, followed by the dull thud of a body hitting the floor.

“No.” The word comes out in a whisper, like I’m trying to find my voice again.

There’s a grunt. A struggle. The sound of someone being slammed into the bars. “Where’d you get it?” the dreg demands again.

More slams, punches, grunts. More fists meeting flesh.

I rush to the front of my cell and wrap my fingers around the bars.

I strain my eyes to see what’s going on, but the darkness swallows everything.

Cole must spit out blood, because a few drops land at the edge of the light from the window that now reaches into the corridor since the clouds moved. “Stop,” I plead. “It’s my fault. I?—”

A hand latches onto my arm and yanks me back. I whirl around and my breath stalls. The bars between my cell and Damon’s press against my shoulder. His grip is firm with his fingers wrapped around my wrist, the metal ring on his forefinger cold against my skin. “Don’t.”

“But they’re?—”

“It won’t help,” he interrupts. His voice is low and only meant for me. “They’ll do it regardless, and if you open your mouth again, they’ll make you next. Don’t make it worse, or it will all be for nothing. This isn’t our first rodeo.”

Tears sting my eyes.

Another hit. Another grunt.

Cole still doesn’t utter a word.

“This is a warning for what’ll happen if we catch you with another weapon.” The dregs mutter curses and land a final few blows before spitting and storming off. The heavy metal door at the end of the corridor slams shut, and everything is silent.

I don’t hesitate. I tear my wrist from Damon’s grasp and rush to the bars. My fingers tremble when they wrap around the cool metal. “Cole. I’m so sorry. I’m so?—”

“Worth it,” he wheezes, finishing my sentence, though not in the way I would have.

I shake my head and grip the bars tighter.

“You did the right thing,” Damon says. “The only thing you could have.”

“Yes,” Cole agrees.

I press my forehead against the cold metal. It doesn’t feel like the right thing. Not by a long shot. How can it be the right thing if it hurts them like this?

“Next time,” Cole rasps out, “I’ll aim better, and take out one of them, too. Maybe even both at once.”

Despite the ache in my chest, a shaky laugh escapes. It’s weak, but it’s something.

Damon’s exasperated. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

Cole chuckles, a deep, throaty sound that somehow warms me. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot, and she’s still alive.”