Kicking at the bottle with her foot, Dylan tried to clear the way, but it was hooked on something and refused to budge. An infected woman reached the entrance and threw herself at it with a screech. Her hand thrust through the opening and reached for Dylan’s face. She ripped out a clump of hair, and tears filled Dylan’s eyes. More infected followed, howling like wolves.
Desperate to shut the door, Dylan grabbed the woman by the wrist and pushed. “Get out!”
The infected woman was as slippery as an eel, but Dylan refused to give up. Sharp pain lanced up her forearm as the woman attacked her exposed flesh, but she couldn’t let go.
At the same time, Ben yanked the blockage away from the door and yelled. “Close it now!”
Dylan slammed it shut and the lock clicked into place, sealing them inside the storage room. Silence fell, broken only by their harsh breathing. The infected beat on the door, but the steel was thick, and it only registered as dull thuds. They were safe. For the moment.
On wobbly legs, Dylan stumbled toward the nearest crate. She wiped the sweat and tears from her face. Everything smelled like bleach, and her clothes were soaked with the stuff. Her scalp burned where she was missing a hank of hair, and her limbs were stiff and bruised.
Despite this, Dylan managed a tremulous smile as she looked at her rescuer. “We made it. Now, we just have to get out of here.”
Ben stared at her with a grim expression, his spectacles slightly askew on his face. Somehow, that detail bothered her more than anything else. She’d never seen him with so much as a hair out of place. He was always painfully neat and tidy. “I’m sorry, Dylan, but you’re on your own.”
The fluorescent light above their heads flickered, casting Ben’s face into shadow for a second. She frowned, unable to comprehend his words. “What do you mean? Surely, it makes sense to stick together. At least until we get out of here.”
As he shook his head, he pointed at her arms resting on her knees. “That zombie bit you, Dylan. You’re not going anywhere.”
She stared at him for a breathless moment before dropping her gaze. Her eyes fixed on the tender flesh of her forearm, the skin smooth and unbroken except for a few scratches caused by long fingernails…and a half-moon crescent that leaked tiny droplets of blood. She sucked in a deep breath. When had that happened? She’d never even noticed it during the struggle.
It was a small wound. Not deep enough to warrant a single stitch, but it was more than enough to kill her. To send the virus tumbling through her bloodstream and into her brain. The world around her faded away as Dylan faced the undeniable truth. “I’m infected.”
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