It was a shame. I had really liked her during the brief time we spent together. She was funny, whimsical, and not afraid to call you out on your crap—and anyone who did that earned my respect. But I was ashamed of how numbed I felt when I looked down at her. It was as if my brain told me I should be sad, but I’d seen death so much that it didn’t matter anymore. A dead body was nothing new. It was just a fact of life. Maybe that, or her death, along with two others I called friends, Chad and Zoe, hadn’t completely sunken in yet at the time.
George spoke up, and I heard him this time—albeit faintly. “We have to go,” he said. Large tears were rolling down his cheeks and into his beard. He was on the floor, cradling Zoe’s head against his chest.
I turned to Eleanor. She was sitting on the floor, close to a pool of blood, clutching her knees to her chest. Her face was buried in her hands, and her shoulders hitched with each convulsing cry. I dropped next to her, put an arm around her waist, and kissed the backs of her fingers.
“You saved our lives, Ell.”
She said nothing in return. I mean, what could she say? I helped her up, and she instantly buried herself into my sternum. Over her head, I caught George’s eyes and said, “We can’t leave yet. We still have to fight. If there’s anyone here we can save or help, we have to do it.” I imagine it was the same thing Ell would’ve said, had she been able to speak in the moment.
Judging by the fear on George’s face, my words hit him like a barrage of stray bullets—but, frightened or not, he nodded. Only a minute or two had passed since the gunfight. The City was big compared to the dentist’s offices and old-school annexes we stayed at during our trek south, but it wasn’t that big. Someone (or something) would’ve heard us by now. Human or wraith, I doubted whoever it was would be friendly.
“You okay?” I asked Ell, pressing my forehead against her damp cheek. Stupid question, I know. Of course she wasn’t okay. Taking a life is never easy, and I say that from experience. Know I’m not proud of it either.
She craned her head up at me. The white glow from the flashlight lent a corpse-like hue to her flesh. Pallid. Cold. I shuddered upon noticing this—mostly because my train of thought had gone down such a dark path. I couldn’t help that, though you would’ve probably thought the same.
Now on his feet, George said, “If Nick’s still alive, he would’ve taken any survivors to his panic room.”
“Panic room?” I repeated.
He nodded. “Yeah. It’s not far. Near his office.”
Not far under normal circumstances, but in this darkness with possible wraiths lurking nearby, even two feet away was two feet too many.
Ell stifled another sob, and that almost sent me over the edge. The thought of having to shoot my friends and family because some monster had turned them into killing machines filled me with nausea. But I knew having to do that was a real possibility.
George led the way out of the cafeteria. He took us on a path that passed near our barracks. Two of the windows were broken open, the barricade smashed. George squeezed through it, then Ell, and then me.
Outside, the wind wailed. Swirls of white were blinding. The flakes stung the exposed parts of my flesh as the snow crunched beneath our feet.
There was no cleared path. Getting through it was hard. The few minutes we spent outside were like an eternity. I became so stiff and frozen, I thought my arms and legs had turned to glass.
From this spot, I could see where we drove the tank through and where we entered. So far there was no one out there patrolling. I wondered if those infected could even do such a thing. From my experiences, their brains turned animalistic. All they cared about was killing, inflicting pain, and feeding their shadowy overlords.
Scarlett was a different story, however. I don’t know why she remained functional or how she managed to hide so well the fact that she’d been touched.
Of course, her true nature showed through eventually, but still. My theory was that she’d been newly infected. She hadn’t completely turned into whatever monster she might’ve become. Or perhaps she was somewhat numbed to the effects, like Robert Ballard of Woodhaven had been.
I don’t know. It didn’t matter. She was dead now.
A burst of wind pummeled our backs. I lost my footing, and Ell grabbed me before I pitched over in the snow. George entered the corridor leading to the hub and a mini-avalanche followed us. Closing the door was more than a one-person job. Hell, it might’ve been more than a three-person job. Grunting, we closed it against the wind.
Snow crusted George’s beard. Little crystals of ice hung from his mustache. He scanned the surroundings with his flashlight. Nothing. No monsters, no people, marked or otherwise.
Passing by the entrance to another set of personal barracks in the near complete darkness, a hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed my shoulder.
I spun around, my weapon and flashlight aimed high. My finger was on the trigger—I was a fraction of a second away from pulling it and blowing off the person’s head.
Thank God I didn’t, because it was Stone. He stumbled backwards and lost his balance, taking a seat hard on the floor.
I immediately lowered the gun and dropped to help him to his feet. George, however, kept his rifle in Stone’s face. Couldn’t blame him for that. There was a chance Stone was infected like Scarlett had been, but I was blinded by our friendship.
Clutching his wounded shoulder, Stone said, “Jesus Christ.”
“Stone?” I whispered, not believing my eyes.
“Oh my God,” Ell scrambled to
