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KATE
“We gotta go.” Ben grabs my forearm. “Move.”
I home in on the ten zombies stumbling toward us. With nothing but open marshland between us, there isn’t a lot to slow them down.
And one of them is keening and clicking, drawing the attention of its brethren. It’s a plump woman in sweatpants and a visor.
The rest of the zombies cluster tight around the visor zom, heads turned toward it as they await instruction. More zombies peel away from the freeway, drawn by the call.
My first thought is to tell Ben to shoot the alpha, but there isn’t a clear shot. There are too many zombies around the alpha with more coming. There isn’t time—or bullets—to gun down the growing pack.
CarterReedJennaJesusCalebAsh. Their names flash through my brain.
“Kate.” Ben’s breath is warm against my ear, his voice urgent.
An ache in my throat, I turn and run. I can’t care about the noise I make. Right now, it’s more important to be fast than it is to be silent.
Ben races beside me. “We should head—”
He never finishes. His foot catches in the mud. Ben does a somersault, spinning in mid-air before landing hard on his back with a splash.
I spin around, weapons raised as the zombies surge toward us. The alpha keeps up a constant stream of clicks and keens, spreading out the pack in a wide line. It’s a fucking zombie dragnet.
The group has swelled to at least twenty. I see two trip and fall but they get up just as quickly, hardly breaking stride in their desperation to reach us.
Ben, on the other hand, isn’t getting up so quickly. He groans, levering himself up out of the water.
“Can you run?” I ask, not taking my eyes from the fast-approaching zombies. Fifty feet and closing. “What happened?”
“Cut myself on something,” he grunts. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”
He’s definitely not fine. Red seeps across his back, mixing with the mud and water. But his jaw is tense and eyes sharp with focus.
I know that look. I’d seen it in Frederico’s eyes at ultras. Ben isn’t going to quit. He might hurt, but he’s not going down without a fight.
I match my pace to his, which has leveled off as a fast lope. It’s not the sprint I want, but we’re moving fast enough to pull ahead of the zombies.
The frontage road looms before us. The recycling center stares at us with its dead windows and chain-link fence. Ben and I exit the marshland, returning to the asphalt road. No longer hindered by uneven terrain and muddy water, we’re able to pick up the pace.
Ben drips blood and water. It leaves a murky red line behind us on the blacktop. His movements are stiff, telling me he’s in pain. We need a place to hide.
Two blocks up, I spot a familiar building. Five Leaf Brewery. Carter and I came here many times for dinner and live music.
“The brewery.” I hold up a finger and point to the red sign with a white maple leaf in the middle. Over the leaf in black letters are the words Five Leaf Brewery. “We’re going there.”
Ben grunts, which I take as a sign of agreement. We hustle toward it.
Behind us, the zombies sniff the air. The mud and wet on our clothing likely masks much of our scent, including that of Ben’s blood. The commotion of the 101 drowns out most of our footsteps, making it difficult for them to track us now that we’re not splashing through water. We pull farther away from them.
As we reach the brewery, Ben puts a hand on the side of the building to steady himself.
I try the door. Locked. Fuck.
I drop my pack and snatch off my shirt, leaving my torso exposed except for my sports bra. I wrap the shirt around a decorative river rock taken from a flower pot beside the door. Winding up my arm, I smash the shirt-covered rock through the glass.
Seconds later, we’re inside the dark recess of the brewery. The familiar smell of hops washes through my nostrils, making it impossible for me not to think of Carter and Jenna.
They’re safe, I tell myself. They have each other. They’re going to be all right.
I can’t let myself think anything else. Not if I want to keep the panic in my chest from taking over. Not if I want to keep myself alive and take care of Ben.
He and I fall shoulder to shoulder, stopping just inside Five Leaf. I close and lock the door behind us.
The inside of the brewery wasn’t immune to the zombie apocalypse. Between the red vinyl booths are several decomposing bodies. Blood from the headshots that killed them has dried to a dull, uneven black.
Somewhere nearby comes a soft moan.
We freeze, listening.
It comes a second time.
Ben raises one finger. I nod in agreement. One zombie.
Just to be certain, I tap my foot on the floor.
The zombie responds with a growl.
It’s coming from the back, near the bathroom. We advance through the dining room, bypassing the unmoving bodies near the center of the room. I avoid a small puddle of bullet casings on the floor. Several chairs and a table have been overturned, which we skirt.
We find the zombie clawing at the bathroom door, unable to get out. It’s pushing at a door that will only open when pulled from the inside.
“We could just leave it there,” Ben says. It’s a sign of how bad he feels that he would even make this suggestion. The skin of his face has drained of color. Blood drips off the hem of his fatigues. “It can’t get out.”
I shake my head. “What if it calls others?” I tighten my grip on my knife and club. “You get the door. I’ll get the zombie.”
Face tight, he nods. “You’re the boss, Mama Bear. I’ll fall in line like all the others.”
I give him a hollow grin, stepping up to the bathroom door. Ben places both hands on the wood and shoves. A thunk sounds, followed by a crash as the zombie knocks into something.
I charge through the door as Ben holds it open for me.
It’s dark inside the bathroom, but a narrow window over the sink lets in enough filtered light for me to see. The zombie is sprawled on the floor next to a downed trash can.
It’s a young woman in a Five Leaf polo and jeans. A black apron around her waist tells me she was a waitress in this place before she turned. Across both arms are long gashes and teeth marks, much of the skin torn free.
Her white eyes lock on me. Even though she can’t see, her precision tracking has found me. Her lips pull back from teeth crusted with black blood.
I pounce, not giving her a chance to rise. My screwdriver punctures her eye socket.
The sudden silence is a welcome balm. It calms my nerves. Wiping my screwdriver clean on the waitress’s apron, I turn back to Ben.
“Let’s take a look at that wound.”