Charles watched as the young man fled from the shadowed hallway above him. He clenched his teeth. The smell of cordite wafted by his nose, remnants of gunfire indoors. Somewhere upstairs, a door slammed.
His senses were overloaded, his entire body on edge, but it was Charles’ anger that hit him the hardest.
Gary, one of his only remaining companions, was dead.
Even without looking, he knew it. He knew it as instinctively as he knew the young man was hiding in the bedroom, as surely as he knew the girl was still hiding in the attic. The three of them had stormed into the house with the intention of taking the young man alive, of letting William have his revenge, but now Charles wanted the young man’s blood for himself.
He’d known Gary only a few days, but the two had quickly bonded. They’d served time together, though they’d been in different wings. And over the past few days, they’d hunted down several survivors, killed handfuls of the infected, and passed time together discussing weapons and ammunition.
Gary was the brother he’d never had. And now Gary was gone.
He’d send William after the girl. He wanted the young man for himself.
He was sure the kid would understand. If he didn’t, he’d make him.
Charles flicked on his flashlight, illuminating the carpeted stairs and the body on the landing. Gary’s corpse lay motionless, his head splattered against the wall. In the ceiling above him was the entrance to the attic.
If Charles had been the first to go upstairs, he’d have seen the attic entrance right away. He was surprised Gary hadn’t. It had been a fatal oversight.
But none of that mattered now.
His friend was dead, and the piece of shit responsible was within reach. They could’ve killed him on the road, but they’d made the mistake of letting him run.
Charles wouldn’t make that mistake again.
He glanced back at William and gestured to the attic door. He grabbed the kid’s head and pulled him close, hissed in his ear.
“The girl’s the one who made him do it. She’s the one responsible for your father’s death. Go get her. She’s in the attic.”
Before the kid could protest, Charles dug his nails into the kid’s shoulder. There was no time for arguments.
He heard William swallow as they mounted the stairs.