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KATE
Too much smoke. It pours into the room, down my lungs, and across my eyes. Coughing and choking, I reach for Johnny. I find his arm and latch on.
Panic claws through my chest. Carter. How am I going to get to him?
Johnny drags me away from the flames. Our way back to the parking lot is blocked by a wall of flame. I pull my shirt up over my nose, struggling to breathe.
“We have to get out of here,” Johnny chokes.
He’s right. I can’t help Carter if I die of smoke inhalation.
We rush to the front of the store. Johnny throws himself at the swinging glass door, but it doesn’t budge.
“Damn it!” he shrieks, yanking on the handle.
I fumble at the door, searching for the deadbolt. There’s no latch, just a keyhole. The only way to turn the deadbolt is to use a key.
Instinct takes over. No way are Johnny and I going to burn to death in a fucking futon shop.
I seize the object closest to me. A chair. A simple metal chair with four legs.
I hurl it at the window.
The glass blows outward, no doubt helped along by the pressure building inside the shop. I grab Johnny and haul him toward the opening. We use our elbows to knock aside lingering pieces of glass, then climb free of the shop.
The street is in chaos. One of Mr. Rosario’s men writhes on the ground beneath a swarm of zombies. The other two are still behind the car. One fires at the rock shop while the other fires at the zombies eating his friend.
One of the dark-haired men who took Carter stands on the sidewalk, backing away from the burning building. Several zombies loom out of the gloom and latch onto him.
I don’t bother to watch as he’s pulled down.
The remaining guy, still inside the shop, rises into a half crouch. “Carlos!” he bellows.
This is my opening. I snatch the metal chair off the sidewalk. Screaming, I charge at the man. I half expect a bullet to punch through me, but I don’t care. I have to get the kids out of that shop. They are not going to burn to death on my watch.
The man’s mouth sags open. I can’t tell if he’s staring at me in shock, or at the zombies that drag his friend to the ground.
I smash the chair across his face. He lets out a shout. His gun thumps to the ground.
“Don’t you ever, ever, lay a finger on my kids!” I scream at him. Rage and fear beat in my chest. “Touch them again and I’ll kill you. Do you understand? I’ll fucking kill you!”
“Lady, wait—!” the man begins.
I swing a second time, hitting him so hard blood sprays out of his nose.
Eyes bulging as he grips his bleeding nose in one hand, the man scrambles up and runs away. He streaks past his fallen friend, past the drug dealers behind the car, and disappears.
I sweep my eyes through the front of the shop. It’s in complete disarray. Display cabinets are knocked over. Rocks and gems are strewn all over the floor.
There is no sign of Carter, Jenna, or Reed.
“Carter!” I scream. “Carter, where are you?”