Page 13 of When the Living Fall

Buddy moves to my side, pressing his warm, solid body against me as if he knows I’m struggling to hang on. Such a good boy. This makes me wish I could bring back the dreg who hurt him and then kill him all over again. I press my palm against his fur, leaving behind a red streak that reminds me I’m still injured.

“Damn it.” I dig through my pack, fumbling through it for anything that might help. My fingers brush against a few Band-Aids. “Perfect. I can work with this.”

Tearing one open with my teeth, I press it over the worst cut. My small victory sours when the sweat on my palmloosens the adhesive almost immediately, and it falls to the ground.

“Nope, I can’t work with this at all,” I grumble and then sigh. This is a lost cause. Frustration bites at me while I sift through the bag again, tossing aside wrappers and random odds and ends until I find two bandanas buried at the bottom. I use one to wipe the dirt from my hands, and the other to wrap around my palm, pulling the knot tight with my teeth, securing it as best as I can. Perfect. Well, not really.

I curl my fingers into a fist and sigh. It’s not much, but it’ll do. I’ll have to deal with it when I get the chance. For now, I need to keep moving.

The telltale hissing of a rotter reaches my ears. It’s close.

My pulse spikes, and I freeze, listening. Buddy’s growl rumbles beside me, his body tense as he faces the shadows to our right, his body in front of mine, guarding me. “Sounds like we’re out of time, Buddy.”

I place a steadying hand on his back, my gaze locked in the same direction. I don’t see anything yet, but I don’t doubt something is there. “Let’s go. They can’t catch us if we keep moving. We should save our energy.”

The contents are almost all thrown back into the bag when a rotter stumbles out from around a tree, shuffling toward us, its sunken eyes fixed in our direction. Whelp, guess I was wrong. We have much less time than I thought.

So much for hoping. I shove the remaining supplies into my pack, snapping it shut before I push to my feet, forcing myself into motion.

My lungs are on fire. My heart feels like it’s going to rip from my chest. The pain and fatigue are intense, with my calves burning and my feet feeling like they’re going to fall off, but I push through.

The more we keep moving, the closer we get to the colony, and the farther I get from the men who shattered my soul.

10

MAX

We don’t stop running. My legs are pounding, muscles burning. I welcome the pain as something I deserve. Something I’ve earned, since people I care about keep leaving me like they do.

It’s a shame the world went to shit, because at this point, I could dominate in some of those marathons that seemed so popular back when the world was alive. I probably wouldn’t even trip anyone on my way to the finish line, because I wasn’t an asshole back then. Now I might, though. Not because I’d win, but because it would be fun to watch my competition fall flat on their faces. Blood spurting everywhere. The wounded crying out while I leave them in my dust.

I would even bypass the medal they’d try to drape around my neck, because the only trophy I’d want would be my pet. With blood splattered across her hands from taking out dregs, and a smile on her face from her killer car dancing. She would be there waiting for me and cheering me on because she wouldn’t have had a reason to run.

The feeling of abandonment and betrayal seep into my bones and I run harder. Faster. My fingers clenching aroundthe air, desperate for something solid to hold, to stab or to strike. My hand skims over Debbie’s handle, slung on my back, vibrating like she can sense the bloodbath I want her to partake in.

A gunshot rips through the night ahead, cutting through the rain, and my thoughts of spilling blood. My fingers snap around Debbie’s handle before I even register the source of the sound.

“There.” William points to the tree next to Griffin’s head, where bark splinters have flown, freshly pierced by the bullet moments ago.

No hesitation. I draw my knife in one hand. Debbie’s going to need some backup if she wants to partake in a gunfight. Griffin pulls out a long dagger, and William brandishes a gun, aiming it in the direction the shot came from. We’re wide open here, the perfect target, and I don’t like it. “Show your faces, you filthy cowards,” I bellow into the darkness, my pulse spiking.

A force slams into my back, knocking me forward so hard that my chin bounces off the ground. I run my tongue across my teeth, but to my surprise, none of them chipped. Yeah, this fucker is no match for me.

Someone pushes my face into the ground until mud goes into my mouth. A weight on my lower back holds me down while a voice sneers in my ear, “Stay down, dogs.”

A hand wrenches my pack off my back, and pain explodes in my shoulders as they’re yanked out of their sockets. I buck up, twisting, but I can’t throw the weight off. The pain, though. I can’t decide if I want to end it, or if I want more of it.

I flail around like a helpless bunny to get my shoulders to go back into their sockets, but a heavy boot lands between my shoulder blades, halting my progress, but not before one goes back into place. Ha, I half-win that round.

Another gunshot goes off, and I’m able to turn my headenough to see William wrestling with someone trying to take his gun. What a waste of a bullet. That should be in someone’s skull. Or groin. Right now, I vote for the groin. Not mine, though. Maybe the one belonging to the guy holding me down. I don’t quite like being held down. Unless maybe it was Emily. Oh, that would be fun. I’ll have to show her how to dislocate my shoulders. Really get into character.

William lets out a grunt of frustration, and I realize he’s still fighting to maintain ownership of his gun. I don’t know why he didn’t simply shoot him; he’s a better shot than this. The guy must’ve caught him off guard, too. I wonder if he will also get to experience dislocated shoulders. Make it a whole group activity. Inclusivity and all.

The assailant pries the gun from William’s hand. Well, so much for that.

Griffin is locked in his own brutal struggle, his dagger clashing against another blade. Did these two guys really bring a knife to a gunfight? I mean, that’s what I did too, but come on. It’s not like they had their own Debbie.

Eventually, both Griffin and William lose their own battles, and it doesn’t take long for them to end up beside me, kneeling in the mud, pockets looted as our attackers rummage through our belongings. It’s their lucky day, because we’re not carrying anything other than weapons. Even the bag that was on my back was empty.

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