Page 55 of When the Living Fall

His voice sounds tight, almost choked. It’s a rare sound from him, and the urgency in his tone jolts me. When I turn my head, the first thing I see is the gaping hole in the fabric of his pants leg. It’s red. Bloody. It’s not supposed to be like that. Neither is Zoey. Why is everyone I care about getting covered in blood?

“Emily.”

I finally look up to see the rare, unadulterated fear in his eyes. Similar to the look of fear Zoey had in hers when she fell.

When I don’t respond, his hands grasp my face, holding my gaze. He struggles to speak, but after choking on the words, he finally succeeds. “God fucking damn it, Emily, tell me where you’re hurt!”

His unfiltered fear for me is heartbreaking and almostmakes it difficult to speak, but it’s not me he should be worried about.

My eyes water. “Zoey was stabbed. I don’t think anything major was hit, but she’s lost blood. Moving her won’t be easy. It’ll be difficult for her to walk, if not impossible, and I don’t have time to help all of these people by myself.” A sob breaks out. “Everyone’s dying Max. We’re all dying.”

Without hesitation, Max slides his arms around Zoey and lifts her off the ground with ease. Her head rolls to rest against his shoulder, her eyes drooping shut. “We need to get away from here, all of us. A wooden wall surrounding a burning town—this place is a tinderbox waiting to go up. Anyone who can walk, follow me. Emily—and Josh, I see you back there—help someone who’s struggling but can still move. We’ll come back for the rest.”

Several more people run toward us, and I stiffen, trying to think of a plan to defend all these people. Then they get closer, and I realize they’re holding out their hands, not weapons. They’re survivors, townspeople, and they’ve come back to help. My knees want to give out with the relief that floods through me. Maybe we can save all of them after all.

I wrap my arm around the waist of a young woman whose leg is bloodied and swollen, and help her limp along after Max. Others follow us until we’ve formed a line of battered survivors.

Max leads us to a clear patch of grass on a nearby hill, a good distance from the flames but close enough to see the outlines of the walls and William’s distant figure while he continues luring rotters away with the steady rhythm of his guitar in the back of a pickup truck.

Once we settle the group, I stay with Zoey while the others run back and forth, helping and carrying the other survivors to join us.

Zoey’s eyes open. “What are you still doing here when you should be helping them?”

My lips curve into a strained smile. “I already left you once, Zo. I’m not leaving you again. Especially not for people who have turned their backs on me.”

“That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. It wasn’t exactly like that. After you left, people confronted Richard.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A lot of them challenged him. It started before you left but I didn’t realize it until you were gone. The whispers you heard, it was them talking among themselves about how crazy Richard was sounding. They didn’t blame you for Nathan’s betrayal. We all trusted him. Every single one of us was responsible.” Her eyes pinch closed with pain, then she opens them again a moment later.

My thoughts swarm with her words, and I struggle to process what she’s saying. Then I look around at all the surrounding survivors, and then back toward the colony where even more hurry over to us. “Are you sure?”

Zoey’s hand hovers over her bandaged wound. “These people were never against you, Em. They were miserable here. Richard punished people who tried to stand up for you.”

My nails dig into my palms when I clench my fists. “I can’t believe him.” I look back toward the burning town.

“You can still help save people. You were already doing it before you knew.” Her eyes squeeze shut, and she sucks in a breath.

“What is it?” I run my hands over her, but the bandage around the wound is still in place, and she’s not bleeding out. I feel helpless.

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“It hurts, okay? That’s all it is.”

“Don’t you dare die on me,” I say in a stern warning.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she says with a laugh that ends in a cough.

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? Wanna try that again?”

“Yeah. You don’t have to worry about that,” she repeats, this time without issue. “Believe me. I would tell you if I was.”

“But you said it hurts really bad.”

“Well, if someone cuts off my finger, then that would hurt really bad, too, but doesn’t mean I’ll bleed out.”

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