Page 95 of His to Burn

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Jack nodded, and then we ran.

More like sprinted—and somehow, I kept up.

Apocalypse cardio. Who knew?

When we reached the body shop, Jack slowed.

“Eyes open,” he said.

He didn’t have to say it once, let alonetwice. I looked everywhere, pleased to see nothing out of place.

Until…

“Watch out,” I hissed as quietly as I could, but still too loud.

One of those things heard me.

Ed—I assumed it was Ed because of the name embroidered on his shirt—turned and lumbered toward me.

It was so different from before.

I was scared but not frozen.

Whatever Ed had been was gone.

I refused to let him take me.

Or Jack.

But before I could raise my weapon, Jack was there.

Dispatched Ed with three skull-crushing—literally—blows to the head.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low, urgent.

I followed, the sound of the garage door crashing down behind us.

Then silence.

And darkness.

I fished around in my bag and pulled out one of the lightweight lanterns. Together, we swept the large space.

Found nothing but vintage trucks and overpriced cars in various states of repair.

But nothing else alive.

Or alive again.

I looked at Jack, but before I spoke, I saw the glint in his eye.

Recognized what it was.

“Thank you, Jack,” I whispered.

I went to him, throwing my arms around his neck.

Kissed him.

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