Page 25 of Obliterated
I don’t just survive; I fucking dominate.
And she’s going to learn just how vicious I can be.
She comes at me low, hands swiping for my gut. I twist sideways, Whisper flashing as I slash down, shaving a strip of meat from her forearm.
She doesn’t falter. None of them ever do.
She comes at me again, teeth clacking so close to my cheek I feel the spray of her spit. I pivot, let her momentum carry her past me, then whip the blade across her back, severing an arm in the process.
The crowd inside the shops is silent, the whole market holding its breath. I hear Kieran shout my name, muffled through therain, and I know I should and could end it sooner, that he’s seeing the worst of me, but I just don’t fuckingwantto.
I spin Whisper in my grip, showy as fuck, and meet her head-on, can’t contain the fucking smirk, the fuckingglee.
When she lunges for the third time, I kick her square in the chest, send her sprawling, then raise Whisper high. For a heartbeat I let her crawl toward me—twitching, jerking, refusing to stop. This is the part I live for. The second before the end…
I take a deep breath, then bring the blade down. Hard.
Whisper cleaves clean through her spine, severing the head. When her eyes glaze over, shimmer fading into nothing, I exhale. The itch inside me finally scratched.
Fucking Walkers.
I once asked Tass why the fuck we let the Touched live… Why not end them the moment they’re marked, when they’re carriers, doomed to turn? Cull them early, remove the risk.
She ignored me for a week, then finally screamed at me. Asked me if I thought she didn’t deserve to breathe, to love, to scrape together some kind of life. Asked if I had a shred of humanity left.
Humanity. If you’d asked me a month ago? No. I would’ve laughed in your face. But now… now there’s him. Golden hair, quick tongue, stubborn as hell. Kieran. The one thing I can’t seem to cull out of my own head, no matter how hard I try.
It’s easier to cull Walkers instead.
I’m too wrapped in my own thoughts, drunk on bloodlust, when the second one’s suddenly there. I don’t notice it until a scream rips out—Kieran’s. Right before it’s on me.
I spin in a heartbeat, Whisper already swinging. The Walker barrels in, mouth wide, teeth snapping for my shoulder. I slam my forearm up, let it catch on my flesh, and drive the blade straight through its skull with my other hand. Fast, brutal, done.
It collapses in a heap at my boots.
Pain lances hot up my arm. I shake my arm out, cursing. Fuck, it stings like fire.
I wait a couple minutes, still and ready, but no more Walkers come. The rain’s already fizzling out. Around here it never lasts long. It’s never predictable, though. Sometimes it’s red, sometimes it’s just water. Nature can’t seem to make up its mind.
I leave the corpses and the whimpering boy in the street and head back to the shop. Kieran’s still at the front, eyes wide, stunned, scared.
Fuck.
Without a word, I push past him and go deeper into the building until I find a bathroom. Don’t care that it isn’tmine, I just need to get the red rain off of me. It might not be infectious tome, but if Kieran touches me like this… Thank fuck we have running water in this city.
I strip the wet clothes and my boots off and get in the tub entirely naked, putting the showerhead on. I scrub myself quickly and efficiently with some flowery soap I found, until the water that runs down the drain isn’t pink anymore. Then I grab the nearest towel and dry myself off before wrapping it around my waist and checking the wound on my forearm. The flesh is torn, the teeth marks deep. It’s already bruising purple.
Ugly, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.
When I glance up, he’s there. Kieran. Standing in the doorway, staring at me like I’ve grown another head. His eyes drag over the soggy clothes in the corner. Over me. Over the cut, blood welling again. Over my torso, my arms, my legs… cheeks flushing that gorgeous red once more.
He doesn’t say anything right away, just puts a bundle of clothes on the counter, takes me by my injured arm and guides me to the edge of the tub. He presses a hand down on my shoulder until I sit.
I go rigid, can’t remember the last time anyone had the audacity to touch me, topushme. It burns, tingles, leaves something crawling under my flesh. And fuck, he smells like soap and something lemony and something I can’t shake.Something I don’t want to shake.
He ignores the way I blink up at him like an idiot, steps before me and brings my arm up, inspecting the wound. “You’re bleeding.”
I don’t miss the way he looks at me…finallylooks at me like most others do. Scared.
