Page 3 of Obliterated
“It’s the record, actually,” Commander Roe cuts in, his gravelly voice carrying easily over the crowd. My chain of command. Another of the Nine. I catch the twinkle in his eyes, and it isn’t disdain. It’s pride. He knows I’ll fight my way out. He knows the woman I killed two nights ago was fully turned, no matter how loud her family screamed otherwise.
Noura’s lips purse, her voice sliding back over the dais like a blade. “Record or not, justice doesn’t bend. Every crime must be answered. Every Decree enforced.”
I almost laugh. Justice. That’s what she calls it. This is nothing more than another dance in the dirt, and I welcome it. Eight Walkers. Ten. Twenty. They can gnash their teeth all they want—hell, they can tear into me if they get close enough—but they can’t fucking kill me.
After all, I’m the only Immune bastard on this island.
The Pit hums beneath my boots, vibrating with anticipation. Every pair of eyes is hungry for carnage, desperate for something to believe in. Let them have their spectacle. Let them watch. Let them cower. Let them cheer like the fucking animals they are.
They fear me. Hate me. Say I’m an abomination. The reincarnation of every evil that ever crawled out of the dark.
But I’m not their monster. I’m their motherfucking deity, and I decide their fate.
And for now, the fate of these inhuman fuckers is my wrath.
The red rain begins to fall in earnest, fat drops splattering against the stone, streaking down my arms, slicking the rocks beneath my boots in a bloody sheen. The air reeks of iron, of rust, of death.
On the dais, safely tucked under the tarp, Noura rises slowly to her feet, her red cloak still dry. She lifts one pale hand high into the air, her voice carrying across the Pit, sharp as a blade: “Let judgment be carried out.”
The crowd erupts.
The rusted gate rattles, groans, and then rises with the screech of metal. The Walkers thrash against it, shrieking as the gap widens, hunger driving them forward.
In one swift move, I unsheathe my sword, Whisper, and my cleaver from my back. Steel sings in the storm as I hunch into my stance, every muscle coiled tight, every nerve alight.
The roar of approval rolls over me, a tidal wave of bloodlust and madness.
Iamgoing to win my freedom back.
Iamgoing to slay all eight of them.
Let them fucking come.
Chapter one
Max
“So?Howdoesitfeel to have your freedom back?” a voice calls out from somewhere near the doorway of my bedroom.
Only one person could get in here without me taking their head off, and that’s the unfortunate soul that calls herself my best friend.Tass. She’s theonlyone who has the keys to this place.Myplace. My sanctuary, if you can call a half-rotten apartment on the ocean-side of this shithole of a city a sanctuary.
She’s one of the few people who actually know where I live, because I let her, and I prefer it that way.
I grunt into the mattress, still facedown on my bed. Haven’t moved since I collapsed here, lungs full of a week’s worth of Ashleaf smoke. It’s the only thing that takes the edge off when my stash of real painkillers runs dry. Has been for a while now. Supplies are running low, and eventually I’ll have to cross to the mainland again for a round of scavenging.
Or stealing. Whichever comes first.
Out there, everything’s already been stripped bare a dozen times over, anyway, so it’s all fair game. You either dig through the bones of the old world, or take what some other poor bastard already clawed out of the dirt.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, sing-song, though there’s that sharp edge in her voice I know too well. “That last Walker almost got you good. Miracle you still have all your fingers.”
I peel one eye open and give her half a glare. “Don’t sound so disappointed.”
She snorts. “Please. If you lost your fingers, who else would lug crates for me today?”
I groan. “No. Do we have dock duty? Tell me you’re fucking kidding.”
Her grin is damn near audible. “Oh, I wish. Roe’s orders. Bright and early. New boat came in last night. We’re supposed to help process them.”
