Page 57 of Obliterated
“This is an old coastal road. Hear that? Ocean’s that way. We’re on the west coast. If we follow this road, we get to my… hidey-hole.”
“Can’t wait,” I say, and fuck me, it’s true. Every new thing about him should scare me, but instead it hooks deeper, like I’ve been waiting for this kind of wrong my entire useless life. It’s almost as if I’m starting to look forward to feeling that scare.
“Yeah. I got something cool to show you. But first…” He drops the body with a heavy thud; the sound punches the night and makes me flinch. He points to a scraggle of bushes a little up the road. “There should be a cart there. One they used in TheBefore for groceries and shit. I shoved it in the brush—use it for hauling… stuff.”
He grins, that wicked thing, like the cart is the last detail in some ridiculous plan. I swallow, stomach still a knot, but a small part of me is already imagining the hidey-hole.
We walk over, and I crouch by the bush he pointed at while he stretches his arms and legs, shaking off the strain of carrying a full-grown body like it’s just another chore. It’s dark under the leaves, but a sliver of metal glints in the moonlight.
Frowning, I reach in, fingers brushing cold steel, and yank.
Sure enough. A fucking cart. He has acarthidden in the woods for this exact purpose. Of course he does. I pretend not to notice the brown smears dried along the edges—stains that look too much like old blood—as we wrestle the brute into it. The wheels creak, the sound sharp in the night.
“There. That’s better,” Max says, dusting his hands. “Now, follow me. It’s a two-hour walk.”
So I do.
The cart rattles, the road cracks beneath our feet, and the night folds in around us. The stars and the moon are the only friends we have left, trailing above as we walk into whatever waits.
Weshouldn’thavetakenthe cart. I could’ve lived a little longer without knowing what I know now, without seeing what I’m seeing now.
And I thank the fucking Gods it’s still dark enough that I don’t seeeverything.
When Max said he was gonna show me something cool, with that manic gleam in his eye I’m starting to recognize—like a kidshowing off a dead bird—I should’ve known better. Should’ve said no. Because the “cool” thing he’s showing me? It’s straight out of one of my many nightmares.
We ditched the cart a while back and started up what feels like the world’s longest driveway, cracked concrete and weeds crunching under my flip-flops. The trees thinned, the night opened up, and then the moonlight hit us, throwing its glow over a drained swimming pool.
And that’s where I see it.
A literal freaking zombie alligator thrashing in the shallow concrete pit, its massive tail smacking against the tiles, tearing straight into what’s left of Goatee after Max hauled the body in with a grunt.
“That’s Chompy,” Max says, grinning like he’s just introduced me to a newly adopted kitten. “Isn’t he awesome? He helps me rid the island of the infected.”
I don’t move. Partly because I’m terrified any sudden motion will draw its eyes—even though Max swears we’re safe up here on the ledge—and partly because my brain refuses to process this.
Chompy is a fucking Walker. An alligator Walker. Chompy iseatingsomeone. Not just some random zombie, not someone already lost—an actual human being.
And Max is smiling.
He glances at me, eyes a little too wide, a little too bright. “Isn’t he beautiful?”
“That thing’s rotting.”
It has a gaping hole where part of its snout should be, chunks of flesh hanging loose, and half of its toes are gone. The smell is indescribable, like death dredged up and reheated under the sunlight.
“We all are,” Max says, in the most cheerful tone I’ve ever heard from him. “He just wears it better.”
I nod. Slowly. “Right. Cool. Uh… how long have you had him?”
“I found him years ago, wandering all alone when I was clearing out an infected nest near the mountains. Already knew about this place so I made him follow me here and he just fell in. Pretty sure he’s a remnant of some private zoo I found a little bit further up the road.” He gestures around at the pool walls. “It’s high enough so he can’t get out. I mean, look at him. A little rough around the edges, sure, but he’s pretty fucking cool.”
Chompy makes a wet, tearing sound and I swear something stringy arcs through the air. I swallow back bile. I love the anatomy book Max gave me, and learning all the details about old medical practices, but I’m not a fan of… this.
Max inches closer to the edge of the pool, his voice dropping to something low, almost tender. “Most things bite because they’re scared. Chompy bites because he likes it.”
I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is a massive red flag and I should walk the fuck away. Or better yet, run like hell. But he’s still smiling at me like we’re bonding over some hobby, and fuck me, that smile is doing things to me. He’s never been this talkative before, either. Somehow, here, he really pulled those demons back.
“Is this where you were the last three days?” I ask, tearing my gaze off that horrible beast.
