Page 82 of Glass Rose
“Tore something.” John collapses onto a seat, face sheen with sweat, breathing ragged. “Too much running.”
Gavin slams the door shut, securing it with a length of seatbelt he tears from a nearby seat.
Outside, infected surround the bus, plastered against windows, fingers clawing on metal in a chaotic rhythm thatmakes my skin crawl. There must be thirty of them, with more arriving every second.
I dig through my backpack, fingers finding the roll of gauze beneath a protein bar and a half-empty bottle of water. The medical supplies are running dangerously low. John’s face has gone ashen, the skin around his eyes tight with pain he’s trying not to show.
“Let me see.” I remove the blood-soaked bandage, wincing at the fresh crimson oozing from the reopened wound.
John musters a brave smile. “That bad, huh?”
“It’s going to be okay.” I press fresh gauze against the wound, trying to be gentle. “You’re not going to die.” At least I hope our luck hasn’t run out on that front.
The infected outside have another opinion, mouths working soundlessly.
“We need a diversion.” Gavin paces the length of the bus. “Something to draw them away from the bus.”
“Got any grenades hidden in that tactical vest I don’t know about?” I ask.
“Fresh out.” Gavin’s mouth quirks up at one corner. “Noise attracts them. Movement.”
The wound looks angry, inflamed. Infection? I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not a doctor. Not the kind of doctor he needs.
I tape the edges of the fresh bandage.
Noise… What about—”We could use the SUV or any car that starts.” I hand John another set of antibiotics. “I’ll do it.”
“Absolutely fucking not.” Gavin’s eyes flash with that dangerous glint I’ve come to recognize. “You’re not separating from us.”
“He’s right.” John’s voice is strained. “We stick together.”
I throw one hand in the air. “And how exactly do you propose we all get out of here? John can barely walk, and those things aren’t going anywhere.”
Gavin grinds his teeth.
“This isn’t a debate.” I stand my ground. “I’m the logical choice. I can’t carry him. But I’m smaller, faster—” Okay, I don’t know about that part…
“And what’s your brilliant escape plan?” Gavin looms over me. “Run until they catch you?”
“I’ll create as much diversion with the SUV as possible, then…” The plan forms as I speak it. “Drive it away from here, radio blasting, do a little bit of honk honk, and draw them away. Once I’m clear of the bridge, at a lower height, I’ll ditch it and jump.”
“Jump?” John’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Into the water. I was on the swim team in college.” I took exactly three swimming lessons before quitting, but they don’t need to know that. “I’ll wait until you pick me up with the boat.”
“That’s at least a thirty-foot drop,” John says. “Hit the water wrong from that height?—”
“I know how to dive.” Another lie. “Look, you get John to the marina, find the boat. I’ll wait in the water.”
“And if you don’t show?” Gavin asks. “If I can’t find you?”
“Then leave without me.” This has to work. “But I will. You will.”
“It’s not the worst plan I’ve heard,” John says. “Might actually work.”
“See? John gets it.”
Gavin grabs my wrist. “We need to talk. Alone.” He drags me to the other side of the bus, far enough from John that our voices won’t carry. “You’re not doing this.”
