Page 4 of Glitter Rose
But if I hadn’t…
With that crash… Zombies won’t be far.
And he’s not like me.
“He’d do the same to me. He’d watch me die rather than risk his safety. That’s how people survive now. Fuck.” I grind my palms against my eyes, seeing stars. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I rush inside, blowing out the candle before grabbing my katana from its stand. The familiar weight in my hand steadies me as I strap it across my back. Next comes the emergency backpack I keep by the door with medical supplies, water, and a flashlight. Essentials for quick escapes that I’m now repurposing for a stupid rescue mission.
“You’ve lost your mind, Paris.” I shoulder the pack, grab my keys, and head for the stairwell. “Completely lost it.”
Twelve flights down in the dark. Then I’ll have to drag a bleeding stranger back up before the zombies eat him.
For the first time in forever, my heart beats with something other than fear or boredom. Anticipation, maybe. Or purpose.
“I’m absolutely going to fucking regret this. Telly, wish me luck.”
TWO
PARIS
My thighs burn with each downward step, the backpack slapping against my spine in rhythm with my racing pulse. One hand trails along the railing for balance, the other clutching my flashlight like it’s the last bottle of champagne on earth.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
Four hundred and six days of carefully constructed isolation shattered because I can’t let Hot Guy die on my doorstep. Because apparently I still have a conscience. Inconvenient thing.
My flashlight beam bounces off concrete walls, catching dust motes that swirl in its path. I haven’t used these stairs in months. No point when you never leave. The descent takes forever, each floor marked by a faded number stenciled on the wall. Five… four… three…
“Please don’t be dead already.” I round the last flight. “That would make this whole exercise like particularly pointless.”
At the ground floor, I press my ear against the metal doorleading outside. Nothing yet. Zombies aren’t exactly known for their stealth, so we should be fine for now.
I grab the wooden doorstop I keep near the exit, and check for my keys again. No way am I getting locked out of my own fortress because of some bleeding stranger. I ease the door open to peer outside.
Moonlight bathes the alley in silver-blue, and there he is.
Dead? Only one way to know.
I wedge the doorstop, then run to his side, dropping to my knees. Up close, Hot Guy is even more—well, hot. Strong jaw dusted with stubble, full lips twisted in pain, and younger than I expected, maybe early thirties… Backpack torn open in the fall, contents scattered.
“Hey. Hey, you.” I poke his shoulder, then touch it. First human contact in over a year, and my fingertips tingle from the warmth of him through his jacket. “Can you hear me?”
A groan. His eyes crack open, revealing unfocused gray eyes, pupils dilated unevenly. Maybe a concussion?
In the distance, the unmistakable sound of shuffling feet and moans drifts toward us. Took their sweet time, not that I’m complaining.
“We need to move.” I drop my pack, fingers fumbling with the zipper. “You picked a really inconvenient time to fall off my building.”
His lips move, forming words I can’t quite catch. I lean closer.
“…the fuck?” His voice rasps, barely audible.
“Charming.” I tear open a gauze packet with my teeth, turn his head, and press it against the gash on the back. “Hold this.”
He doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. His hand flops uselessly at his side.
“Please.” I take his hand and force his palm down on thegauze. His skin feels fever-hot against mine, callused where mine is soft. “Hold. This.”
