Page 5 of Glitter Rose
His fingers twitch, then press down. Progress.
I secure the gauze with a quick wrap of bandage around his head, tucking the end in with zero finesse. “This isn’t exactly hospital-grade care, but we need to move before you become a midnight snack.”
The moans grow louder.
“Up.” I slide my arm under his shoulders, bracing myself. “Come on, big guy. Help me out.”
His body tenses, muscles coiling as he struggles to coordinate his movements. He’s heavy, at least a foot taller than my five-three, and built like someone who’s survived the apocalypse through sheer physical prowess rather than hiding in a penthouse.
His face contorts in pain. “Ankle.”
I glance down. It looks fine, but with his boots and pants on, I doubt I would come to any other conclusion. Please let it not be broken.
“We can’t stay here.” I brace myself harder, digging my heels into the pavement. “On three. One, two?—”
He pushes up before I reach three, nearly toppling us both. For a second, we sway dangerously, my arm wrapped around his waist, his arm heavy across my shoulders. The scent of sweat, blood, and something earthy that makes my head swim hits me.
“The door.” I nod toward our escape route.
We shuffle forward, an awkward three-legged race. His breath comes in sharp bursts against my hair, and each step, his muscles tense against mine.
“Almost there,” I lie. We’ve covered maybe five feet.
“You’re strong,” he murmurs. “For someone so small.”
“And you’re heavy,” I grunt, bearing more of his weight as his good leg threatens to buckle.
A louder moan, closer now. I glance back and count four shambling figures turning the corner.
“Faster.”
Hot Guy’s fingers dig into my shoulder as he forces himself to move. Blood seeps through the bandage on his head, trickling onto me.
Ten feet. Five. The zombies’ shuffling quickens at the sight of us, hungry groans rising in volume. I can almost feel their cold fingers on my back, imagination running wild with four hundred and six days of nightmares. Do they want me, too?
We hit the door harder than intended, his weight throwing us against it. He grunts in pain while I maneuver us through the narrow opening, then kick the doorstop away. The heavy metal slams shut as the first zombie reaches for us, fingers scraping uselessly against steel, followed by a thud as it throws itself against the barrier.
Rude. He’s not going to be your food, Zombie. Hot Guy is mine now.
“Tell me your name.” I’m tired of calling him Hot Guy in my head.
“Knox,” he manages through gritted teeth.
“Knox. I’m Paris. Nice to finally meet you.”
He gives me a confused look, which I ignore, because I’m not going to tell him that I was stalking him. Kind of.
“We’re safe for now.” I fumble for my flashlight, clicking it on. “But we’ve got twelve flights of stairs ahead of us, and you’re looking less hot by the minute.”
“Twelve?”
“Penthouse.” I flash him a grim smile. “Think of it as physical therapy.”
His laugh is more of a wheeze. “Lead the way, Paris.”
One flight up, Knox leans heavily against the wall, face pale and slick with sweat. I wrap his arm tighter around my shoulders, feeling the tremors running through him.
“Break time over.” My own muscles scream in protest. “Only eleven more to go.”
