Part 13

The pounding came from outside first

Thud.

Another.

Thud, thud—

Then the door gave way.

BOOM.

Wood burst inward in a storm of splinters, and with it came the dead.

They poured through the doorway like sewage through a broken dam—gray hands, snapping jaws, eyes gone cloudy and wrong. Screams ripped through the room as Victor's men were swallowed whole. Their teeth found their throats. Their nails dug into their bellies. Someone fired a gun once, twice, and then the sound was lost beneath wet chewing and animal snarls.

At the center of it all stood Alexander.

Or what was left of him.

He was taller now, somehow—straighter, as if death had finally corrected his posture. His skin hung loose, waxy and torn, but there was purpose in the way he moved. The others flowed around him, following him.

A leader.

The first zombie that attacked Stillwater.

Alexander stopped amid the carnage, milky eyes sweeping the room with something like intelligence. When they landed on Dacre, they stuck.

"Fiiiinally..." he groaned, the word dragged up from a throat that hadn't spoken in days—or longer.

Dacre's stomach dropped through the floor.

"Alexander?" he whispered. Real fear now. "Is... is that you?"

Alexander's face twitched. Then his lips peeled back into a broken, familiar smile.

Recognition.

He lurched forward, faster than he should have been able to, rotten limbs moving with awful speed. Behind him, the horde tore Victor's men apart—including the one who'd been dragging Dacre away. The man vanished beneath grasping arms, screaming until his mouth filled with something else.

"Nathan. Aliyah. Keira. Mary," Dacre said quickly, grabbing them, his voice shaking. "We run. Now. Avril's—" His throat closed. "She's gone."

They looked past him.

Saw her.

Avril lay twisted on the floor, eyes open and empty, blood dark in her hair. No one spoke. No one screamed. Grief didn't have time yet.

Alexander reached for Dacre again.

Dacre slapped the dead hand aside and shoved the others toward the hall. "MOVE!"

They ran.

Alexander snarled behind them, furious, but the horde didn't follow... yet. Too busy feeding. Too busy tearing Victor's little empire down to bone.

The hallway blurred as they stumbled through it. Nathan lagged, limping hard, teeth clenched. Aliyah cried openly now, her sobs sharp and broken. Mary held her hand like an anchor, refusing to let go.

They burst outside into the cold rain.

The night hit them like a slap. Freezing air burned their lungs.

They staggered into the open field, breath fogging white in the darkness.

"Where..." Nathan panted, leaning against a tree, his arm hanging uselessly. "Where do we go?"

Dacre scanned the field, heart hammering, then pointed. "There. The shed."

They ran again, feet slipping in the wet grass. Dacre tore the door open and shoved everyone inside. The shed smelled like rust and rot, but it was dry. Hidden. Good enough.

He dragged old chairs and junk against the door, barricading it until his arms shook.

"I think..." He bent over, hands on his knees. "I think we're clear."

Silence closed in.

Just breathing. Just quiet sobs.

Nathan sat on an old milk crate, cradling his broken arm, face gray with pain. Aliyah curled on the floor, shaking, her head in Mary's lap.

Then the thought hit Dacre like ice water.

"Wait," he said.

They all looked up.

"Where's Keira?"

The silence sharpened.

"She—" Nathan swallowed hard. "She was right behind us..."

His face drained of color.

"Maybe," he said desperately, "maybe she got away. Maybe she hid."

Dacre stared at the barricaded door, rain tapping softly on the roof like fingers.

"Hopefully," he said.

Time lost its meaning in the shed. Darkness pressed in on them, thick and damp, broken only by shallow breathing and the slow drip of rain off the roof. Aliyah eventually fell asleep against Mary, exhaustion winning where fear couldn't. Nathan's arm swelled until the skin looked stretched and angry, heat rolling off him in faint waves. He shook with chills anyway.

Then...

A knock.

Soft. Careful.

Three taps, like someone afraid to be heard.

"Hello?" a voice whispered from the other side of the door. Weak. Familiar. "Is... is anyone there? If it's you guys... it's Keira."

Dacre was on his feet instantly. "Keira!"

He fumbled with the chairs, hands clumsy, and yanked the door open.

She stood there drenched to the bone, hair plastered to her face, lips blue, shaking so hard her teeth clicked—but alive.

Nathan made a sound that wasn't quite a sob and wasn't quite a laugh.

Keira collapsed into him, arms wrapping around his neck. Pressing a brief kiss from her icy lips onto his. "I thought you were dead," she gasped. "All of you."

Nathan held her with his good arm, forehead pressed to her shoulder. "We're here," he whispered. "We're here."

Keira pulled back just enough to look around the shed, at the tight space and the hollow eyes staring back at her. Her gaze snagged on the empty spot.

"Avril...?" she asked.

Dacre shook his head.

That was all it took.

Keira's knees gave out and she folded onto the damp floor, soundless tears streaking down her face. Nathan eased down with her, cradling her as best he could. Mary stroked Aliyah's hair, whispering nonsense comforts, trying to keep the cold from seeping into her bones.

Then...

BANG.

The sound hit them like a gunshot. Everyone jumped. Aliyah woke with a gasp, Mary clamping a hand over her mouth before the scream could escape.

Another BANG, harder this time.

Nathan went rigid. "Fuck," he breathed.

Dacre knew the voice before it spoke. He felt it in his spine, in the way his stomach turned to water.

"Come out, come out," Alexander crooned from outside, his voice thick and wet, like it had to crawl through rot to reach them. "Wherever you aaare..."

Something slammed into the shed wall. The whole structure shuddered, dust drifting down from the ceiling.

"Shit," Dacre whispered.

They didn't move. Couldn't. Fear nailed them in place.

Nathan pulled Keira closer, his injured arm trembling. Aliyah buried her face in Mary's chest, silent tears soaking through fabric.

"We need to leave," Nathan murmured. "Now."

"We're trapped," Dacre said, sweat slicking his palms. Alexander was all he could see now. All he could hear. He was truly afraid of him.

The pounding stopped.

"I know you're in there," Alexander said softly, his mouth so close to the wall it seemed to breathe against the wood. "I can smell you. I can hear your tasty hearts. Come out now... and I won't eat you right away."

Nathan stood.

"Nathan," Keira whispered, panic clawing into her voice.

He didn't look at her. He walked to the door, each step deliberate, like a man heading for a firing line.

Alexander giggled outside. The sound was uncanny.

Nathan unlocked the door.

"Nathan, no," Keira hissed, louder now.

The door creaked open.

Rain poured down in silver sheets. Nathan stepped out, broken arm hanging uselessly, shoulders squared.

Alexander lunged.

His hands shot forward, fingers black and slick—but Nathan ducked under them and drove a punch into Alexander's jaw.

"Nathan! Your arm!" Dacre shouted.

Nathan grunted, pain tearing through him like fire, but Alexander only staggered for a heartbeat before snarling and charging again.

This time, Nathan wasn't fast enough.

Alexander's hands closed around his throat and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing at all.

"No—!"

The word tore out of Dacre.

Alexander's eyes burned with a wrong kind of light as his fingers closed around Nathan's throat. He lifted him as easily as a sack of laundry, rain slicking down both of them. Nathan kicked weakly, hands clawing, his face flushing dark, then darker. Inside the shed, Keira made a sound that never fully became a scream, her hands clamped over her mouth as if that might stop what was happening.

Dacre lunged forward—

Too late.

Alexander slammed Nathan down into the mud and straddled him, knees pinning his hips. His mouth opened wide, stretching too far, teeth black and glistening as he bent toward Nathan's neck.

Alexander bit into his neck.

Nathan's scream cut through the rain. Blood spilled, bright against the dark ground, steaming as it mixed with the cold water. Dacre froze, horror rooting him in place, his mind screaming this isn't real, this isn't happening, this can't be happening.

Behind him, Keira sobbed his name and grabbed for his arm, trying to pull him back.

"No—NO!" Dacre screamed.

Something snapped inside him.

He charged.

He hit Alexander like a freight train, knocking him sideways off Nathan. They slammed into the mud together. Alexander snarled, flecks of red spraying as he turned his head, jaws snapping inches from Dacre's face.

Dacre didn't think. He only hit.

His fists came down again and again, dull, sickening thuds, rage driving each blow. Bone cracked beneath his knuckles. Alexander's head whipped side to side, eyes leaking dark fluid, but he only laughed—a wet, broken sound.

Keira dragged Nathan's limp body back toward the shed, sobbing his name over and over like a prayer that had already gone unanswered.

Dacre scrabbled for his gun.

Alexander wrapped his arms around Dacre's waist and lifted him clean off the ground. The world spun. Then—

WHAM.

Dacre's back hit the shed wall hard enough to knock the breath out of him. Alexander pressed close, his ruined face inches from Dacre's throat.

"So warm," Alexander murmured. "So alive."

Dacre shoved his face aside and fired.

The shot tore into Alexander's chest. He jerked, eyes wide, mouth falling open in surprise. He collapsed backward into the mud.

For one beautiful, impossible second, he didn't move.

Dacre slid down the wall, gasping.

Then Alexander sat up.

His chest—healing. Flesh pulling itself together.

Alexander grinned.

"That tickled," he said.

He lunged.

They hit the ground hard, Alexander on top, pinning Dacre flat. Rotten breath washed over him. Teeth closed into Dacre's shoulder, white-hot pain exploding through his body. Dacre screamed as Alexander tore away, chewing, swallowing, delighted.

The gun vanished into the mud.

Dacre bucked and shoved with everything he had left. Alexander rolled off him, snarling.

Dacre crawled backward, hands slipping, shoulder screaming, blood streaking the ground behind him.

Alexander sprang forward and grabbed his ankle.

Dacre kicked and screamed as Alexander dragged him back, mud filling his mouth.

"Mine," Alexander growled.

Pain tore through Dacre's leg as Alexander's jaws literally snapped it. Something inside him broke with a sound he felt more than heard. The world narrowed to agony and rain and the certainty that this was how it ended.

Then—

Alexander staggered.

Keira slammed into his back, all fury and desperation, her hands clawing at his shoulders.

"Run!" she screamed. "Save them!"

Alexander spun.

His hand flashed out, impossibly fast.

There was a sound like a branch snapping in winter.

Dacre screamed her name as Keira crumpled with a broken neck, and the rain kept falling.

Alexander tossed Keira's body aside like it weighed nothing at all. It landed wrong in the mud, limbs bent at angles that made Dacre's stomach lurch. Alexander didn't even look at her again. His attention slid back to Dacre, slow and hungry.

He licked the blood from his fingers, savoring it.

"That one," he said thoughtfully, "was sweeter."

He loomed there, rain washing streaks of red down his ruined face. Dacre lay beneath him, his leg a dead thing, useless and screaming all at once.

Dacre kicked. With the only leg that worked, of course.

His good leg slammed into Alexander's chest, hard enough to stagger him back a step. Dacre rolled, screamed, and dragged himself forward on his hands, his shattered leg trailing behind.

Alexander recovered quickly. He always did.

"You can't run forever," he snarled.

Dacre's fingers closed around metal. The gun. Cold, slick with mud and blood. Hope had actually returned.

Alexander crashed into him from behind. The impact drove the air from Dacre's lungs and mashed his face into the mud. He tasted earth and iron and rain. The world blurred.

Dacre elbowed backward with everything he had left.

Alexander grunted. Just enough.

Dacre rolled onto his back and raised the gun, arms shaking so badly he thought he might drop it.

Alexander leaned in close, what was left of his mouth peeling into something like a smile.

"Ah," he giggled. "Now we're playing."

Dacre pulled the trigger.

The night exploded.

He emptied the gun without thinking—one shot, then another, then another—until the recoil numbed his hands and the click of an empty chamber echoed louder than the rain. Alexander's face came apart under the bullets. His body convulsed, then went slack, collapsing on top of Dacre like a sack of meat.

This time, it didn't move.

Dacre shoved him off with a groan and lay there, staring up at the sky. Rain washed over his face, mixing with tears he hadn't realized were there. His breath came in ragged bursts. Everything hurt. Everything.

His leg was ruined. His shoulder burned like fire. His chest felt wrong.

And then he saw the bites.

Dark, ugly impressions torn into his flesh. Shoulder. Leg. Chest.

Dacre closed his eyes.

He knew what that meant.

He crawled toward the shed.

Mary and Aliyah saw him coming and froze. Their eyes went wide—not with hope, but with understanding. They saw the blood, the wounds, the way his body already trembled like it was losing a fight it couldn't win.

"Oh God," Mary whispered. "No. Not you too."

"I'm sorry," Dacre said, his voice breaking. "Aliyah... I couldn't keep my promise."

Aliyah stepped closer. Her face was streaked with tears, but her voice was steady when she spoke.

"It's not your fault," she said. "None of this is."

Dacre shook his head weakly and pressed the pistol into her hands.

"You need to do this."

Her hands shook so badly the gun rattled.

"I can't," she sobbed. "You promised. You said you wouldn't die."

Mary gently took the gun from her.

"I'm sorry," Mary whispered as she stepped closer, pressing the barrel to Dacre's forehead. "Thank you for trying to save us."

Aliyah dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around Dacre's neck, clinging to him like some kind of monkey.

"I'm sorry," she cried. "We were wrong. We were so wrong. We should have never cut you loose."

Dacre closed his eyes.

"Do it," he whispered.

Mary's voice trembled. "Tell them... tell all of them in heaven we'll miss them."

"I will," Dacre said softly.

The gunshot split the night.

For a moment, there was pain.

Then there was nothing at all.