The Girl Who Kicked Ass (Death Fields 3)

“Davis’ plan.”

He shuts up at that piece of information and I roll my eyes. Davis gets a pass. Always.

Another two blocks and I spy the street sign. “It’s just down here,” I say. “We sort of ’rented’ space in a garage. It’s probably the safest place down here.”

I’m looking at him as we turn the corner of Spicer and Oak, his eyes scanning over my head. He grabs my jacket and jerks me back.

“Shit,” he whispers, pulling me away.

I follow his line of sight and gasp. Like a rolling swarm of insects, the street is alive. We’ve just come face-to-face with one large mass of hungry, spider-eyed Eaters charging toward us.

Chapter 21

We run. Wyatt limps and I keep one eye behind us. But it’s like they knew we were coming and any lead we had narrows quickly.

The street we’re on is full of empty, abandoned houses. Few have boarded up windows and would be swarmed instantly. Others are so overgrown it’s nearly impossible to locate the front door. Weeds and shrubs have overtaken sidewalks and porches. If we pick the wrong one, we’re trapped. If we don’t pick one soon, we’re dead.

I link my hand with Wyatt’s, swapping our standard roles. “Come on,” I tell him, pulling him one step further. I’ve got my eye on a faded yellow house on the corner. It’s up on a hill and a rusted, waist-high, chain link fence surrounds the property. I almost cry when I see the bar-covered windows. This was a bad neighborhood before the infection and these people had already built their fortress.

If we can get behind the fence and up the cement stairs leading to the porch, we may be okay.

“Alex,” he huffs next to me, arm holding his bruised ribs. He’s falling behind and it’s not supposed to end like this. He stops, wobbling on his feet and takes aim with his gun, firing it into the mob chasing us. Three Eaters fall. A dozen more lunge forward.

“No!” I shout as much to him as the Eater nipping at my heels. I stop and swing my hatchet, clipping her along the ear. Blood oozes out and she screams. His next shot runs clear through her forehead. It buys us a blip of time and I say, “Run, Wyatt. We’ve got to run.”

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

I don’t even have to think.

“Absolutely.”

The house is only twenty feet away. He points to his back and says, “Grab that case,” he says, loading bullets into his gun while we continue to move forward.

I yank off the black case and he takes it, checking the contents. “Run that way as far as you can. Just run and count to ten. Then throw that at the center of the horde.” He reaches into the case once again and says, “Count to ten. Run!”

We both bolt, taking off in opposite directions. He heads to the house and I pray he makes it. Without him holding me back I’m faster, and I race down the street counting down. When I reach ten I stop and spin, throwing the case back at the horde chasing me. Down the street I see Wyatt do the same, the glint of metal flying through the air. I reach for my gun but feel the jolt of the ground as it shudders, twin fireballs exploding on the road. I’m flung backwards from the force, my hands scraping along the pavement. I’m only down for a second, though, because the now-flaming Eaters continue toward me. My only saving grace is the debris and bodies littering the road that slow them down.

I spy Wyatt climbing the steps on his hands and knees, trying to get up to the porch of the house on the hill. Dodging the fiery remains of decimated Eaters, I make a final run for the property. I flip the gate latch but scream when the metal burns my hands. I tug my sleeves down to secure it back in place and slowly make my way up the steep incline.

At the top step I lower myself next to Wyatt, who looks close to passing out. I survey the scene on the street below. “I guess that’s one way to escape an Eater horde,” I say, resting back on my elbows. “You okay?”

He nods, eyes drooping. “Yeah, or at least, I will be.”

His shoulder leans into mine and I do the same. Night settles in and no one comes after us. No other Eaters arrive and the little neighborhood reverts back to the quiet, empty world we’ve become familiar with. Together, shoulder to shoulder, we watch the fires burn.

Chapter 22

The next morning, we’re lounging on the plaid sofa in the living room when there’s a knock on the front door of the yellow house.

“Expecting someone?” Wyatt says, his eyebrow raised in question.

“Actually, yeah.”

He doesn’t expect that answer, but he wouldn’t, so it’s not surprising when I see the black metal of his gun in his hand.

I frown at the gun but just say, “Don’t shoot unless I say so, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”