Chapter 1
The blade, slick with blood, is the only thing separating me from the drooling, oozing, smelly human trying to spread the infection that ravaged his brain to me.
God, I hate Eaters.
I hate their black, veiny eyes. I hate their rabid aggression. I hate their addiction-like need to sink their teeth into my skin. I hate what they’ve done to my family, our society, and I hate the fact I can’t just go on a simple mission to help other people without getting covered in their foul blood.
I hate that they took my life and future away.
“Get. Off.” I mutter more to myself than him. The Eater certainly doesn’t care about my wants and chomps his rotten teeth in reply. My arms shake from the weight and I know he’s going to drop. I really, really don’t want that to happen.
A second howling Eater stumbles near me, followed by the sickening thwack of metal slicing through tendons and flesh. Turning to the side, I see the body on the ground. The head rolls lazily in my direction until I’ve got one disgusting Eater face hovering over me and one inches to my left. The decapitated head is so close I can see the stupid hoop ring she thought was a good idea to insert in her nose back in her former life.
“A little help? Wyatt? Walker?” My elbows wobble. A stream of sticky spit lands on my cheek. A little louder I shout, “Wyatt!”
A streak of black flashes behind the Eater and I close my eyes as my arms collapse. I flinch, expecting the weight of the body to fall on mine. It never comes. Grunts and howling cries fill the air and I blink, seeing the fight above me. Well, not a fight. Wyatt is merely showing off.
From the ground, I watch as he punches the Eater in the jaw twice before grabbing his head and snapping it with a powerful twist. Standing over the dead body, Wyatt adjusts his black gloves and glances down at me.
I glare at him and say, “Took you long enough.”
“I thought you had him.” He walks over and offers me a hand. I take it, feeling the ache in my muscles with every move. Back on my feet, I look down at my uniform. Even though it’s black you can see the blood and guts seeping into the fabric.
“Is that what winning looks like to you?” It’s an honest question. I never have any idea what he’s thinking, not since the night we met, back on a farm in North Carolina. Not even when he saves my life—repeatedly.
He narrows his eyes, like he’s truly assessing me, and I wait for the reply. For some reason I always want to know how his brain works, why he does the things he does. Instead of an answer, he clenches his jaw and looks toward our vehicle. Walker, the leader of our mission, reloads her gun.
“We should go, Alex,” he says. “We’re losing daylight.”
He walks off, leaving me in the street, surrounded by bodies.
I exhale and follow him, thinking how lucky we are to live another day in the apocalypse.
*
“Dead.”
“Hiding.”
“Negative. Dead.”
“They’re educated. They’re smart enough to have gotten away.” I have my own logic. It’s the only thing that keeps me going right now.
Wyatt glares at me. “Then infected.”
I glance out the window at the house. Two stories, but modest. Built in the ‘70s or ‘80s. The three Volvos with bumper stickers that proclaim the colleges where they or their children all went. Yes, ‘went’. They certainly no longer go.
I sigh. “Fine. Infected.”