Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

I pivoted to the entrance, started to run.

Whoomp-click.

The slide action reverberated through my body. A chambered shell. I planted my feet.

In the doorway, Darwin snarled and bared his teeth.

Without turning around, I mimicked Darwin’s growl. “Lower your gun. I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Call your dog away or I’ll do it for you.” A masculine voice, deep and confident.

Darwin’s ears pinned flat to his head. His hackles shot up. I wasn’t about to do anything to chance his life. “Get. Shoo.”

His growl wavered, but his body remained stiff.

Shit. I couldn’t remember the command. Maybe “Geh rein?”

He slinked inside, head low to the ground, lip pulled back. Boots squeaked behind me.

I shouted, “Nein. Nein.”

Darwin stopped.

Blood pounded in my ears. I held up my hands for the benefit of the gunman and flexed my fingers when I realized they were trembling. “I’m trying. Give me a minute.”

“Not itchin’ to destroy such a fine animal but you’ve got five seconds to find out exactly how much I care.”

I took a deep breath. “Darwin. Geh raus.”

He backed out of the door and disappeared.

The number of boots squeaking the floor multiplied. “Now drop your gun and turn around.”

Until I knew what I was up against, cooperating was my only option. I set down the carbine, my only gun, and turned around.

Five men crowded a dark hallway and aimed guns of varying sizes at the only vital part of me not protected by my vest. My head.

Two of them used free hands to raise pants zippers and clasp belt buckles, faces flushed and sweaty. Didn’t take a genius to know what I’d interrupted. An environment stripped of women, much like prison, would be tainted with dominates and their bitches.

The one with the buckle walked by me and closed the door. My muscles trembled.

The bossy one gripped my neck. “Looks like one of Satan’s whores just stumbled in our door, boys.”

Their laughing carried undertones of something poisonous. Something not unlike insanity. A reminder that, for most, surviving the apocalypse meant surviving attacks by those they trusted. Did these men kill their own mothers, sisters, lovers to save themselves?

Veins bulged in their foreheads. Their eyes were cold and narrowed. I kept my arms behind my back and traced the stitching on my forearm sheath.

The grip on my throat tightened. A lingering lick caressed my cheek. A promise of what was to come. My quivering muscles betrayed me.

Someone said, “Look at her arms.”

Another laughed. “Goddamn. Bitch’d cut off a finger using one of those knives.”

Then a shout. “Take your knives to the kitchen, woman, and make me some dinner.”

More rounds of laughter. More ignorant barbs. But they didn’t take the knives. I smiled inwardly with images of serving them their own severed tongues on fine china, their starved mouths flapping as they silently begged for more.

“If you think I’m so inept at throwing knives,” I said, “put down your guns and try me.”

The stoutest brute roared. “No way am I wasting a fight on a worthless woman.”

If you understand the foundation of your anger, you might be able to promote it in others.

“If I don’t mind, why should you?” I said.

The brute’s face reddened, but confidence blazed in his eyes. He handed his weapons off to his buddies.

I jumped on the distraction, stepped back and brought up my left hand. The inside block knocked the bossy one’s arm off my neck. I hit his knee joint with a side kick. He stumbled back. I freed a blade and pierced his lung. He collapsed.

The stout brute’s fist hit my chest and gripped my vest. Shouts filled the air. A bullet whizzed by my ear. Then another. I sucked in a breath and trapped his hand and thumb with my left hand. I locked his arm, twisted it and knocked him off balance. With another blade, I struck his forearm. Something stung my thigh. A grazed bullet? I shot a shin kick to the bastard’s groin. He clutched his nuts, dropped to his knees, his mouth a huge O of surprise. I stomped his calf. His fibula cracked, piercing through a mangled hole in his knee.

The bossy one was on me again. I shifted his body, using it as cover and forcing a wheeze from his damaged lung.

Gunfire riddled the floor and shredded the furniture. His body jiggled under the spray. The entrance was closer. I dropped him and darted for it.

Lead ricocheted everywhere. I ran faster. The sun reflected off the metal door as I swung it open. I squinted against the glare.

Boots and bullets followed me outside. A vibration hit my stomach. I skidded to a stop. Six aphids blocked the walkway.

I spun to the side and let the bastard behind me absorb the first strike. Two mutants covered him, sucking him. His head fell back. His mouth opened, gargled.

The remaining aphids slashed their beaks and stabbed the chests of the final two. The assholes hadn’t even unlocked their stances or lifted their weapons. Maybe Joel was right. Maybe the bugs did move fast despite my inability to see it.