I hit her low, knocked her off balance. Wrapped my arms tight around her legs and waist. Lifted her off her feet and kept running.
Kristi screamed and struggled as she realized my intent, but it was too late. A three-foot wall surrounded the perimeter of the roof, and I leaped, planted one foot on top of it, and pushed off to sail out into the open air.
I tucked my head against her chest. Her scream vibrated against my cheek. The ground came up fast. I yanked my arms back to avoid getting them crushed.
The ground slammed into us, cutting off Kristi’s shriek. My Kristi-cushion went crack cruuuunch pop, and pain sliced through my ribs and right knee and ankle.
Slowly, I lifted my head, feeling the creak of bone and tendons throughout my poor abused body. I’d expected to land on the parking lot, but apparently I’d launched us off the back of the building to land on hard dirt just beyond a line of bushes. Didn’t matter. The fall from a three-story building was enough. And probably best we hadn’t landed in the parking lot, considering the lot would surely be filled with people from the evacuated building.
THWUP-THWUP-THWUP. The helicopter overhead, hovering. I forced myself to roll off Kristi to stare upward. The pilot, wearing headset and sunglasses, peered down at us, mouth set in a scowl. I braced myself for bullets to spit from the open door, followed by Saberton thugs rappelling down to finish me and rescue her.
But to my relief and glee, the door slid closed, and the helicopter zoomed off. Mission aborted.
I gave the departing chopper a shaky middle finger, then groped for a brain packet.
Kristi wheezed in a ragged breath and let it out in a moan. I gulped down the brains and welcomed the tingle of healing.
“You’re dying, you psycho,” I rasped then pushed up to one elbow and dragged her briefcase to me. Though it was locked, a little brain-powered force got it open.
But the only contents were a medical magazine with her face on the cover, and a list of celebrity agents. Nothing that could possibly be a cure, or even a hint toward one.
“Fuck you, you worthless sack of skin.” I didn’t regret taking Kristi for a short and fast flight. She never would’ve told me what the cure was. Not when she’d infected Nick and Bear and countless others on purpose. I only wished I could have drawn her end out more. Made her suffer. Because unless we came up with a miracle, Nick was going to die.
Something moved in my periphery. I jerked up to a crouch.
“It’s all right, Angel,” Kang said. He moved to Kristi’s side, dropped to one knee, and peered into her face as she moaned and coughed blood.
“What are you doing?” I asked, eyes narrowed. “Don’t turn her! Is that what you’re going to do?”
Kang leaned close to her bleeding head and inhaled her scent.
“No, Kang, don’t save her! She’s the last person in the world who needs to be a zombie.”
Kang got to his feet and pushed through the bushes, then picked up something I couldn’t see at the foot of the building.
“Kang . . .? Please don’t.”
“Chill, Angel.” He returned to Kristi.
And slammed a brick down onto her head.
I jerked back as blood spattered. “What the fuck?”
He brought the brick down once more to smash the skull open. I stared, uncomprehending as he tore pieces of skull aside and grabbed handfuls of brain to stuff into his mouth.
It wasn’t until he gobbled down the third handful and his features began to shift that it finally clicked. “Whoa. Dude.”
He smiled around another fistful of brain. I watched in awe as his skin lightened and his limbs grew slimmer. His torso narrowed at the waist, and widened at the hips. His—her?—jawline softened, the cheekbones became a touch more refined, and the eyes took on a Northern-European shape, with the irises shifting to blue. His black hair fell out, leaving him briefly bald before new hair sprouted and grew to a length similar to Kristi’s—though scraggly and unstyled. And mousy brown streaked with grey. Ha! She’d never really been blonde or auburn!
“I need her clothes,” Kang-Kristi said.
“You sound just like her. That’s so creepy.”
“I am her,” he-she winked and slipped Kristi’s wedges off. “Which means I’m on the Saberton Board of Directors.”
“Holy shit,” I breathed, fumbling to unbutton her blouse. “You totally are.” It was brilliant. With our own Kristi Charish, and with the help of Andrew Saber, we could change Saberton from the inside. Except . . . “Shit, dude, maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Kristi is wanted by the FBI, and—”
We froze at the sound of running footsteps. This was going to be hard to explain. At least Kang-Kristi had no makeup and messy brown hair, and therefore didn’t look exactly like Real-Kristi. And maybe whoever was approaching would assume Real-Kristi had smashed her skull in the fall rather than getting it bashed in with a brick?