The Girl Who Punched Back (Death Fields 2)

I rush forward and pick his weapon up off the ground.

With two barrels aimed at his head, he puts his hands out in defeat and continues to beg for his life. A purple armband is wr

apped around his wrist.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Wyatt says. “At least not yet.”

Wyatt grabs him by the back of his hoodie and yanks him to his knees, revealing his pale, sickly face. His hair is shaggy and a thin layer of stubble covers his chin. Circles under his eyes give him a sunken, hollow look.

“Are you sick?” I ask.

He nods. “Not with the virus. At least, I don’t think. I haven’t been bitten.”

Wyatt looks skeptical. A deep line creases between his eyes. I’m skeptical too, but the symptoms he’s showing aren’t the same as when someone is infected. Not exactly.

“Then what is it? The flu?” I guess, taking a step back.

A sound comes from behind him—through the open door. Coughing.

“Watch him,” Wyatt says.

He releases his tight grip on his back and I level the gun steady at his head. From the way he slumps over, I get the feeling he’s not going anywhere. At least not fast enough to get away.

Wyatt moves to the door and pulls a small flashlight out of his pocket, shining it inside. “Holy shit,” he says.

“What?” I ask. With the gun still in position, I move next to Wyatt. The room is nothing more than a small, empty closet. In the faint light I see feet, all connected to bodies huddled together. “Oh God.”

“Please don’t hurt them,” the guy on the floor says. “We’re not infected. It’s something else. Something they gave us.”

“Who? Who gave you what?” I look away from the dark room.

“A group of doctors came in and gave us shots—they said it was a vaccine. But everyone got really sick and some people…” his voice trails off.

“Some people what?”

He swallows. “They died. But that was a while ago. We’ve been holed up here since. Sick—but not dead.”

Wyatt and I look at one another. His jaw is set.

“We have to do something,” I tell him in a low voice.

“What they hell are we supposed to do? We can’t risk taking them back. What if this is just another phase of the virus changing?”

“What if Jane is behind this?” I argue.

“Exactly. What if Jane is behind this? What then?”

There’s movement in the closet and we both look over. One figure moves out of the darkness and to my utter shock calls out my name and asks, “Is that you?”

I grab the flashlight from Wyatt, even though I don’t need to shine the light on the face of the person calling my name. “Paul?”

“Alex!”

His pale, sweaty face breaks into a brief smile before he doubles over and groans in pain. He pitches forward and I lunge at him, tearing away from Wyatt’s hands trying to hold me back. “Don’t go in there!” he yells, but I’m already inside, arms wrapped around my friend.

Paul’s breathing is shallow as I turn him over, but he opens his eyes. “Stay with me,” I tell him. “I’m going to get you help.”

“Thank you,” he replies before his body stills and his eyes flicker shut once more.