The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan
Logan
The remaining weeks of summer came and went with little fanfare, the blistering weather eventually relenting, giving way to more bearable days and even cooler evenings. With the completion of the additions on the first round of cabins, another round was gearing up to begin. Meanwhile, Willow was readying for the upcoming fall harvest, after which the winter crops would need to be seeded.
While the seasons shifted, summer tumbling into fall, Willow and I were falling into a somewhat comfortable rhythm navigating the unfamiliar terrain of our new relationship. Comfortable for us, at least, not so much for the people around us. When we weren’t arguing, we were usually kissing, still unable to keep our hands off each other for any real length of time.
And as we fell into place with one another, so did everything else.
Willow and I began spending more time outside the wall; I’d teach her to drive in between scavenging through the nearby neighborhoods and, in time, she’d become quite good at both, amassing enough odds and ends to open a store of sorts—where people could trade for Willow’s scavenged goods. In true Willow fashion, none of what she scavenged and sold were necessities. They were always frivolous finds—entertainment items, along with decorations and knickknacks. While Willow remained the store’s gatekeeper, Leisel appointed Stuart in charge of daily management—a job that suited him better than working in the gardens. Headphones hanging around his neck, he was engaging with others for the first time; I’d even seen him smile once or twice.
And he wasn’t the only one.
With the completion of my bench turned shelf, currently housing Willow’s growing collection of books, I’d been busying myself with a variety of woodworking projects. Not only did it keep my hands busy and my mind occupied, but I’d also turned out to be damn good at it, too. Even better was the genuine pleasure on Willow’s face each time I completed something new.
We’d finally found some peace among the chaos. A real home in a godforsaken world. Some happiness to replace the hopelessness.
… or so I’d thought.
“Logan, Willow! Everybody up!”
A heavy fist beat against the cabin door, echoing throughout the small building, rattling the windows. Willow shot upright as I jumped out of bed, the blade I kept beneath the bed already in hand. While Willow scrambled for her clothes, I rushed to the quaking door, throwing it open.
Davey stood just outside, his hard features pinched twice as tight. He glanced from my blade to my naked body, his scowl quickly swerving back to my face. “Put some fuckin’ clothes on and get up by the gate,” he growled, turning to leave.
“What’s going on?” I called after him.
“Just get your ass to the gate!” he flung back. Jogging to the next cabin, he pounded on the door. “Wake up! Everybody up!”
“What’s happening?” Willow asked, shoving an armful of clothing at me. She’d already finished dressing and was in the process of winding her hair into a bun.
“No idea,” I muttered, shoving my legs into my jeans. “But you stay with me, alright? Don’t leave my side.”
After tucking several blades into my boots, and a few inside Willow’s boots as well, we hurried from the cabin, joining the growing drove of panicked faces moving quickly along the path.
Once everyone had congregated around the guard tower, Leisel and Joshua ascended the tower ladder, peering out at us from high above.
“Everyone!” Leisel called out. “Everyone, please quiet down. I’m going to get straight to the point—yesterday’s patrol ran into some car trouble and decided to spend the night in town, and it’s a good thing they did, because first thing this morning they spotted a sizable horde heading east on Main.”
As the crowd around us sucked in a collective breath, Willow and I looked at each other—her expression stricken. I knew what she was thinking—the same damn thing running through my mind. That maybe this was our horde—the same one that had stolen Lucas from us.
“How close are they?” a panicked voice called out.
Leisel held up a finger. “Now, we’re all aware that we don’t have enough resources or manpower to destroy a horde—certainly not one of this magnitude. Our strategy has always been to redirect them away from Silver Lake so that’s what we’re going to do, but we don’t have a lot of time. Yesterday’s patrol has already begun the process of luring them in a different direction, but it’s going to take a lot more people.” She paused, looking out over the crowd. “So, as much as I hate to ask this of you, I need volunteers.”
Several hands shot up, though not nearly enough. Unwilling to chance losing the first home we’d had in years, I grudgingly raised my hand. I didn’t particularly want to be involved, but neither did I like the idea of not being a part of the solution, and worse, not knowing what was happening. Beside me, Willow’s arm shot up.
“Logan and Willow!” Leisel called out, before I’d had the chance to snatch Willow’s arm from view. “Thank you. Please head to the garage with the others.”
“You two can ride with me.” Joe gestured for us to follow him. “Was talkin’ with Davey—we’re gonna try an’ herd ‘em north using the fortified vehicles. Got a couple of trucks scoutin’ ahead already.”
“She’s not going,” I growled, pulling Willow to a stop as she turned to follow Joe. “You’re not going—no fucking way.”
Shaking me off her, she gave me a withering look. “You know you can’t actually tell me what to do anymore, right? If you’re going, so am I.”
“Like hell you are,” I growled. “You’re going to stay here and—”
“And what? Pick potatoes while you’re out there fighting a horde of Creepers? Fuck that.”
Meanwhile, Joe had pulled up beside us, seated behind the wheel of a double-cab pickup truck, an industrial-sized V-shaped plow affixed to the front end. Double rows of solar-powered floodlights sat atop the cab; a metal cage had been erected over the truck bed, and most of the windows had been reinforced with metal grating. The tires had been capped and equipped with metal plates; even the windshield had been fitted with protective wiring.
“She’ll be fine,” Joe called from inside the truck. “Look at this beast—nothin’ is gettin’ inside that doesn’t belong.”
“See,” Willow retorted. “I’ll be fine.” Storming past me, she wrenched the passenger door open and climbed inside the truck. Slamming the door shut, she folded her arms across her chest and stared straight ahead.
Joe leaned forward, peering around Willow’s resolute form. “You comin’, brother?”
Jaw locked and ticcing, I jumped in the back seat. Joe stepped on the gas and as we all lurched forward, my arm shot out, wrapping around the seat in front, pinning Willow in place while the truck barreled and bounced out of camp and into the woods beyond.
Willow’s hand covered mine, surprising me by threading her fingers through mine instead of pushing me away. I squeezed her, feeling an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. “You shouldn’t be here,” I gritted out softly. “If I’m worried about you, I won’t be able to concentrate.”
“Logan,” she replied, her quiet tone matching mine in grit. “Maybe I don’t listen very well sometimes, and maybe I occasionally do some reckless things, but when it comes to fighting, I can absolutely do what needs to be done. And you know it.”
“I do,” I conceded angrily. “But it’s different now.”
“How? I’m still the same girl, and I’m more than capable of killing Creepers.”
“You’re not the same girl—you’re my girl now. And what if something happens to you?” Left unsaid was what would undoubtedly become of me if something did in fact happen to her—a fate so bleak I couldn’t even bear to fathom it.
Twisting farther in her seat, she stared hard at me. “And what if something happens to you?” she shot back. “Why is my life more valuable than yours?”
And just like that, I went from wanting to shake some sense into her to wanting to kiss the shit out of her.
Joe blew out an exasperated breath. “Hate to break up some damn good entertainment, but we’ve got a job to do. Now, on the off chance we get swarmed, it’ll be your jobs to get ‘em off us. You see the window behind you, just push it open and climb into the bed. Shoot ‘em, stab ‘em, do whatever you can to get ‘em off us.
“And there’re some kill bags under your seat, Logan,” Joe continued. “We might be takin’ out the stragglers by hand, so get yourselves ready.”
I reluctantly released Willow to dig beneath me. Dragging forth two canvas bags, one was filled with tactical gear and the other with weapons. Pulling on a plated vest and loading myself up with handguns, I handed a second vest to Willow, along with a serrated blade and a metal billy club, holding tightly to the club as I held her stare with mine. “Do you promise you’ll listen to me if shit gets out of control?” I watched a war play out across her features until eventually she gave a sharp nod. Only then did I relinquish both the club and her gaze.
Joe pulled us onto an empty street, save for one truck idling at the curb. Rolling up alongside the vehicle, we found Davey scowling behind the wheel and Britta bounced restlessly in the passenger seat beside him.
“Well, hey there, lovebirds,” she sang, waving animatedly. “So glad you could join us on this glorious Monday mornin’.”
“It’s Monday?” Willow asked. “I thought it was Wednesday.”
“Not a clue, sugar. Not a dang clue. It’s all relative though, ain’t it? ‘Sides, Monday feels like a better day to be dealin’ with the dead, don’t it?”
“It’s fuckin’ Thursday, ya goddamn idiots,” Davey interjected. “Now, listen the fuck up—horde’s ‘bout half a mile that way.’’ Davey gestured ahead. “We’re fixin’ a barricade to turn ‘em ‘round, and we’ll be usin’ the trucks to keep ‘em turnin’ the way we want ‘em. But shit could get real messy out there—”
“Don’t it always?” Joe replied dryly.
Britta grinned. “That it does, Joey. That it does.”
Another vehicle was noisily approaching—a rusted-out school bus whose sides had been built up with metal cladding, with sharp spikes welded around each of the windows. Much like the trucks, each window was dressed in metal grating.
“We’re doing it just like the last time,” Davey continued loudly over the noise. “We’ll keep ‘em going for a mile or two and then cut the engines and get out of sight. Xavi’s team is already up ahead laying the explosives to keep ‘em moving north.”
“How many times have you guys done this?” I asked.
Over the years we’d run into enough hordes to know that they were impossible to cut through and impractical to fight against. Up until now, stumbling onto the path of a horde meant you turned tail and ran like hell in the opposite direction, hoping they didn’t follow. Either that, or you found somewhere to hide and prayed they didn’t find you.
“Why? Ya’ scared, Eddie?” Britta mocked. When I only stared at her, she laughed harder. “Alright, alright—I’ll stop pulling your dick.”
“Woman, you could pull mine,” Joe said. “Anytime you want, anywhere you want.”
“How about, only in your dreams?” Britta blew him a kiss.
Davey cleared his throat loudly. “If y’all are ‘bout done actin’ like hornball teens—we got a job to do. Everybody ready?”
“I’m ready,” Britta said, flashing a brow-waggling grin. “Y’all know me—I’m always ready to be killin’ somethin’.”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Joe said.
Willow glanced back at me, her determined expression unwavering. “Ready.”
I said nothing. Redirecting an entire horde was a foreign concept to me, and I wasn’t entirely sure it would work. Especially not once the Creepers got wind of our scent. Neither could I willingly agree to ever be ready to send Willow headfirst into danger.
Together, both trucks pulled onto the road, Davey taking the lead. As the stench of the dead grew more pungent, I began spotting stragglers dragging themselves along the crumbling road. Each Creeper we passed fixed us with its milky gaze and I found myself checking each rotten face, searching for familiar features, and thankfully finding none. Soon, a noise, much like the distant roar of a rock concert, began to vibrate through the air around us, just the tail end of the horde came into view.
Ahead, Davey swerved his truck left and Joe followed suit, bringing us smack dab against the wall of walking dead. The Creepers immediately turned their attention to us, growling and snarling as they clawed, some even throwing their bodies against the side of the truck. I squinted into the distance, trying to locate the other end of the traveling mob, only there appeared to be no end in sight. Bodies remained tightly compacted as far as the eye could see, shoulder to shoulder as they shuffled slowly along the road.
We continued inching along beside the horde, the sounds of the dead growing immense and unnerving. Dead eyes watched us through the windows, decaying hands pawed at the truck, the Creepers close enough that we could see each torn fingernail, each shattered tooth and every shard of broken bone protruding from their rotting flesh.
The sound of screeching tires had me tearing my gaze away from my window. Up ahead, Davey’s truck was crawling in Creepers and weaving dangerously in and out of the horde. Flooring the gas, Davey plowed into the center of the road, slamming on the brakes and dislodging the dead. Following closely behind him, Creepers were flung onto our truck, some managing to grip hold.
Willow released a shaky breath and I reached for her, squeezing her arm, while my other hand clenched tighter to the pistol in my grip.
“When I stop, we’ll need to get out of sight,” Joe said. “Xavi’s team is gonna be makin’ all sorts of noise to keep the horde moving in the right direction. After that, it’ll be our job to get rid of the stragglers.
“Like that one,” he continued, pointing to one of the Creepers holding fast to the plow. Bald, with sunken, hollowed features, its eyes were little more than shriveled grapes inside concave sockets. “That motherfucker is staring at me like my number is up and he’s the grim reaper come to collect. He’s the first to go, ya’ hear me? And that bastard is mine.”
We continued on in silence until the clear sky ahead exploded in color—a cloud of orange smoke shooting straight into the atmosphere. “That’s our cue,” Joe said, slowly bringing the truck to a stop and cutting the engine. “Mountain pass is up ahead; Xavi’s team should be threading them through it like a needle. Hopefully the ugly fuckers’ll just keep on goin’.”
“And if they don’t?” Willow asked.
“Like I said before, then we’ll be killin’ whatever’s left by hand.”
As soon as we’d stopped, the Creepers began to crawl over one another in an attempt to get to us until they covered us completely, their wriggling bodies pressed tightly to the truck, darkening the interior. Engulfed entirely in living death, the truck rocked to and fro, as the growling and groaning intensified outside, echoing around us until it was all I could hear.
As the tension thickened to unbearable levels inside the cab, Joe began to mutter what might have been a prayer. Willow, though she tried to appear unaffected, was trembling slightly. Leaving the pistol on the seat beside me, I wrapped both my arms around her, holding her tightly to me.
A loud boom in the distance caused everyone to jump; the Creepers crowding the truck appeared to pause and turn toward the noise. “Trigger one,” Joe whispered. “Everyone in the back—out of sight, out of mind, and all that.”
“Willow,” I whispered, shaking her arm. “Willow, come on, get back here.”
Still trembling, Willow climbed into the back and Joe followed, the three of us sinking to the floor, crouched on our knees.
Bodies continued to slam against the truck, groans and growls renewing with vigor. We sat there, uncomfortably crouched, barely breathing for what felt like forever, until another explosion rang out in the distance.
Joe’s wide eyes clashed with mine. Trigger two, he mouthed.
Slowly—excruciatingly slowly—the bodies covering the truck began to thin. Light filtered inside the cab once again.
“It’s working,” Willow whispered. “It’s fucking working.”
We remained crouched, merely listening to the horde as they moved around us. The truck still rocked as bodies continued to bang against us. Another thirty minutes passed by in agonizing silence when a third explosion shook the earth.
“Time to finish this shit,” Joe said, maneuvering himself back into the driver’s seat. Pulling a shotgun from the overhead gun rack, he reached for the door. “Hardly any out there now—should be easy pickings.”
As Willow moved to follow suit, I grabbed her arm, holding her still. “Logan, I’m going to be okay,” she said, taking my face in her hands. “I promise.”
My nostrils flared. My breath sped up. I grabbed her face and kissed her hard on the mouth, brutally stroking her tongue with mine. She kissed me back with equal measure, breaking away far too soon. Breathing hard, and with a look of sheer determination on her face, she pushed open the door and jumped headfirst into the fray.
Climbing out of the truck behind her, I found myself momentarily frozen, blinking against the harsh morning light. The sounds of death sang loudly from every corner of the highway—the whistles of sharpened blades slicing through the air, the grunts and groans of exertion, the inhuman growls of the dead, while sweat and rot made the otherwise cool air feel hot and heavy and stinking of smells far worse than the mind was capable of conjuring.
All around me small battles were being waged—Britta stood on the hood of her truck taunting Creepers, distracting them while Davey, wielding a gleaming machete, beheaded them from behind. Headless bodies littered the ground surrounding their truck, and a short ways away, a pile of heads was quickly amassing. Joe was even farther out, closer to the tree line, swinging his ax in large rolling sweeps each time a Creeper dared get too close, leaving each of his would-be attackers in literal pieces. Willow—only a few yards from me—had gotten straight to work, gripping the closest Creeper by its stained and tattered jacket and rapidly striking its temple with her blade. It slumped upon impact and Willow promptly released it.
Two Creepers had taken notice of my descent from the truck, their heads swiveling around, their bodies following as they began stumbling toward me with raised arms and snapping jaws. A blade in each hand, I lunged for the first, piercing its neck with one blade while sending the other into the side of its sunken skull. Pulling my weapons free, I ducked and spun away from the grasping hands of the second Creeper, reemerging behind it, giving it the same treatment as the first—one blade to the neck, and one to the skull.
Looking for Willow, I found her fighting farther down the road, furiously slashing and stabbing. I fought my way toward her, taking out another three Creepers before reaching her. She acknowledged my arrival with only a brief nod and then we were back-to-back, both of us fighting in tandem, fighting until my muscles burned and every breath felt like a flame-filled gasp; until sweat flung like rain from my sopping skin.
Breathless, chests heaving, Willow and I collapsed shoulder to shoulder, her hand fumbling for mine, and for long several moments we merely surveyed the scene around us—body parts strewn over the concrete and surrounding grassy areas, everything covered in varying colors of muck and gore.
“You good?” I wheezed.
“Uh-huh,” she replied tightly, equally out of breath. “You?”
“Me? I’m fucking great. It’s a beautiful day—I’ve got a beautiful girl.” Squeezing her hand, I smirked at her. “What could possibly be wrong?”
Despite the hellish landscape and her clear exhaustion, Willow began to laugh. “Logan, did you just make a joke in the middle of a life-or-death crisis?”
“Nope. At the end of a life-or-death crisis.”
Still smiling, she gave me a long, heavy-lidded look that made my entire body jerk to attention. “You should not joke more often. It’s kinda hot.”
Brows raised, I grinned at her. “Yeah? How hot? On a scale of one to you need me naked?”
“You need a minute off in them trees, lovebirds?” Britta sauntered toward us, holding a long-handled sword in each hand, both blades dripping with innards. Grinning, she tilted her face to the sky and inhaled. “Lawd, I sure do love the smell of death in the mornin’!”
“Woman, you’re straight fuckin’ nuts.” Davey staggered up a steep incline, his jacket torn and covered in dark spots. At the sight of him, Willow gasped.
“Davey, you bit?” Britta’s swords clattered to the ground as she rushed Davey, fumbling with his jacket. “Where ya hurt?”
“Nah, nah, everything’s fine.” Davey waved her off. “Fell down the embankment and fought with a tree stump at the bottom, is all.”
Britta sent her fist into Davey’s shoulder. “Goddang it, Davey-cakes, you fuckin’ scared me.” In response, Davey shoved her sideways, forcing her to hop over several bodies. “Y’all, it’s Dead Head hopscotch!” Laughing, she continued hopping over fallen Creepers.
“Hold up now…” Davey glanced at each of us before turning in a slow circle. “Where’s Joey?”
“I seen him down the road a bit.” Britta pointed a sword in the direction of the horde. “But that was back when we was still fightin’ by the trucks.”
“Last I saw, he’d been over there,” I said, pointing to the tree line.
We were all turning in circles now, looking up and down the long stretch of gory road, taking turns calling out Joe’s name.
Britta cocked her head to one side. “Hush now. Y’all hear that…?”
Everyone quieted, our gazes on the tree line where the sounds of twigs snapping and leaves crushing underfoot could be heard.
“What is that?” Willow asked quietly, glancing at me. Ears straining, I merely shook my head in reply.
“Whatever it is, it’s about to meet the end of my sword!” Brita grinned. “Come out, come out, whatever you are—”
A figure suddenly broke through the tree line. “Shut up and run!” Joe shouted, waving frantically. “Run, get to the trucks! There’s another horde! They’re right behind me!”
The trees had already begun to move—swaying as if they too wanted to get as far away from the approaching doom. Then the eerie, inharmonious moans of the dead came rushing up through the undulating trees, echoing up and down the otherwise quiet highway.
“Holy shit,” Willow breathed, her hand tightening around mine. “Logan, look. They’re everywhere.”
Up and down either side of the highway, Creepers were spilling out of the woods, stumbling out from behind trees at a rapid rate, one after another after another.
“I think they doubled back from up ahead,” Joe gasped, as the five of us banded together in the center of the road. “Either that or they were lagging way behind the first group. And all that noise we were making—we called ‘em straight to us.”
“We gotta get back to the trucks,” Davey ground out. “We can’t let ‘em head toward camp. We gotta lead ‘em north.”
“We’ll be fightin’ our way back to them trucks.” Britta, both swords in hand, leaped from our small circle to neatly cleave the heads off the first approaching Creepers.
“You got another idea?” Davey asked, as Britta reclaimed her place in our group.
“Nope,” Britta said. “Fightin’ it is—y’all ready for round two?”
No one replied; we simply took off running down the road, eventually splitting into two groups—Joe, Willow and I ran in the direction of our truck, while Davey and Britta headed toward theirs.
“Logan!” Willow was slashing wildly at three converging Creepers, panic causing her to miss her marks. With a heaving grunt, I shoved away the one I’d just killed and grabbed one of her attackers, sending a blade into the base of its skull. Grabbing another around its neck, I dragged it away from Willow while she kicked the third in the knees, sending it sprawling to the ground. Finishing them off, we took off running again, soon closing in on the truck. Joe was already there, shoving Creepers out of his way as he wrestled to open the tailgate.
“Keep ‘em off me!” he shouted, crawling inside the cage, kicking frantically at the mottled hands grasping for him. Willow and I dragged his attackers off him, killing them quickly, and then attempting to keep the rest at bay. It was a futile effort—there were just too many of them.
“Willow, get in the truck!” I shouted, shoving her behind me as I took a shot at an approaching Creeper. Shouts arose; somewhere someone was screaming. Distracted, my aim was off; the bullet clipped the Creeper’s shoulder, sending it stumbling back. I aimed again, this time the shot found purchase between its eyes.
“Get down!” Joe bellowed from inside the cage. “Get the fuck down!”
I dropped down just as gunfire exploded above me, a steady stream of bullets flying overhead into the approaching mass of bodies. I rolled beneath the truck, shouting Willow’s name. If she answered me, I didn’t hear her. All I could hear was the sound of the rapid-fire machine gun above me, loud enough to hurt my ears. From my hiding place beneath the truck, I watched as Creepers dropped in mass numbers, only to be replaced by new ones.
I heard the snarl too late; having crawled beneath the truck, the Creeper was already upon me by the time I noticed it. I grabbed its fast-approaching face, digging my fingers into the rotted skin around its mouth, forcing its snapping maw away from me. I released it with just enough time to shoot it straight through its open mouth; the back of its head exploding, blood and brain matter spraying like confetti. Rolling out from beneath the truck, I found myself face to face with another Creeper. Bang—I sent it flying backward with a bullet to its face.
Someone was shouting—it was Britta, I realized. She was standing on the top of her truck, a shotgun in hand, shouting as she fired. Meanwhile, Davey’s bloodied form was half slumped over the truck’s windshield, slowly sinking down to the hood.
“Come and get it, motherfuckers!” Britta stomped her feet on the roof of the truck. “I’ll kill every last one of you, ya hear me! I’ll kill all y’all!”
The world was madness. Nothing but noise and death and more death.
“Logan!”
I whirled around at the sound of Willow’s voice, relieved to find her inside the truck, beckoning me through the partially open door. “I’ve got Joe’s keys!”
“Move over,” I demanded, climbing into the driver’s seat as she scrambled to get out of my way. “And tell Joe to hang on to something.”
Jamming the key into the ignition, I stepped on the gas, making a sharp U-turn in the center of the road and plowing down Creepers as I pulled up alongside Britta’s truck. “Get on!” I shouted. Only Britta was oblivious—she was still screaming, still brandishing her weapon despite having run out of ammunition. Creepers were quickly converging on both vehicles, grasping at Davey’s prone body. Sprawled on the hood of the truck, Davey’s eyes were wide and unseeing, a mouth-sized gash in his neck, blood still spurting from the wound.
“Britta—get on the fucking truck!” I barked. “Get on the goddamn truck right now!”
Britta’s bloodshot eyes dropped in my direction, a grin on her dirt-streaked face. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, Eddie! Those motherfuckers killed Davey—then they went and bit me!” She pointed to her ankle, where the cuff of her jeans were ripped and dotted with blood.
Even over the gunfire in the back, I heard Willow’s sharp intake of air. “Britta!” she screamed, leaning over me. “Get on the truck—get on the fucking truck right now!”
The shooting abruptly stopped; the groans and growls of the dead rose in earnest. “I’m out!” Joe shouted. “It’s time to get the hell outta dodge, folks.”
“You heard Joey,” Britta proclaimed to the sky. “Time for y’all to get a move on.”
“Britta!” Willow was verging on hysterical—it was all I could do to keep her from climbing over me and out the window. “Please get on the truck! Logan, make her get on the truck!”
“Britta,” I spat through clenched teeth. “If you don’t get your ass on this truck, we’re going to get mobbed and we’re all going to die. Is that what you want—you want all our deaths on your hands?”
Britta’s wild-eyed gaze landed on me, still bizarrely smiling. “Well, dang, Eddie, you sure know how to hit a girl where it hurts, dontcha?”
With a resigned sigh, she tossed her shotgun in the air, catching it and twirling it around. Holding it like a golf club, she sent the grip of the gun slamming into the head of a Creeper crawling up the windshield. “That’s for Davey,” she snarled. Another toss of her weapon, another twirl, too, and then Britta sent the battered tip of her boot straight into the face of a Creeper dangling from the side of the truck. “And that one’s for me, you goddamn, stupid, ugly fuckers!”
“Britta!” Willow continued to scream. “Get on the fucking truck!”
“Christ on a goddang cracker, Willow,” Britta said. “I’m fuckin’ comin’.” Leaping across vehicles, she landed with an audible thud on the roof above me.
“Hang on to something!” I shouted, stomping on the gas once more. The tires spun, kicking up gore as the truck blasted forward, the plow swiping oncoming Creepers off their feet and out of the way.
“We’ve got to stop!” Willow cried. “We’ve got to stop and help her!”
Swerving sharply right, clipping the corner of a cluster of Creepers, I ground out, “I can’t stop here—they’ll be on us again in minutes.”
Flying at top speed down the interstate, I took the first exit, pulling into an abandoned strip mall. Willow had thrown open the door before the truck was fully stopped, clambering out onto the pavement with a yelp. Cursing, I threw the truck into PARK and rushed outside to help her. Joe, too, had flown from the back of the truck, climbing up the cage toward the roof. Meanwhile, Britta was seated between the two racks of floodlights on the roof, her legs dangling over the windshield, looking substantially less stricken than the rest of us.
“Where’s the bite, Brit?” Joe was frantic, hauling Britta off the truck. Depositing her onto the pavement, he quickly sliced open the leg of her jeans, revealing a very red and angry imprint of teeth just above her ankle. There wasn’t much blood; it was mostly a surface wound. But in the end that wouldn’t matter. The bite had pierced the skin and once the infection spread to the bloodstream, no one lasted very long.
“Oh, Jesus, Brit, what the fuck did you do?” Joe jumped to his feet, palms pressed to his forehead, turning away.
“Oh shit,” Willow whispered, dropping to her knees beside her friend. “Oh shit, oh shit, Britta…”
“Told y’all to leave me there,” Britta said plainly. “I fuckin’ told y’all—” Britta’s words abruptly cut off. Wet sprayed across my face. I blinked, temporarily stunned as I took in the blood spatter across Britta and Willow’s equally owl-eyed expressions, both of them gaping at Britta’s partially severed limb.
With a panicked shout, Joe brought his ax down again, severing Britta’s leg only a few inches above her bite.
And then Britta began to scream. “My foot! Joey, my goddang motherfuckin’ foot!”
“Hold her still!” Joe shouted. Tossing the ax away, he began fumbling with his belt buckle, pulling the thick strip of leather free. I dropped down beside Britta, attempting to help Willow hold her still as blood pumped from the stump, coating my hands in seconds. Britta continued to scream and thrash in my grip, all the while cursing Joe.
Whipping off his shirt, Joe sat on Britta’s middle, working frantically to wrap it around her bleeding stump. Securing the belt over the makeshift bandage, he pulled and tied it tight.
Britta was still screaming and thrashing, though her movements had begun to slow and her screams had become nonsensical. Willow continued sobbing at her side, hugging Britta more than she was holding her.
“Help me get her in the truck,” Joe said, breathless. Jumping up, he swiped a blood-soaked hand across his face. “We gotta get back to camp—we gotta get her to Doc.”
At some point between lifting her off the pavement and laying her across the back seat, Britta stopped fighting. Willow scrambled inside, cradling Britta’s lolling head in her lap, while Joe began pulling various things from beneath the seats, shoving whatever he found beneath Britta’s ruined leg, in order to keep it elevated.
Shirtless, face and chest painted in Britta’s blood, he turned to me, the whites of his eyes stark against his bloodied skin. “Drive, brother,” he growled. “As fast as you fuckin’ can.”