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“What do you see?” Griffin stops halfway through working to get the flat tire off and he stands up and looks ahead, but he can’t see what I see.
Max stands with a grin and pulls his morning star from his back. “Dregs or rotters? Let it be rotters, they’re more fun. Although I could use the challenge with a good strong dreg. Is it both?”
Emily turns around in circles, clutching the kit to her chest while trying to find the threat, but it’ll be too late by the time she can see it. We’re all spread out too much, and the rotters are getting closer with each passing second. And there are a lot of them. Holy shit.
“You guys get down, or up, whatever. Emily, climb up here.” I indicate the ladder on the side of the van that I climbed up.
She turns to the van, looks up at me, and I can see the fear in her eyes. She tosses up the first aid kit and I could lecture her for wasting precious moments that she could have been climbing instead of still worrying about me, but I catch it and then drop it by my feet before focusing on her again.
Griffin and Max have hidden beneath the cars they were beside, but Emily is the only one still vulnerable. I motion for her to get inside of the van, but she looks up at me and then climbs. When she reaches the top, the ladder breaks apart from the van and before I can grab her, she falls to the ground, landing on her back. I let out a curse and look toward the herd of rotters. Some of them hear the noise and turn their attention our way.
16
EMILY
Pushing out from beneath the heavy metal ladder, I slide underneath the large van. I would much rather be on top of it with William, but my luck isn’t working out that way today. I should have listened to him and gotten inside of the van instead. Being on the ground like this makes me feel far too vulnerable, and I don’t like that feeling. Like when I was stuck in the tree without a weapon. Or when I tried to escape during my first night with them and Max pushed me toward the rotters. And the night when that asshole stole our supplies and let the rotters in after I’d cried myself to sleep beneath the willow tree. No matter how many close encounters I survive, it never gets easier.
The sounds of shoes scraping along the asphalt get louder and I hurry to get myself hidden and out of their way. My foot is the last part of me to get free, and the ladder clangs against the ground when it does. Some scuffles pause and change direction, getting closer. After letting out a brief curse, I cover my mouth with one hand, afraid to so much as breathe.
My heart pounds in my chest so hard it hurts. Knives of varying size and sharpness cover my body, but I can only fight off so many at once. I hope it won’t have to come to that. I can’t even outrun them. I’m trapped.
Dirty shoes and muddy, graying bare feet come into view. Most of them keep scuffling along, but a few show interest in the van, pressing against it. I remain as quiet as I can manage and pray to whatever gods are listening that they keep moving.
The more rotters that pass by, the better. It’s a lot. Like a lot, a lot. Feels sort of like I’ve been dropped into the city. Almost. Cities have a lot more, but I’ve rarely seen them move through the world in a herd like this. It panics me, because I know from experience that if one of them gets a whiff of something living, then the others will know.
The herd is slowly passing by when one of them bumps into another that seems to paw at the van and gets knocked to the ground. A graying face with patches of missing flesh winds up being eye level with me, and I press my hand harder against my mouth to keep from crying out.
This rotter only has one eye because the second eye popped out of its head on impact and rolled over to me, landing barely an inch away. I want to vomit. Instead, I swallow it down with a small accidental cough. Oh no.
The rotter reaches out for me and I slide away, straight into the legs of another that’s standing on the other side of the van. Two rotters tumble down on top of me and I reach for the only thing I can grab: the knife necklace. Pulling it free from the chain, I shove it through the neck of one rotter, and then the other, putting enough force behind it to sever the spinal cords. It doesn’t take as much as it normally would, and I silently thank Max for his sharpening skill. The corpses fall on top of me and I think it might be over, until dead fingers scratch at my legs, and then pulling on my hair. I’m surrounded.
A scream erupts from me. I’m done for. Buried beneath a pile of rotters with no way out and no way to reach my weapons. I try, but the corpses on top of me are blocking me from them. The weight of them pinning my hands and arms so I can’t reach for any of the other weapons that I’m covered in. All I can do is swing my necklace knife around in a small circular space to buy myself as much time as possible.
The weight of the rotters piling on top of me gets heavier. I struggle for air as they crush my lungs. Their writhing bodies pile on more. I don’t even care about the stench; I need air. Closing my eyes against the gnashing teeth, I stab more, harder, in every direction I can manage.
A tear runs down my cheek, and my hope diminishes.
The weight on top of me lessens, and air fills my lungs. I suck in a deep breath. Rotten air never tasted so good.
I open my eyes and see Griffin looking down at me in a fit of rage and bewilderment. He looks like a madman, tossing corpses around like rag dolls, his hands covered in blood while he does so.
William is on the ground nearby, his bloodied shirt trampled on the ground and his bleeding arm held upright. He whistles and shouts to get the rotters’ attention and then runs to draw them away. All I can do is to be angry that he hasn’t fixed himself up yet. I even threw him the first aid kit before this mess happened. Almost as though I risked my life to get him that kit for nothing.
Griffin reaches down and pulls me to my feet. He screams in my face, but I can’t understand him through the ringing in my ears. My heart hasn’t calmed down yet. If anything, it’s beating even faster. Harder. He pushes me up against the van and grabs the head of the nearest rotter, twisting hard and severing the spine. It drops to a heap with the others.
He opens the door of the van and pushes me inside before climbing in after me. Before the door closes, I see his knife on the ground nearby. What’s it doing over there? He needs it with him. I can’t believe he left it out there. He turns to face me again and he winces. He’s hurt. My panic rises even more.
“Were you bit?” I strain to hear him through the ringing, so I keep repeating my question. I can’t even hear the question myself, but I can’t stop asking it, not until I get an answer.
His hands appear on either side of my face. His eyes are wide, gray and empty, like the souls outside this van. His lips move. I try to explain, to shake my head, but he holds me still, pulling me in until our foreheads are touching together.
The ringing clears a moment later, and I can hear our heavy breathing. “I can hear again.”
“Thank fuck. You scared me.” He tilts his head up and his lips brush against my forehead before pulling away.
I study his face, looking him over as best as I can at the moment. “Were you bit?”
He shakes his head. “No, were you?”
