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This is How We Live

Page 112

by Elle Richards

We moved off the road long enough to pass the wrecked sedans, our steps quickening as if the urge to hurry hit us both at the same time.

Luke separated from me, heading over to the passenger side of the line, while I took the driver’s side.

“If you find any keys—”

“I’ll yell,” I said.

He looked at me over the roof of a black Mercedes. “And if something feels wrong...”

“I’ll yell oleander.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Cute.”

We made it to the last vehicle in the line. The ute was empty, and the driver’s door had been left wide open. No visible keys, and I had no luck searching under the seats or in the glove box.

The second car had an infected woman slumped in the back seat. When I peered through the glass, her head lifted, and I gasped. One eye was completely missing, the socket empty and dark as she groaned and reached for the window. I took an involuntary step backward and stumbled on a discarded water bottle.

“No keys,” Luke said from the other side. “You good?”

“Just fantastic.” I ignored the heat his quick smile generated, keeping my eyes on the third car in line. A blue Subaru.

The rear windows had a dark tint on them, and I leaned closer to scan the front seats. A handbag sat on the console, with a drink bottle in the cup holder and a colouring book on the passenger seat. Crayons were scattered across the floor.

“Doors on this side are locked,” Luke said. “I’ll keep moving.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” I crouched lower for a better view and caught metal glinting from the passenger seat footwell.

When I straightened, Luke had ducked behind the white SUV two cars down. Still close by if I needed him, but far enough that I wouldn’t risk yelling and drawing the wrong type of attention.

The metal shining in the darkness looked like a keyring. I eased the driver’s door open, and with a knee propped on the seat, I leaned through. My pulse leapt. They were definitely keys.

The foul stench hit me a split-second before movement exploded from the back seat. A man launched forward, rocking the entire car on its suspension, his grip tangling in my ponytail.

“What the—” I let go of my axe, my palm connecting with the handbag as I tried to scramble out of the space. The handbag slipped off the console, and I overbalanced, honking the horn with my elbow. “Get off me.”

The infected’s grip tightened in my hair, and a garbled moan followed.

“Oh, shit, shit, shit.” With the seat between us, I had a sliver of breathing space, but it wouldn’t last long.

Vacant eyes locked onto me, red veins showing beneath pale skin. His mouth opened, and rot leaked free.

An image of Luke having to tell Sadie that Tim and I had both died flashed through my mind. A wave of energy surged inside me, and I fought back, jamming my forearm against the infected’s head, pushing down hard enough to keep his teeth out of biting range. Saliva dripped down the side of the seat, and his fingers stuck in my hair.

I had one foot outside the car, but I couldn’t reach the ground. Couldn’t get the leverage I needed to free myself.

“No!” Luke’s voice tore down the road, footsteps hammering across rain-slick ground. Seconds later, he tried to yank the rear door open on my side, but it was locked.

I forced the man’s head down, biceps screaming, heart battering against my ribs.

Luke’s pickaxe smashed through the rear window, and the car rocked again as glass exploded around me. Seconds later, the fingers in my hair tore free, ripping strands from my scalp.

I dragged in a sobbing breath and braced my hand on the steering wheel, backing out of the car.

Luke opened the rear door from the inside and yanked the infected out onto the road. With an overhead swing, he crashed the pickaxe into the man’s forehead, and the body stopped moving.

“Thanks,” I said. “God, I thought—”

Luke dropped his weapon and pushed my hair out of the way, his features hard as he ran his hand down the side of my neck. He tugged my jacket aside next and checked my collarbone, not being all that gentle about it, either.