Author: Kylie Scott

She did not end here. She could not be dead.

Houses gave way to a line of shops. Lots of busted glass and dark patches on cement walkways. It was the same story everywhere, death and destruction.

And suddenly he was tired and cold. He realized if she was dead, then he wasn’t certain he wanted to live. He wouldn’t leave Dan on his own, but stil . Fear of commitment had nothing on this. She had ruined him for anyone else. Her prickles and quirks were as potent as her soft touches and tender ways.

She could get all fired up, but he could talk her down, get her under him, get inside her.

“Pony up,” murmured the big man.

There were no signs of a fresh kill nearby; the street was clear. The pick-up pulled up outside a typical country hardware store. The building had probably stood for eighty-odd years. They jumped down off the truck to the clicks of weapons being loaded. The others mil ed about, waiting on him and Dan to make the first move. And Dan did move.

Straight up the sidewalk, long legs striding into the cavern of the store. Finn followed, his blood thick with fear. The place looked wel -raided, rubbish strewn about.

“We’ll head downstairs.” One of the other two guys produced a flashlight and off they went.

Where was she?

“Yel ing isn’t smart,” Santa rumbled. Far too close.

He gave the guy the evil eye but it was true, he wanted to let loose, bring the hick town down around their ears, shouting her name.

Erin headed toward the back door and the street. Santa fel in behind her without further comment.

“I’m going to check out back,” said Finn.

“Yep.” Dan turned on his heel, stalked out the front door.

A noise on the roof had Finn's eyes and ears up. It was a scraping sound, followed by the creak of wooden beams. It wasn’t just the normal stretch and strain of an old building. Something was up there.

“Dan!”

Finn bolted for the side exit, throwing the door open so hard it slammed back against the interior wall. Who cared about noise now?

“Al?” He searched the skyline and the gutter framing the building. “Al, you there?”

The door slammed open once more and Dan joined him on the strip of weeds. “Where? Where is she?”

“Heard something on the roof.”

“The roof?” The big man grinned like someone had flicked all his best switches at once. “She loves roofs and attics. How do we get up there?”

Dan hoofed it down the side of the building with Finn following tight. He nearly ran into the man’s back when he suddenly halted.

“No, no, no.”

Blood and gore splattered the rear parking lot. It was far too familiar a scene. Flies lay thick on the ground. The place stank.

Finn’s words petered out as they both stood and stared. Something nastier replaced the fear and worry that had dogged him through the night. “What do we do if she’s been bitten?”

Daniel gave him a glacial look, his face like a stranger’s. “Then we’re too late. She would have already … she’d have … you know, if she could.”

Finn nodded, the warmth of the morning sun leaching straight out of him. Because yes, she would have killed herself rather than turn.

The building beside him made the same creaking, groaning noise. There she was, climbing down in slow motion. One foot was wedged into a broken window while the other gamely searched out the platform provided by the forklift below.

His lungs swel ed in his chest like his ribs couldn’t hold them. She was alive.

Her fingers were clutching the edge of the roof. If they made a noise, she might startle and fall, but she was not being left to deal on her own.

Finn moved before he was even aware of it. He scaled the piece of machinery, climbing onto its roof, hands reaching for her. She squeaked and kicked back, nearly nailing him in the balls with the heel of her boot. One grimy hand slipped and she flailed in midair, twisting and turning, trying to fight him off.

“Al. Stop.” Finn fisted his hand in the waist of her jeans, throwing the other arm around her thighs to steady her. She hung suspended by one arm, her feet stil a foot or two off the roof of the forklift. “Al, it’s me! Calm down.”

Her other hand gave way and she fell the remaining distance. One foot missed the forklift’s roof, slipped into the abyss between machine and building, and sent them both off balance. His arm had ridden up to her chest, but his hand was stil tight in the back of her jeans, caught nice and snug between them. Al slapped her palms against the side of the building, which stopped them from falling. No way he was letting go now. Not now and not ever.

“I’ve got you, Al. Everything’s fine.” Finn put his mouth close to her ear and tried to talk her down, because she shook like a leaf and still wouldn’t acknowledge him. “Pull up your foot for me. I’m right here, Al.”

She made no move. The back of her dirty t-shirt rose and fell chaotically.

“Al, please. Listen to me.”

After a God-awful time she turned, showing him the shiny red mark taking up half her cheek. It sat on the same side of her face as the fading brown and green bruise from her concussion. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Their poor girl. Anger and fear filled him all over again.

He waited.

“Finn?” she asked, voice a scratchy whisper.

He smiled. “Hey. Everything okay?”

She blinked twice before lowering her chin. “Yeah.”

“Alright, that’s good. Lift your foot up onto the roof for me.”

“My foot?” Ali gazed down, mystified, but her foot duly lifted. “Dan?”

“Here, babe,” the man said from behind them.

Finn carefully turned her.

Dan’s face showed nothing at the damage done, from her scalded hands to the burn on her face. His voice was calm and measured.

“Hey, hon.”

She tried clearing her throat, coughed. “I’m not bitten or anything. Can we go now?”

“Sure.” Dan held his arms out and Finn guided her down, not letting go until she was firmly in Dan’s grip.

She was okay. She was fine. Finn put his hands on his knees, bent double and breathed deep. He kept his eyes on her. Handcuffing himself to her held appeal. Man. The feeling of relief almost dropped him to the ground.

Santa clapped his hands lightly, applauding Al’s reappearance. Erin beamed. Whatever. Apart from Daniel, he didn’t want anyone near her until they sorted this shit out. The big man obviously felt the same way, keeping an arm tight around Al while he held a water bottle to her lips.

Al gave the two a brief nod, gazes stuck on the sticky mess on the street. “It was dogs.”

“Dogs?” Dan pulled her in closer.

“A pack. They had red eyes. It was … it was crazy.”

“I bet,” the big man rubbed at her arms, like she needed the heat put back into her despite the morning sun that was now beating down.

Santa squinted. “Dogs? Honey, are you sure?”

“It was. I saw them, well, I heard them.”

Santa’s mouth contorted into a grimace, vaguely sympathetic, but mostly skeptical. “Ali. You’ve had a dreadful experience. We are going to get to the bottom of what the hell went on here yesterday. But don’t you think …”

“Stop. Right there.” Finn slid down off the forklift, stood beside her. “She says it was dogs, it was dogs.”

“Look at this. Look at what they did. You really think it could be anything other than an animal?” Dan gestured to the mess of blood and gore with the water bottle. He turned Al away from the scene, herding her toward Finn.

Finn put his arms out eagerly, unashamedly. He tried not to let it bother him when she frowned and turned back to face off with Santa.

“I wasn’t imagining anything. I wasn’t hal ucinating. They were dogs, a pack of them, and they had red eyes.” Their girl stared down the old bastard, daring him to argue. “I’ve never seen anything like it. A bunch of infected had gathered down here, I think they heard when I kicked in the window. It was over so fast … There was another light, too, near town.”

“Ali …” Santa started.

“We believe you,” Erin said, when her father didn’t make the right noises.

And Santa might have appeared chastened, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Right. Well, let’s take this discussion somewhere safer, hmm?”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Standing in the shower, Daniel’s girl was a kaleidoscope of colors.

Finn washed her down with the utmost of care. There were bruises ranging from black and blue to murky greens and yellows. There were fresh red scratches and the softer pink of older wounds. They needed to take better care of her. But any attempt at discussing it was met with her silence.

The kid was down to her knees, rubbing at some imaginary patch of dirt. Their girl was squeaky clean. Finn probably just wanted to keep his hands on her, keep touching her. Who could blame him?

Dan watched the slow, delicate process with his arms crossed and his back to the wall. He was barely holding himself together, just waiting for her to snap out of it and come back to life. She remained as silent as a living doll.

Her gaze, however, kept sliding back to the pistol in his belt. They were back to that, God help them. He really hoped she wasn’t going to try to sleep with firearms under the pillow.

He still buzzed with adrenalin, wound up with no one on hand to beat the living shit out of. Yet. Thank God she was safe.

The kid kept on and on with the bathing.

Final y, when she wavered on her feet, ripe with gooseflesh, Finn reached for a towel. Much patting and dabbing of shiny pink skin ensued. Then the kid slathered her in antiseptic cream. He treated her like spun glass, a fairytale princess receiving her due.

Sweet, but enough. His girl was ready to collapse from exhaustion.

“My turn,” he said. “Up and out, babe. Time for bed.”

“Wait.” She gripped his shoulder, most likely to push him away, but he already had it sorted. Ali was up in his arms and halfway to the bed piled high with pil ows before any coherent argument could be found. “Dan, I can walk.”