He reached the side of the bath.

  “Rosita?”

  She stopped. Stopped moving, just for a moment. Her silky dark hair was matted, mangled. Her skin was covered in a film of thick sweat.

  “Rosita, what…”

  She pulled her hands to her side.

  Her blood-soaked hands.

  Something hit the bottom of the bathtub when she moved her hands. Something thick. Heavy. Sloppy.

  And Dean didn’t understand what it was at first. Some kind of meat?

  He didn’t understand what it was until Rosita turned around.

  There was a hole in her belly. A hole that her intestines dangled out of. Like something had ripped her body open. Torn her apart.

  “Holy fuck, what…”

  He looked at her face.

  And for all the blood, all the weirdness, the thing that freaked Dean the most was the way his wife looked at him.

  Blood drooling out of her smiling mouth.

  Eyes rolled back into her skull so far that the whites were going blue.

  Blood dripping from her ears, her nostrils, from everywhere.

  Dean backed up. Tried to step away.

  And then he slipped.

  Fell onto his back.

  His head cracked against the bathroom tiles. He tried to shuffle away. Tried to get out of the bathroom. ’Cause something was wrong. Something was fucked up about Rosita.

  “Kayla!”

  He reached the door then he felt something.

  A leg.

  A soft shin.

  A shin he was very familiar with.

  Too familiar with.

  He felt something damp drip onto his face.

  Looked up.

  Kayla was standing over him.

  Smiling.

  Blood dribbled out of her orifices, out of her… you know where, just like Rosita.

  She was holding a pair of scissors.

  “Kayla?”

  Kayla crouched down over Dean.

  “What’re you—”

  He felt the scissors pierce through his neck.

  Felt the hot blood seep into his throat, blocking his breathing, stopping him from even screaming.

  He tried to fight. Tried to struggle as the scissors wedged into his neck again, again, again. As the bathroom filled with even more blood.

  But all he could do, in the end, was stare up.

  Stare up in horror at the two women in his life.

  The two women he loved.

  The two women he thought the world of tearing him to pieces.

  Laughing about it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Riley ran away from Main Street, towards the armoury on the south side of the wall.

  The darkness was thick, suffocating. There was a warmth to the air. A warmth that was always present whenever guns had been fired, whenever violence had flared. The creatures were fewer in number around this area, though. The odd straggler in the middle of the street every now and then, but nothing like the mass he’d fled on Main.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered anything quite as big, as forceful, as that.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever encounter anything like it again.

  At least, he hoped not.

  The only sounds around him were his footsteps as they echoed against the concrete. The slight droning murmur of the creatures’ groans in the distance. The screams, the gunshots, the cries. But they all seemed so far away from his current position. All seemed so distant. Strange considering one of the main breaches was on the south wall.

  But fuck. It was a good thing, considering where he was heading.

  He knew where the south armoury was because he just so happened to live with half of the MLZ leadership. Jordanna was surprisingly open about the location of the guns to him. Riley warned her she should watch herself in future, watch who she told that information.

  He hoped she wasn’t so big-mouthed about it to other people.

  Right now, he needed to catch a break.

  He could smell the lingering stench of rot in the air. Taste the smoke from the explosions, the gunfire. After months of living in relative peace, it all seemed so abnormal. All seemed so… well, surreal.

  He’d grown used to the peace. Grown used to the comfort of being able to slip into the background. The luxury of not taking the lead. Of not being the one responsible for everyone else’s actions.

  He’d grown used to not having to do a thing.

  But now he had to grow up again.

  Now, he had to lead again.

  His heart dropped when he saw the padlock to the armoury was lying on the concrete.

  He stopped. Reached for the door. Fuck. Please. This couldn’t be empty. It’s all he had left. He’d made a bold move running away from Jordanna and the others in the first place. It couldn’t backfire. Not now.

  He pulled open the door.

  Looked into the darkness.

  The armoury was empty. Completely empty.

  Not even a fucking penknife had been left behind.

  Someone had got in here. People had already got in here.

  “Jordanna and her big fucking mouth,” Riley muttered.

  He closed the door.

  Turned around.

  He wasn’t sure what to do now. All he could think of was trying to loot a few seemingly unoccupied houses, apartments. But he wasn’t totally comfortable with that. People were on high alert. He’d end up getting himself killed.

  His thoughts froze when he saw the little detached house over on the right.

  He recognised it right away as Cal’s place. He didn’t know Cal very well. Didn’t know anyone really well anymore, in truth. But he knew one thing about him: he liked going out beyond the wall on solo missions. And although possession of firearms was strictly forbidden amongst the general population of the MLZ unless in times of crisis—which Riley assumed this was—he knew from what Jordanna told him that Cal wasn’t the kind of guy to stick to rules so willingly.

  Besides, if a fat shit like Cal made it outside the wall so many times, he had to have some kind of weaponry.

  He walked across the road. Did his best to ignore the gasp of a creature. Didn’t sound too far away. Definitely sounded like it was onto him. But its groans were far enough away. He could avoid it. For now.

  He stepped in front of Cal’s front door. It was partly open. He stood there a few moments. Turned his attention to inside. He didn’t know what’d happened to Cal’s wife. Hadn’t had the chance to find out.

  But from the state Cal was in when he attacked Jordanna and Hassan, Riley couldn’t imagine much good had occurred in these walls anytime recently.

  He pushed open the door. Stepped inside. There was a musty smell in the hallway. A dampness that lingered on the tongue. He walked slowly past the wooden cabinet, which was filled with old photos of Cal and Sadia—photos they’d done incredibly well to salvage.

  He walked past the ticking grandfather clock.

  Walked towards the kitchen dining area.

  It didn’t take Riley long to see Cal’s wife.

  She was over by the sink. Right in front of it, dressed in a blue skirt and white blouse. She looked like she was just in the middle of washing. Just in the middle of cleaning the pots.

  Only her skull had been bashed into a pulp.

  Riley looked down in the murky sink water. It was dark, filled with blood. He could just about see the fragments of brain and skull, filled with follicles of hair, floating up on the surface.

  Sadia’s body crouched limply over the sink.

  Not a good way to go. If there was such a thing as a good way to go at all, this definitely wasn’t it.

  Riley turned. Headed upstairs.

  The place was so quiet. And yet it felt like someone was watching all the time. Like someone was creeping after him in the darkness. Didn’t help that he kept on hearing creaking in the house’s foundations. Like footsteps pattering after him.

  He kept his cool as he searched the rooms upstairs for a place Cal might keep his weapons. He searched the bathroom, the two bedrooms, everywhere.

  But still, nowhere.

  No sign of any weapons.

  He started to wonder if maybe Cal was as clean as he professed when he saw a little marking on the bedroom carpet.

  It was small. Neatly done. If Riley hadn’t been staring at the floor, he wouldn’t have noticed it.

  But there was a definite square cut into the carpet.

  He walked over to it. Crouched beside it. Rubbed his fingers across the carpet, tried to get a grip.

  He pulled up the piece of carpet. Ripped it away from its lightly applied staples.

  And then he lifted the loose panel of wooden flooring underneath.

  He smiled when he saw what was staring up at him.

  There were guns. Lots of guns. Five, six, seven. A knife too. And a hammer.

  He reached inside. Grabbed a rifle. Wasn’t sure of the kind. How the fuck was he supposed to know the brands of guns?

  All that mattered was he remembered how to fire one. But it was like riding a bike, right?

  Hopefully easier.

  He took the knife. Strapped a rifle over his back. And then he slipped a pistol into his back pocket. Put the wooden panel over the top, the carpet over the top of that. He could come back here. Bring Jordanna and James and Hassan back here.

  For now, these guns would do.

  They’d make their mark.

  They’d—

  He heard scuttling outside the bedroom door.

  Saw a shadow move across the carpet.

  He stood there. Rigid. Still. Heart pounding. Chest tight.

  Had he heard something? Seen something? Or was it just his mind? His mind playing tricks on him?

  It was possible.

  Yeah. It was likely.

  Didn’t matter anyway. He had guns now. Guns to deal with whatever was out there. Guns to fight them off.

  But he didn’t want to draw much attention to himself.

  So he lifted the hunting knife and made for the door.

  He pulled it open. Looked around outside on the landing.

  No sign of life.

  No sign of footsteps.

  Nothing.

  But still, that sense that someone was out here.

  That sense of someone waiting in the shadows.

  Watching.

  He swallowed a lump in his dry throat.

  Took a deep breath.

  Crossed the landing, descended the stairs.

  When he reached the ground floor, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. Just needed to get out of this house. Get as far away from it as possible. It gave him the creeps. The silence. The mustiness. Sadia over the…

  He swore his heart skipped a beat when he looked over at the sink.

  Sadia was gone.

  The hairs crept up his arms. The skin on the back of his neck tingled.

  He had to get away.

  He had to get out.

  He had to…

  When he turned, he saw the figure over by the front door.

  Its face was mangled. Mashed up. So much so that it shouldn’t be alive. It shouldn’t even be undead.

  They weren’t supposed to live with bashed-up heads like that.

  They weren’t supposed to walk.

  Riley cleared his throat. Lifted the pistol. Pointed it over at the figure. Waited for it to make a move. To reveal itself.

  It walked towards him. Slowly. With more composure than a creature. With more… thought.

  When the figure stepped into the moonlight peeking in through the windows, Riley almost shat himself.

  Cal’s wife was the figure.

  She was standing there, only recognisable from her clothes, her face brutalised beyond recognition.

  She was holding a bread knife.

  Riley tickled the trigger of the pistol. Went to shoot. He had to put her down. Finish her off. End her misery.

  And then he heard a noise to his right.

  A growl.

  Felt cold breath on his ear.

  The next thing he knew, he was on the floor.

  The gun was out of his hands.

  He was trapped.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Jordanna gripped onto the drainpipe and prayed Riley would show up soon.

  The sky didn’t seem to be getting any brighter even though dawn was approaching. Or maybe it wasn’t approaching. Maybe it wasn’t approaching at all. Maybe she hadn’t been dangling from this drainpipe for as long as she thought, fingers slippery, numb. Losing her grip.

  She didn’t want to think about what’d happen if she lost her hold.

  Not now the undead were right beneath her again.

  Their groans filled the streets, echoed against the buildings. The smell never got any more pleasant. And as Jordanna held on, the taste of sweat on her dry, cracked lips, she suddenly realised just how much of a fallacy their defensive measures were. Just how bullshit the security at the MLZ was with her in charge, with Hassan in charge.

  She should’ve prevented this happening. She should’ve been able to keep these people safe.

  But she’d not been expecting this. She’d not been expecting anything like this.

  How could she?

  “We’re gonna have to make a break for it sometime soon.”

  Hassan’s voice filled her with the usual response. Fear. Fear because she knew how he made her feel. Fear because she couldn’t help but enjoy spending time with him. Enjoy his company. Enjoy the way he made love to her.

  That enjoyment was dangerous.

  But right now, Hassan’s voice filled Jordanna with a different fear. Fear for another reason.

  She looked down at him.

  Looked into his bloodshot eyes.

  She was afraid of him because of how he’d acted.

  Back in his apartment before Cal arrived.

  He’d acted… different. He’d grabbed her. Spaced out. She’d never known him act in that way before.

  And now he was being all normal.

  Now, it was as if everything was just fine.

  “Make a break?” Jordanna said.

  Hassan nodded. Adjusted his grip on the drainpipe. “Figure it’s better than dangling on here forever.”

  “We won’t be on here forever.”

  “What? You think Riley’s gonna come running back to the rescue?”

  “Don’t belittle him.”

  Hassan laughed, a look of disbelief on his face. “Don’t belittle him? Me? Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been doing by shagging me behind his back for—”

  “Watch your next words very carefully,” Jordanna said. She lowered her boot. “I could very easily kick your hand to a pulp and send you tumbling to the road.”

  “And I could very easily grab your ankle and drag you down with me. So what’s it gonna be?”

  Jordanna looked down at Hassan. Looked into his eyes. And amidst the backdrop of the dead flesh, the angry faces, the distant stares, Jordanna couldn’t feel anything but disgust for this man. Disgust for the man who’d reeled her with his bullshit. Who’d come between her and Riley.

  But more than anything, she felt disgust for herself.

  She’d betrayed Riley. She’d failed to be there for him in his time of need. And sure, he was difficult. He was really fucking difficult with her.

  But she shouldn’t have reacted the way she had.

  Because she loved him.

  There was no denying that. Not now.

  She loved Riley.

  “We’re going to wait here,” Jordanna said. She glanced up at James, who hadn’t said a word for hours. Or maybe it was minutes. Everything dragged on when dangling from this pipe. “We’re going to wait. Riley’s not an idiot.”

  “Well.”

  “He’s not stupid. Crazy, perhaps, but not stupid. And he’s capable. He’s led before. He’ll figure this out. One way or another he’ll figure this out.”

  Hassan tilted his head either side. “And if he doesn’t?”

  Jordanna’s cheeks heated up. She opened her mouth to respond.

  But she couldn’t.

  She couldn’t say a word because something filled her mind.

  Something invaded her senses.

  Every sense.

  Blood.

  The taste of blood.

  The taste of it on her lips.

  The feel of it on her hands.

  The red moon glaring down at her and everything feeling so fine, so okay.

  Someone screaming.

  People watching.

  Someone screaming and people watching and—

  “Jordanna!”

  She felt her fingers loosening.

  She gasped. Caught onto the pipe again. She looked around. Looked at the street. Still filled with undead. The sky still dark. Hassan still beneath her, James still above her.

  She was okay.

  She was fine.

  “What the fuck was that?” Hassan shouted.

  “What the fuck was what?” Jordanna said. She tried to keep the shakiness from her voice. She’d had plenty of practice at disguising fear in her life. Her old escorting days taught her a trick or two where that was concerned.

  “You—you started mumbling something. Then you let go. And… shit. Holy shit.”

  Jordanna didn’t know what Hassan was “holy shitting” at initially.

  But when she looked up, when she looked at where Hassan was looking, she knew exactly what the source of his cursing was.

  James was climbing the drainpipe.

  Climbing it back towards the ajar window of Hassan’s apartment.

  “You can’t go back there, James,” Jordanna shouted.

  James didn’t say a word in return.

  Jordanna swallowed. Started climbing after him.

  “Jordanna?” You can’t—”

  “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” Jordanna said.

  She shuffled away from Hassan. Right out of his field of grip.

  Felt a whole lot safer, more assured, for doing so.

  She kept on climbing. Kept on climbing after James. She knew he was in a bad way after what happened to Tamara. To the unborn baby. She knew he was angry. Acting in self-destructive ways.

  And that was to be expected. But right now he needed helping. Right now he needed reassuring.