4

My heart thunders in my chest, drowning out Zoey’s voice as she faces the man in the living room. His grin stretches too wide, his gaze predatory. I want to help her, but my body won’t move. Every logical part of me screams that I’d only make things worse—I’m no match for him like this. But he doesn’t know it’s two against one. We might have a shot.

I move with careful urgency, reaching down to draw my knife from the sheath strapped to my waistband. The blade gleams in the low light as I ease it free. My fingers tremble, not from fear, but from the sheer effort of staying so silent.

Right when I shift my weight to move, one of my crutches flies out from under me. Paint shoots through me like lightning,

“Ow—” I bite my lip to stifle my cry.

Laughter erupts behind me, harsh and wet. I look up to see a second man I hadn’t noticed before. His voice is a jagged scrape against my ears, each guffaw punctuated by a spray of spit. Some of it lands on my arm, and nausea churns in my gut. That’s disgusting.

“Well, look what we have here,” he sneers, stepping into the room toward me. His boots creak against the floor while he approaches. “This one’s injured. She’ll do.”

I glare up at him, gripping my knife tighter. “I’ll do what?”

The grin that spreads across his face makes my skin crawl, and regret washes over me for asking the question. He squats down in front of me, balancing on his haunches with ease. His elbows rest casually on his knees, but his eyes are anything but relaxed. They gleam with a sick satisfaction that sends bile rising in my throat.

“The human race is dying,” he says, his breath hot and sour. “And there’s only one way to save it. You two are the first women we’ve come across in…a long time.”

My stomach knots as the meaning of his words sinks in, and I gag. My grip on the knife tightens until my knuckles ache. The man reaches down and readjusts himself. The bile burns my throat, but I swallow it back down.

The ground spins and my fingers curl against the hardwood floor as though to hold on.

No. This can’t be happening.

We never should have come.

Regret washes through me with such intensity that I don’t fight back when he leans closer, his rough hand gripping my chin and forcing me to meet his gaze. “This one’s plain,” he says, his voice dripping with disdain. “But she’ll do. I call dibs.”

Revulsion surges through me. Without thinking, I wrench my face from his grasp and drive my good foot into his face with all the strength I can muster. His head snaps back, and he stumbles, landing on his ass with a satisfying thud.

Zoey moves like lightning, dodging the second man’s grasp. She ducks low and drives a knitting needle into his thigh. He screams, clutching at the injury, but she’s already backing toward me.

“We need to go.” Her voice is sharp, urgent.

I scramble to my feet, leaning on my remaining crutch for support. The man I kicked lunges for me, but I stumble back and out of his reach. “Run, I’ll catch up.”

“Bitch, I’m not leaving you,” Zoey snaps.

I want to argue, but now’s not the time. She grabs my free arm, and we move together in a clumsy hobble-run toward the door. The man with the needle in his leg curses while trying and failing to get to his feet.

Before we make it out, the needle-in-thigh man grabs Zoey by the hair and yanks her back. She screams, her hands clawing at his grip.

“Zoey, no,” I cry out, spinning around.

“Zoey, is it?” The man snarls, wrapping her long blonde hair around his fist. He pulls her close, his nose buried in her scalp. “I like your hair.” He inhales deeply like a predator savoring its prey.

What in the world?

The absurdity of the gesture stuns me for a moment. I doubt she’s showered recently, yet he’s acting like she’s fresh out of a perfume ad.

Zoey thrashes, tears brimming in her eyes.

The other man is on his hands and knees now, glaring at me with one hand covered over his nose that’s gushing blood. I must have kicked him harder than I realized. Good.

The first man’s eyes roll back when he sniffs Zoey’s hair. She struggles against him, but he only tightens his grip. Tears well in her eyes. “Run, Emily,” she whimpers.

“Fuck that.”

The man I kicked charges at me, blood pouring from his nose. I fling my crutch at him with all the force I can muster. The hard bottom catches him in the crotch like a bulls-eye, and he collapses with a strangled groan.

If my aim was lucky enough, he won’t ever be able to reproduce, or even threaten, a woman again. Fingers crossed.

With him taken down, I turn my attention back to Zoey. Her captor tightens his grip, but I lunge forward with my knife in my hand, straight for Zoey. I slash through her hair in a swift movement, freeing her. She stumbles forward, clutching at her scalp, while I whirl around to face the man.

“You fool.” Zoey grabs my nearest fallen crutch before wrapping an arm around my waist.

We don’t get far before I turn my head and see one of the men charging after us, fury etched into his face and golden blonde strands dangling from his fingers. With no time to think, I pull back my arm and hurl my knife. It spins through the air and buries itself deep in his eye. He drops instantly, hitting the floor like a sack of brick. The guy with the bloody nose and broken nuts wails in agony while trying to crawl toward his friend.

Zoey doesn’t want to stop to celebrate. Shoving the crutch into my hand opposite her, she yanks me forward, forcing us into a strange, stumbling rhythm while we flee the area. My legs burn, my arms ache, and the pain in my ankle is almost unbearable, but we don’t stop.

Not until the familiar sight of our small campsite comes into view. Only then does Zoey let go, dropping onto the ground in a heap.

I collapse beside her; the adrenaline leaving my body in waves.