7. Emily

7

EMILY

B y the time I notice my stomach growling, it’s already raining. Fat, heavy drops patter around us, transforming the forest floor into a slippery surface. Buddy’s steps slow alongside mine. We won’t make it much farther without food and water. I could push it on my own, but I’ll be damned if I push Buddy like that.

Ahead, a large tree stretches wide, its branches thick, creating a natural canopy against the rain. When I head for it, I catch movement from the corner of my eye. A rotter, clawing its way across the ground. I veer right and jam my knife into its skull with a firm twist until its body goes limp, then I hurry with Buddy toward the tree and settle beneath the overarching branches.

I slide down against the rough trunk, letting out a sound of anguished exhaustion. Buddy sniffs me with concern, pressing his wet nose against my palm, and I scratch behind his ear. “I’m okay, boy. Just needed a breather. Let’s rest for a moment.”

Setting my pack on the ground in front of me, I dig through it, producing two bottles of water and a couple of snacks. Buddy’s nose is already in my pack, sniffing eagerly and making me laugh. He paws at the beef jerky packet before pulling it out with his teeth.

“Here, let me help you with that,” I laugh, taking the package from him and opening it. I lay a few pieces in front of him, which he devours in seconds, his tail thumping against the damp ground. It’s not a feast, but it’s something. Not quite the stash I wish I’d grabbed before leaving, but we’ll make it work. We’ve survived worse since the dead rose. A minor complication with the living won’t stop us now.

“We’ll figure it out, Buddy.” I wrap an arm around his neck and bury my face in his dirty, damp fur, pressing a kiss to his head.

Buddy tilts his head and nudges against me in his own version of a hug. He’s the sweetest boy. I pull back, pressing a kiss to his head, then take a much-needed drink of water, downing half the bottle before forcing myself to stop. Guess I needed this break more than I realized.

I place the water bottle on the ground away from me so it can catch some of the rain and lean back against the tree. The splintered bark digs into my shoulders, but to my exhausted body, it’s as good as a pillow. My eyes grow heavy, letting the rain’s steady rhythm wash away the tension in my muscles. It’s been a long journey. Not only tonight, but every step leading up to now. Ever since I promised Zoey the next time she saw me, it would be with a bag full of meds for her.

My eyes drift closed, and before I know it, the darkness pulls me under.

My town is before me as I walk up the road with the bag full of insulin. I push myself forward. I’m so close. Smoke rises on the horizon, thick and dark, curling into the sky while flames devour rooftops. Shouts and cries pierce the air, the sounds of my town in chaos. Every step I take seems to drag me farther away, the asphalt beneath my feet stretching into oblivion .

This isn’t happening again. It can’t be. It’s my worst fear: another invasion that I’ve somehow caused. I sprint forward, trying to close the distance as the flames leap higher, a crimson hell swallowing the life I’d fought to protect?—

Buddy jerks out of my grip, wrenching me from the nightmare. A moan filters in through the rain-filled air. I’m on my feet in a flash, tossing my meager belongings into my bag and flinging it onto my back before brandishing a knife, my senses blaring. Only the rain and Buddy’s low growls break the silence as he stands rigid in front of me, hackles raised. I look around for the threat.

A rotter stumbles out from around a bush, a small branch catching on its ratted old shirt. Its cloudy eyes remain fixed on us while it reaches its broken fingers out, trying to grasp us through the air. I lower my knife and watch it struggle with pity.

It’s sad what this does to people. In an instant, they transform from normal people with normal apocalyptic lives into the most dangerous creatures on Earth, felled by something as small as a twig.

Buddy lunges, teeth flashing through the air before sinking into the rotted flesh and tearing at it with his claws. His growl is a fierce rumble as he tears into it. I’m about to leap forward to help, but something slams into me from behind, shoving me to the ground.

The world tilts, a ringing filling my ears as the wet ground rushes up to meet my face. Icy rain pelts my skin through openings in the treetop canopy, and pebbles bite into my cheek as a rotter’s weight presses down on my back, pinning me in place.

I struggle, trying to shift my weight, but it traps my arm between us. Its teeth snap dangerously close. The rotten stench of decay fills my nose. I twist, fighting to free my hand, every muscle straining as I feel the rotter’s breath on my neck. Bile rises in my throat at the stench. If its teeth don’t kill me, its breath surely will.

Images of Griffin, Max, and William flash in my mind. The way they looked at me, their eyes cold and filled with doubt, swallowing Nathan’s lies whole. Nathan ruining our lives yet again with a smirk, telling them twisted truths they gulp down like candy.

Fury surges through me, tightening every muscle in my body. I buck beneath the rotter and almost fling it off me, but it holds on. Then, with a scream, raw and unrestrained, I roll over, driving my knife down through its skull, my mouth wide open, my scream catching the raindrops.

The rotter falls still, but I keep stabbing it repeatedly, twisting and turning the knife to scramble its brains. When my scream finally dies down, I wait a couple of beats. My breath comes in sharp, heavy gasps, my chest heaving when I yank the knife from its head. I push the body aside and it plops into the mud. Rain is falling harder now, the thick drops pelting my face as I stare up at the patches of sky between the leaves, and swallow down a cry.

After pushing myself upright, I crawl away from the dead rotter until I can retrieve my fallen belongings. That tumble scattered all the contents of the bag across the ground. With the rain morphing into a pour, the dirt is transforming into mud, dirtying everything up. I normally wouldn’t care about that, but it even got inside open packages of food, diminishing our already low supply and rendering it inedible.

Low moans echo from nearby. I scramble to my feet, slipping in the mud. “Come on, Buddy. We can’t stay here.”

Buddy wins his fight with the rotter and darts to my side, his paws kicking up sloshes of mud when we take off.

The rain thickens, transforming the dirt into a sludgy mess that clings to my shoes, sucking at them with every step. It becomes a fight to keep my shoes on. Buddy, however, doesn’t seem to mind. His tongue lolls out of the side of his mouth while he dashes through the rain. He leaps through puddles, splashing water everywhere, and even jumps in one, sending droplets flying around us. For a moment, all my worries melt away when I watch him. I can’t help but laugh at his antics. Every person should have a canine sidekick in the apocalypse.

The playfulness evaporates when a rotter stumbles toward us, and we resume our running again.

The ground pulls at my feet; the mud gripping harder with every step, until I find myself trapped. My left shoe sticks, the mud swallowing it whole, refusing to let go no matter what I do. I tug as hard as I can until my foot slips free with a sticky pop, but my shoe remains buried in the muck. My balance falters, and I reach out, gripping the nearest tree trunk to steady myself. I reach out to dig through the mud for my shoe when I notice at least four rotters closing in fast, their faces twisted with vacant hunger.

I can’t keep doing this. My body grows more exhausted with each passing hour, and it’s been a long night of nonstop running and fighting for our lives. So, as my last resort, I pull the gun from its holster and fire away until each of the rotters falls in a dead heap on the ground.

“Let’s go, Buddy,” I say, my voice barely audible over the rain. “Those shots are likely to draw in more, and we don’t want to be here when they arrive.”

Buddy lets out a soft whine, his ears pricked, as if he understands. I don’t bother trying to get my shoe. There’s no time. I’ll have to find another somewhere.

Turning back in the direction we were headed, I reach for my compass to confirm. My hand grasps mud-covered bare skin beneath my shirt, and I gasp, spinning around.

My compass. It’s gone.

“No. No, no, no. Not again.” It’s nowhere to be found here, so it must have fallen free when I fought with the rotter in the mud.

More moans reach us. There’s no time to go back. There’s no way I’ll be able to find it now, even if we did.

I fight back the sob that threatens to erupt when I think about how William sacrificed himself to get my compass back for me. Would he have done that if he knew then what he knows now?