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Had he forgotten she had teeth? She hadn’t. He risked losing more than a nipple if he tried to kiss her.

Ali heard the moaning the same time the stranger did. His head snapped around as his big body tensed. The oversized paws dropped from her hair and hip, enabling her to make a dive for the shotgun.

All kinds of confidence rushed back into her once she had the weapon tight in her hands.

God, who to turn the gun on first, zombies or him? Her heart sped.

Ali had watched the world unravel through Mary’s front window, her own neighbors murdering and looting. Once law and order were gone, no one could be trusted. She’d crawled up into the attic and puled the ladder up after her, then stayed there a month after everything was silent, too scared to move.

A common enemy didn’t mean a thing. This man had done little to engender her trust. He might not have hurt her so far, but he showed no signs of letting her go, either. Asshole.

Meanwhile, the ass**le was all business. One hand retrieved his pistol while the other reached for his pack and delved within. He emerged with a box of ammunition, which he proceeded to load, every move calm and efficient. The loony smile was long gone, just like she should be. It was better to be safe than sorry.

The shotgun felt good and heavy in her hands. Survival was everything. She could only trust herself for that. She had to be alone.

“Sounds like we’ve got a group of them,” the man reported, his big hands stil on the go, seemingly unconcerned about her gun. How could it not occur to him that she might be just as much of a threat as the infected? “They’re coming from the street out front. Go out the back door, I’ll be right behind you. Go.”

But she didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, overwhelmed, trying not to empty the slight contents of her stomach onto the kitchen floor. This house wasn’t secure. Escape meant going outside, where the infected were. The thought terrified her. Her mind became a mess of white noise. No choice, she had to go out there.

“What are you doing?” the man bellowed. “Run!”

Escape back to Mary’s house. Back through the rabbit hole and up into her safe place in the attic. All on her own.

He could follow but, being built akin to the proverbial brick shithouse, no way would he fit through the hole in the fence. His surviving this long told her he could obviously handle himself and deal with the infected on his own. He would be fine.

Ali ran like a rabbit, straight out the kitchen door and into the midday sun, her gun held before her in a grip that could choke.

It was safer alone. Alone was best. If her own neighbors had gone nuts then strangers certainly couldn’t be trusted. And this guy was the quintessential definition of strange. No need to feel guilt over leaving him. She didn’t even know him. So why were her feet faltering?

Why look back?

They were there, the infected, spilling around the sides of the house and into the suburban backyard, lurching forward in their f**ked-up fashion. Far too close for comfort and far too many to fight. She broke out in a cold sweat. The tattered, bloody remains of clothing hung from their putrid flesh, rank in the summer air. No humanity left, walking nightmares. Hungry, yawning mouths stretched wide.

The acid burn of bile hit the back of her throat.

Ali turned away, clutched her gun tighter, pushed her legs harder, feeling the fire in her calves. Through the long, green, overgrown grass, past the bright, plastic children’s swing set, and on toward the back fence she ran.

The stranger’s heavy footfalls were close behind her when the toe of her boot caught in the cracked concrete path. Her balance deserted her. She threw a hand out, ready for the fal , but he was there. Fingers hooked into the back of her jeans, righting her before she could greet the ground. He kept her upright and on her feet. He saved her life.

“Keep going.” Sweat had beaded on his brow, but the gun in his hand was steady.

Ali pushed herself forward.

So close.

Nearly there.

Shots rang out behind her, the noise startling against the chorus of moans and groans. She braved a quick glance over her shoulder and watched more and more infected stumble around the sides of the house, like a lunch bell had been rung. Or a shotgun discharged.

Which she had done, back in the kitchen. Shit. Damn.

They might not enjoy sunlight but it wouldn’t stop them if a meal was at hand.

Ali dived for the break in the shoulder-high fence and scrambled through on hands and knees, pushing the shotgun ahead of her.

She ran into something that stabbed through her denim, slicing into her skin. A sharp stab of pain shot up her leg and made her gasp.

She ignored the pain and tugged herself free.

The escape hatch was three wooden palings with their bottom halves missing. She had to wriggle and wrench to get her h*ps and butt through, but it beat the exposure of the open streets. Eight weeks worth of dwindling rations and sitting up in the attic, sweating it out, had whittled her away, but it was stil a tight fit.

Behind her the big guy swore as her rear cleared the rabbit hole and sweet liberty beckoned. His pack flew through after her, knocking into her heel. She stumbled back up onto her feet, ready to be gone.

The fence groaned and shifted behind her, protesting the weight as his hands gripped the top, boots scrabbling for purchase as he heaved himself up and over.


Before his feet could hit the ground, she was off and running. On through Mary’s prized rose garden, straight over the top of the spot where she had buried the old lady. Her stomach tumbled and turned.

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