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11
Collin finally allowed them to stop once they put a substantial distance between them and the warehouse. It wasn’t as if the fuckers could run—or walk very fast, for that matter—but since there was a horde of them starting to move toward the machine warehouse, Collin didn’t want to take any chances.
It seemed they were grouping together, congregating, and then having more muscle to take down someone. It was easy enough to kill a few at a time if they were destroyed in the head, but if twenty, hell, even ten swarmed him and all he had was this knife, that could get dangerous.
He might have been able to take down a shitload of them when he had helped Sparrow escape all those months ago, but he had an extra gun, a small one tucked in the ankle of his boot, that she hadn’t known about. It had saved him them, and if push came to shove, he would use the knife he had and take down every last asshole who came close to Rebecca.
Rebecca was on the other side of the fire, sleeping. He made a small camp for them a few hours after they ran from the warehouse. Although he had seen the fear in her face, knew she was used to doing things her way, probably slow and safe, he wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything.
This world was fucked up, and she knew that, and although she left with him without complaint, he had a feeling that on her own, she would’ve waited the infected out at the warehouse, thinking eventually they would have left. She considered that place her “home,” and it was clear she had no intentions of leaving there.
Collin watched her sleep, knew the sun would be rising soon, and they would need to keep moving, find a safer place to camp, and maybe one to setup shop permanently. But right now, he just wanted to watch her. She was a fighter, a survivor, and when she kissed him in the loft, just rose up and placed her mouth on his, everything stopped.
He wasn’t the violent man who lived on the streets of New York anymore. He wasn’t fighting until everyone bowed before him. He wasn’t the drug lord, the pimp, or the killer everyone had been afraid of. Right here and now, he was still all those things, but more.
He was so much more in this world and with this woman. What he wanted now, where his focus and priorities were now, were on this female and protecting her at all costs. Sure, they had just met, and no, he wasn’t in love with her. What he felt was raw, uninhibited possession and territorial need. He saw her, knew she was his, and something inside him clicked. It was like this primal, wild energy at seeing his female.
Was this how things had been back in the day when men had to fight for a woman, had to show her they were stronger and could protect them with their life?
She was asleep, and he knew she was exhausted, not only from running, but also because she had barely gotten any rest back at the loft. He had seen the bags under her green eyes, her too pale skin, and he wanted her to be able to get some sleep. But they needed to keep moving, because infected weren’t their only problem.
He scanned their surroundings, unable to rest until he knew for sure they were safe. There had been some semifresh human tracks that he had seen when they stopped, and knowing that someone could be lurking out there, waiting for Collin to put his guard down, had him doing the opposite.
He held his knife and moved his thumb back and forth over the blade as he looked at their surroundings. But even though he had seen the tracks, he didn’t feel anyone near. Collin had always relied on his instincts. They had been a must when he was working the underground, and they were still what kept him alive.
There was a crack of a twig in the distance, and Collin stood, his knife in hand, and his entire body poised and ready to attack. He backed away from where the sound had come from, closer to Rebecca, and then stopped. He listened, his heart beating slowly and steadily, his eyes alert.
He sensed the moment Rebecca woke, because she held her breath, obviously sensing there was danger close by. Fortunately, she didn’t make a sound or move. She was smart, but then again, she wouldn’t have lasted this long if she wasn’t.
More sounds of twigs breaking became closer. He placed a hand on the other knife he had strapped to his waist and strained to hear, making sure the sound wasn’t echoing off the trees. And then he spotted the infected moving out of the forest and toward them. Its steps were slow, languished even. The male was hungry, softly groaning and raising its hands toward them.
