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“Come on, Sherman.” She turned, wanting to get into the house where at least she would feel safer than being out in the open. As she made her way quickly toward the steps, she heard twigs cracking nearby. Stopping, she heard Sherman start to growl.
“Go to the house, Sherman.”
The dog whimpered, but she shooed him on.
Looking into the woods again, she knew she should go inside, but she needed to make sure that if there was a threat out here, she got it taken care of. When silence greeted her again, she all but ran to the house, where the rest of her weapons were and where she at least had shelter. But just as she was about to reach the porch, this god-awful groan came through the air, so close to her it felt like it was right on her back. She tripped, the sound startling her. Her foot got caught on the uneven ground, and she turned her head to see an infected shuffling toward her.
He had a long, dirty beard, and debris and black-and-red blood covered the white strands.
Sherman was on the porch barking and growling.
“Stay!” she shouted at the dog.
Rising up, she turned, knife in hand, and faced the infected. He had dirty clothes on, and although his pupils weren’t fully clouded over, as they were when someone had been dead for a long time, there was the start of that milky color. This man hadn’t been turned very long ago.
He reached out for her, groaning and snapping his teeth. She went to lunge at him, to plunge her knife in his skull, but he fell forward, landing on her. They fell back on the ground, knocking the wind out of her. She was an idiot for not bringing her gun, but she knew she had weapons, and she knew how to take down one of these fuckers without ammunition.
Struggling and grunting to get him back, she was having a hell of a time stabbing him in the head and damaging his brain, because she had to keep his face away from hers. He was clawing at the ground, trying to bite her. The sound of his gurgling, of his groaning as he wanted to rip her apart, had the adrenaline pumping through her like a fire infused with gasoline.
Sherman continued to growl, and as Maya tried to get the infected off of her, the scent of his flesh decaying and the sight of the necrosis starting to consume his face gave her a flash that this might be the way she died. She had no clue where he had come from. Hell, he could have been roaming around from when the fence had been busted.
They continued to struggle, and as she lifted her hand, thinking she had a good shot, he turned his head and snapped at her. The sudden act and her fear had reflexes taking over. She dropped the knife, their squirming bodies causing it to move up toward her head. If only she could reach the knife tucked at her ankle.
And then Sherman was on him, growling, tearing at the infected’s clothes. The groaning became louder, but the male still wouldn’t stop trying to bite her, still didn’t stop trying to rip a chunk out of her.
Maya didn’t want to die like this, didn’t want her life to end this way, when she’d found Marius and felt like she could be happy again.
19
Marius heard Maya before he saw her. He took off running, the buck falling to the ground as he charged through the woods and toward the house. He was exhausted, having walked all night, only resting off and on. He just wanted to get home to her.
When he broke through the trees, shock resonated in him, but he didn’t falter in running toward her. Gun now at the ready, he opened the gate and went over to her. He was about to grab the infected, when Sherman attacked the male, tearing at his clothing. The sound of fabric rending filled the air.
Maya turned and saw him, a gasp coming from her and strain and fear on her face. “My knife. I dropped my knife.”
Sherman slammed his body into Marius’s leg, trying to get to the man attacking Maya. Marius used his boot to kick the infected away and off of Maya, and as the male went onto his back, his lifeless eyes staring right at Marius and his groan surrounding them, it was recognition that had Marius frozen for a moment.
It was the asshole who stabbed him weeks ago. It looked like the crazy prick had gotten infected, or had been bitten and changed after he died.
“Let me do it,” she whispered.
He looked at her but then handed her the gun. She clearly needed to finish this.
The infected started groaning and reaching for them.
