I grabbed the door and slammed it shut just as something hit it from the outside.
Hard.
The impact rattled through my arm… and there was no pain.
I shoved the deadbolt into place, and something clawed at the other side instantly.
Scratching.
More bodies began hitting it.
Behind me?—
Footsteps.
I turned, and Nash stepped in like none of this phased him in the least.
Bull was right behind him, sweating, eyes a little off.
Stain lowered his gun slightly, breathing hard. “Inside’s blown,” he said. “They got out.”
“I can see that,” Nash replied calmly.
My grip tightened on the bat, ears ringing from it all—the scratching at the door, the dragging sounds down the hall, a broken noise coming from these things that used to be people.
And under it all—Taryn breathing from upstairs.
Max barked, loud and protective.
I looked up at the ceiling toward her.
“Where’s the girl?” Nash questioned.
And just like that?—
Nothing else mattered.
I turned and took the stairs two at a time, the sounds behind me fading under one thing?—
Max.
He wasn’t barking anymore; he was snarling.
Deep.
Feral.
The kind of sound that meant he was ready to tear something a new asshole.
My chest tightened. “Max?—”
I hit the top of the stairs and saw it immediately.
An infected creature was halfway through the door, its arms flailing against the frame, clawing as it dragged its body forward inch by inch, its skin tearing on the splinters of the door.
Max was between it and the bed. Teeth bared and his hackles raised. Holding the line.
“Good boy,” I muttered.
