I slowed unintentionally and adjusted my grip on the knife.
“Hey, what about this one?” Stain stood next to a large truck.
It sat near the front corner of the showroom, larger than the rest and sitting much higher. Built for rough terrain, not pavement.
It was exactly what we needed.
“Yep. That’ll work.”
The light moved across the windshield as we got closer, reflections slipping over the glass in a way that made it hard to tell what was real and what wasn’t.
I adjusted without thinking, angling my body to get a better line of sight.
Suddenly, everything became clearer, too clear.
I could hear Stain’s boots behind me.
Each step.
Each breath.
Even the slight hitch in it.
And under that—something else.
A faint scrape.
“Hold up.” I raised a hand.
Stain stopped immediately. “What?”
I tilted my head slightly and tried to focus.
There. Faint.
Fuck! Under us!
“Don’t move,” I said, quickly.
Too late. The thing quickly emerged from under the truck. A hand shot out, grabbing Stain’s ankle and yanking him down hard. He hit the tile with a sharp grunt, and the tire iron skidded across the floor.
“Son of?—!”
The infected dragged itself out from beneath the chassis, body twisted, one arm bent wrong, eyes locked on him.
Stain kicked hard, trying to break free. “Beck?—!”
I was already moving. Much faster than should be physically possible.
I crossed the distance in two steps and grabbed the thing by the back of its shirt, hauling it up and off him.
It twisted instantly, snapping toward me.
I raised my knife and stabbed it in the eye, and the infected went slack in my grip.
I shoved it away, letting it hit the tile with a heavy thud.
Stain rolled onto his side, grabbing his ankle.
