I came close to smiling, but with my Fox down with this fever, I couldn’t manage it.
Stain jammed the crowbar into the chain and leaned his weight into it.
The metal creaked, then groaned. Snapping with a sharp crack that echoed through the bay. It was way too loud.
I stilled and listened.
Outside, I heard scraping and movement, but nothing inside.
“They heard that,” I muttered.
“Then let’s make the most of it.” Stain shot back.
He tried to lift it, but the door didn’t move. “Help me, asshole.”
I looked down at Taryn in my arms. I wasn’t putting her down again. I adjusted my grip, then stepped in beside him and grabbed the handle.
Stain rolled his eyes.
I narrowed mine, daring him to comment. “On three.”
We lifted.
The door resisted at first, then gave with a grinding protest, metal dragging against warped tracks as it rolled inch by inch upward. I didn’t know why Stain needed my help. This thing was light as air. The only problem was that every inch we moved it, it sounded louder.
Halfway up?—
I froze.
“Stop.”
Stain went still instantly.
I tilted my head, listening. Outside, there was more movement. Feet dragging and that strange clicking.
It sounded like the infected were heading toward us from several directions.
“We’re about to have company,” I said quietly.
“Yeah?” Stain grunted. “I don’t hear anything.”
“Trust me. They're coming.”
We lifted again, and the door climbed higher.
Finally, the opening yawned wide enough for the truck—but barely.
“Good enough,” I pressed my lips to Taryn’s forehead.
Still too hot.
“Get her in,” Stain was already moving.
I was a step ahead of him.
Carrying her to the passenger side, I kept my head on a swivel, aware of the open space behind me and listening for anything out of the ordinary.
I felt too exposed, knowing Taryn’s life depended on me keeping her safe. I set her down carefully, then adjusted her head and arm to make her as comfortable as possible.
