Page 7 of Dark Fey Captive

Keeping low, we stayed close to the hotel, watching the windows so we wouldn’t disturb anything inside. Car by car, we moved closer to the street.

We paused at the last car to listen and watch.

Everything was so damn quiet.

My gaze caught on the door of the hotel behind us. It was propped open.

Was that a head?

I swallowed hard and frowned a little, trying to figure out what I was looking at because it couldn’t be a decaying head. Who would do that?

Gwen nudged me. When I looked at her, she nodded toward the pharmacy. I looked and saw the sliding doors had been pried open. Did that mean we were too late? Had someone already cleared the place out?

Doubtful. It was a chain pharmacy. It would have had a lot of stock when things went south. Unless it was hit more than once? It would explain why there weren’t any infected wandering around. But then, why leave the boats in the marina untouched?

A low moan rang out distantly. A shiver of fear raced down my spine even as the sound reassured me it wasn’t close.

I glanced at Gwen. Her calculating gaze remained fixed on the pharmacy. She read situations as accurately as she read people. If she believed we could make it, I wouldn’t hesitate to follow her.

After a few more seconds, she met my gaze and nodded once.

Staying together and crouched low, we started across the street.

Another low moan rang out. It sounded distant again…until I spotted the source.

An infected peered out of the hotel window on the top floor, its face pressed against the glass as it tracked our progress.

Shit.

I turned to tell Gwen and bumped into her. She’d stopped in the middle of the road and was staring at the pharmacy—specifically at the head slowly rolling to a stop outside the door.

Another head.

Who would do that?

My stomach sank as I thought of what the traders had said about Silver Bay.

Heads torn clean off.

Demons. Grey monsters.

They couldn’t be real, though. Right?

An infected ran out of the pharmacy, its gait disjointed due to its decomposing left leg.

The one in the hotel behind us called out again, muffled by the glass. Not muffled enough, though. The infected outside the pharmacy paused, its head turning, its white, cloudy eyes searching.

I held still, barely breathing.

Hoping.

Its cloudy gaze locked on us.

Please let it think we’re grass, I thought.

It let out a sound that made my blood run cold—a sound that called to other infected. A sound that said it had found living prey.

It saw us.