Page 32 of After the Burn

I froze instantly.

There, to the left.

I tilted my head and heard the wet, dragging sound the infected made as they traveled.

It stumbled into view between the trees a few minutes later, its head twitching sharply as it moved toward the sound of my breathing.

Male.

Middle-aged.

The lower half of his jaw was missing entirely.

“I bet that makes it tough to eat.” I laughed, moving so fast that he didn’t have time to do anything but die.

My knife went straight through his eye like butter, and he dropped hard at my feet.

“I just did you a favor,” I muttered as I automatically crouched, wiping the blade clean on the infected’s jacket before standing again.

It was entirely too easy. That realization unsettled me more than the kill itself. Months ago, that thing would’ve terrified me.

Now?

I barely reacted.

Something else shifted deeper in the trees.

Then another.

My head snapped toward the sound before thought caught up.

Two more, maybe three.

They were too far to see clearly, but I had no problem hearing them.

Those new senses had become so much a part of me that I could barely remember the world before them.

I moved through the trees, low and quiet, letting distance work for me. Faster now than I’d ever been before, I crossed uneven ground without a single slip.

Around noon, I finally stopped near a narrow creek cutting through the woods. I crouched beside the water long enough to refill the bottle in my pack while forcing myself to eat half a protein bar that tasted like cardboard.

A branch shifted behind me, too far back to be careless and too close to ignore.

Not infected. Living.

Sometimes that was worse.

I could leave before they arrived… but maybe it would be better to deal with them now.

I stood slowly without immediately reaching for my knife.

Two men stepped from the trees about twenty yards from where I was standing.

Thin, filthy, and jittery.

One held a hunting rifle with shaking hands, while the other clutched a crowbar and scratched violently at his forearm, leaving red streaks behind as sweat soaked through the collar of his jacket despite the cold air.

Withdrawal.