Page 88
SEVENTEEN
RESOURCES
LEON
Getting out of the city takes longer than expected.
By the time the front of the frame shop gives way, we are already slipping out the back. Lyla draws the horde west with three controlled shots and a whole lot of faith in her ability to outrun dead things. Jacob takes us through the alleys behind the buildings, doubling back twice when the streets ahead clog with infected. I keep the others low, quiet, and in tight formation.
If the horde stays on us, Clair has a cleaner route off the roof.
Probably.
I hate probably.
The woods swallow the last of the sun as we leave the city behind, boots dragging, shoulders tight, empty cans knocking against legs and packs. The cold follows us out of the streets, clinging to our jackets and the blood dried into our sleeves. Every step feels heavier than the last. No fuel. More dead. More kids dragged into our wake.
Carlos walks ahead of Luis with Wesker pressed to the kid’s side, but he keeps looking back like the horde might pour out of the road behind us and finish what it started. His jaw is already bruising purple. He moves like he’s still bracing for impact.
A shot cracks behind us, sharp enough to rip through the trees. My bow is up before thought catches up, and everyone freezes. Carlos grabs Luis and shoves him behind his body. Wesker plants his feet, hackles rising, a low growl rumbling out of him. Joanie spins with her gun up, and Lyla drops into a crouch beside an old oak.
Another shot cracks through the air. Something drops hard in the road beyond the trees.
Then Clair steps out of the shadows.
Her rifle is slung over one shoulder. Her cheek is flushed from the cold, her hair slipping loose around her face. A smear of black blood streaks the cuff of her sleeve, but her eyes are bright and clear.
Thank fuck.
My grip on the bow loosens by half an inch.
Clair catches me looking and gives the smallest lift of her brows. She walks straight to us, calm as anything, like she didn’t just make my heart try to claw its way out through my ribs.
Carlos stares at Clair, then at the road behind her, then back at Clair. “You were still back there?”
Clair adjusts the rifle strap on her shoulder. “Someone had to keep the dead from chewing on your dramatic exit.”
He narrows his eyes, but there’s no real bite in it. Not after what she just did. “Thank you.” He pauses. He gestures to her rifle. “You’re really good at shooting that.”
She shrugs, but can’t hide the creeping blush on her cheeks. “It’s basically applied physics. The second the bullet leaves the barrel, gravity starts pulling it down and the air starts slowing it. Add wind, distance, and a moving target, and you’re solving a problem before you ever pull the trigger.”
Her gaze drops to Luis. The kid stands half behind Carlos, pale and shaking, one hand buried in Wesker’s fur.
Clair softens in a way I feel more than see. “You okay?”
Luis nods, but it’s a lie.
Clair doesn’t call him on it. She just gives him a small smile, the kind she probably gave scared students when home wasn’t a place they wanted to go. “Well,” she says gently, “we have food, a fire, and at least three people who will pretend they aren’t worried about you while hovering aggressively.”
Luis blinks.
Joanie raises a hand. “I am one of them.”
Trish sighs. “We know.”
The smallest breath of a laugh escapes Luis. Good. That sound is a start.
We move again, this time together. Clair falls in beside me, close enough that her sleeve brushes my arm every few steps. I want to touch her. Check her for injuries. Put my hands on her shoulders and make sure she is solid and whole and not some desperate trick my brain made up because it needed her back. I don’t. Barely. Her fingers brush mine once. Accident. Maybe not. My pulse kicks hard either way.
