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I know I have to talk to her, but at this point, she could run away from me and I would understand.
I mean, what kind of person wouldn’t run away from me?
But she doesn’t run. She stands there, her arms crossed over her chest, her long hair wet. I would wave at her if my hands weren’t full. But I think it would just freak her out if I did it now, so I let go of the head instead and watch it roll down the driveway and toward the street. It makes a path between the fish on the ground, which smell disgusting, the blood coming off the head mingling with the dead fish on the gravel.
No one ever said the apocalypse would be glamorous.
Trine, on the other hand, looks like a vision, the electric yellow light from the window illuminating her silhouette from the back. I don’t know what to expect. I can’t just…stay here, waiting for her to come toward me, when she would have to walk through a river of fish and blood.
So I’m just standing there, wondering what I’m supposed to do, when the door to the black Sedan parked in the driveway opens. I take a step back when I see the man who gets out of the car staring me down.
I know exactly who this is.
I would know who he is even if I had only ever heard of him; the black tattoo wrapped around his forearm, the dark look in his eyes. But I also know him because I’ve been there with Trine every step of the way. It’s like she invited me to watch. I don’t turn away her invitations.
His gaze flits from my face to the axe, then to the head rolling down the driveway.
I shrug, not knowing what else to do.
I don’t know if Misha could take me in a fight under other circumstances. Right now, I don’t want to find out. I’ve just been in a fight and I’m running out of adrenaline, the exhaustion of what just happened catching up to me. Being in a human body sucks in a lot of ways, and having a limited amount of energy is one of them.
I’m also quite aware of how this looks, so a fist fight is probably not my best option here.
He glares at me, opening his mouth to say something. The rain is loud, fish thudding around us, bleeding at our feet, the street rank with the scent of rot.
I can’t hear him, and even if I could, I don’t think he’s capable of speaking much. He blanches, his hand clasped over his mouth as he looks up. Maybe that’s good, but then I hear the rest of the car doors open and I take a step back.
I’m strong, but I can’t take three men by myself.
No matter how hard I try.
So my options are looking slimmer by the minute.
My gaze darts between the three of them, their silhouettes obscured by the downpour, thunder roaring somewhere in the distance.
This wasn’t what I wanted, but I think my best option here is to run. I don’t want to face away from them, though, that doesn’t seem wise. So I take a step back, my feet splashing into the water, getting in my socks and between my toes.
It makes me want to gag.
But I don’t…I take a step back instead, and another one, and another one. My heart is beating a million miles a minute. When I take another step back, I stumble into the ground, my hands immediately going into the water.
I’m nauseous as soon as the water gets in the webbing between my fingers. I slip when I try to get up, my palm scraping against the concrete when I do, and I grit my teeth as hard as I can as I push myself to my feet. I drop my axe in the process, which isn’t great. I might need that later.
I’m only halfway up when I feel a fist land squarely on the side of my face. It startles me before it starts to hurt, but it does knock me off my feet again. I can taste copper and putrid water in my mouth. I should really get up, but my head is swimming. There’s no way for me to stand on my own two feet without stumbling, and then I see it again, Misha’s fist flying toward me.
I barely manage to hold my hand out to slap his fist out of the way, but he’s faster than I am, and far more angry than me.
I still manage to avoid another square hit to the face, which I appreciate.
But he pulls his fist back and I brace myself for another punch, closing my eyes to do so.
It never comes.
There’s a reprieve for a second. I open my eyes to see Trine standing next to him, holding his arm, her eyebrows raised. He glares at her, but he stops doing what he’s doing.
She slides her hand down his arm, tugging at his wrist. She cocks her head toward her mother’s house and Misha sighs, looking defeated.
We can’t stay out here.
