Chapter 10

Damien's POV

I had imagined this moment too many times.

In some versions, I reached her before the infected got inside. In others, I found her hiding in a room, frightened but unharmed. I had even imagined arriving too late again.

That last possibility had kept me awake for nights.

But nothing had prepared me for seeing Evelyn lying on the kitchen floor with a dead infected man beside her.

“Evelyn.”

She stared at me, struggling to catch her breath. Her clothes were torn, her shoulder was injured, and her face was wet with tears.

I lowered my gun and approached her carefully.

“Don't move yet. Let me check you.”

I crouched beside her, looking for bite marks. She flinched when I touched her arm.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I assured her.

“I know,” she whispered.

Those two words nearly broke something inside me.

She didn't know me. Not really. Yet she looked at me as though my arrival was the first good thing that had happened to her all day.

I checked her neck, arms, and exposed skin. There were bruises and scratches, but I couldn't see any bite marks.

“Did he bite you?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I don't think so.”

I nodded and helped her sit up. She winced, holding her shoulder.

“You need a doctor.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“We will. But first, let me make sure you're not seriously injured.”

I took a small first-aid kit from my bag and placed it beside her. She watched me as I cleaned the scrape on her palm.

“Where did you come from?” she asked.

“I was nearby.”

“Nearby?”

I glanced towards the kitchen window. The broken glass and blood on the floor told me enough about what had happened.

“I've been keeping an eye on this house.”

Her expression changed.

“Why?”

I had expected that question. I had prepared several answers, but none of them seemed right now that I was finally sitting in front of her.

“Because I was worried about you.”

She stared at me.

“Do I know you?”

“Not the way you should.”

I finished wrapping her palm and sat back.

“My name is Damien Cross.”

She repeated it quietly. “Damien Cross.”

I nodded.

Something flickered across her face.

“Wait. You're the man who called me?”

“Yes.”

“And the messages?”

“Yes.”

She looked towards the kitchen counter, where her phone had fallen during the struggle.

“You sent me that photograph of the shelter.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

I took a breath.

“Because I needed you to understand that what was coming wasn't a rumour. I needed you to know that you had very little time to prepare.”

She looked at me as though she was trying to fit my words together.

“You told me to find you before December twenty-fourth.”

“I did.”

“And you told me not to trust the man who would knock on my door that night.”

My jaw tightened.

“I was hoping you would listen.”

She looked away. “Someone came to my door. He was injured, and Ethan let him inside even after I warned him. That was how this happened.”

I didn't need her to explain what Ethan had done after that. I had seen enough when I entered the house. The abandoned kitchen, the blood, and the fact that she was alone told me exactly how things had ended.

“Where is Ethan?” I asked.

“He left with Vanessa.”

I kept my expression still.

Of course he had.

Even in this life, Ethan had made the same choice.

I looked at Evelyn again. She was trying to sit straighter, but the pain in her shoulder made her movements slow.

“Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

I offered my hand. She hesitated for a second before taking it. I helped her to her feet, keeping my other hand close in case her knees gave way.

She swayed.

“Easy.”

“I'm fine.”

“You're not.”

“I said I'm fine.”

I didn't argue. I knew that look. Evelyn had always hated appearing weak, even when she had every reason to ask for help.

I had learned that too late the first time.

“Let me take you somewhere safe,” I said. “I have a place prepared. There's food, water, medical supplies, and security. You can rest there while we work out what to do next.”

She shook her head.

“I can't.”

“Evelyn, look at yourself. You can barely stand.”

“I can't leave.”

“Why?”

She looked towards the hallway, then down at her injured hand.

“Because I have things to take care of.”

“Those things can wait until you're safe.”

“No, they can't.”

Her voice was weak, but there was something firm beneath it.

I watched her struggle to remain standing.

“Listen to me,” I said. “The situation outside is getting worse. Staying here isn't an option. I have a vehicle, and I can get you away from this neighbourhood before more infected arrive.”

She shook her head again.

“I have to—”

She stopped herself but I waited.

She looked at me, her eyes filling with tears again.

“My parents are in danger.”