chapter 13

Chapter 13: Breaking Point

​The rotting stench of dried blood and stale sweat hit my nose a fraction of a second before the creature's teeth snapped shut in the empty air, missing Derrick's nose by less than an inch.

​"Get back!" I screamed.

​I scrambled backward across the concrete, my hand slamming against the tool chest until my fingers wrapped around a heavy iron tire iron. The infected runner thrashed wildly, its upper body squeezed halfway beneath the heavy steel loading shutter. Its milky, bloodshot eyes rolled violently in its skull as it tried to drag its ruined body forward, clawing the rough floor with black-nailed fingers.

​Derrick was trapped flat on his stomach, his right arm pinned beneath the massive iron gear assembly. His face was pressed against the dusty concrete, sweat pouring down his forehead, but he wasn't screaming. He was gritting his teeth so hard a thin line of crimson leaked from the corner of his lip.

​"Evelyn... the jack," Derrick choked out, his voice strained and breathless as he stared at the snapping jaws just inches from his face. "Under the workbench... use the hydraulic jack..."

​I didn't hesitate. I dropped the tire iron, dove across the floor, and yanked the heavy hydraulic car jack out from beneath the metal table. Dragging it back across the concrete, I jammed the base of the jack right beneath the bottom edge of the stuck shutter, right next to Derrick's trapped arm.

​I pumped the handle with everything I had.

​Hiss—clank. Hiss—clank.

​The heavy steel frame inched upward by two agonizing inches. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

​Derrick yanked his arm free with a sharp gasp of pain, rolling backward onto his shoulder just as the infected runner lunged forward again.

​I grabbed the heavy tire iron with both hands, raised it high above my head, and brought it down with all my weight directly onto the creature's skull.

​CRACK.

​The iron rod crushed bone and cartilage with a sickening crunch. The runner's body went instantly limp, its jaws snapping shut one last time before sliding sideways into a pool of dark, sluggish blood.

​Silence crashed back into the warehouse, save for the heavy, deafening hum of the backup diesel generator overhead and Maya’s terrified weeping from the corner.

​I dropped the bloody tire iron, my arms shaking so badly I could barely keep my balance. I leaned back against a stack of supply crates, gasping for oxygen, my chest burning from the sheer adrenaline crash.

​A few feet away, Derrick was sitting on the floor, clutching his right forearm. His work shirt was torn, and a deep, purple bruise was already swelling across his skin where the heavy gear had caught him. He looked down at his arm, then up at the dead monster lying in a heap on the floor, and finally over at Maya, who was trembling violently on her cot.

​He didn't say a word. The arrogance, the biting sarcasm, the bitter fury that had defined him for years—it was all gone, stripped away by the raw, brutal reality of the blood on the floor.

​"Is your arm broken?" I asked quietly, pushing myself up off the crates and walking over to him.

​Derrick flinched as I knelt down beside him. He pulled his arm back instinctively, his jaw tight. "It's just bruised," he muttered, his voice rough and stripped of its usual defensive edge. "I'll live."

​"Let me see it," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for argument.

​I reached out and gently rolled back his torn sleeve. The skin was bruised a deep, ugly black-and-blue, but the bone was intact. I pulled a roll of medical wrap and a cold compress out of the first-aid kit I still had in my hand, pressing the cold pack firmly against his forearm.

​Derrick hissed through his teeth at the sudden chill, but he didn't push me away. He sat there in the dim, flickering light of the backup generator, letting me bandage his arm.

​"You saved me back there," Derrick said after a long, heavy silence. He didn't look at me; his eyes were fixed on the floor between his boots. "Again."

​"I told you," I said softly, securing the medical tape with a sharp snap. "You're staying on this block. And I need you alive if we're going to hold this building together."

​Derrick let out a low, humorless chuckle—a broken sound that held no joy. He finally raised his head, looking straight into my eyes. The hatred wasn't entirely gone, but it was buried beneath a crushing weight of realization. He knew I hadn't lied to him. He knew the world outside was gone.

​"What do we do about the door?" Derrick asked, nodding toward the half-open cargo shutter where the dead runner lay.

​"We weld it shut from the inside," I stood up, grabbing my flashlight. "And then we move your shop equipment, your tools, and every last bag of food from your garage into this warehouse. We are sealing this entire building into a single fortress. Starting right now."

​Derrick looked over at his little sister, who had finally quieted down, her eyes closed in exhaustion on the cot. He took a deep, shaky breath, stood up on unsteady legs, and picked up his heavy breaker bar.

​"Let's get to work," he said quietly.

​Upstairs in the control room, my phone buzzed against the desk. I walked over and picked it up. The encrypted message from earlier—the photo of my northern valley bunker gate—was still glowing on the screen.

​Julian hadn't just run away. He was watching. And he was waiting for the right moment to strike.