Page 33 of Faith Among Monsters

Wilkes doesn’t waste time. He steps forward, glancing into the first room, his posture tense and wary.

I shift slightly, keeping my back to the wall as I scan the hallway. The air feels thick, heavy with the coppery tang of blood and the sharper, bitter edge of antiseptic. The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, the hum adding to the oppressive atmosphere.

Another muffled scream echoes, followed by a crash that makes the floor vibrate beneath my boots. My pulse quickens, but I keep my hands steady, my fingers curling tighter around the grip of the gun.

“Stay sharp,” Wilkes says over his shoulder, his voice firm.

I nod, my heart thudding as I take a careful step forward.

In the second room, an inmate lies on the bed, utterly still. His clothes are drenched with sweat, dark patches spreading across his chest and armpits. Splotches of dried blood crust his neck and arms.

Wilkes signals me with a quick tilt of his head to follow him inside.

I keep my eyes on the man, every nerve in my body buzzing. Dax’s words echo in my head.“The dead ones get back up.”

Zombies.

Wilkes approaches the bed cautiously, his gun up, his steps slow and deliberate.

My hand tightens around the pistol grip, the cold weight grounding me as I trail a few steps behind him.

The man doesn’t move.

Wilkes draws his knife, the metal glinting faintly in the dim fluorescent light, and nudges the man with the blade.

Nothing.

I hold my breath, my lungs burning as I wait.

A scream echoes down the hall, sharp and full of pain. The sound rattles through me, shaking my already frayed nerves.

Wilkes doesn’t flinch. In one smooth motion, he plants the blade into the man’s temple.

The sickening crunch of blade against bone fills the room, and my stomach churns.

Wilkes pulls the knife free, wiping it on the edge of the bed before slipping it back into its sheath.

“Move,” he mutters, already heading for the door.

Before we can step into the hall, something rounds the corner. A zombie, foam dripping from its bloodied mouth, its shirt torn and dangling from one shoulder. A chunk of flesh is missing from its face, exposing jagged teeth and glistening muscle.

I react on instinct. I aim and pull the trigger.

The gunshot punches through the air, impossibly loud in the small room. The force of it makes my ears ring.

The zombie drops instantly, a hole through its head.

“Good,” Wilkes says sharply, stepping in front of me. His tone isn’t warm, but there’s a flicker of approval in his eyes as he leans into the hallway, his gun at the ready.

Another scream cuts through the ringing in my ears.

“Get the fuck off me!” someone shouts.

Wilkes steps into the hall. I follow close, so close my arm brushes against him with every step. My pulse pounds, and the coppery tang of blood fills my nose, sharper than before.

The hallway is chaos.

A guard wrestles with a zombie, its teeth snapping inches from his face as they grapple. Blood stains the floor in long, smeared streaks.

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