Page 73 of Faith Among Monsters

Zachs’ voice is sharp, cutting through the chaos. “Stay with us, asshole.”

I swallow down the fear clawing at my throat and turn back to the swarm.

We can’t get to him if we don’t survive this first.

I scan the swarm, my pulse thudding in my ears. Something flickers in my chest, something dangerous.Hope.

The zombies in the back are dropping.

“Trip,” I whisper, barely daring to say it out loud. “Are those people… ours?”

It feels absurd.Ours.Like we have a real side in this hell.

But Trip understands. His gun stays steady, eyes sharp. “Yeah.”

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding shudders out of me. “Thank god.”

I steel myself and take aim, focusing on precision. Every shot has to count. The closer we get, the clearer the fight becomes. Trip stays tight at my side, our rhythm seamless as we push forward.

Then we reach the edge of the dock.

And my legs nearly give out.

Zachs and Wilkes are dragging Dax from the water, their movements frantic but sure. As soon as they haul him up, I see the blood. It’s still flowing. Too much.Way too much.

“Pressure on it!” I shout, my voice sharp, cracking with something I can’t let in.

A rush of footsteps behind us, more survivors. The pounding of boots on the dock.

Shirts come flying toward Dax, hands scrambling, reaching.

Zachs is the fastest, snatching them up and pressing down hard on the wound.

Dax doesn’t even flinch. His eyes stay shut.

No.

“We’ve got to get him to the med wing.Now,” Zachs barks, his usual humor gone.

My head snaps toward the group, my eyes locking onto a familiar face.Quince.

I swallow the instant wave of distrust. Later. That’s for later.

“Can we get there?” I ask.

Wilkes doesn’t hesitate. “We’ll get there.”

Trip shifts, positioning himself under Dax. “Move.”

He hoists him up like dead weight, and suddenly I’m running. Following. Eyes locked on the rise and fall of Dax’s chest, the blood soaking into the makeshift bandages, the too-pale cast to his skin.

He’s not talking.

Not cursing. Not barking orders.

The silence is wrong.

Gunshots crack behind us, but I don’t turn. Someone’s handling the stragglers. Doesn’t matter who. Nothing matters but getting to the med wing.

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