I considered for a moment, but shook my head. Throwing the hook would be a pain in the ass for me, but as long as I held on to the rope, I could try again. Now, throwing the whole rope and hook back to the other roof, or else dooming Nate to certain death? That wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. “You first. You can always shoot them off my back if I take longer.”
The look he sent me told me that I’d better not fudge this in the first place, but he left it at a curt nod. “See you on the flipside.” With that, he gripped the rope more firmly and jumped over the edge, just as if it was just a ledge into a swimming pool. I held my breath as I watched him swing toward the other building, expecting the contraption to disassemble any moment and for him to plummet to his death. Of course he made it to the other side with ease, breaking his momentum with a few hops along the side of the building. He even made it look easy as he pulled himself up to the window of the next floor—two floors below where the hook was lodged—kicking it in before he disappeared inside. Endless seconds went by as only the wind, rain, and the pounding of the zombies trapped in the shaft kept me company, before Nate appeared at the upper window, breaking the glass before he pulled the remainder of the rope in. Five seconds later, the rope, securely wrapped around the makeshift hook, came sailing over to me, hitting the roof right next to me after flying in a perfect arc.
Picking the thing up, I shook the rope free, weighing the grappling hook in my hand for a moment. It looked balanced enough that throwing it should be easy—for someone who could throw stuff. Which I didn’t. Years of bungling throws in PE classes crashed down on me, adding fuel to the fire of doubt. I did my best to ignore all that, but that was about as possible as not hearing the zombies that were straining to reach me. I had no idea how Nate had gotten the cover shut, but there was already one arm reaching through the widening gap. Any time for hesitation that I’d had was up.
Exhaling forcefully, I wound the end of the rope around my hand just as he had, gripping the other end about a yard down from the hook. I swung it around experimentally before I sent it flying toward the building. It didn’t even sail halfway across the gap before it fell straight down, jerking hard on my hand. Cursing under my breath, I started pulling it up again, shuddering when I heard a decidedly non-muffled howl behind me but not bothering with looking. Nate was frowning slightly, and I could tell that he was already debating whether going first had been a good idea. Then again, he was probably happy that his survival didn’t depend on my throwing abilities.
Taking a little more time to get a feel for how the hook swung, I tried again. And again. On the fourth try, the hook plunked against the wall below the window, but fell away without catching on to anything.
Closing my eyes after pulling the rope back in, I tried to calm myself, but with my heart racing and trepidation threatening to turn to panic any moment now, that was easier said than done.
I heard the cover bang against the roof behind me as the latch finally snapped, and the knowledge that my time was up made adrenaline surge through my veins. Refusing to focus on anything other than that window sill, I extended my arm back, then let fly, watching as the hook sailed across the abyss again. For a second it looked as if it would fall short, but it caught. I barely gave myself time to yank on the rope before I got a better grip on it, readying myself.
“Jump!” Nate shouted, killing any kind of hesitation I still had. In times where being stealthy and silent often makes the difference between getting eaten and survival, loud commands aren’t something you just ignore.
I felt something brush my arm, but by then I was about to let gravity do its thing. Before the zombie could get a good grip on me, I dropped away.
Nate had made it look so easy. And graceful. I’d been aware that with no practice whatsoever, I wouldn’t just dive across the gap and end up, safely cushioned, on the other side—but I didn’t expect that my body would rotate in mid-air, and I’d smack with what felt like terminal velocity into the side of the building.
The impact was so hard that for a moment, I was just stunned. And that was exactly as long as it took for my grip to loosen, making the rope slip from between my hands.
At least I didn’t have any time to be even more afraid as the ground rose up to meet me.
Theoretically speaking, I only fell for the distance of one more floor, but it felt like a lot more as the impact jarred every single bone in my body.
And shit, that hurt.
My entire right side was already alight with agony from smacking into the building; even though I landed on the grass, I felt like my feet hit concrete instead. There was no air in my lungs and it was impossible to draw breath for several seconds as I just lay there, rain pelting my face but not registering.
I was sure that dying wouldn’t have hurt this fucking much.
I couldn’t say if I’d broken anything, because right then I felt as if every hard part in my body was just so much mush. If there’d been any zombies on this side of the building, I’d have been dead, because rolling over and defending myself was the last thing on my mind.
Gasping several times, I finally managed to draw breath, but that only made my splitting headache worse. I still forced myself to take another breath, and another. By that time the shock wore off, leaving me clearheaded enough to feel all that pain in all its gloriousness.
A shove with my shoulder got me rolling from my side onto my back, but that made breathing impossible. Shit, that hurt even worse! Kicking with my left leg experimentally, then my right, I figured not too much could be broken if I could still rotate my ankles and feel my toes. But first things first.
Breathe.
Now.
Muscles all over my body screamed in protest but I still managed to roll myself back onto my side. That hurt in an entirely different kind of way, but at least my lungs were expanding again. I still had to grit my teeth not to cry out as I tried to heave myself into a sitting position against the side of the building, finally succeeding on the third try.
Something made a dull, wet sound a few yards away from me, making me bolt—or as much as I still could. The crushed body of a zombie lay there, momentarily stunned but already starting to move. Its head snapped up as it saw me sitting there, letting out a snarl.
My fingers itched to just pull my gun and shoot the thing straight in the face, but that would have alerted all of those still looking for our previous trail to my new position. Instead, I looked up, trying to see if the rope was still visible anywhere. It wasn’t, so unless I was blind, Nate must have pulled it back in and was likely already on the way down to me.
I waited, hoping that he would appear miraculously now that I’d thought of him. Hey, it had worked in the past.
Not so much now—but instead, two more zombies vaulted off the roof, impacting between me and the first one. The crunching sounds their bodies made were sickening and spoke of multiple fractures, but within seconds they were dragging their sorry carcasses toward me.
I was not going to end like this after surviving smacking into a wall and dropping the remaining level down to the floor!
Taking a last, deep breath, I forced my body to shift into a crouch, and when the blinding pain started to ebb, on into a half-standing position, still leaning into the wall. That hurt, but it was better than sitting. Which pretty much hurt just the same. Reaching down, I pulled my knife out of the thigh holster, feeling my fingers shake just a little around the handle. Perfect. I was so not in any condition for this.
Looking around but not daring to shift my focus much from the zombies that were now all dragging their broken selves toward me, I looked for something else to use. There were no trees nearby, so no broken branches I might have used. No tools. No furniture. Just high, winter-brown grass, everywhere.
It was likely due to the jarring impact that it took me until then to realize that I could just try staggering away myself. Two steps, and I gave that idea up, gasping as agony closed like an iron band around my ribcage. But shit
, that hurt. Half of my body felt banged up and bruised, but that was worse. So remaining as immobile as possible, drawing in shallow, fast pants it was.
Just peachy.
Emboldened by my closeness, the nearest zombie pushed itself forward, as much as it was able to on just one working arm, its legs trailing after it uselessly. As soon as it was in reach—my reach—I pulled back my right foot and brought it down as hard as I could against the side of its skull. Bone cracked, splintering, and under a second kick, the head wrenched to the side with a sickening crack. The zombie went lifeless, turning to just so much rotting flesh in rags once its spinal cord was severed.
One down, two to go.
Another zombie splattered down onto the ground, followed by two more—and the last of them landed somewhat luckily on the heap the others had started forming, only dislocating one hip, but leaving it staggering onto one more or less working leg.
Shit.
The shambler lurched toward me with all the undead rage it could muster—a lot, apparently—and I was out of options. Raising my left arm to deflect its attack, I stabbed at it with my right as soon as it slammed into my body. Not one slow, dramatic slash as you see in the movies, but a sequence of quick, shallow stabs that left the body almost as soon as they entered it. The zombie howled, although I wasn’t sure if that was from pain, because as far as we knew, they were borderline impervious to it. It certainly served as a distraction, which let me slam my leg up against that dislocated hip, forcing more distance between us. Rather than wait for the zombie to come in for a second attack, I followed it, using the moment it overbalanced to go for the throat. My knife stabbed in, again and again, severing arteries, veins, nerves, and finally something vital. The zombie crumbled, the hand that had been grasping for me almost pulling me on top of it. Stench enveloped me, making it easy to jerk back, even when my body protested. Goo—because what leaked from those wounds really didn’t look like blood anymore—covered my entire right hand and I could feel it sticking to my face, but I was sure that the rain would wash it off eventually.
Wheezing, I looked at what the other zombies were doing. Two more had come down on the others, clearly emboldened by the relative success of their predecessors. That was several too many I’d want to take on when my body was moving as it was supposed to, and way too much for me in my current state.
“Nate? Guys? Anyone out there?” I said, hoping against hope that the mic was still working. I couldn’t remember if I’d switched it off after my phenomenal idea of posing as the distraction. “If anyone can hear me, I could really use some help here.”
No answer came, but if they were out and about, that was likely due to the zombies.
Taking another deep breath that hurt like hell, I switched my knife to my left hand, and with my right arm pressing as hard as I could into my aching side, I started staggering along the wall of the building, putting distance between me and the shamblers. They were following me, but at least not gaining. I still had my gun, and the shotgun, but that I would have to reload—and as I was feeling right now, taking that recoil was about the last thing I wanted to subject myself to.
A painstaking eternity later, I reached the corner of the building, halting as I glanced around it. An open stretch of lawn lay in front of me, only bisected by similar paths like the one Nate had been driving on before. I saw a few zombies standing in the distance, but they were all still looking toward the kill zone at the north end of campus. Another corner and what felt like hours later, I could actually see what held their attention.
It was a veritable miracle that any zombies had even joined the hunt for Nate and me, because out there it was an all-they-could-eat buffet. It was impossible to judge from a distance—and likely not much easier from up close, not that I wanted to get there—just how many dead bodies there lay piled up between the two buildings, but they must have amounted to a significant cut of the entire horde that we’d stirred up. About equal portions of shamblers were feasting on them, tearing them limb from limb, not giving a shit that their meal was half-decayed in most places already. None of the guys were anywhere in sight, but if I craned my neck just enough, I could see the motorcycle lying between a few more still forms on the ground. Studying them, I tried to make out if any of them were Raul—the popping sound I had heard when we’d fled into the building had probably been Nate’s tranquilizer gun—but it was impossible. And if any of them weren’t dead, I’d never stand a chance to slink away, battered as I was.
Checking the receiver again, I realized why it couldn’t be working—either somewhere along my flight, but more likely in my uncanny collision with the concrete wall, I’d lost the battery pack that had powered the stupid contraption. I considered just pulling it off and leaving it behind, but instead left it strapped on. Someone might still be able to salvage it. After all, weren’t we here for this?
With gritted teeth, I dug into my pockets to reload my shotgun, putting the knife away for good. The recoil might hurt, but at point-blank range it would be easier to take out a zombie with the shotgun.
And armed like that, I started the slow, painful way back to base.
Chapter 13
I was still two blocks away from the hospital when Burns caught up with me, making the last tenth of a mile somewhat easier because I didn’t have to do all the checking and being scared alone. I must have looked pretty banged up because he didn’t even make a joke about my hunched-over posture, but also didn’t offer to carry me or some shit. That was the last thing I would have needed.
We were just past the sentries at the entrance when their attention snapped back to the road, revealing Nate, Cho, and Campbell—with Cho transporting a prone form in a fucking wheelbarrow while the other two secured the way. Nate taxed me with just a glance, but it was obvious from the way his shoulders relaxed that he was damn glad to see me there.
As they passed us by, I could see that it wasn’t one of our team that they were bringing in—or anyone strictly alive.
“You got him?” I asked, not sure if the lifeless form was Raul or not.
“Of course,” Nate replied, as if that had never been in question. Looking back from the wheelbarrow to me, a slow smile spread across his face. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a creature of true grace?”
Judging from Burns’s snicker, Nate had already dished on my less-than-agile descent from the roof. Anger turned breathing even harder as it already was, making me want to bristle at why he hadn’t come to check on me—and get me out of there—but as the point was moot, I dropped it. More or less.
Forcing my lips into a semblance of a grin, I held his gaze. “Fuck. You.”
More laughter went up, but it trailed off quickly as I turned around and started dragging my sorry ass inside, no longer pretending like I wasn’t hurting all over. Martinez and Pia were already waiting at the doors, and while the Ice Queen was only too happy to direct Cho toward the operation rooms on this floor, I limped toward our medic.
“Got a minute?”
His eyes were already scanning my body, and only briefly flickered to my face. “Sure. What happened?”
“Smacked into a wall.”
His eyes widened, but before he could reply, Nate sauntered by us. “Don’t forget to mention the part where you then let go of the rope and fell another level to the ground. Priceless, really.”
Glaring after Nate where he followed the others, I only looked back to Martinez when he pulled my arm away from where it was pressed into my side.
“You kids these days,” Martinez murmured, shaking his head in mock consternation.
“I should probably also mention where he fucking left me there to get chewed on by the zombies that kept dropping off the roof after us!” I hollered in the general direction of Nate’s back.
He paused, barely long enough to glance back over his shoulder. “Did any of them get you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why are you complaining?” he asked—and quickly
stepped through the closing doors of the prepped operation room before I could shout my answer.
Martinez was clearly fighting to hide a grin, and when I glared at him next, he shrugged. “What did you expect? A box of chocolates and a note that he’s sorry he went after the mission objective?”
“Not getting ridiculed for hurling myself from the roof of a building would be nice,” I offered, hating how petulant that sounded.
“Come on. Let me get a look at what makes you wheeze like a chain smoker,” he insisted instead, turning to one of the small offices that—thanks to a window—needed no generator-powered lights.
I dropped my pack and fought with the strap of the shotgun for a moment, then started unzipping the jacket. Reaching up hurt, and with the remainder of the tension and adrenaline leaking from my system, it got harder to ignore the pain.
“Here, let me,” Martinez interjected, pushing my fingers away so he could help me along.
“First time you ever undressed a girl?” I jeered, unable to keep the wisecrack in.
His eyes flickered up to my face, but he was still gentle as he pulled the sleeves down my arms. “You make it so easy to forget you’re a girl that it doesn’t even bother me,” he replied, keeping the banter going.
“You say the sweetest things,” I shot back.
“Trust me, chica, if I had a straight bone in my body, I’d get a mighty hard-on for you right now.”
I might have replied that he was an asshole, but he proceeded with peeling the other layers off my body, the pain making talking impossible. He paused for a moment when it was just my bra remaining, but then pulled it over my head, too.
“Can you keep your arms up?” he asked. I tried, gripping the door frame. The moment he lightly pushed against my ribs, I almost fell to the floor. It took everything I had not to scream. “Cracked, probably,” he murmured, and rather than probe somewhere else, he continued until he made me gasp and whine for real, gritted teeth or not. He also checked my sternum, clavicles, shoulder blades and the soft spots in between, but while his prodding wasn’t comfortable, it was still bearable. My hip didn’t feel so good, either, but the fact that I’d walked back to base without support had already established that it was just badly bruised.
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