The Break Free Series Box Set [Books 1-3]

by Fitch, E. M.

  The lights faded and someone suggested that maybe Anna had made a run for it. Another man laughed. "Think she'll remember what we told her?" The whole group dissolved into laughter, apparently not bothered that Anna had gotten away.

  "They kept saying they'd let me go," Anna whispered, for the first time Kaylee heard the tremble in her voice, “eventually."

  She felt an overwhelming sickness and anger at these men, if they could even be called men. The world ended and they used it as an excuse to act like animals. They didn't deserve the good things that were left.

  "How many bullets do you have?" she whispered to Anna.

  “Six."

  "That makes seventeen then.”

  "Not enough," Anna said through clenched teeth.

  "Maybe we could take one hostage? Make a trade?" Kaylee suggested.

  "Well, we can't stay here anyway," Anna said, peeking from behind the box. It was dark again. The group had gravitated toward the front. The girls slipped back down.

  The front of the store was set up like a stage. The cash registers all formed one long line and the rows of merchandise were pushed out from there in a large semicircle. It was like a Roman amphitheater, the men in charge sat perched on the registers, camp chairs on planks of wood resting between conveyor belts. The others were spread in a ring, leaving the middle clear. Bill was on his knees, blood dripping from his face. The floor was spattered in red. It shone like gemstones in the light of the camping lanterns that glowed softly.

  There was a freezer to the side, a dark glass case. It was the kind of freezer that used to hold milk and eggs, brightly lit in rows down the center of the store. Now it was alone, a dark blot in the center of the mock stage. The door was chained shut. A pad lock was looped through two of the chains to hold it closed, but it was left unlocked. Kaylee couldn't see him at first, but then one of the men kicked at the glass front and something dark shifted inside. Andrew, his fingers smearing the glass as he tried to reach out to her father. He was semi-conscious, barely able to move, and, Kayle was sure, just as bloody as his father.

  The girls stood frozen, outnumbered and outgunned, watching as one of the men threw his fist to connect with Bill's bruised jaw.

  Chapter Three

  It was the memory of the burn, more than anything, Emma thought, that sent a flash of heat up her calf every time the muscle flexed underneath. The skin, splotched with red but also with pink now, moved with the muscle, shining in the dim light of early morning. There was a light breeze cutting through the empty street. That was helpful. It whispered over her tortured skin, fluttering the fabric of her pants that were cut at the knee.

  "How's it feel?”

  "Shitty," she answered through grit teeth. The vodka was still clouding her thoughts and she fought against it. Jack tightened his grip on her arm, his fingers pinching through the leather arm of the jacket. It was Andrew's jacket. Worn leather that was far too big on her, but it was warm and the days were getting colder. It smelled like him, warm and soft with a faint tang of cinnamon. Emma had always thought of Andrew in that way, ever since she could remember, something about his musk, the warm scent of his skin, he always seemed to exude cinnamon. This mingled with hers now, enveloped her and mixed with the natural scent of her own skin. She liked that, liked that they were tangled in some way, even if it was as rudimentary as this.

  It was the only safe way she could be close to him anyway. Even if he was still alive.

  The thought sent a jolt through her and she stumbled. Jack jerked her upright again, wisely keeping his mouth shut as a string of curses flew from her mouth. She had to swear, shout out her frustration. The raw flood of tears was already clogging her throat and she refused to unleash them. She yelled instead and gave way when Jack slowly lowered her to the ground.

  "I have never felt more useless!" she growled, shifting her weight on the cold asphalt, leaning to dislodge a small rock from underneath her. Jack crouched next to her, his head hanging down. She could just see his nod of agreement. His hand flit over his side, probably checking for blood. It did that now and then, the wound he received from a metal rod that pierced his body. It had happened after the dam broke, in the torrents of water that had swept them downstream, the breaking of concrete that took her father's life. Jack wasn't fully healed. It didn't help that Kaylee had been pouncing on him every chance she got. But he never told her no.

  "They're not dead," Jack whispered. Now Emma was wise enough to keep her mouth shut.

  It had been sixteen hours, more or less, since Kaylee had taken off after Andrew and the others. Emma burned at the thought, her sister; her kind, loving, not in any way dangerous sister, was chasing down a group of men who had kidnapped their friends. It was possible they were alive. Emma didn't think the men who had captured Andrew, Anna, and Bill were likely to kill them right away. If so, they would have shot them here, in the street, not drag them off. But surely they had arrived at their destination by now, had the opportunity to question them and decide what to do next. Anna they might want. The men they would kill. And Anna would probably be wishing they had killed her too by now.

  The thought caused a little catch to form in Emma's chest and she coughed to dislodge it.

  And what about Kaylee?

  Her teeth came down hard, grinding together and straining the muscle into a tight bulge in her cheeks. She wished she had more confidence in her older sister, but no memory of Kaylee could stir it. She wanted to run, to follow them, chase them down and fight. Because she knew Kaylee couldn't.

  She had taken the gun. Obviously she meant to use it. Emma had been arguing with herself since Jack told her that Kaylee was gone, that she was chasing down a group of armed men. He had been right to let her go. Emma knew that. But she bristled with fear and restless rage, needing to get up, out of the attic, and move. Jack had been a constant stream of hope and he forced that hope down her throat at every opportunity. It annoyed her at first, she spent the morning searching herself for that same strain of comfort, that lie that said that Kaylee could fight and win and get them back.

  She couldn't find it.

  "You underestimate her, you know," Jack spoke suddenly. She jerked up, surprised to find his eyes trained on her. She swallowed convulsively and looked back down. "She's stronger than you think.”

  "It's not that," Emma mumbled, shaking her head against the hot moisture gathering in her eyes. She took a sharp breath and looked up. "She's never shot a gun, can't kill the biters, can barely start a fire. Armed with twelve bullets, you think she can take out that group?”

  She saw his fear, it was plain in the dying light. His features spasmed in pain but his jaw set regardless.

  "She has to.”

  "Because you need her to. It's as simple as that?" Emma huffed.

  "No, because she has to," he argued. "She loves you too much to leave you. Just as she loves Andrew and Anna and Bill too much to leave them. She'll find a way. Because living without you just isn't acceptable to her.”

  "Or without you," Emma added kindly. Jack's lips pressed in a tight line together but he nodded in acknowledgement. "So how long do we wait for them?”

  "Well," he grunted, getting back on his feet, "we can't leave until you can keep up a steady jog anyway. So up you get.”

  She gripped the hand he extended firmly, letting him haul her back up. His hand was steady on her arm as he nudged her forward. One foot at a time, she trudged painfully to and fro across the empty street.

  She disagreed with him; but since he was keeping her upright at the moment, she didn't voice it. Her not being able to jog was not the biggest obstacle. At the moment, the biggest problem was that they had no idea which way Kaylee had gone. She had run off, following the men on horseback; and Jack, holed up in the attic, had not seen in which direction. He was able to make a guess, from the muffled sounds he heard. But even he admitted he couldn't be sure. Which meant they had no way to find them, no way to chase them down to help.

  If they
left, tried to find their way to Kaylee and the rest, and they guessed wrong, or lost the trail, and then Kaylee came back, they may never find each other again. The world, always seeming so small to Emma, so enclosed and claustrophobic at times, was suddenly blown wide open. Her heart beat uncomfortably fast in her chest and she lurched forward, putting more weight on her leg than before.

  Panic beat its way up her throat and left no room in her brain for pain. She moved faster, dragging Jack along.

  "I'm better. We should go," she said, her words coming out in more of a squeak than she would have liked. Jack cleared his throat and looked pointedly around. "Well, we can't just sit here!”

  "And when they come back? When they come here looking for us and we're not around, what then?”

  "We can leave markers," Emma suggested, limping over to the nearest driveway. At the end of the short pavement, heaving with cracks and bumps, the mouth to a garage yawned open. Emma ducked inside, making her way to a shelf full of paint and pulling a few spray cans down. She shook them experimentally, encouraged when the ball inside rattled around. Jack was just behind her. She turned to find him frowning. He took the paint when she shoved it at him anyway.

  It took less than half an hour to have all their belongings packed into backpacks and slung over their shoulders. A pint of vodka was nestled in the bottom of Emma's though she hoped she wouldn't need it. Already she was breathing heavily from the morning's exertion. Her calf ached but she refused to acknowledge it. It was a horrible, dull pain that would flare without warning, feeling like fire shooting up her nerve endings. There was a blister already forming inside her mouth along her bottom lip from clamping her teeth around the soft flesh to avoid crying out. It didn't matter now, nothing did but finding her sister.

  And Bill, Anna, Andrew…

  The last name was soft in her mind, a pleading cry that he be okay. Her insides felt disconnected, jostling about her stomach and chest, when she thought about those faceless men who had taken them.

  She had made Jack tell her every detail as they walked back and forth across the empty street this morning. What they sounded like, the words they used, if they had hit anyone, hurt them in any way. He told her, haltingly, but completely.

  She watched him now. He looked calmer than she felt, walking from car to empty car, checking visors for keys and peering into the homes they were parked in front of for obvious key racks. She jumped when he smashed through a window, sending glass scattering into the home and on the lawn.

  It was almost callous, the way he went about business. They needed to hold supplies, he found backpacks to carry them. They needed food, he dug some cans out of a nearby garage. They needed a car, he was in the process of stealing them one.

  He hadn't mentioned her sister's name. Not once.

  She frowned. He drew his hand through the broken glass of the window, keys dangling from his fingers. He didn't look towards her, just walked to the truck parked in the driveway and yanked the door open. The car sputtered, the engine turning over as he twist the key, but after a couple tries, it roared to life.

  "Ready?" he asked, speaking for the first time since he agreed to leave with her. She nodded.

  "Oh, wait," she said, pausing in the middle of the road. He moved closer towards her as she pulled out her spray paint. In a giant sweep, she laid down a circle of paint that enclosed her and Jack. He added the eyes and she drew the smiley face mouth, remembering to put a tongue hanging out of the stick mouth. It was Andrew's mark, the one they had used forever to indicate that buildings had been cleared of food, the one that decorated the side of their missing motorhome. Kaylee would recognize this and know exactly what it meant.

  Jack shook his can, it rattled in the cold air. He laid down an arrow, pointing in the direction he believed the men took off. He tucked the can in his backpack. They'd leave markers as they went. A way for Kaylee and the others to find them, or a way to find their way back, just in case.

  Looking back, she couldn't be sure why they didn't hear them. It could have been that the sounds were drowned out in the rush of nature, the calls of birds and the brush of fallen leaves. It might have been the truck engine, rattling and spurting but humming a steady kind of hum that Emma recognized. Or it may have been that they were too focused, too fearful for Kaylee and the others and too trusting that they themselves were safe.

  Emma looked into her own backpack, tucking her paint safely away. When she looked back to Jack, she froze for an infinitesimal moment.

  Gaping, her jaw slack, black tongue protruding, an infected woman lunged for Jack. Emma jolted forward, pushing Jack to the side and collapsing on top of the biter. Her flesh was loose and rubbery, her chest caving in when Emma landed on her. The jaw never stopped moving. The biter's neck craned, the stench of rotten breath clouded Emma's face as the head moved lower and jaws snapped hungrily. Emma felt the scrape of teeth against her collarbone, the cold flesh of seeking lips clammy on her exposed skin.

  She jerked back, crying out. The sound of the biter's head smashing against the concrete drowned her out. Jack brought his boot down twice, crushing the skull, before the body fell still.

  She heard the moans then. Not from her, but from the rest. A swell of infected, hundreds, filled the street, swarmed from over the hill and through the suburban yards. They crashed through shrubbery, trampled the neighborhood fences. Emma grabbed at Jack's hand and let him pull her to her feet.

  "Are you okay?" he asked. They moved as one to the truck. Jack stopped, staring at her when she got in the bed of the truck instead of the cab. She pulled her shirt down and to the side, exposing the long, bleeding tooth marks on her chest.

  "I'll be fine," she said, sitting down. "But, just in case, it's better if I'm back here.”

  He stared for one short moment and then nodded. "Hold tight," he muttered, jumping behind the wheel and throwing the truck in reverse.

  She jerked against the truck bed's window, slamming it with her back and then collapsing to her knees. She gripped the sides of the truck as Jack spun into the road, throwing it in forward before hitting the gas. The infected were close, close enough to scrape their cracked fingernails on the bumper. But they couldn't move fast enough to keep up with the truck. The horde grew smaller behind them. Emma let her fingers drift over the scratch on her collarbone, they came away wet. She stuck her hands out in front of her, but with the wind whipping around her and the truck bumping on the crumbling asphalt, it was impossible to tell if they were shaking. She felt sickened, a tightening in the base of her stomach. There was a brief flash of panic.

  It might not be that she was immune to the infection entirely, maybe it was just that one biter. Maybe whatever Anna did for her directly after, cleaning the wound and pumping her full of antibiotics, maybe that's what had made the difference. She pressed her hands to her face, holding the sides of her head tightly, trying to see if the tremors were starting. She couldn't tell.

  She didn't feel any different. But her stomach continued to roil. She didn't want to change, didn't want to die, but the thought that she may share some commonalities with the animals chasing them in the street, common enough to not get infected by them when they bit, it disgusted her. She hated that her body would betray her like this, that in some basic way, she was one of them.

  The truck bed bounced underneath her and she grit her teeth. There was no point in worrying about that now. They were getting further and further from the direction Kaylee had gone.

  Their bags were thrown in the bed of the truck, some basic weapons along with them. They didn't have anything fancy. A machete Jack found in one of the garages, a couple hatchets and a rusted ax. Jack had sharpened the handle of a wooden broom into spear-like object. Emma reached forward and pulled this into her hands. She swept her gaze around the street behind her and found no infected. Jack wasn't slowing though.

  She turned and pulled herself to a stand, gripping the truck cab for balance. The wind whipped at her face, throwing her hair back
in brown tangles behind her. She squinted into the rush of air, one hand gripped the on top of the truck cab and the other held fast to her crude spear.

  She saw them before he did.

  A veritable wall of infected, thousands of them, were staggering towards them. They looked like an army, one from ancient times. Rags hung from their limping frames, they held no weapons save their teeth. They didn't march on command and yet they were one, an indivisible unit, a surge of infection. Emma pounded on the truck's cab and Jack hit the brakes. They didn't have to speak to know what the other was thinking.

  He turned the truck and headed down a side road. It looked like it could go for a while. The horde didn't stop. The tires grit on the pavement but without the wind rushing in her ears, she could hear them. A low moan, sounding like one injured beast, rose and fell. It was pierced with shrieks and the faint thump of bare feet, coming closer.

  Where did they all come from? How had there been almost no infected and now there were thousands? Some barrier must have collapsed, it was the only thing Emma could think of. It would be helpful to know exactly where that barrier was, where they were coming in and the best route to escape them. But neither she nor Jack knew the area. Neither had been scouting further than the block of houses they had camped in. Both were injured and had left the scouting to the others.

  For the first time, she felt vulnerable.

  Infected were leaking from between buildings, running at the car. They bounced off at first, only a couple stray bodies here and there. Then more came. The car rocked and shook as it sped over them. Jack's window was down, she could hear his grunts as he tried to avoid them.

  And then another wall, another horde, twenty bodies thick in places, swarmed from over a hill. Jack slammed on the brakes. She could hear his breath, loud and harsh in the driver's seat. A man lunged from the side, his teeth catching on the passenger side door. Emma stuck him in the temple with her spear, felt the last shudder of life as she pierced his brain. He fell with a dull smack unto the pavement. Jack didn't even look at him.