Free Web NovelChapter 241: Chapter 241 - Get Out
The hallway exploded with voices before Iyisha could reach the door. Someone stumbled into the wall. Another voice broke over the first, high with panic.
"It’s coming this way!"
Marybeth grabbed the dull knife from the floor. Iyisha wiped her face with the back of her hand and followed her out.
Arnulf came through first, breathing hard, one hand pressed to the wall to keep himself upright. Sweat ran down his face. His shirt clung to his chest.
Two men stumbled in after him and dropped to the floor. Their clothes were soaked through with sweat. Dried human blood streaked their arms, faces, and shirts. One crawled on his hands and knees before his strength gave out. The other fell back against the wall and kept pointing toward the front of the building.
People crowded around them before Malcolm could reach the center of the hall.
Questions came from every side, but none of them landed clearly in Iyisha’s head. The man against the wall kept pointing toward the front of the building, his arm shaking hard.
"Pack up!" he shouted. "Why are you standing there? Pack up!"
"What is?" someone shouted.
"It killed Gunner!" the man screamed, crawling backward until his back hit the wall. "It picked him up and bit his head off!"
The hall cracked open with curses and panic.
Marybeth stepped in front of Iyisha with the dull knife raised. "Back up!"
No one listened.
Malcolm shoved through the crowd and fired once into the ceiling.
The shot split the hallway.
Everyone froze.
Malcolm lowered the gun. "Arnulf."
Arnulf bent forward with both hands on his knees, dragging air into his lungs. "I followed the banging. I thought it was the missing five." freewёbnoνel.com
The man against the wall shook his head hard. "We weren’t fighting. We were running."
Arnulf wiped sweat from his jaw with a shaking hand. "I found them ten blocks out. A twitcher was behind them. I killed it."
"It wasn’t the twitcher!" the man on the floor shouted. "That wasn’t what we were running from!"
People started moving again. Not slow now. Real panic. A woman grabbed two water bottles and dropped one. Someone shouted for the children. Someone else kept asking where to go.
Arnulf raised his voice over them. "Four blocks down, maybe five. Human-shaped, but wrong. Ten feet or more. Arms too long. Shoulders too wide. It was throwing concrete, trash bins, anything it could grab."
"It killed them!" the man against the wall screamed. "It’s coming!" He grabbed Malcolm. His eyes like crazy. "Walkers are following its lead."
The hallway went cold for one breath.
Malcolm moved. "Pack only what you can run with."
The hall broke open.
People ran for bags, weapons, water, and anything they could carry. A crate scraped across the floor. Someone dropped a can, and it rolled past Iyisha’s foot before hitting the wall. The sound made one of the men on the floor flinch so hard his shoulder struck the plaster.
Then Tilly’s door opened.
She stepped out with Chanse behind her, his hand already on her arm like he had been trying to keep her inside. Her eyes moved across the hall. The bags. The blood. The two men on the floor. Arnulf against the wall.
She saw only two.
Her face changed before she spoke.
"Where’s Richard?"
No one answered.
The two men lowered their heads.
"Tilly," Chanse said quietly.
She pulled free.
"Where’s my brother?"
Arnulf looked at her, breathing hard. Sweat ran down his face, but he did not wipe it away.
Tilly stepped closer. "Where is Richard?"
One of the men pressed a hand over his mouth. The other started shaking his head.
The one on the floor spoke first.
"He’s dead."
Tilly stopped.
The hall seemed to empty around her.
"What?"
The man still did not look up. "Gunner fell. Richard went back for him. He grabbed his arm, but that thing was already there."
Tilly dropped to her knees so fast Chanse reached for her too late.
"No."
Her voice cracked out of her.
"No."
She looked from the man on the floor to Arnulf, then to the other survivor, like one of them would take it back if she stared hard enough.
"No!"
The scream tore down the hall.
Then she moved.
She flew at the man on the floor and hit him before anyone caught up. Her fist slammed into his shoulder, then his chest. He curled in on himself, but she kept hitting him, wild now, both hands, punching wherever she could reach.
"You left him!"
The man brought his arms up over his head.
"You left my brother there!"
"Tilly!" Chanse grabbed her around the waist and tried to drag her back.
She fought him too, twisting hard enough that they both nearly went down. Her hair came loose around her face. Her breathing turned ragged.
"You let him die!"
"I’m sorry," the man gasped.
She hit him again.
"Sorry?" Tilly screamed. "Sorry?"
Chanse tightened his grip. "Tilly, stop!"
She drove her elbow back into his ribs. He grunted, but he did not let go.
Arnulf stepped forward. "Tilly."
She swung toward him so fast Chanse nearly lost her.
"You shut up!" she screamed. "You went out there! You said you’d bring them back!"
Arnulf took it and said nothing.
That only made her worse.
She lunged at him, hands open now, trying to claw at his shirt, his face, anything she could reach. Chanse caught her again from behind, both arms around her this time, hauling her back while she kicked and fought like an animal in a trap.
"My brother is dead because you left him!"
Arnulf’s jaw tightened. "Tilly—"
"Don’t say my name!"
Another crash rolled from outside.
The windows shook.
No one in the hall moved to stop her. No one knew how. The two men on the floor kept their heads down. One was crying. The other just sat there and took it.
"No!" She thrashed harder. "Let me go! Let me go!"
Iyisha moved.
She crossed the hall, grabbed Tilly by the face, and slapped her hard.
The crack cut through the hallway.
Tilly went still.
Even Chanse stopped moving.
Tilly’s head had turned with the blow. Her chest heaved. A red mark spread across her cheek.
Iyisha caught her jaw and forced her to look at her.
"We need to go."
Tilly stared at her, eyes wide and wet and furious.
"My brother is dead," she said, and the words came out broken.
"I know."
"No, you don’t."
Iyisha tightened her grip. "Maybe not. But if you keep this up, you die here too."
Tilly’s face twisted.
"You can scream later," she said. "You can hate them later. But right now, you move."
Tilly shook once under her hands.
The whole hall flinched.
Tilly looked toward the front of the building, then back at the men on the floor. The rage was still there. So was the grief. It sat in her face so raw Iyisha almost looked away.
Chanse reached around and took her hand.
"Tilly," he said quietly. "Please."
Her mouth trembled.
Then she sucked in one hard breath, yanked her hand free from Iyisha, and wiped her face with the heel of her palm.
When Tilly looked at Arnulf again, her eyes were dead.
"You should’ve brought him back."
Malcolm’s voice cut through the hall.
"I said pack now."
The words broke everyone loose again.
Iyisha turned toward their room. Her hands moved before her thoughts did. She shoved cans into a bag, then water, then the tampon box from earlier. The box caught on the zipper. She pushed it down harder until the cardboard bent.
Malcolm came in behind her and grabbed another bag. He packed faster than she did. Food first. Water next. Ammunition last. He did not waste one movement.
Iyisha reached for a flashlight, then froze.
Lance was sitting on the sofa by the far wall.
Her eyes widened.
He was upright.
Not well. Not even close. His shoulders sagged forward, and his hands rested loose on his knees like he had forgotten what to do with them. His face was pale. His eyes were open, but they looked blank, unfocused, like he had woken up in the wrong place and could not catch up.
"Lance?"
He turned his head slowly.
For one second, he only stared at her.
Then his mouth moved. "Iyisha?"
His voice was rough. Wrong. Too dry and thin.
Marybeth knelt in front of him with a bottle in her hand. "Drink."
Lance blinked down at it.
Marybeth pressed it closer. "Drink, Lance."
He obeyed because she told him to. Water spilled down his chin. Marybeth wiped it fast with her sleeve and made him take another small sip.
Iyisha stepped toward him, the supply bag slipping in her hand. "How are you awake?"
Lance looked at the room, then at the hallway where people were running. His brows pulled together.
"What’s happening?"
Iyisha’s throat tightened.
Malcolm stopped packing.
For one second, everything in him changed.
He crossed the room fast and dropped in front of Lance. His hand went to Lance’s shoulder, then the back of his neck, then his face, checking him like he needed proof that he was real.
Lance blinked at him. "Malcolm?"
Malcolm pulled him forward.
The hug was hard and quick, almost rough. Lance made a small sound from the force of it, but his hands lifted after a second and caught weakly at Malcolm’s shirt.
Iyisha stood still.
Marybeth looked away.
Malcolm held him for only a breath longer before he pulled back and gripped Lance by both shoulders.
"You with us?"
Lance swallowed. "I think so."
"Can you walk?"
Lance looked offended, but it came too slow to fully land. "Yeah."
Marybeth snorted once. "Liar."
He tried to smile. It barely moved his mouth. "Better than dead."
Malcolm’s jaw flexed.
For a second, he looked like he might hug him again.
Then a crash rolled from outside.
The windows trembled.
Lance flinched and looked toward the hall. "What was that?"
"No time," Malcolm said.
The softness vanished from his face. He stood and pulled Lance up with him.
Lance’s knees buckled at once.
Malcolm caught him.
Marybeth moved to his other side. "I told you."
"I’m fine," Lance muttered.
"You’re standing because two people are holding you."
"That’s still standing."
Iyisha almost laughed.
It died before it reached her mouth.
Another shout came from the hallway.
"Three blocks!"
Malcolm looked at Iyisha. "Bag."
She handed it to him.
He slung it over his shoulder, then pushed the shotgun into her hands. The weight dragged her arms down.
Her fingers tightened around it. Iyisha lifted the barrel. Her hands shook.
Malcolm turned toward the hall.
"Move."
