Free Web NovelChapter 260: Chapter 259 - Aftermath
MARYBETH’S POV
Marybeth shifted Lance higher against her shoulder and almost dropped him when Malcolm slammed the first walker into the wall.
Bone hit brick. The walker’s jaw snapped loose before it could reach him, but Malcolm did not let it fall. He caught it by the throat, drove his knife up under its chin, then shoved the body aside hard enough that it rolled across the broken pavement.
Marybeth stopped walking.
Aljun stopped with her. Lance hung between them with his head loose against his chest. Sweat had soaked through the front of his shirt. His breath came thin and uneven, and his weight pulled at both of their arms.
"Keep moving," Malcolm said.
His voice stayed low.
Marybeth looked at Aljun. Aljun looked back once, then looked away. He tightened his hold under Lance’s arm and started walking again, but his face had gone stiff.
Ahead of them, two more walkers dragged themselves from between the rusted cars. Malcolm moved before they fully turned. He caught the first by the hair and smashed its face into the hood, then hit it again until the metal dented under its skull. The second lunged at his side. Malcolm spun, caught its wrist, and broke the arm backward before driving his blade into its eye.
Nobody spoke.
Behind Marybeth, Archie and Harry dragged the captured soldier while Arnulf walked close beside him with his machete ready. The soldier was still unconscious, his boots dragging over the road each time Harry pulled him forward. Chanse, Tilly, and Bert followed behind them, quiet and careful, their eyes fixed on Malcolm.
Marybeth wanted to say something. Not to Malcolm. To anyone. Maybe to Aljun. Maybe to Lance, even if he could not hear her. Anything to cut through the pressure crawling over the group.
Then Malcolm reached another walker.
He did not shoot it.
His gun was right there at his side. His machete was on him too.
He used neither.
He grabbed the walker by its collar and drove it down onto the curb. Once. Twice. A third time. The body stopped moving after the second hit, but Malcolm still held it down for another breath. His shoulders rose slowly as he stared at what was left beneath his hand.
Marybeth’s fingers tightened under Lance’s arm.
"Malcolm," Arnulf said.
Malcolm stood.
He did not look back.
Another walker stumbled out from the mouth of an alley. Malcolm crossed the distance in three hard steps. His knife flashed once, and the walker folded at his feet.
Tilly edged closer to Chanse. "He’s angry."
Chanse gave a small shake of his head, warning her to stop.
Marybeth heard it anyway. They all did.
Malcolm wiped the knife on the walker’s torn shirt and kept moving toward the next street. His back stayed straight. His pace did not change. He looked calm from behind, and that made Marybeth’s stomach tighten.
Aljun leaned closer without looking at her. "We should talk to him right now."
Marybeth adjusted Lance again. "Do it first. I’ll back you up."
Aljun rolled his eyes at her.
Lance made a weak sound between them.
Malcolm stopped at once.
The whole group froze with him.
Marybeth held her breath as Malcolm turned halfway. His eyes went to Lance first.
"He breathing?" Malcolm asked.
Marybeth nodded. "Slow, but yes." ƒгeewebnovёl.com
For a moment, Malcolm did not move. His jaw worked once. His hand flexed around the knife handle.
Then a walker groaned from the corner.
Malcolm turned back and walked toward it.
Marybeth did not watch this time. She kept her eyes on Lance and forced her feet forward.
Arnulf stepped into Malcolm’s path before he reached the next corner.
"Sun’s setting," Arnulf said. "We need a base."
Malcolm stopped hard.
Marybeth stopped with Lance dragging between her and Aljun. Her shoulder burned from his weight. His head hung forward again, and every breath he took sounded thinner than the last.
Malcolm did not answer Arnulf. He looked past him, toward the direction of the lab.
His teeth ground together.
Marybeth saw his hand tighten around the knife. His knuckles were smeared with blood.
"Malcolm," Arnulf said again.
The others stayed quiet.
No one wanted to push him.
Marybeth swallowed, then shifted Lance higher. "Lance needs to rest."
Malcolm’s head turned.
His eyes landed on her first. Then they dropped to Lance.
Marybeth held still. She did not look away, even when Aljun went stiff beside her. Lance made another weak sound, barely more than air leaving his throat.
Something moved across Malcolm’s face. Then he nodded once.
They took the nearest building with walls still standing. It had been a small office before the city died, three floors of cracked glass, broken desks, and old papers stuck to the floor from years of rain. Malcolm went in first. Arnulf followed him. Archie and Harry dragged the soldier inside after them, while Bert covered the street and Chanse kept Tilly close.
Marybeth stayed near the entrance with Lance until Malcolm cleared the first room.
"Clear," Malcolm said.
His voice came from inside.
Aljun helped Marybeth carry Lance through the doorway. They lowered him against the wall, careful with his stomach.
Lance did not wake.
Marybeth knelt beside him and pulled his shirt up. The bullet hole was still covered with red skin. It did not look infected. It did not look healed either. It looked sealed, as if something under his flesh had pulled the wound shut before it was ready.
She pressed two fingers near the edge.
Lance did not react.
"Anything?" Aljun asked.
Marybeth shook her head. "Same."
She should have been glad but Marybeth felt uncertain. She pulled Lance’s shirt back down.
Arnulf had tied the captured soldier to an old metal chair. His wrists were bound behind him. His ankles were tied to the legs. Harry stood behind him with his arms crossed, while Archie watched the boarded windows. Chanse and Bert checked the back rooms. Tilly sat near the wall with her knees pulled to her chest.
Malcolm stood in the corner.
He had not sat down. He had not cleaned the blood from his hands. He only stood there, facing the soldier.
Marybeth felt something twist in her chest.
She almost felt sorry for the man.
Almost.
With Malcolm in that mood, the soldier was not a prisoner. He was a dead man.
The soldier groaned. His head rolled once, then jerked up. His eyes opened fast. He looked at Marybeth first, then Aljun, then the rest of the room. His body bucked against the ropes.
The chair barely moved.
"Don’t move a lot," Aljun said from beside Lance. His voice came out dry. "Everyone’s on edge."
The soldier pulled harder as the rope cut into his wrists.
Aljun pointed toward the corner. "And the scary man might kill you."
The soldier followed his finger.
Malcolm did not move.
That made the man stop fighting.
Marybeth rose slowly. Her knees ached from crouching beside Lance, but she kept her face plain. She walked closer to the soldier and stopped in front of him.
"Tell us everything," she said.
The man’s breathing shook. His eyes moved to Arnulf, then Harry, then back to Malcolm. When he looked at Marybeth again, his face hardened.
"No."
Marybeth nodded once, then she leaned closer.
"Or don’t," she said. "You’re free to choose how you die."
The soldier stared at her.
Marybeth let him stare. She was not Malcolm. She could not make a man break by standing still. But she had watched people die. She had watched Reya die in front of her and buried her with her hands.
Her pity had limits.
The soldier licked his cracked lip. "You don’t know what you’re walking into."
Malcolm stepped out of the corner.
Marybeth did not move away from the soldier.
"How did you find us?" she asked.
The soldier looked at her.
His breathing was still uneven, but his face closed. He leaned back as much as the rope allowed and said nothing.
Marybeth waited.
Malcolm crossed the room and hit him in the face.
The chair jerked sideways. Harry caught the back before it fell. Blood ran from the soldier’s nose and down over his mouth. His head hung forward, and his breath came out wet.
Tilly flinched.
Marybeth did not.
Malcolm stood over him with his hand still clenched. He did not ask again.
The soldier coughed and spat blood onto the floor. "Tracker."
Arnulf stepped closer. "What tracker?"
"One of the women with you," the soldier said. "We placed it before the transfer. Small implant. Under the skin."
Marybeth’s stomach dropped.
The woman who kept bleeding.
She saw her again on the river. Blood soaking through the cloth. Her body slipping under before anyone could reach her.
Marybeth’s mouth went dry. "You tracked her body?"
The soldier looked at her, then away. "We saw it moving in the middle of the river. That’s how we knew you crossed."
No one spoke.
Marybeth turned toward Malcolm.
His face had gone still.
The anger was still there, but it had changed. His eyes stayed on the soldier. His hand lowered to the knife at his belt.
The soldier saw it too. His mouth opened, then closed.
"Malcolm," Arnulf said carefully.
Malcolm reached down.
The soldier jerked back, but Malcolm only grabbed the rope around one wrist and cut it with one hard pull of the blade.
Marybeth’s breath caught.
The soldier’s freed hand dropped against his lap, shaking. He looked at it, then at Malcolm.
Malcolm stepped back.
"I want some time with him."
