Free Web NovelChapter 263: Chapter 262 - Friends
ALJUN’S POV
Aljun woke with a hand on his shoulder.
His eyes snapped open, and his hand went for the knife at his side before he saw Arnulf crouched in front of him.
"What?" Aljun breathed. "Is it my turn to guard?"
Arnulf shook his head.
The whole building was dark. Moonlight came through the gaps in the boards and laid thin strips across the floor. The room smelled like blood, sweat, old paper, and damp concrete. For a second, Aljun only heard his own breathing.
Then the soldier groaned from the other side of the room.
Aljun pushed himself up fast.
Malcolm was gone.
His spot near the wall was empty. Iyisha’s pistol was gone too. His revolver was gone. The map was not on the floor anymore.
Aljun looked at Arnulf. "Where is he?"
Arnulf’s face was hard. "Gone."
Aljun’s stomach dropped. "You checked outside?"
"Yes."
Harry stood near the front window and looked through the boards. "The front’s been cleaned out."
Aljun got to his feet and crossed to him.
He looked out.
The walkers that had gathered near the door were dead. Their bodies lay across the street and against the steps with their skulls opened or their necks cut clean. Malcolm had cleared them without waking the room.
Aljun stepped back from the window. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
Of course he did.
Arnulf looked around. "Wake everyone. We’re going now."
No one argued.
Harry woke Archie first. Bert shook Chanse by the shoulder, and Chanse woke Tilly gently. Marybeth was already sitting up beside Lance, one hand on his chest, the other holding her machete. Lance looked half awake and half dead, but his eyes opened when Marybeth said his name.
Aljun turned toward the soldier.
Smith sat slumped against the wall where Malcolm had left him. His face was swollen almost beyond shape. His mouth had dried blood around it. His injured hand lay against his chest, fingers bent wrong, and his breath came in small, shaking pulls.
Aljun looked at him longer than he meant to.
Then he reached down, picked up one of the spare guns from the floor, and slid it across to him.
Smith looked up.
Aljun did not know why he did it. Maybe pity. Maybe guilt. Maybe because leaving a man like that with walkers outside felt too close to butchering something that was still breathing.
"We’re going to the lab," Aljun said.
Smith stared at him.
Then his mouth pulled into a broken grin. "You’re all going to die."
Aljun sighed.
He thought so too.
There was still time to get out of this. That was the worst part. He did not need to go. Malcolm was gone. Arnulf was distracted. Everyone was tired. If Aljun slipped away in the dark, they might not even chase him.
He could find another building.
Another group.
Another side.
That was what he was good at.
"Aljun," Marybeth called. "Let’s go."
He looked back at her.
Marybeth had Lance’s arm over her shoulder and a machete in her free hand. Her face was tired, but her grip on the weapon was steady. Lance leaned hard against her. His feet dragged at first, then found the floor.
Aljun looked at Smith again.
"Apparently, we don’t care."
Smith’s grin faded.
Aljun turned and followed the others out.
The street was dark. The air felt colder outside, and the dead lay where Malcolm had left them. Aljun stepped around one body and tried not to look at the skull. Malcolm had moved through here without wasting anything.
Arnulf led them down the street with Harry beside him. Archie stayed near the rear, his wrapped hand held close to his chest, Bert beside him. Tilly and Chanse together. Marybeth helped Lance walk, and Aljun moved beside her because Lance’s weight was already pulling her down.
He kept looking at corners.
Every alley looked like an exit.
Every broken storefront looked like a place he could disappear.
He could turn left and run. He could wait until they crossed a darker block. He could let the group move ahead, then slip behind a parked truck and keep going until their footsteps died.
No one would blame him if they never saw him again.
No one except himself, maybe.
He looked at Marybeth.
She adjusted Lance against her shoulder and kept walking. Her machete hung low in her hand.
"Why are you following them?" Aljun asked.
Marybeth glanced at him. "What?"
"Malcolm. Arnulf. All of this." He looked ahead at the dark street. "You can still leave."
Marybeth’s eyes went back to the road. "So can you."
Aljun gave a short laugh. "I know."
"Then why are you still here?"
He did not answer.
Marybeth shifted Lance higher. Lance made a weak sound but stayed on his feet.
Aljun looked at him, then at the blood dried on Marybeth’s hands.
"I asked you first," he said.
Marybeth’s jaw tightened. For a while, only their footsteps answered.
Then she said, "Because they took Iyisha."
Aljun looked at her. "That’s enough?"
"It has to be."
"That’s stupid."
"Maybe."
"She might already be dead."
Marybeth looked at him then.
Aljun wished she had not.
"She’s not dead," Marybeth said.
Aljun swallowed and looked away.
Ahead of them, Arnulf raised one hand, and everyone slowed. Harry checked the corner first, then waved them forward.
They crossed the street in a tight line.
Aljun’s eyes found another alley.
It was narrow and dark. Good enough to hide in. Good enough to run through. His feet slowed.
Marybeth noticed.
"Don’t," she said.
Aljun looked at her. "Don’t what?"
"Don’t make me choose between carrying Lance and dragging you back."
He almost smiled.
Almost.
"You wouldn’t drag me back."
Marybeth kept walking. "No. I’d tell Malcolm where you went."
Aljun’s mouth closed.
That worked better than any threat she could have made herself.
A low groan came from somewhere ahead.
Everyone stopped.
Arnulf signaled down.
They crouched near a burned-out car as two walkers stumbled across the street. Harry lifted his gun, but Arnulf held up one hand. No shots. Not now.
Chanse moved first.
He crossed behind the walkers and took one down with a blade through the back of the skull. Bert handled the second, quick and quiet. Tilly kept her eyes on the ground while they dragged the bodies aside.
Aljun watched them.
These people were tired, hurt, and half starved, but they were still moving.
He hated that about them.
It made leaving harder.
Lance leaned more heavily against Marybeth, and she almost lost her footing. Aljun stepped in without being asked and took Lance’s other arm.
Marybeth looked at him once.
He looked away. "He’s slowing you down."
"Thank you," she said.
"I didn’t say I’m staying."
"You’re a good man," Marybeth said. "Besides having a weird taste in food."
Aljun rolled his eyes.
The street ahead was clear, but walkers lay across the road and sidewalks, their heads opened or their necks cut as if Malcolm had left them a trail to follow.
"I don’t even know why I’m here," Aljun muttered.
Marybeth slapped Lance’s thigh. "Walk."
Lance gave a weak grin, then looked at Aljun. "We’re your friends. That’s why you’re staying."
Aljun blinked at the road.
Friends.
He looked at the two of them. They were both smiling at him, tired and bloody like idiots.
Aljun looked away fast. His cheeks warmed, and he thanked the dark because they would never let him forget it if they saw.
"Fuck off," he muttered, his throat tightening. "You’re only saying that because she can’t carry your heavy ass alone."
Lance gave a breathless laugh.
Aljun glanced at him. "Yeah, I called you a moron. What was a pipe going to do against a gun?"
Lance’s smile faded a little, but it stayed. "I couldn’t just let them get her."
Aljun looked down at his stomach. "Did the bullet do that?"
Lance shook his head. "No. They got normal guns. I think it’s the drug I drank."
Aljun stared at him.
Then he laughed under his breath. "Well, that proves it. You are a moron."
Marybeth laughed first. Lance followed, quiet and pained, but real.
Aljun shook his head and helped them keep moving.
The laugh died after a few steps.
Something moved under his skin.
He slowed.
The street was too clean. The walkers Malcolm killed were down, and nothing else came out from the alleys. No groan. No scrape. No twitching shadow behind the cars.
Still, Aljun’s neck prickled.
He looked back.
The road behind them was empty.
His grip tightened under Lance’s arm.
"What?" Marybeth asked.
Aljun kept looking. "Something’s wrong."
Lance tried to turn his head. "What do you see?"
"Nothing."
Marybeth’s face tightened. "Then why do you sound like that?"
Aljun looked up.
Something glinted above the street.
Small. Fast. Coming down.
His stomach dropped.
"Move!"
He shoved Lance and Marybeth sideways as the thing hit the road behind them.
The impact cracked the pavement. Dust and broken stone burst up from the street. Everyone scattered. Harry grabbed Tilly and dragged her behind a car. Arnulf shouted something, but the sound was swallowed by the crash.
Aljun hit the ground hard.
Marybeth landed beside him with Lance half across her legs. Lance groaned and grabbed his stomach.
Aljun pushed up on one elbow.
A shape dropped from the roofline ahead.
Huge.
Too huge.
The street shook when it landed.
Aljun’s breath stopped.
The tank straightened in the moonlight, taller than any man, its shoulders wide enough to block the road. The arm that shouldn’t have been there had grown back.
Its head turned toward them.
Aljun felt the hair rise along his arms.
"The tank," he whispered.
Marybeth tightened her grip on the machete.
Lance tried to sit up and failed.
The tank opened its mouth and roared.
Aljun’s hand slipped on the pavement as he scrambled back.
"Run," Arnulf shouted.
The tank moved.
