“Zoey,” Ash whispered.
“Not now, Ash,” I whispered back, making sure that my weight was balanced and that I had a firm grip on my weapons. I needed to be ready.
“Zoey, I need to tell you something,” he insisted, his voice full of fear. I wanted to tell him to not be scared; I wanted someone to tell me not to be scared, but it was pointless. This was the perfect situation to be scared in.
I met his eyes for a moment. “Later, okay? You can tell me later.”
He looked like he wanted to protest, but instead, he nodded.
“Ash,” Dad said softly, looking around at the Awakened surrounding us. They were so silent and so still. They looked dead, more so than they already were. I kept waiting as the seconds passed by. “Ash, whatever happens, you take care of Zoey. You protect her, no matter what.”
I bit down on my lip hard, drawing the warm coppery taste of blood into my mouth. I refused to look at either of them, not even when Ash replied, “Yes, sir.” I couldn’t handle the waiting anymore, and I fired my gun at the closest Awakened near me. The bullet sailed straight into her forehead, my first perfect shot, and she crumpled to the ground. Everyone had watched in silence, but the moment her body hit the ground, chaos erupted.
No less than four or five Awakened ran straight at me. I ducked the arms of a small woman, sending my elbow into the chest of a man that came up from behind me. I kicked out, hitting him behind the knees and sending him to the ground. I used my knife to stab him in the chest, hoping it would keep him down for a moment. I whirled on the others, shooting one quickly in the head, just above the neck. It must have been good enough, because he fell, and immediately turned my attention to another. I dodged a kick, grabbing the leg and flipping the woman onto her stomach. I shot her in the head and felt an arm grab me from behind.
I was yanked backward, and I stumbled. They were strong, stronger than their bodies suggested. They were light, much lighter than they had been before they had been Awakened, but they were strong and quick on their feet. The man who had a grip on my arm bit down on my skin, and I screamed. My hand scrambled for a grasp on the arm holding me in place, and I twisted, causing him to howl and pull back. I punched him in the stomach before taking a step back and quickly shooting him in the head.
The man I had stabbed had finally struggled to his feet and had a hold of me from behind. I struggled to throw him off, but he had a tight grip on me. His fingernails dragged across my exposed stomach, drawing blood in deep scratches. I tried to throw him over my shoulders, but he wouldn’t budge. I continued to pull at his arms, and when he wasn’t expecting it, I sent my elbow into his groin. He pulled back with a groan, and I spun around, kneeing him in the stomach. As he sunk to the ground, I pulled out my knife and stabbed him in the neck, blood gushing out and spraying all over my hands.
I was up to three kills, and I knew I had only made a tiny dent in the group that was attacking us. There was complete mayhem everywhere. Dad was standing up on the car, shooting as many Awakened that he could while Ash fought off a pair on his own. I didn’t know what to do; I didn’t know who to help. My world was spinning, and I couldn’t stay balanced. I felt dizzy; maybe I was losing too much blood. I couldn’t concentrate, and I knew I was vulnerable.
As if on cue, I was thrown backward, landing with a hard thump on the solid ground. I started to get up and found myself pinned to the ground. An Awakened held me down, his knees pressed into my thighs, and his arms holding my own down. I looked around in panic and saw my dad and Ash, lost in a crowd of fighting Awakened.
My captor grinned at me, sensing my predicament and enjoying the sight of me pinned to the ground. He reached for the knife in my hand, pressing his nails tight into my wrist until I was forced to let go. He picked it up, fingering the edge of it. He was young, maybe early 30s when he had died. There were traces of handsome features hidden underneath the chapped, blue skin.
“You know,” he said, his raspy voice breathing onto my face, “my mom always told me not to play with my food, but you’re just too pretty to eat so quickly.” He pressed the tip of the knife to my neck, and a rush of fear, unadulterated, uncontrollable fear filled me. I started to call out for my dad, for Ash. He pressed the knife tighter against my throat, drawing a quick line across it. It was just a scratch, but I felt the sting of it, and I hissed in pain.