I whip around to watch three agents topple. Damn it! Like the other one, they’d almost had me.
Zombies head straight for Milla. I drop my guns and reach for my swords, then step out of my body to remove any arms and legs that reach her way. Different parts soon form a wall between us and the rest of the horde.
When I return to my body, I look for Milla. There! An agent stands behind her, one arm snaked around her neck, the other around her waist. She bucks against him, slamming the back of her head into his nose. Howling in pain, he loosens his hold and she’s able to break free by jamming her elbows into his stomach, then latching onto his arm, at the same time ducking and yanking him over her head.
I palm a gun and, while the guy is down, shoot him in the chest.
As zombies scale the wall of parts, I move in and out of my body. Milla cries out. I whip around. Two agents punch at her, keeping her distracted while a third sneaks up behind her, a collar ready to be snapped around her neck.
No way in hell! I aim, squeeze the trigger. He flies backward.
A frantic thud of footsteps behind me. I spin, ready to shoot, and come face-to-face with the barrel of a .38.
“Drop your weapon,” a hard male voice demands.
Like hell. I go low and kick out my leg. Contact! He drops.
I’m there when he lands, slamming my fist into his nose; cartilage snaps. His eyes close, his body going lax. I straighten—only to fly backward as pain explodes in my shoulder.
I’ve been hit.
Milla unleashes a blood-curdling scream, and I fight my way to my feet. Blood gushes down my shirt. Stars wink over my vision as I try to breathe. I step...step, moving forward. My knees give out, but it doesn’t stop me. I crawl. Have to get to Milla... Can’t let her get hurt...or worse.
“No, no. Don’t hurt him.” Suddenly she’s at my side, her soft hands pressing my wound to stop the flow of blood. “Stay still, Frosty. Okay? All right? Just stay still. I’ll take care of you.”
Fog rolls in, but I manage to stay awake. “You...okay?”
“I’m fine. But you... I didn’t shield you.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “Couldn’t get to you in time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I try to reach up and wipe those tears away, but movement is impossible. My muscles have seized. “No...tears. Not for...me.” I have trouble catching my breath. “You...all that...matters.”
The tears only fall faster.
“You have a choice,” an unfamiliar voice says.
“I know. I know. We die or we go with you calmly,” she snaps. “You don’t need the collars, and you don’t need to hurt him. We’ll cooperate.”
The tallest one smiles without humor. “I know you’ll go with us calmly because, if one of you acts up, the other dies.”
We’re disarmed, dragged to a van and stuffed in the back, and our friends have no idea, can’t see us through the sea of zombies.
A guard barks “Patch him up” before slamming the door. At least we aren’t handcuffed or tied down. More than that, we’re alone in back, a clear plate separating us from the driver and his passenger.
I rip the hem of Frosty’s T-shirt and use the material to bind his shoulder.
“You should have...continued to fight.” He’s panting more heavily now.
“And let them take you away from me? No.”
“Exactly why you...should have stayed...on roof.”
“My main objective has always been your safety. That hasn’t changed.” His skin is pale, and he’s lost a lot of blood. He needs dynamis.
Look inside...look inside...
I’ve looked countless times and failed to find it.
So what? Try again. Use faith.
Faith. Yes. When faith is low, build it up with words and thoughts. “I can do this.” I can.
I sit back on my haunches, scoot away from Frosty—just in case thánatos escapes—and close my eyes. The mind is a beautiful, complex thing. It observes, stores. It’s how my spirit communicates with my body. I go deep, deeper, enduring horrendous, blistering heat, at last spotting the smoke Reeve mentioned. I do my best to look past it, but it’s just too thick.
Still I go deeper. Pain consumes me, burning, burning, boiling. Sweat breaks out on my skin. My lungs constrict, making it difficult to breathe. A high-pitched scream assaults my ears, and I want it to stop, need it to stop.
“Stop, Milla. Stop now.”
My eyelids pop open, and I slump over, the hideous burn fading, the scream subsiding. “I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”
He reaches out with his good hand to caress my cheek. “It’s not your fault, sweet pea.”
But it is. I had one job, just one. Save him. “We’ll be okay. Maybe...maybe we can ambush them when they let us out.” I search the back of the vehicle, but it’s been emptied of anything we can use as a weapon. Helplessness bombards me.
“Whatever proves necessary,” he says. “Survive.”
“Ditto.”