They made slow, steady progress through the streets. No point in making a grab for the wheel, he could easily overpower her.
Besides, she only had one hand at her disposal and it wasn’t her right, which was a bitch. Another opportunity would present itself and she’d grab it when it did. Rage and pain roiled through her.
They passed a group of people standing on a street corner. Several raised their hands and Owen nodded back, lowering the gun from view.
“Don’t move,” he muttered as they rolled past the scene.
The church spire came into view, the solid old brick building set with panels of colored glass. It was too dark to make out what stories they told. A trio of massive pine trees circled the place, standing guard. They made it even darker.
Owen pulled into the churchyard. Her teeth clattered as they covered the uneven ground. She clung onto her wounded wing, doing her best not to pass out. She needed to be coherent to kil the fucker and get back to Finn.
Andy stuck his head out the church’s side door. There was a flashlight in one hand pointing down, casting a circle of light around his shoes. He held a gun in his other hand.
“What is this about, Owen?” she asked, trying to think her way clear of the pain, trying to find a way out.
The prick turned off the engine and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Come on, we’l thow you.”
Fresh air rushed in as Andy opened the passenger side door. Owen had kept the windows up. She hadn’t realized how cloying the temperature and the stink of old cigarettes had been until relief was granted. Maybe she should just try to make a run for it. Her rabbit heart beat faster at the thought. But getting shot here wasn’t going to help Finn.
Andy stood there grim faced, looking far too young. “Told you to be careful with her.”
“Thwew herself down the stairs. She’s a fucking nut job.” Owen flung open his door and spat onto the grass. “Shit.”
“Come on. She’s real y agitated tonight,” Andy said.
“Who is?” Ali levered herself careful y out of the car. The barrel of Andy’s gun hovered by the side of her head.
“Inside,” the boy waved the gun in the desired direction.
They marched her into the cool, quiet of the church building. It smelt nice at first, wood polish and the lingering scent of flowers. It was peaceful, still. Her shoulder beat in time with her steps. The farther they got down the dark red strip of carpet toward an open internal door, the more a pungent odor rose to greet them.
She knew the stench. Once she had caught it, it was all she could smel . The rank and putrid stink of rotting flesh. A low moan echoed up from below. Everything in her slowed in horror.
Al shook her head, trying to step back. “No! No.”
“I can thoot you in the leg now and we’ll drag you down there,” Owen pressed the butt of his gun to her thigh. “Your choice.”
The lack of options beat her about the head. Her ears filled with gray noise. Her steps toward the dark, open door were small, measured, and each and every one took a year off her rapidly dwindling life.
“Down the thteps. Don’t try anything thith time.” Owen tapped her head once more with the pistol in warning.
Andy led the way with his gun and flashlight.
Below, the cel ar was lit with candles, big and small. Altar candles. The room glowed with light. Rachel was chained to an overhead beam, a dog collar around her swollen, gray neck. She had been fighting her imprisonment. One hand tugged at the collar while the other reached out to the three of them, bloody lips spread wide. The chain jangled as she tested her reach. It almost sounded merry.
Ali searched for an escape route. There was a line of three small windows halfway between them and Rachel. Pity about the guns pointed at her. The room wasn’t very neat, not up to church standards. Old candelabras and brass vases were scattered about on the tabletop closest. A line of shelves filled with junk covered the far wal .
“Rachel went to see her dad,” Andy said, his voice breaking. “He was hanging around the section of the wall up by the railway yard, trying to get in. She didn’t understand … infected don’t …”
“You think she would want to live like this?” Ali clung onto her wounded arm.
“We can look after her. There’s no reason she can’t still have a good life.” Andy threw back his shoulders, stood tall. “We can do that for her.”
“We will do that for her,” Owen corrected. He spat a wad of bloody saliva onto the ground and Rachel snarled, yanking on the chain.
“People wil find out,” said Ali.
“People need to change their minds about infected. You’ll help with that.” Andy flicked off his flashlight and set it on a nearby table.
His gun trembled in his hand.
“How?”
“We’ll turn you. Your men won’t let them hurt you. They’l have to let Rachel thtay too,” Owen supplied, a wary eye on the homicidal maniac leashed up in the corner. “It’ll work.”
“No, it won’t. My men will put a bullet in my head and give me a decent burial.” The two idiots dealt her dubious looks.
“Bullthit,” Owen growled and spat some more blood on the floor. “They would never kill you.”