And not ten minutes ago I had been really excited about all that eye liner and a new pair of jeans.
This was so not how I was going out. I’d survived Quarterback-Chris, the death of my parents and almost two freaking years of living as the most depressing version of Mila Jovovich in Resident Evil ever.
“Open, damn it!” I screamed at the door, giving it another kick with my foot.
Only this time, my foot didn’t connect with anything. The door wrenched open and my body flew, following my foot, through the empty space I wasn’t expecting. I fell straight to my hands and knees in a huge pile of glass shards and broken ceramic. I felt the thick chunks of debris dig and slice through my skin immediately. My jeans would be completely irreparable after this and, with my luck, as soon as I was able to stop bleeding; I was for sure going to get gangrene.
What the hell?
“What the hell, Reagan?” Haley practically screamed at me as soon as she was through the doorway. She slammed the door behind her and braced her body against it; meanwhile, I was still doggy style in a pile of glass I was too afraid to stand up from.
The damage was going to be annoyingly excessive.
Before I could answer her though, I heard the signature click of a bullet being loaded into the chamber. More dread slithered through my body; other humans were just as deadly and dangerous as Zombies these days. And apparently we were trespassing.
“Don’t move,” a deep, masculine voice ordered in a quiet, steely tone.
“Out of the frying pan,” Haley mumbled resignedly.
“And into the fire,” I finished for her.
I would never complain about eyeliner again.