Past his musty smell and tattered clothes, there was something else off about the appearance of this man. Besides his crazy muttering that is. His body, like the other survivors, held the marks of the disease he had somehow survived—long, deep gashes that looked like they would never heal. On the inside of his wrist were three slash marks burned into his skin.
The branded man took a step closer to me and I pushed myself back, still on my backside.
“Just let me have her, and I’ll end you quick.”
“Piss off,” I spat. There was no way he was going to let us go, and I was no match for him. I could only hope Josephine would wake up and save us again. Somehow.
“I’m gonna rip your skin off, shifter,” the man snarled, and pulled a long knife out from his boot.
Before the survivor could take two steps, something darted in front of my vision and knocked him to the ground. When my eyes finally focused I saw a rather large man struggling to hold down the survivor. The fat man was wearing jeans and a Washington Redskins jersey. For some reason, the sight of that damn Cooley jersey made me instantly trust the man. Either that or the fact that he smelled of sweat and after-shave, not of death and decay. I rocked my body forward and crawled to help hold the survivor down.
The large man looked me in the eye and gave me a curt nod. “Bentham!” he yelled out, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I found them! And a Zombie! Get your tail here and fast!”
The survivor thrashed violently on the floor, going back and forth between cussing and laughing.
“Bentham,” the man called out again, “I’m not going to be able to hold him much longer! You better hope I’m not the conductor or your slow self will be stuck here!”
I heard the click of the gun before I saw the man referred to as Bentham. I craned my neck to see a young man run down the hallway, holding a gun straight at us. He didn’t look much older than me, but he sure looked like he knew how to handle a gun.
“Can you get him outside?” the young man asked.
The large man nodded. “Sure can. Damn it, I hate this part.”
“What you gonna kill me, Fatty?” the survivor said through clenched teeth. Gone was the laughter. “They’ll slice you up and let you rot. Wouldn’t eat you. Too much damn fat. Don’t want to die an early death.”
Bentham brought the butt of the gun down forcefully over the survivor’s head, but the crazed man continued to ramble. “I’ll eat the dark ones. I’ll eat them right up! And the light, the light, I’ll scoop out the insides—”
Bentham brought the gun down again and the survivor’s eyes rolled back into his head. With a grunt, his head fell forward as he lost consciousness.
“Check on your friend while Randall and I take out the trash,” Bentham snapped at me. The lanky, bossy kid and the fat man picked up the survivor by the arms and pulled him towards the entrance.
Once they were gone, I rushed over to Josephine. Crouching in front of her, I pulled her so she was sitting up against the wall. I shook her slightly, but still she didn’t wake up. My heart began to pound. What if she was really hurt? How long had she been unconscious? I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her close to me. I closed my eyes and tried to listen to her breathing. Did it sound normal?
“Josephine? You gotta wake up. I don’t know what I’m doing here.” And it was true. Was it smart to sit and wait for the men to return? I was pretty sure they weren’t survivors, but did that automatically equate trust? All that talk about dark shifters and light shifters. While Josephine was dark, I knew she had limits. Could the same be said for the dark shifter in their pairing? Sure, they would protect each other; I was beginning to understand the bond between dark and light, but what was in it for them if they protected other shifters? I didn’t completely understand the rules of this new world.
The gunshot sliced through the silence of the desecrated hallways of Shepherd High. I ground my teeth together, fighting the urge to run and hide. Fear was the only emotion I felt that I really understood as of late. I jolted to my feet, lifting Josephine up with me. I held her body against mine and braced for whatever came next.
Bentham stalked towards us. The fat man followed behind him, wiping the sweat off of his flushed face with a handkerchief. “Did you really have to kill him?” the big one wheezed.
“Sorry, Randall. It’s kill or be killed. You know the rules. We let one of them live and we’ll just have to kill three more next time.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. So you tell me, Ben.”
I cleared my throat.
“Right. You.” Bentham, er, Ben rolled his eyes.