CHAPTER FORTY ONE

                                    

                                          
Fuck me.
                          
I was shoved against the side of the car by what felt like a freight train with nails – three different sets of teeth were snapping at my throat, all at the same time so none of the fuckers could get at me properly. They could obviously smell the blood coming from my shoulder.
                          
My rifle was wedged between the four of us, which made it next to impossible to use. My knife was concealed under my brace, which also made that inaccessible. And, truth be told, I was fucking scared. If these fuckers were after me, all with a little bit of blood dripping down my arm, while Charli was basically lying in a pool of her own blood, made me think that she must be dead. There was no other explanation for why they would attack me and not go after her. 
                          
I pushed my rifle forward, creating a buffer so I could get an arm free. Then, dodging his snapping teeth as he lunged for me again, I managed to spin the gun around until the muzzle was beneath the zombie's chin. I pulled the trigger and momentarily closed my eyes and mouth.
                          
Blood was everywhere, but it provided enough of a distraction for the other two zombies to stop attacking me, if only for a moment. I kicked the nearest one in the stomach, and it stumbled backward a couple of steps. The other I shoved my rifle into its gut, and it moved back a few steps as well. They growled at me and lunged again, arms flailing, teeth gnashing together. But the reprieve was enough for me to remove my knife from my brace, slash one throat, then stab the other in the temple – all this to the symphony of Dog's barking. 
                          
I leaned against the car for a breather. All three zombies lay at my feet, nothing but a pool of blood. My front was covered in red. 
                          
Fuck me. That was all I could think when I looked over at Charli.
                          
There was blood everywhere. I couldn't tell where it was coming from.
                          
I was slow when I approached her, keeping an eye on the trees further down the road. I'd heard the shots before she'd gone down, but after that, there was nothing. She was the target, and they'd gotten her – twice.
                          
Charli was partially conscious when I got to her. I dropped to my knees beside her and rolled her over onto her side, because I had no idea what the fuck I was doing and I had no idea where she'd been hit besides in the shoulder – which was spookily similar to my injury.
                          
She was pale, covered in blood, her chin was stained, her clothes were stained. I was soon covered in her warm, sticky blood – not just my hands, but I was kneeling in it, too. I was gentle as I touched her, as I held her still with one hand and searched her body with the other, to see where else she'd been hit. I'd heard the two shots, but I'd only seen the first.
                          
"Charli," I whispered. She trembled, teeth chattering, and her breathing was laboured and ragged, spilling past her lips as if by accident. I thought she might have been in shock. "Jesus fucking Christ." I was scared to move her, scared to pick her up and take her somewhere else. 
                          
But I did. I had to take her somewhere else, somewhere that was relatively safer than where we were. 
                          
She screamed as I pulled her into my arms, particularly when her back and pack was cushioned against my arm. I couldn't be sure if she'd been shot in the back, or whether it was simply the wound to her shoulder. Tears streamed down her face and she was coughing, sucking in long, deep breaths that were only getting caught in her throat.
                          
She tried to claw at me to release her, so I took that as a sign that maybe she hadn't been shot in the back at all. She could still move, even though every move and sound she made showed that she was in agony.
                          
I tried readjusting her in my arms, to get her in a more comfortable position. Nothing worked, nothing helped. The only change was that she was no longer screaming; it was all internal now; she no longer verbalised it.  
                          
And I saw it all in her eyes. They were so expressive, I had to look away. 
                          
Where could I take her? Where could we go?
                          
It was hard rounding everything up, including Dog. It took ten minutes to work the knot that tied him to the car's side mirror. I made the decision to leave Charli's rifle behind, because besides only having one bullet left, it was almost impossible to pick back up from where Charli had dropped it. 
                          
The ground was slick with Charli's blood as I carried her away, Dog trailing behind on his leash. He was too busy sniffing everything, and was tugging on his leash, begging me to stop walking. Like hell.
                          
I tugged him back, which saw the puppy fall in line with me. He matched my footsteps with his little paws, and trotted along beside me. 
                          
Charli groaned, and then–
                          
She wasn't breathing.
                          
Fuuuuuccccccccckkkkkkkk.