Pretty Boy's lips twitch at my last words. "No promises." He says.
"Good. I'd hate to have to explain to your ghost why I left your dumbass alive this long."
Bea and Yara finally get Yara's feet wrapped, and honestly? It doesn't look half bad. Yara's pale, lips pressed tight, but she gives me a nod that says she'll live.
"Cool," I say, standing and dusting off my pants. "Now, if we're done playing nurse, maybe we can finally come up with a plan before something else crashes through the damn broken doors."
Right on cue, that thick, rotten smell slinks in.
Oh, God. Not again.
And then comes the sound: a wet slap of flesh against the tile.
Another groan comes and it's closer this time.
"Oh, come on," I groan. "Give me one hour. Just one. Apocalypse rules clearly state you gotta give survivors a breather after a dramatic fight scene!"
But the zombies? They don't care about timing.
They stagger in, one by one, each more hideous than the last. I reach for my dagger.
