"Ngh..."
Sylvia clutched her abdomen. Warm wetness seeped between her fingers. She looked at her palm—red. Crimson.
Her vision swam. All strength drained from her body. A rasping sound escaped her lips as she toppled backward into the truck bed.
"SYLVIA!"
Sarah cried out in anguish, immediately trying to rush forward.
Of everyone besides Bryan and Allen, Sylvia was the person she was closest to. Watching her get shot and fall—Sarah didn't think, just moved.
"Careful—there's still an enemy!"
But Bryan caught her before she could move, pulling her down behind cover.
"HAHAHA—!"
"Wilfred! Fancy seeing you here!"
From the shadows behind another truck, a mohawked young man emerged, shoving a pretty young woman ahead of him. Her mouth was gagged, her hands bound behind her back. Ogden strutted toward Bryan's group, laughing wildly.
"You BASTARD! Ogden, I'll KILL you!" Wilfred raised his head and saw his own daughter, tears streaming down her face, struggling uselessly against her bonds. Rage exploded through him. He started to charge.
"Don't!"
Bryan grabbed his shoulder. "If you run out there, you'll just be target practice. If you die, who's going to save Anna?"
He looked at Sylvia, lying bleeding in the truck bed. Sweat rolled down his forehead. If I'd known this would happen, I would've fought harder against this whole plan.
Wilfred heard Bryan's words and forced down his fury—though his murderous glare made his feelings perfectly clear.
"Hahaha! Come on then!"
Ogden was in heaven. He'd thought Anna had died in the Infected attack or been killed by the hunters. Finding her here, delivered right to him—this was the luckiest day of his life.
He'd stayed hidden during the checkpoint fight, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He'd seen everything unfold. He could have helped Norton kill these interlopers—but the moment he recognized who they were, his plans changed. He'd decided to let them fight it out, then swoop in for the spoils.
His only regret was that his shot at Wilfred had missed. If he'd killed the man, the remaining women and children would have been easy pickings.
He glanced at Norton's corpse and sneered. Pathetic. All that tough talk, and you couldn't even kill one of them.
Sidling up to his captive, he inhaled her scent. His body trembled with anticipation. Certain parts of him were already reacting. Unable to resist, he extended his tongue and licked her cheek.
Anna felt his action and nearly vomited. She jerked her head away, twisting desperately against her bonds.
Her resistance only made Ogden's smile more deranged. He whispered in her ear: "Easy, sweetheart. Don't struggle. Once we're out of here, I'll show you a really good time."
Then he raised his rifle, pressing it to Anna's back, and began retreating. He called out: "Wilfred! If you want your daughter to live, stay right where you are! Otherwise, I can't guarantee her safety!"
"Damn it!"
Watching Anna being dragged away, Wilfred's anxiety spiked. He knew his daughter's temperament better than anyone. If she decided rescue was impossible, she'd sooner die fighting than let herself be violated.
He gripped his pistol, remembering his wife's final words. Resolve hardened in his eyes. Even if it cost him his life, he had to save his daughter.
But as Ogden slowly backed away with his hostage, a small figure appeared beside them. Thin arms trembled as they raised a pistol. A young voice shouted:
"Put your hands up! You bad guy!"
Everyone froze.
Bryan looked and saw—Allen. His heart sank. Allen had never fired a gun in his life.
Ogden went rigid, shock flashing across his face. He hadn't expected anyone else to be there.
But when he heard that childish voice and turned to see a kid who couldn't even hold his weapon steady, his expression twisted into something savage.
"You little brat—you're asking to DIE!"
Without hesitation, Ogden swung his pistol toward Allen and fired repeatedly.
He didn't consider the boy a threat at all. Even if the kid somehow pulled the trigger, those shaking hands couldn't hit anything.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Allen dove behind an abandoned car, narrowly avoiding the barrage. He hadn't expected Ogden to just... start shooting, ignoring the gun pointed at him completely.
He'd thought—like in the movies—pointing a weapon at someone would make them surrender. He'd never imagined real life didn't work that way.
Seeing this, something in Wilfred snapped. He burst from cover and charged straight at Ogden.
Ogden heard the footsteps and turned to see Wilfred running at him, pistol raised. A cold sneer crossed his face. He stopped shooting at Allen, shifted behind Anna for cover, swapped to a fresh magazine, and opened fire on Wilfred.
Part of him had been uneasy knowing Wilfred was still alive. Once he took Anna, the man would hunt him to the ends of the earth. Having such a relentless pursuer was unsettling.
But now the fool was charging right at him, making himself an easy target. This was exactly what Ogden wanted. He squeezed the trigger again and again.
Yet somehow—whether because Anna blocked his line of sight or Wilfred was just that agile—every shot missed, kicking up snow but hitting nothing.
Then, while Ogden focused entirely on Wilfred, Anna threw her head back with all her strength, smashing her skull into his face.
"FUCK!"
Darkness exploded across Ogden's vision. Pain erupted from his nose. His grip on Anna loosened instinctively as his hands flew to his face.
Anna felt his hold release. She nodded toward her father, then dropped into a crouch.
Wilfred had raised his pistol the instant Anna's headbutt connected. Seeing her drop, he didn't hesitate—he pulled the trigger as fast as his finger could move.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Ogden understood his situation had become critical. His mind screamed at him to dodge—but his body simply couldn't move fast enough.
Wet impacts. Holes bloomed across his torso as bullets tore through him. Blood sprayed from each wound, pouring out in crimson streams.
His pistol clattered to the ground. Ogden stared down at himself in disbelief. Slowly, his hand rose toward the wounds, as if trying to stop the bleeding.
But before his fingers touched his chest, all strength left him. He collapsed to his knees, then pitched forward into the snow. He didn't move again.
Silence descended.
Bryan and Allen exhaled shakily and let themselves slump to the ground. Wilfred stood frozen in the middle of the on-ramp.
Finally over. The same thought echoed in everyone's mind.
"Sarah, you—" Bryan turned to speak to her, only to find she was gone.
He looked up and saw her climbing into the truck bed. Reality crashed back. He smacked his forehead—Sylvia had been shot—and sprinted toward the truck.
But with each step, his pace slowed. His expression grew heavier.
In the truck bed, Sarah cradled Sylvia, weeping softly. Sylvia lay limp in her arms, barely conscious. Blood continued to flow from her abdomen, dripping off the tailgate, staining the snow beneath.
Bryan stared at the spreading red across Sylvia's stomach. His chest tightened painfully.
A wound like this... before the apocalypse, maybe it could have been treated. But now?
There was no saving her.
...
Get 20+ chapters ahead on - P.a.t.r.e.o.n "RoseWhisky"