ZOMB-POCALYPSE BOOK 2

Chapter Thirteen

"What are they gonna do to us?" Sunny asks tearfully, and I don't know how to answer—nothing, I hope.

"They aren't going to do anything," Silas interrupts, surprising me that he's taking the time to reassure the little girl. "We're getting out of here."

I look around the room. There doesn't seem to be any obvious escape routes. There are a couple stained glass windows that let a tiny bit of light filter through, but they are small and located too close to the ceiling for us to climb out.

It's ironic that one of the things that makes this church so secure from the dead is the same reason we won't be able to escape.

I struggle against the rope that's wrapped so tightly around my wrists. It instantly starts to rub and chafe uncomfortably, but I try to ignore the sting and keep tugging.

"Blondie," Silas calls quietly, coming up beside me. I look up at him in the semi-lit darkness. My eyes are finally starting to adjust, and I can see a little better. Silas looks grim.

"Reach inside my jacket, the inside pocket on the right," Silas tells me, and I wrinkle my nose at him.

"Why?" I demand, hear him let out an impatient breath.

"I have a knife in there that they didn't find," he whispers, and his words make my heart leap inside my chest. My hands are behind my back like everyone else's, and I have to do some twisty maneuvers so my back is to Silas. I shake out my fingers to try and ward off the numbness that's starting to creep up into my blood-deprived digits, so it isn't with a lot of grace that I force my hands roughly into Silas's pocket. He's tall, and the angles are all wrong. My hands fumble around, and I can feel the hardness of the handle amid the fabric, but I can't actually grab it.

"Just relax and take your time," Silas murmurs soothingly in my ear, which seems crazy since we're being held captive by a bunch of lunatics, and time is of the essence! "Breathe," he commands when I attempt my uncoordinated attack once more.

I wipe away an angry tear, it's so frustrating that such a simple task is so difficult for me, especially now when it matters so much.

I stop my exploration by brute force and pause to take a deep breath like Silas suggested. I feel hot and sticky with sweat and fear, and I'm sure I don't smell the best either. I gently move my fingers to feel the edge of his pocket and then concentrate on dipping my hand inside. My thumb brushes against the knife, and I get excited and lose contact again.

"Almost had it," Silas confirms as I pull back for a moment to regroup, panting, and my wrists burning like they're on fire. I turn around and look at Silas as an idea strikes me. He's looking back at me calmly, totally uncharacteristic for Silas—but he probably realizes that freaking out at me right now will only make me more nervous and inept.

"I have an idea," I whisper and feel my face flush a little. It's weird enough that it might just work. Sunny and Ryan are watching us now, which makes me feel even jumpier, but this is life and death, and I have to push all the other dumb teenager stuff aside.

"Try to hold still," I tell him as I take a step closer and use my head instead of my hands. It's odd, and the thick jacket covering my face, makes me sweat worse as I press my forehead into Silas's rib cage and try to locate his pocket with my mouth. I can hear the crazy beat of his heart hammering away, and now I know that as calm as Silas is acting, he's secretly tripping balls right now too.

I find his pocket by using my tongue to locate the opening—gross, I know—only it doesn't seem that gross. Thankfully, his coat is new and clean of any zombie guts, and the inside of his jacket smells like Silas, fresh soap and outdoorsy. I get a good grip on the pocket with my teeth after realizing it's too small for me to slip my whole face inside. I bite down hard and pull with everything I have.