BETTER SAFE THAN ZOMBIE

OZTS 21 | Breathe

In science, it is well understood that broken genes create physical monsters. They are born with arms too short, smiles too crooked, and feet too large.

If a broken gene can create physical monsters, what can a broken soul create?

These are the questions that I no longer wish to know the answer.

"Come on, Reynolds. Don't make this difficult for yourself. Either way, you're going to be in the helicopter waiting for us. The only deviating factor is how we're going to treat you based on your behavior. So be a good pet and start walking."

Stephen pointed the gun at my direction and made a gesture for me to stand up.

I glared at him. Like I cared. The only thing that weighed heavily on my mind right now was how I was going to kill the bastard. There were shards of glass lying around, so maybe I could take a stab at his jugular. Or maybe I could wrestle the gun away from him and shoot his legs with it before I start with the rest of his body.

The gun being pointed at me was the least of my problems. It was the fact that I could barely stand up that frustrated me. Stupid septic infection. I needed to have my mind control my body, and make myself be able to ignore the pain. How did Christian ever managed to do it?

Christian.

The mention of his name, even in my thoughts, made me recoil. I had never thought that losing him would make me feel like this, make me feel like my heart was being turned inside out, and each volume of blood it pumped out burned like pure acid in my veins.

I clenched my fists.

Then I slowly stood up.

I gritted my teeth to make sure I didn't wince as I straightened up, gazing at Stephen eye to eye. Like hell I would let this son of a bitch be the last vestige of humanity. It would cause a bad rep for the entire species.

"Good girl," he said, prodding my back with the gun. "Now start walking out of that door."

I made sure to move as slowly as possible, even as thoughts raced inside my head. Should I make a risky move to grab the gun? I wasn't sure if Stephen valued my life enough to give him pause in killing me. I didn't care if I died, but who was going to avenge my friends if I followed them in the afterlife? It would mean succumbing to Stephen, and giving him a free victory.

Like hell I would give him that.

We were approaching the doorway now, and even with the adrenaline coursing through my body, my surroundings was starting to swim. I dug my nails deep into my skin, so that the pain will clear my head. I had lost too much blood, and the apocalypse had made me already anemic to begin with. If I wanted to kill Stephen, I had to do it now. Otherwise I would simply pass out and he'd have no trouble dragging my limp body to the waiting helicopter.

The hallway outside the door was immaculate, untouched by the horrors of the apocalypse. It was amazing how rich people can always be a step ahead in everything.

Stephen prodded me again with his gun. "Beautiful day for a leisurely stroll, Reynolds?"

I bared my teeth at him. "If only the pet dog would stop yapping."

A brief flash of anger crossed his face, which almost made me smirk.

"You're going to regret ever insulting me," said Stephen coldly. "Just wait until I can dissect every inch of you and we can find exactly how long you can hold to your newfound bravado."

As if. Even a future full of torture doesn't even scare me anymore, Stephen.

I gave him a contemptuous look. "How's your broken nose, by the way? Healing yet?"