Bite

Touch

"That's one way to deal with it," Pedro smiled grimly. "But it still looks alive to me."

I stepped closer, cocking the gun a second time. "Headshot, right?" I asked, shakily.

"Want me to do it?" Pedro asked, the bravado and brashness gone from his question. He was asking kindly. As if to say, politely, Let me do this horrible thing instead of you, little girl. And for that, I felt grateful. I am not a killer. I did not think I'd need to shoot anything, much less protect some brat who has probably lost everyone she's ever loved.

In a matter of mere minutes, I felt I had digressed from an average girl—a nobody, really—into some kind of shaky, unassuming zombie-slayer. Even if it was just one kill from my reflexes alone. Would I have more moments like these for the rest of my life? Or was this the only time I'd get to play hero? Where were the sexy leather pants and the perfect makeup? Ha.

Maybe these creatures would be cleaned out by the army in a matter of days. Or weeks.

"Rachel," said a voice. Rayford was around the corner now. "What happened?"

"Got it," I said stiffly.

Rayford nodded slowly. "Okay. Come back soon. We're going to head out. It's really getting dark." Trusting me to do what I needed to do, he disappeared again. Pedro remained.

"Just shoot the thing," he said, hurriedly.

"Yeah," I said, and it all happened at once—the thing, this creature spewing bile—sat up too quickly in its twisted, grotesque shape, arms reaching for me. It's gnarled, blotched hands managed to wrap meaty fingers around my wrist, where it wrenched downwards to draw my arm close to its mouth. Its biting teeth flashed dangerously close to my arm as I squeezed the trigger in surprise. 

The kick pulled my arm back, just out of the reach of the snapping jaws, and its arms fell loosely to the ground. The whole thing tumbled down again. My ears rang with a high-pitched squeal, painfully blocking out other sounds.