Page 55 of Immune

The softness in me grows quiet. It doesn’t disappear, merely takes a step back, because there’s no room for anything unsteady in the next breath.

My body shifts.

Gun up. Feet set. Breathing slow.

The fast Rot tears through two slower Rots in its mission to get closer, knocking one aside hard enough to crack its skull against the curb. Another fast Rot drops from the first-floor balcony, hits the ground all wrong, and snaps its own arm, but keeps moving as if pain is nothing more than a legend it doesn’t believe in.

More emerge behind them. Basement door. Broken shop front. Apartment lobby.

Too many.

“Fast contact!” Fletch barks.

“Several!” I call back.

“Define several,” Ewan shouts, sounding slightly more alarmed now.

“More than I’d ask to dance,” I answer.

Ewan curses. “Deeply unhelpful definition, mate!”

The small Omega’s scent spikes once more, even harder than before. This time, there’s no missing it. Fear splits through the air, sweet and vibrant and panicked under the blockers that are failing way too quickly. It’s not a scent of invitation or heat, but pure distress, brutal and ripped out of a body trying very desperately not to be found.

Every single Alpha instinct in me turns toward the alley. Not to claim, not to corner, but to shield. A very important distinction, because whoever is hiding under that old cap and bandana already looks like they’ve spent years surviving people who didn’t bother to make one.

Across from us, Ewan’s head snaps toward the same alley. Fletcher’s rifle shifts, and a fast Rot turns toward the scent. Toward the alley. Toward the Omega. The injured Alpha notices at the same time. He moves half a step, too hurt to be fast enough but too determined to truly understand that.

The Omega’s eyes grow wide over the bandana. Pale hazel. Absolutely terrified. Angry over being terrified.

Something in my chest pulls tight.

Fletcher raises his gun once more and aims. Not at the Omega, but at the fast Rot gunning down the alley toward the Omega. They don’t know that, though, and I watch the exact moment fear wins over everything else.

They run, and the fast Rot releases a shrill scream before giving chase. The injured Alpha goes after the Omega instantly, ignoring the blood soaking through his side.

Fletch fires and the shot clips the fast Rot’s shoulder, but it doesn’t drop.

“Shit,” he snaps.

Ewan is already moving, right alongside his mouth. “Please tell me we’re not about to chase a terrified tiny scavenger through an active Rot buffet.”

Fletcher reloads his gun with brutal efficiency. “We ain’t chasing. We’re keeping a fast Rot off a civilian.”

“Right. Okay,” Ewan volleys. “Love the wording. Makes it sound a little less cursed.”

I’m moving before either of them finishes whatever the hell they’re doing.

There are Rots between us and the alley, too many to simply sprint past, so I shoot one and shoulder past another. I slash my knife through the temple of a third, my mind narrowing to distances. Fast Rot speed. Omega injury status unknown. Injured Alpha slowing. Fletcher behind me. Ewan to my left.

The fast Rot gains too much ground, but the Omega is fast despite the subtle limp. Too fast for how injured they look. Smart, too, because they don’t run in a straight line. They cut across the alley mouth, yank a trash can behind them with one hand to create a hurdle for the fast Rot, forcing it to leap over it. It loses half a second, which doesn’t seem like much but it definitely matters.

I take the shot and the bullet hits the fast Rot in the back of the skull. The body drops hard, momentum carrying it forward until it skids across the sidewalk and crashes into the trash can.

Silence stretches for one breath before the world and the rest of the horde remind us they still exist.

Rots groan, fast Rots screech, and the helicopter sparks once more. Somewhere above, another human cries out before it’s cut short, sending chills down my spine. The Omega stops at the far end of the alley, half-turned and knife in hand, shoulders heaving. The injured Alpha reaches them, one hand pressed to his side, the other lifted as if he’s asking permission to come closer now.

The Omega looks past him.