Page 2 of Romancing in Rot

To have more than I did.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

A snarl comes from my left. I spin and slam the crowbar across the twisted face of Mrs. Pitts, the town crossing guard. The same woman who called me a slut when I got pregnant at seventeen, her red stop sign held up like it really said, Beware! This girl will ruin your life.

Her head snaps sideways with a wet crack.

One eye pops loose from the socket, dangling against her cheek.

Still judging me, apparently.

“Yeah,” I mutter, raising the crowbar again. “Stop sounds good.”

I swing again, and she drops.

“Mom!”

I spin.

Birch lies sprawled on the pavement where I left him, fingers locked around Poppy’s ankle. His uniform is torn open at the stomach, insides dragging behind him in a dark, wet rope as he pulls himself closer through broken glass. His jaw hangs loose, wider than it should, teeth snapping inches from Poppy’s shoe.

Rage hits fast.

Hot.

Clean.

I swing.

The crowbar cracks against his skull with a sick, hollow sound. Once. Twice. Again. Bone gives. Something caves in. Black blood sprays across the concrete, warm against my hands, my jeans, my arms.

“Just die already!”

He goes slack.

Poppy sobs.

Then the world rushes back in. Shouts. Gunshots. Sirens. Teeth.

“Come on.” My voice shakes, but I drag Poppy behind me, pulling her tight against my side. “Don’t let go.”

Don’t stop. Don’t think.

Just move.

Up ahead, Russ has planted himself in the middle of the intersection, turning in sharp circles, firing down each street as more of our neighbors spill out of buildings and alleyways. Not running. Hunting. Their bodies jerk and twitch, but their eyes stay locked on us like we’re the only living things left in the world.

Maybe we are.

Screams overlay the low, guttural groans closing in around us. The tornado siren wails above it all, loud enough to make my teeth ache.

I reach Russ just as the revolver clicks empty.

Three teens stagger toward us, their eyes clouded, mouths snapping like those chattering-teeth toys Poppy used to think were funny.

“Mom.”

“Shit.” Russ flips the chamber open. Spent shells scatter across the pavement, bouncing once before rolling into the blood pooled near the curb.