Page 87 of Romancing in Rot

I grab the back of her collar and yank her out of it before her fist connects. She thrashes, cursing under her breath, but I don’t let go.

“Hey, what the hell!” she snaps.

I steer her back and drop her next to Trish.

Behind us, something heavy slams into the door. Wood cracks. The display rack shifts another inch. A corpse’s arm punches through a weak spot near the bottom, black fingers scraping at the tile.

It won’t hold much longer.

Jacob lifts both brows. “As much as I’d love to watch two traumatized teenagers flirt by committing assault, we should probably leave.”

“We’re not flirting,” Joanie and Carlos snap at the same time.

Trish sighs. “That’s unfortunate. I was hoping the apocalypse might kill denial.”

Lyla cuts toward the back. “Move.”

We follow.

A narrow hallway leads past a workroom stacked with frame samples, mat boards, broken glass cutters, and half-finished portraits of people who never came back for them. The back door is bolted shut, but Jacob makes quick work of it with his shoulder and one hard kick.

Cold air spills in.

So does the distant roar of the horde.

I glance toward the rooftops before I can stop myself.

Lyla catches it immediately. “Rendezvous plan still stands. Clair waits until we pull them west, then drops down two blocks over and shadows us back. She knows the route.”

I know that.

We planned it.

Still, every protective instinct in me wants to climb back up and put myself between her and the whole damn city.

I glare at Lyla because she’s right and I hate it.

Joanie leans around Trish. “Aw, Leon’s learning to trust his murder girlfriend.”

I flip her off.

Carlos stares at all of us like he’s starting to regret joining the weirdest group in the Midwest.

Jacob slips into the alley first, checks both directions, then waves us through.

We move fast, keeping low and tight along the backs of buildings while the dead pound themselves bloody against the front of the frame shop. Carlos keeps one hand on Luis and the other buried in Wesker’s fur.

Behind us, something inside the shop gives with a crash.

Joanie glances over her shoulder, then at Carlos. “Try to keep up, Peaches.”

Carlos’s mouth tightens. “Try not to get lost, Jo-Jo.”

She smiles like she might bite him.

Wonderful.

We found two traumatized brothers, one German shepherd, and not one fucking thing this group needs.