Sparrow’s Flight by Jenika Snow Page 0,29

her strength, Sparrow crawled onto her hands and knees, and pulled herself into a standing position. The feel of warm wetness sliding down her temple didn’t distract her from the fact that an infected man was shuffling toward her. His shirt was grungy but white enough that she saw him in the thick darkness. He was missing an arm, and the sight of his radius and ulna protruding from what was left of the limb had bile rising in her throat.

He opened his mouth and made a low, hungry sound. His arm was swinging from side to side as he came closer, and she blinked away the dizziness from her fall, lifted the gun, and pointed it at his head. Parts of his flesh were missing from his face, and the oozing wounds that covered him from head to toe were a grisly visualization of what the world was coming to. Sparrow wasn’t that good at shooting, so she waited until he was at least close enough that there wouldn’t be any way she could miss.

Right when she was about to pull the trigger, the sound of another moan coming from behind her had her spinning around just in time to see an infected female with half her jaw missing lunge forward and tackle her to the ground.

They fell as a heap, and the stench of decay was enough to have vomit rising in Sparrow throat. The gun slipped from her hand, and she placed both hands on the female’s shoulders—ones that had bone protruding through the skin—and pushed her away as hard as she could. The infected fell backward, and the sickening sound of her head cracking against a rock echoed through the trees. Sparrow scrambled up, searched for the gun amidst the dead leaves and foliage on the ground, but had to give up her search when the male grabbed her arm. Kicking her leg out and connecting with his stomach, she gagged when her foot went through his abdomen. He fell backward, and she went with him, since her foot was caught under his ribcage.

Her leg twisted painfully from the fall, but she pushed it to the side. The infected snapped its teeth and tried to reach for her. Their angle was awkward, and all he managed to do was claw at her jeans with his long, jagged nails. She dug her nails into the ground, turned her foot left and right to try to dislodge it, and finally she freed it from where it was stuck. She moved backward, sawing her legs on the ground until she got leverage and moved farther away from him. The moon chose that moment to slice through a gap in the trees, and that was when she saw the glint of the barrel of the gun.

Lunging for it and wrapping her hand around the semi-automatic, she rolled onto her back, pointing the gun at the infected. She pulled the trigger, and the bullet went right through his forehead. He slumped to the ground on top of her legs, and she quickly kicked his body away. The nausea she felt as soon as she’d been taken by those men, and then from facing off with the two infected, suddenly came up like a turbulent wave. Sparrow rolled over and threw up everything that was in her belly, which wasn’t much. When the dry heaves stopped, she stood, wiped her mouth off with the back of her arm, and turned.

Her heart stopped and then beat double time when she heard twigs snapping. Turning in every direction, she couldn’t get a grasp on where the sound was coming from, since the noises bounced off the trees over and over again. Oh, God. Were there more infected coming toward her? Before she could run, two bodies stepped out from between the elms. She lifted her gun, her hands shaking and unsteady but ready to start shooting. Her finger was on the trigger, and her adrenalin pumped fiercely through her bloodstream, but right before she added pressure and started firing in the dark, a deep voice stopped her.

“Christ, Sparrow?” Asher’s voice had everything in her stilling. Relief filled her when she realized it was really him. She squinted, and finally her vision became clearer and she saw Asher holding up Mason, who even from the distance was as white as a ghost. Darkness spread from his shoulder and dripped down his bicep and forearm.

“Oh my God. Was he…?”

“No, he was shot, not bitten,” he explained,