Because You Exist by Tiffany Truitt Page A

course you’d try to make nice once we shifted. I knew you would. But you could at least be a little more subtle about it.” Josephine continued to walk, though backwards so she could face me as she belittled and shamed me.
    “Listen, Josephine. I know you have this I don’t care about school politics attitude,” I began.
    “You think I don’t care? I care. I care probably more than most. Definitely more than you—”
    “There you are little shifter”
    Before I could move to protect Josephine, a survivor appeared and grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around to face him. Her eyes widened just as his arm swung back and he punched her squarely in the eye. Josephine fell against the wall, knocking her head and crumpling to the floor.
    I stumbled backwards. There wasn’t much time to decide—stay and attempt to fight this crazed man and help Josephine or run for my life? Being the faster thinker, the survivor leapt towards me and tackled me to the ground. He sat on my back and pressed my face against the dusty floor. A position I was getting used to finding myself in. I craned my neck, struggling to see if Josephine was all right, but she was still unconscious.
    “You dumbasses. You think we wouldn’t figure out your starting point? Two teenagers? I mean come on. We found you a mile from here.”
    I pushed with all of my strength and managed to shove the man off me. The survivor scrambled to his feet and began to laugh. I was still on my ass, but at least he wasn’t on top of me. This was the first time I could really look at him. He was one of the men from before.
    We had been stupid. Only three of them had chased us. When we first met the survivors there were four of them. This man must have stayed out of the hunt, and now he had tracked us down for revenge.
    “I got some friends who want to see you two pay, but I’m not really into sharing though. I want the light one. I want the light one. I want the light one.” The man wiped a hand across his mouth as if the very thought of conquering us caused him to drool.
    Past his musty smell and tattered clothes, there was something else off about the appearance of this man. Besides his crazy muttering that is. His body, like the other survivors, held the marks of the disease he had somehow survived—long, deep gashes that looked like they would never heal. On the inside of his wrist were three slash marks burned into his skin.
    The branded man took a step closer to me and I pushed myself back, still on my backside.
    “Just let me have her, and I’ll end you quick.”
    “Piss off,” I spat. There was no way he was going to let us go, and I was no match for him. I could only hope Josephine would wake up and save us again. Somehow.
    “I’m gonna rip your skin off, shifter,” the man snarled, and pulled a long knife out from his boot.
    Before the survivor could take two steps, something darted in front of my vision and knocked him to the ground. When my eyes finally focused I saw a rather large man struggling to hold down the survivor. The fat man was wearing jeans and a Washington Redskins jersey. For some reason, the sight of that damn Cooley jersey made me instantly trust the man. Either that or the fact that he smelled of sweat and after-shave, not of death and decay. I rocked my body forward and crawled to help hold the survivor down.
    The large man looked me in the eye and gave me a curt nod. “Bentham!” he yelled out, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I found them! And a Zombie! Get your tail here and fast!”
    The survivor thrashed violently on the floor, going back and forth between cussing and laughing.
    “Bentham,” the man called out again, “I’m not going to be able to hold him much longer! You better hope I’m not the conductor or your slow self will be stuck here!”
    I heard the click of the gun before I saw the man referred to as Bentham. I craned my neck to see a young man run down the hallway, holding a gun straight at