The Dead Saga (Novella Part 2): Odium Origins by Claire C. Riley Page B

refuse to die like this.
    It’s far too ugly a death!
    “Max!”
    I hear my name screamed out as a hand claws down my back. I stumble and trip, crashing down hard on my knees and feeling my stockings run and blood flow from my cuts. Hands latch onto my curls, and I instinctively lean back the way I’m being pulled.
    A face leers over me, teeth gnashing together, cold gray eyes staring into me as its nostrils flare. My hand reaches out for anything, my fingers finding purchase on something both equally soft and hard. I swing back with it, hitting wildly, until the thing connects with the monster that has me in its clutches. It’s not until a spray of blood cascades down on my face that I realize my weapon was once someone’s leg and I yelp loudly.
    The thing is suddenly dragged away from me, taking a clump of my hair with it. I scream and release the bloody leg, my hand instead gripping my head where I’m sure there is going to be a bald spot. I stumble to my feet and see Constance beating the zombie-man-thing with a better weapon than I had: a bloodied baseball bat. It’s stopped moving, but she’s still beating it wildly.
    I grab her arm, and she stops and looks up at me with a small whimper. Blood is splattered across her face, probably much like mine, but she doesn’t focus on that and neither do I.
    “Let’s go,” I say with a shaky breath.
    It takes her a moment to process my words, but she eventually nods. I take the bat from her hands, keeping a firm grip on it despite the blood that trails down the handle and under my nails. I notice that Constance’s arm is cut up pretty badly, though it doesn’t look like a bite.
    “Are you okay?” I ask fearfully. I tear the bottom of my blouse and wrap it around the wound as she gasps in pain.
    “Yeah, damn thing clawed my arm like it was Wolverine or something.” She inhales as I tie the material tightly.
    A sharp scream makes me look up and I see Helena stumbling toward us with one of those things chasing after her. It’s slow as it shambles towards her, reaching for her with arms covered in blood and sores toward her, but she’s slower. She catches my eye, her chin trembling as a thin streak of blood trails down from the top of her head, down the side of her face.
    In that moment I feel so much pity for her, and I put aside all of our differences. None of it matters anymore—the snarky remarks, the horrible looks, the meanness that she always exhibits for me. I couldn’t care a less about it, because we’re women, and women should stand by each other no matter what. I jog forward, swinging the bat hard and smacking the man chasing her on the side of his head. It falls to the ground, still writhing around, but ultimately it—he—is out of action, at least for now.
    I reach a hand down to Helena and she takes it with a sob, coming to her feet and wrapping her arms around me.
    “Thank you, God, thank you,” she cries.
    I look back to Constance, who takes my hand once again and all three of us head toward Constance’s car, which is parked across the road. I say ‘parked,’ but it’s kind of squished in between two cars, one of which is so far into the back end of Constance’s Ford that I know without a doubt it just ruled out being our getaway car.
     

Five.
     
    “My car…”
    I look at Helena, who is trembling from head to toe. Her hand is pointing toward the small car park across the road.
    We all begin moving at a brisk pace, even as Constance asks her if she has the keys. Helena reaches into her pocket and holds them up with shaking hands. Constance reaches for them, only for Helena to snatch them away at the last second.
    Constance scowls at her. “Give me the damn keys,” she yells, attracting more of those things to our location.
    We continue to run, hopping over the small wooden fence that surrounds the parking lot. It’s only knee high, more for decoration than anything else, and so won’t hold off any of those things that have now