Chloe

Ignoring him was useless. If anything, it's making him clingier like a puppy begging for attention. At one point, sneaking off was in play until he sniffed me out.

"What do you keep in the satchel"—he shoots me a playful look while holding his hands up— "other than arrows?"

"Why do you want to know?"

Brody grins over at me. "Curiosity of course, you never let it out of your sight."

My teeth grind together to hold back my next response. Three miles, that's a total oof forty minutes to an hour of his company since we set off, and that means he isn't deserving of hearing a single syllable of their names.

I can't bring them up . . .

"It's nothing." Keeping my eyes forward and ears alert, I add, "I'm asking again, why are you following me? If you're going to loot me in my sleep, you will be sorely mistaken."

"Would it surprise you if I said that's not my intention?"

"No, because it's normally followed with me putting an arrow between someone's eyes," I fire back.

The conversation stops there, and it permits me the peace to soak up the atmosphere. Just like earlier, a couple of buildings—but they're dwindling, which means we need to stock up before leaving sector six. There's no breeze, but the scent of dirt and corroded brick still lingers when we pass through, and it's quiet. Too quiet.

I can only imagine what sector seven will be like, and how Barren Bennet could be coping.

"Thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Sh."

"Exactly, it's too quiet." Brody inspects the area, kicking at strands of grass and carefully stepping over concrete until he finds dirt and dust. "By the looks of it . . . an animal's been pass, two at the most"—he looks up at me before pointing the way we're heading— "they went that way, canine; we can hope they're not Rabids, but highly doubtful."

Readying my bow, I take the first step forward.

"Wait."

My feet automatically stop. "What is it?" I whisper louder than intended, not in the mood to give way our position.

"There's another set of tracks, what looks to be a pursuit." His eyes narrow at the floor before gesturing for me to inspect it as well. "These are foot prints, yet they're smudges like scuffling. Rotter. The distance suggest it was running."

"No."

He cocks an amused brow. "No?"

Leaning down, my finger traces the circular sweeps. "These are knuckle imprints. Bestials run on all fours and use their knuckles like a gorilla."

"Bestial?"

Rising to my feet with the intent to continue forward with or without the intrigued Brody, not wanting to risk finding Barren before it's too late. Perhaps he needs to know about Macey's notebook. As much as I don't want him around, there's no way I can let him die on my watch.

And I thought my mission couldn't be any more hassling.

A Rotter that's build for hunting, and when it gets a hold of you, you know why it earnt that name." I don't say another word until his understanding is clear, if anything it looks to be giving him a desired challenge. "An infected made by a Rabid."

We continue behind the last row of buildings, and the coast is clear for now. If that Bestial has staked a claim on this area, it will return in the next half hour. By then I'll be gone, and this cling on won't be far behind by the looks of it.

"We better get out of here before the guard dog returns," Brody announces with a lazy yawn. "Night's drawing near, and we have to make camp."

For once, he has a point. But there's no way we will be any good without sustenance . . . when was the last time I ate anything? Three weeks know how to blur the lines when you're constantly fighting for survival. Even eating and sleeping become the least of your worries after a while.

"We need to collect supplies," I shoot, eyeing up the convenient store.

"I have that covered, this old backpack has everything we need: bandages, food, bottles of water, disinfectant, twigs for fires—hey, don't look at me like that, it will save us time searching for dry ones when it rains."

He continues to list off a few more items, unaware that I'm too busy staring at the back of his head. Unable to deny the fact he's resourceful, there is the inevitable.

"What about ammo?"

Brody pulls out a fresh clip and reveals two bullets in the chamber of his pistol, and two for the shotgun. "Yikes."

Leading the way across the street, we keep low and don't let up until we're inside with the door shut. I'm not surprised to see the walls shrouded in moss, vines, and critters, nor the once organised shelves lying at strange angles from being knocked over.

Keeping my voice down, I warn him, "No longer than ten minutes." After a nod, I take the back of the store while he remains up front.

For a convenience store, it was sparce which suggests there's been people over time rummaging through. As for ammunition . . . there are a few bodies to check.

The smell doesn't burn my nose like it did on the first few raids Logan took us on. Like the infected and the hostiles, nor does the cold tautness of the skin when my fingers brush over it when having to roll them over, it's something you get used to.

"Anything?" I call out, snatching a clip from the woman's belt.

When there isn't an answer, a sigh of relief passes from me. Maybe he's finally left me alone . . . or he can't hear me.

That would be my luck summed up.

Stashing it inside my satchel, pivoting to the way I came in. Brody was in fact where I left him, only this time, he's on his knees with hooded eyes and the barrel of a gun resting against his temple.

Tightening the grip around the handle of my bat as my free hand visibly balls into an angered fist. It doesn't take a genius to figure out they jumped him from behind. Three against one makes matters worse and judging by the nasty curl of the main one's lips, he knows it too.

"Why don't you put the weapons down, little girl"—his eyes flicker between Brody and me, grin widening— "you don't want your boyfriend's pretty face decorating the walls, do you?"

By the time I'm able to reach them, he would pull the trigger on Brody. If I throw something, the bodyguards can take over the situation and kill the both of us without a second thought.

"He isn't my boyfriend."

Brody sighs with the best headshake he can muster. "Love, I don't think now is the best time to argue."

I roll my eyes. "I'm just making sure this clown known the correct terms before making threats; no one likes misunderstandings."

"After this, I think we need to have a chat about your views."

"I—"

"Can the pair of you shut up?" Mr Goatee with the Elvis wannabe hairstyle spits out, his two merry men nodding simultaneously. "You're giving me a headache."

A sly grin pulls at my lips. "All the better to let us go then, am I right?"

He tilts his head at an angle fluidly, and it's like gravity obeys the command. My knees thump into the lino with a thud, an ache radiates through the back of my head, and I'm sure my sight blurs for a split second. The satchel on my shoulder loosens, and the contents clatter carelessly on the ground. My blood boils, and red begins to cloud my vision as my body tries to rise up.

"Ah-uh sweetheart," a broad man tuts from beside me, his leg blocking my equipment from me, tearing my bat free from my grasp.

"You know there's a Bestial on the way as we speak, and if you don't want to find out what that means, then I suggest you make tracks—"

A stinging sensation shoots across my cheek as my head whips to the side, and Brody visibly shifts in his spot.

"You are going to shut your mouth, and throw your weapons over to my side of the room, is that understood?"

I shake my head. "Afraid not, you should tell your friend not to be so heavy handed."

A visible sneer slithers onto his features, eyes slitting while he nods at the man beside me. The heavy weight of his hand lowers my shoulder at a strange angle, and the longer it's there the more it begins to ache.

The Elvis wannabe tuts like he did the first time. "As much of a pretty woman you are, that mouth doesn't appear to be useful, and you know what that means." He shifts his dark blue gaze onto the beefy bloke to his left before meeting my gaze.

The henchman sets a large hand on Brody's shoulder, and the Elvis copycat points his gun squarely at me. Gritting my teeth, scanning for any possible option to get me out, but there isn't one. Attacking the one holding me will get me shot, trying to make a run for the ones by Brody will still get me shot.

Swallowing back the anger, I stare straight into his eyes and hold my head high.