The hallway was clean. There were no zombies in sight, but Iyisha knew better. They were just around the corner.
She reminded herself not to be clumsy this time.
She peered down from the window they'd come in yesterday. One zombie below was pacing along the wall back and forth like a looping program.
She could fight it off. Maybe even outrun it.
The fire escape was bolted to the building's side, ending about six feet above a narrow concrete dead-end behind the apartment.
It wasn't a proper alley — just a boxed-in service space that dumped straight into the street.
And if there was a horde beyond that exit… she'd be dead.
Quietly, she crossed to the other side of the hallway to another window and checked.
There was another zombie far from the exit she needed.
She went back and climbed down. The ladder creaked under her weight, groaning with every inch. She froze halfway, eyes on the zombie below.
It stopped.
Head cocked slightly — listening.
But it didn't turn. It just resumed pacing.
The ladder didn't quite reach the ground. She slipped off her jacket, the one tied at her waist, and dropped it first to muffle the sound. Then she dropped lightly onto it.
Still no reaction.
The zombie kept walking into the wall, bouncing back, turning again.
Iyisha tiptoed to the exit. When she was far enough, she broke into a quiet sprint — fast and silent. She memorized the corners. The street names. Everything she passed.
She needed to find her way back.
An hour passed by of ducking low, hiding from twitchers and roamers, and finding nothing.
She stopped beside the side of a house, crouching in the shade to sip water and catch her breath.
The whole block had been swept clean. Halstead had been here for months, sweeping it clean and she didn't know this area well.
Hell, she didn't know any area. She was taken from the hospital by the military when everything went to hell. They were safeguarded in a bunker as the world went to hell.
Her thoughts cut off as something blurred past.
Her eyes widened.
A man.
He was riding a bike — not a normal one, but something salvaged and retrofitted with a sidecar packed with boxes. She blinked, hardly believing it. A working vehicle. Transportation.
Joy hit her like a jolt to the chest.
She moved quickly, staying low, following at a distance. The man rolled into a nearby building and disappeared inside. She ducked behind a broken fence, her breath coming fast.
She could barter. She had medical supplies. She could trade. But she was alone.
He could easily kill her and take everything she had.
She thought about bluffing — telling him she had a group nearby. Make him wary. But someone with a setup like that wouldn't take chances. A bike like that, in this world, was survival itself. He would guard it with his life.
She hesitated.
She'd seen what happened to people who approached the wrong way. People were killed for less. She hadn't been out here long, but she knew enough.
Then came the shout.
Something crashed inside.
Her breath caught. The unmistakable noise of a struggle — snarling, screaming. A zombie.
She froze, every instinct screaming to help.
But the man's voice was already breaking as his strangled cry turned to silence.
She looked up. More groans. At least seven walkers had heard the noise. They were heading toward the building now.
She crouched lower.
Her chest ached. Not from the run. From the shame. From knowing she hadn't helped. Hadn't even tried. He was gone, and she was still here — watching the damn bike like it was worth more than a life.
But that bike...
That bike could save her.
She wiped her eyes and pressed her back to the wall, watching, waiting, eyes locked on the sidecar like a damn prize.
After a while, the walkers that were attracted to the sound had wandered toward the alley, distracted. Two lingered near the bike. But she had no time left, the two hour mark is near.
She crouched down, gripping the stone she'd found lying nearby. Her fingers curled around it tightly as she whispered a quick prayer under her breath, hoping her aim was good enough.
She threw it.
The brick crashed through a windshield across the street. Glass exploded and the sound ripped the stillness apart.
The two walkers turned instantly. Shuffling. Groaning. Drawn toward the noise.
Iyisha moved.
She darted low across the cracked asphalt, straight for the rust-stained bike lying near the curb. She didn't breathe until her fingers touched the handlebar.
Still intact.
The tires were firm. The chain still wrapped tight. The sidecar creaked but didn't bend. Someone had welded it sturdy.
She swung her leg over, turned it forward and heard it.
Not a groan. Not a drag.
Wet, fast, unhinged.
The zombie had its back turned, shambling away from the noise, then jerked around, its limbs twitching unnaturally.
It turned suddenly. Limbs jerking, head twitching too fast to track.
Her stomach dropped.
Shit. A twitcher.
They were faster than walkers.
Iyisha's hands flew to the handlebars. She pedaled, fast and desperate but the bike was slow to start.
Then it ran.
Full speed. Arms flailing, bones clicking, mouth open in a silent scream.
Her hair stood on end.
It was the first time she'd seen one up close.
She cursed and pedaled harder. Her thighs burned. The twitcher wasn't slowing.
And neither could she.
Iyisha shoved off. Hard.
The bike lurched forward, pedals spinning beneath her. She caught them — pushed harder.
The wheels gripped. The sidecar rattled but held.
The twitcher was behind her gaining. Ten feet. Eight.
She pushed until her legs screamed. Sweat burned her eyes. If this kept up, the twitcher might actually gain on her. Her mind raced for a solution, any edge. She wasn't sure if she could outpedal something that never got tired, never slowed, only chased.
Then she spotted it ahead, a bent railing from an old storefront with jagged spikes still reaching.
She grimaced as she slowed down and saw the twitcher still charging forward, full force, undeterred.
She waited, then at the right time, she swerved.
The twitcher leapt.
It slammed into the spike.
The metal tore through its throat, impaling it mid-lunge.
But her angle was too sharp. The sidecar clipped a chunk of broken curb, and the whole bike jolted sideways.
Iyisha crashed hard.
The bike hit the pavement, metal scraping. She tumbled with it, the air punched from her lungs as she landed on her side.
Everything blurred. Her ears rang.
For a second, she almost blacked out.
She blinked hard to steady her vision.
The groans were closing in. If she didn't move, she wouldn't have to worry about twitchers anymore.
Malcolm's going to kill her if the twitcher doesn't.