Sylvia was a college student at a police academy. When the outbreak first hit, her city had been overrun with Infected. If she hadn't gotten lucky—stumbling across someone willing to give her a ride—she'd probably have died there.
She'd made it to Dallas, where the military had set up camp. Then came the endless stream of apocalyptic news that left her lost and overwhelmed.
When she learned about the voluntary transfer program to quarantine zones, she'd chosen Atlanta without hesitation—the latest departure, the most dangerous route. Her only surviving family member was there.
Then came the convoy's departure from Dallas, followed by what she considered the worst day of her life: a massive Infected attack.
The attack itself hadn't shocked her too badly. That was just the world now. What truly disgusted her were the people who stabbed everyone in the back while others fought for their lives.
She stared at the tall, thin man who'd just shot that woman without hesitation, eyes wide with disbelief. Every instinct screamed at her to charge forward and take him down. Her hand tightened around the knife she'd hidden.
But she held back. The man's attention was focused on the crowd. If she rushed him now, she'd be shot before she got halfway.
Then the dead woman's son ran out. Listening to his anguished cries tore at her heart.
She heard Joseph offer the boy a deal: repeat his words correctly, and he could leave.
But what happened next made her blood boil. The boy recited every word perfectly—and the moment he turned his back, Joseph raised his pistol again.
Now she understood. He'd been toying with the child the whole time. She couldn't stand by any longer.
Joseph's full attention was on Allen. Sylvia burst from the crowd, knife aimed at his throat. She was going to end this monster.
...
Joseph aimed at Allen's head, waiting for him to reach the door. He could already imagine the soldiers' horrified faces when the boy dropped dead on the threshold.
It would also strengthen his bargaining position—prove he wasn't bluffing. The thought made his smile grow even more twisted.
Then he heard rapid footsteps from the side. His peripheral vision caught movement—someone charging at him. Alarm shot through him as he spun, trying to redirect his aim and shoot the attacker first.
Too slow. She was already on him. The gleaming knife flashed in the dim light, stabbing toward his exposed throat.
Caught off guard but not helpless, Joseph threw himself backward, stumbling several steps. The blade whistled past, missing his neck by inches. His pistol was already swinging toward her.
Sylvia's academy training wasn't useless. When her first strike missed, she knew she'd have to fight him up close—and he still had a gun.
She made a split-second decision. Instead of pulling back, she redirected the knife downward, slashing toward his gun hand.
Joseph's mind raced through calculations. He still wanted to escape. Even if he shot her, a blade that sharp would open a massive wound on his hand. Without medical supplies, he'd bleed out.
Gritting his teeth, he yanked his hand back. The knife scraped across his pistol instead, shearing off a chunk of the barrel and rendering it useless.
He staggered back, staring at the ruined weapon in shock. That knife was sharp. Rage flooded through him. He'd never been pushed this far by a woman—and a Black woman at that, which made it even more infuriating to his twisted mind.
"You bitch! DIE!"
He threw aside the useless pistol and raised the rifle still slung across his chest, swinging it toward her.
Sylvia didn't give him the chance. She hurled her knife at his face, then charged.
Joseph's pupils contracted. He ducked to avoid the spinning blade—and saw her legs rushing toward him. He dropped into a crouch and swung the rifle horizontally at her shins.
Her training hadn't covered close-quarters combat. She hadn't expected him to counter that way. The rifle connected with her right leg.
"AGH!"
Pain exploded through her. She cried out but refused to go down. Instinct told her that falling meant dying.
Desperate, she threw herself forward, landing on Joseph's back. Her hands clamped around his throat, squeezing with everything she had.
Joseph hadn't expected her to be this tenacious. The pressure on his windpipe made it hard to breathe. He dropped the rifle and grabbed at her arms.
The crowd watched in stunned silence, unable to believe the sudden reversal.
Bryan was just as surprised. So much for careful planning. He'd intended to use the shotgun ambush—a sure thing. Instead, some random hero had shown up.
But why wasn't anyone helping? The man couldn't even use his weapons anymore. Why was everyone just watching?
"RUN!"
Someone in the crowd finally shouted, breaking the spell. People stampeded toward the door, with absolutely no intention of helping the woman fighting for all their lives.
Figures. Everyone's out for themselves.
Bryan watched the exodus with dark amusement. Heroes really weren't easy to be. Then he noticed the Black woman was losing ground. He sprinted toward the struggling pair—he had to help.
Not that he wanted to skip out on the escape himself, but Sarah was still hiding in the back. He couldn't leave her behind. In hindsight, having her hide there might have been too clever. If he'd just kept her with him, they could've fled with everyone else.
"GET OFF ME!"
Joseph wrenched at the arms choking him. The grip loosened slightly but wouldn't break. His face turned crimson. His own arms were starting to weaken.
Realizing he was running out of time, he abandoned the arms at his throat. Instead, he grabbed her hair and yanked savagely while throwing himself backward, slamming her into whatever was behind them.
Sylvia kept her grip, enduring the scalding pain in her scalp. She tightened her hold, determined to finish this.
Then she felt him falling backward—and a small decorative hook jutted from the wall right where she was headed.
Her back slammed into it.
Agony exploded through her body. She gasped, involuntarily loosening her grip.
Joseph felt her weaken. A vicious smile crossed his face. He pulled down hard on her hair, trying to rip her off completely.
Sylvia's mind was fogging from the pain. She knew she was about to be thrown off. But she refused to die here. She wanted to live—to do something meaningful with her life.
As her head was forced down, a savage light entered her eyes. If she was going to die, she'd make him pay.
She lunged forward and sank her teeth into his ear.
"AAAAGH!"
Joseph hadn't expected a psycho. The tearing agony in his ear dropped him to his knees. He didn't dare pull her off—she'd take the ear with her.
Instead, he snatched up the broken pistol from the floor and started hammering it against her skull.
...
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