Page 41 of Immune

I drive my knife up just as the Runner dives, and the blade sinks under its jaw. At the very same time, Kaito brings the pipe down onto the back of its skull, and I hear the sickeningsound of bone cracking. The Runner collapses on top of me a split second later, body twitching haggardly.

For one horrifying second, its face lands inches away from mine, teeth still snapping weakly.

“Oh, ew, absolutely not,” I growl, right before I shove it off with a disgusted sound.

Kaito helps, grabbing the body and rolling it away, careful not to touch me. Even now, he’s cautious, and I don’t know why that annoys me so much. Worse, it actually matters to me.

Distracting me, the Zeds above are working themselves into a frenzy. Boards are creaking and cracking, plaster raining down into the hole as more weight presses around it.

“We need to go,” Kaito declares.

Pushing myself upright, I refuse the hand he offers, and I grumble, “Oh, you think? I was considering redecorating the place first.”

His eyes flick over to me, ignoring my sarcasm as he assesses me quickly before asking, “Can you walk?”

“Yes,” I answer shortly.

“Can you run?”

This time, I don’t answer fast enough, but his expression doesn’t change. Something in his gaze sharpens, but that’s the only indication I get that he even heard me.

“I can move,” I assure, nodding once.

He matches my nod. “Okay.”

That’s all there is to it. There’s no lecture, no insistence, no reaching for me and risking his life worse than he did when the Runner came at us. Just a simple “okay” and that’s that. I hate needing help. I hate that he can tell I need it. But more than that, I hate that he doesn’t even make a thing of it.

A Zed suddenly drops halfway through the hole, its torso dangling as its legs kick above. I can see the boards dig into itsstomach, splitting it open and pouring blood into the hole with the sprinkles of dust, but it doesn’t seem to notice. Another Zed shoves beside it, bowing the boards under the pressure, and there’s no doubt the room will fill within minutes.

Limping toward the far wall, I swallow back the pain like it’s a pill too big for my throat. “There should be a service exit down here.”

Behind a fallen shelf, I find a rusted metal door etched low into the wall. The maintenance access. The sign above it has half-rotted, too grimy to actually read, but the handle still exists and, right now, that makes it my absolute favorite thing in the whole world.

I yank at it. “Shit. Locked. Of course it’s fucking locked.”

Kaito steps up beside me, pipe in hand, and asks, “Can I?”

I look at him and he gestures to the handle, asking without words. Asking again. Even with Zeds dropping through the hole in the ceiling like dead hailstones and a dead Runner’s corpse chilling behind us, he still asks. I’ll be damned if it doesn’t short-circuit something in my brain for a second, only the collapsing ceiling pulling me back to the here and now as a big chunk falls on top of the dead Runner.

Dramatically gesturing to the handle, I mutter, “Be my guest.”

He doesn’t hesitate the moment he has my permission, swinging the pipe down hard enough that the sound echoes all around us, my ears momentarily ringing. Then he does it again. On the third swing, he finally breaks it, and the door squeaks open, revealing nothing more than darkness, stale air, and a narrow tunnel barely wide enough for him to fit through.

“Oh, how charming,” I mutter. “A murder hallway.”

“Maintenance tunnel,” Kaito corrects, a little amusement sneaking into his voice.

I nod. “That’s what I said.”

I hear Kaito inhale as if he’s about to reply, but there’s a sudden thud of a Zed hitting the basement floor behind us, stealing his thunder and effectively forcing the issue that we need to get the fuck out of Dodge. Another Zed falling only cements it.

“Go, go, go,” he says urgently, gesturing for me to go ahead of him, right before immediately adding, “Please.”

His manners make this entire situation worse, but I duck into the tunnel before I can decide whether to shoot him or thank him.

The space is tight enough that my shoulders almost brush both walls. Pipes run overhead, and the air smells like rust, damp concrete, old sewage, and mold that probably has a few opinions to share. Behind me, Kaito squeezes into the tunnel with a pained breath, because it’s very clear this tunnel wasn’t built for dudes his size.

Good. Maybe architecture is on my side.