CHAPTER 17: GOLD AND SURVIVAL

  The rustle of footsteps through the grass signaled that Vanstine’s hunters had surrounded the shack.

  "Hand over the bag if you want to live!" a voice barked—likely the leader.

  "Give it to them, Michael," Richard said, his voice tight.

  Michael moved toward the window to toss the bag out, but I grabbed his arm just in time.

  "No!" I hissed. "If they get that bag, we’re useless. They'll storm this place and slaughter us without a second thought."

  "Damn it, then what do we do?" Michael grimaced.

  "Our guns don't have suppressors..." An idea flickered. "...So..."

  "That’s a hell of a gamble, Nick," Richard said, catching my drift. "But it’s worth a shot."

  Michael blinked, confused. "What are you two planning?"

  "This!" I snapped, unleashing a volley of bullets into the roof.

  The moment the shots rang out, the men outside hit the dirt, thinking we were returning fire. They opened fire in response, bullets tearing into the wooden walls.

  "The zombies definitely heard that," Richard muttered under his breath.

  "Ha..." Michael let out a short laugh as the realization dawned. "This is going to be fun."

  "When the horde arrives," I said, "we make a break for the boat and row like hell. Vanstine’s men won't be in any mood to check on us."

  "But how will we know when they—"

  "ZOMBIES!"

  As if on cue, terrified screams erupted from outside, followed by the thunderous trample of feet rushing toward the shack.

  "Now we know," I replied.

  When the gunfire outside grew erratic, we knew our window had opened. I whistled for Ogris. We kicked the door wide and vanished into the thick darkness. Vanstine’s men were too busy fighting off the dead to notice us sliding through the tall grass toward the riverbank.

  But when we reached the water, two hunters were already waiting, their muzzles leveled at us.

  "Knew you'd run this way," the familiar voice of the arena master sneered from behind the boat. "Hand over the bag."

  "So you can tell Vanstine we escaped and the gold was never found?" I spat. Greed burned plainly in his eyes. Vanstine was just an excuse; this was a personal heist.

  "Smart kid," he chuckled. "Look, you’re dead either way. I want the gold. And I'm sure you’d prefer a bullet to being torn apart by those things back there."

  I glanced back. Richard and Michael stood frozen. I couldn't see their faces, but I felt their despair—the weight of having survived so much only to end like this.

  That despair almost swallowed me—until I spotted a small dark shape crouched beneath the tall grass.

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  Ogris. They haven't seen him yet.

  "Give me the bag, Michael," I said.

  Michael tossed the backpack to me. I caught it and feigned a dazed walk toward the back of the boat, positioning myself so the vessel sat between the hunters and Ogris.

  "If this is what you want..." I stared the leader down. "...then catch!"

  I hurled the bag high and let out a sharp, piercing whistle. The leader lunged for the bag before it could hit the water. The other hunter flinched when a snarling "gao gao" burst from the bushes. In the chaos, Ogris sounded like a monster lunging from the shadows.

  I seized the moment. I lunged and drove my boot into the leader's chest, sending him backward into the river, the gold still clutched in his arms.

  SPLASH.

  The second hunter snapped his aim toward me, but Ogris was faster. He pounced, his needle-sharp claws tearing across the man's face.

  The man screamed in agony, flailing as he flung Ogris aside. As he scrambled to get up, I pressed the muzzle of my gun against his forehead. I looked into his stunned, hateful eyes and smirked.

  "You know... I prefer the bullet too."

  BANG!

  The shot roared. Warm blood sprayed across my face.

  "Anyone who threatens me... meets only one end." The words rang in my head—then pain exploded behind my eyes. My vision blurred. The world dissolved before I hit the water with a heavy thud, swallowed by the current.

  I caught a glimpse of Michael and Richard lunging for me, then nothing but silence.

  Something cold washed over me, dragging me under and then releasing me. Grit scraped against my face, then vanished in the water.

  I woke face-down in the mud. Not far away, a small, tan body lay motionless.

  "Ogris!" I scrambled toward him.

  The foolish lion had jumped in after me. Loyal beyond reason.

  "Pulse is still there," I breathed in relief. "Come on, Ogris. Don't give up." I pressed down on his chest, again and again.

  After a few minutes, Ogris let out a low moan and opened his eyes. His voice was raspy, sounding more like a maturing lion than a cub.

  I let out a laugh. For a man with no memories and no certainty of tomorrow, the road wasn't closed yet. At least I wasn't alone.

  The sky was brightening. Richard and Michael had likely escaped. I dragged myself along the riverbank, searching for shelter. Food could wait. Safety couldn't.

  The current had carried me miles downstream. Finding the others was impossible. And they wouldn’t come back. It was just me and Ogris now.

  If luck held, I wasn't far from Richard’s house.

  After thirty minutes of walking, the familiar cabin appeared—wrecked, but still standing.

  I smashed a window with a rock and reached inside to turn the knob. As I stepped in, my heart sank. The cellar hatch was wide open, its latch twisted as if something impossibly strong had torn it apart.

  Cold sweat trickled down my back. If we had stayed here last night...

  Grrr... Growl... Ogris bristled at the stairs.

  A brown shadow darted away, vanishing into the second floor.

  I grabbed a sturdy piece of wood and signaled for Ogris to stay below. If something happened, at least he’d have a chance. I gripped the wood tight and climbed the stairs.

  The bedroom door was trembling on its hinges. I took a deep breath.

  "Die, you bastard!" I kicked the door wide.

  Empty.

  A cold breath brushed the back of my neck.

  Too deliberate.

  I swung the club behind me. Too late. The intruder ducked and drove a shoulder into my stomach. I crashed backward. A heavy punch landed on my jaw, followed by a flurry of strikes.

  "Enough!" I roared, bracing myself and kicking the stranger hard.

  The attacker flew backward, crashing through the railing and hitting the floor below.

  "GAOR!" Ogris lunged.

  Only then did I realize—no, it was human. I ran downstairs, shouting for Ogris to stop.

  The intruder was a girl. Young. Sharp-eyed. And terrified of a lion cub.

  "You nearly broke my teeth," I muttered, rubbing my jaw.

  Her eyes went wide. "Your kick wasn't exactly gentle either!"

  "Haha..." I laughed, extending a hand. "Call it even."

  She took it tentatively. I noticed her gloves were reinforced with metal plates. "No wonder you punch like that."

  "You keep strange pets," she said.

  "He's not a pet. He's a friend. His name is Ogris. I'm Nick."

  "Jane Louis. Call me Janny."

  "Why are you here?"

  "Emergency landing near that mountain. Our plane ran out of fuel. Then the zombies came... we scattered."

  I nodded. "This house belongs to a friend. I’m staying here for a while. There’s food in the cellar. You can stay—if you want."

  "With... you?" she asked.

  I laughed at her expression. "Well, you can sleep up here if you're feeling heroic."

  "Who said I was sleeping up here!" she huffed and headed for the cellar.

  I shrugged at Ogris. "Looks like we’re not alone anymore."

  Outside, the sky was gray, but a sliver of blue peeked through. I couldn't predict where this life would take me. I could only keep fighting—for survival, and for the shattered pieces of my past. As long as I could still write, the story wasn’t over.

  How long? Tomorrow would answer that.