waved for him to sit back down. “I need to use the bathroom.”
He frowned as his gaze moved across the room. “Here?”
He had a point. The place was squalid even by the entertainment district’s standards. Now that the crowd had thinned out some, I could see how much dirt and blood—both zombie and human—were caked on the floor. The few tables in the place were so wobbly I was surprised they were still upright, and the brown tint to the walls wasn’t paint. It was years and years of dirt and neglect.
“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” I said, trying to sound confident even though my stomach had turned inside out.
Jackson frowned, but didn’t argue when I ducked under the ropes and headed off. More importantly, though, he didn’t follow.
I passed the bar where the waitress was chatting with Donaghy, the newly crowned champion of Dragon’s fight club. At his side, holding a vial and syringe, stood a second waitress who had skin so wrinkled and tan she looked like she’d spent her life wandering the desert. The fighter was dotted with the black blood of his victims, but there wasn’t a single scratch on him as far as I could tell, and he didn’t even wince when the older waitress plunged the needle into his arm.
Hopefully, Donaghy decided to go clean up soon. When I came back out I wanted to be able to talk to the pink haired waitress privately.
The hallway I headed down was thick with darkness, but I was able to locate the bathroom by smell alone. There was only one, used for both men and women, but thankfully it was empty when I stepped inside. Four urinals lined one wall while five stalls stood against the other. Only one had a door on it, and even that was barely hanging on. The toilets were so dirty that I was pretty sure a person could catch the zombie virus just from sitting on them.
“Gross,” I muttered, staring at the nearly black toilet.
I didn’t really need to go, but I’d had to make up some excuse to get away from Jackson. A couple minutes of standing in the bathroom should be all I needed.
I’d just turned to face the door when a man stepped through it.
He froze when he saw me, pausing just inside and blocking my escape completely. His eyes, which were hazy from alcohol, slid over me, and the expression in them was enough to put me on alert. But it was the smile that stretched across his face that set alarm bells off in my head. He was older than me by at least thirty years, and slightly hunched over. The wrinkles lining his leathery face were deep and dark, probably filled with years of dirt, and what little bit of hair he had was greasy and matted to his scalp. He probably hadn’t bothered to make a trip to one of the city’s bathhouses in months, instead spending his free time and credits in places like this.
“I was just leaving,” I said, trying to use my size to my advantage and duck past him.
His hands closed on my shoulders before I’d managed to squeeze by, and I jerked away, but didn’t get anywhere.
“Hold on now, girl,” he said, his mouth so close to my face that even over the stench of moonshine I could smell the food rotting between his equally rotten teeth.
“Let go.” I made the words as hard and menacing as possible, but I doubted there was much about me that would intimidate this man. Even with his hunched frame he towered over me by nearly five inches.
His grin stretched wider and his grip tightened on my shoulders. I slipped my hand around my back and pulled out my knife—I never left home without it—but the blade didn’t make it even halfway to his throat before his free hand had swatted it away. The knife flew from my hand and clattered across the floor, and the man slammed my back against the wall. He pressed his whole body against mine.
My heart was pounding like the beat of a drum when the guy put his face against my neck, moving his nose down over my breasts. “This night’s gonna be better than I thought.”
I screamed and tried
He frowned as his gaze moved across the room. “Here?”
He had a point. The place was squalid even by the entertainment district’s standards. Now that the crowd had thinned out some, I could see how much dirt and blood—both zombie and human—were caked on the floor. The few tables in the place were so wobbly I was surprised they were still upright, and the brown tint to the walls wasn’t paint. It was years and years of dirt and neglect.
“When you gotta go, you gotta go,” I said, trying to sound confident even though my stomach had turned inside out.
Jackson frowned, but didn’t argue when I ducked under the ropes and headed off. More importantly, though, he didn’t follow.
I passed the bar where the waitress was chatting with Donaghy, the newly crowned champion of Dragon’s fight club. At his side, holding a vial and syringe, stood a second waitress who had skin so wrinkled and tan she looked like she’d spent her life wandering the desert. The fighter was dotted with the black blood of his victims, but there wasn’t a single scratch on him as far as I could tell, and he didn’t even wince when the older waitress plunged the needle into his arm.
Hopefully, Donaghy decided to go clean up soon. When I came back out I wanted to be able to talk to the pink haired waitress privately.
The hallway I headed down was thick with darkness, but I was able to locate the bathroom by smell alone. There was only one, used for both men and women, but thankfully it was empty when I stepped inside. Four urinals lined one wall while five stalls stood against the other. Only one had a door on it, and even that was barely hanging on. The toilets were so dirty that I was pretty sure a person could catch the zombie virus just from sitting on them.
“Gross,” I muttered, staring at the nearly black toilet.
I didn’t really need to go, but I’d had to make up some excuse to get away from Jackson. A couple minutes of standing in the bathroom should be all I needed.
I’d just turned to face the door when a man stepped through it.
He froze when he saw me, pausing just inside and blocking my escape completely. His eyes, which were hazy from alcohol, slid over me, and the expression in them was enough to put me on alert. But it was the smile that stretched across his face that set alarm bells off in my head. He was older than me by at least thirty years, and slightly hunched over. The wrinkles lining his leathery face were deep and dark, probably filled with years of dirt, and what little bit of hair he had was greasy and matted to his scalp. He probably hadn’t bothered to make a trip to one of the city’s bathhouses in months, instead spending his free time and credits in places like this.
“I was just leaving,” I said, trying to use my size to my advantage and duck past him.
His hands closed on my shoulders before I’d managed to squeeze by, and I jerked away, but didn’t get anywhere.
“Hold on now, girl,” he said, his mouth so close to my face that even over the stench of moonshine I could smell the food rotting between his equally rotten teeth.
“Let go.” I made the words as hard and menacing as possible, but I doubted there was much about me that would intimidate this man. Even with his hunched frame he towered over me by nearly five inches.
His grin stretched wider and his grip tightened on my shoulders. I slipped my hand around my back and pulled out my knife—I never left home without it—but the blade didn’t make it even halfway to his throat before his free hand had swatted it away. The knife flew from my hand and clattered across the floor, and the man slammed my back against the wall. He pressed his whole body against mine.
My heart was pounding like the beat of a drum when the guy put his face against my neck, moving his nose down over my breasts. “This night’s gonna be better than I thought.”
I screamed and tried
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