Virulence Immune

~ Chapter Twenty-Five ~

"Perri!" Skeet called from the bus, drawing her attention.

Then, a thump, thump, thump sound began to crescendo toward her.

She turned back to the masculine infected just in time to see him approaching, but not soon enough to avoid what came next.

He rammed her at full speed, sending her tumbling backward with enough force that when she hit the door of the car behind her, she dented it.

Her tomahawk had also been tossed from her grasp during the impact.

She struggled to catch her breath, coughing as she staggered back to her feet and leant against the car.

Perri groaned as she cupped her left wrist and held it close to her chest. It was tender, and she could barely move it. She only hoped that it wasn't broken.

Having allowed her a moment to recover, the masculine infected went right back on the offensive and threw an over-arm fist at her.

She retreated just in time. Diving to the side as his giant fist came down.

He'd hit the car with enough strength to dent the metal.

Perri scrambled away, clambering over the dead bodies, when something caught her eye.

She silently rejoiced when she saw her axe and that it was within her reach.

The masculine infected, though big and somewhat slow, was extremely powerful. Perri knew she had to avoid his attacks and wait for her chance to strike if she had any hope of surviving.

He approached her again once she was back on her feet and he went in for a backhanded swing.

Having misjudged the distance between them, he wasn't in a close enough proximity to Perri to hit her. But, she couldn't tell and lurched back from him anyway.

While he was twisting his body back to recover his stance, Perri seized her moment and swung her tomahawk.

Though she swung with all her might, she was too weak. Too slow.

Her eyes shot open.

With his other hand he grabbed the bladed edge. Rank, coagulated blood oozed down his palm.

Not expecting him to catch her weapon, Perri was caught off guard and hesitated that millisecond too long.

He jerked the axe toward himself, pulling her along with it, and he punched her square in the chest.

Perri was knocked backward, the tomahawk yanked from her grasp, and she tripped over a dead body.

She was quick to shift onto her hands and knees.

Gasping desperately between coughing and holding back from barking at the pain that shot up her wrist, Perri crawled away.

She recoiled at the sound of a heavy clang of metal.

The masculine infected had tossed her tomahawk aside.

She supposed she should have been glad that he wasn't about to use her own weapon against her, but she didn't have time to consider the thought.

A large hand grabbed her by her hair, she bared her teeth and winced at the pain.

As he dragged her to her feet, she grasped the only thing within her reach to defend herself.

She rotated to face him and swung it.

To her relief, her weapon hit its mark.

Smacking him in the face with the bony, bloodied, end of a severed arm.

He released her hair and stumbled back a step. Eyes widening with rage when he looked back at her.

He scooped her up in an instant, clamping her arms at her sides, and he squeezed her.

Perri hated bear hugs at the best of times, but this—

Her back crunched and cracked under the pressure and she gasped.

Writhing to get free wasn't working and with every wheeze, his crushing embrace tightened and each time she strained to draw a breath, less and less air filled her squashed lungs.

He tilted his head back as he forced more strength into the hug and, in that moment, Perri realized what she had to do to survive.

To defeat the beast, she had to become one.

She had to be the monster.