Chapter 167: Chapter 167 - Beating
Malcolm’s POV
Malcolm held his breath.
Iyisha was looking at him.
Her mouth opened and closed slowly, but she was no longer gnashing her teeth.
He stared at her.
What was happening?
Her eyes were locked on him.
Not the wanderers talking around them. Not the shouting. Not the movement.
Just him.
The noise around them should have been drawing her attention. Sound always attracted the infected.
But she wasn’t looking at them.
She was looking at him.
Malcolm’s body went rigid.
There was something in her eyes.
When she had turned, the light inside them had vanished. They had been dull and empty like every other walker he had ever seen.
Now they weren’t.
Something was there again.
Something alive.
The men around them started to notice too.
"What the—"
Iyisha’s head lifted suddenly.
"Aaarrgh!"
The sound tore from her throat.
Malcolm’s breath caught in his chest.
He had heard the undead make noises before.
Groans.
Growls.
But never that.
Never something that sounded like a cry.
Her body strained forward.
One hand lifted.
Reaching toward him.
The ropes stretched tight around her wrists.
The wanderers froze.
"What the hell—"
Then something else moved.
Around the edge of the headlights, the bloated walkers scattered across the pavement stirred.
Their swollen bodies were still glued to the cracked asphalt.
But their heads turned.
All of them.
Slowly.
Toward the men.
A cold chill slid across Malcolm’s skin.
But Malcolm didn’t have time to think.
He moved.
His elbow slammed backward into the ribs of the man standing behind him.
"—ugh!"
The wanderer doubled slightly and that was enough.
Malcolm twisted hard, grabbing the man’s rifle and dragging him forward against his chest, using him as a shield.
Gunfire erupted.
Malcolm pulled the trigger.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The shots cracked across the parking lot.
The men in front of him dropped almost instantly, their bodies hitting the pavement under the harsh glare of the headlights.
Malcolm shoved the man in his grip forward and fired again.
Another wanderer collapsed beside the car.
Malcolm didn’t relax.
He paused, listening.
There had been more.
Three cars.
Which meant three more men.
Somewhere between the vehicles.
Hiding.
Waiting.
Beside him Marybeth pushed herself up on shaking legs. Her hands trembled as she bent down and yanked a pistol from the hand of one of the fallen wanderers.
She racked the slide with a sharp click.
Malcolm kept his eyes on the shadows between the parked cars.
"They’re still here," he muttered.
The night felt suddenly very quiet.
Too quiet.
And somewhere behind him, Iyisha was still breathing that strange broken sound.
Malcolm kept the rifle steady, eyes fixed on the shadows between the cars.
A sound came from the man he still held.
"Please—"
The wanderer’s voice shook violently.
"Please... let me go. I won’t—"
Malcolm tightened his grip around the man’s neck.
The man made a strangled sound, fear breaking through his voice.
"Please—"
Malcolm didn’t answer.
His eyes shifted past him.
Iyisha.
For the first time since the chaos began, she wasn’t moving.
Her body had gone still in the chair.
Her eyes were closed.
Hope surged suddenly in his chest.
He drew in a slow breath.
Then he moved.
Malcolm dragged the man backward toward the side of one of the cars where Marybeth crouched in the shadow. Before the wanderer could speak again, Malcolm pressed the gun close and pulled the trigger.
The shot cracked through the lot.
The man dropped instantly.
Marybeth flinched slightly, her breath shaking as she steadied the pistol in her hands.
"There are two," she whispered. "In the red car."
Malcolm glanced toward it.
From this angle the vehicle blocked his view.
He couldn’t see them.
"Kill anyone you see," he said quietly.
Marybeth nodded.
Malcolm lowered himself into a crouch and moved along the side of the vehicles, keeping low, letting the darkness swallow him as he circled toward the red car.
The night had gone silent again.
Except for breathing.
He heard it before he saw them.
Two men crouched low beside the car.
Both of them were shaking.
One gripped his rifle so tightly his hands trembled around the barrel.
The other kept looking over his shoulder toward the parking lot where the bloated walkers still lay scattered across the pavement.
"Did you see that?" one whispered.
"What the hell was that thing?"
"I told you something’s wrong here—"
His voice cracked.
The other man swallowed hard, eyes wide.
"Shut up. Just shut up."
Neither of them noticed Malcolm until he stepped out of the darkness.
The first man’s head snapped up.
"Wait—!"
The rifle in Malcolm’s hands barked once.
The shot dropped him where he knelt.
The second man froze.
His face drained of color.
For a moment he didn’t even try to raise his weapon.
"Please—"
Malcolm fired again.
The man collapsed beside the car.
Silence returned to the parking lot.
Malcolm stood still for a moment, listening.
The walkers around the lot had gone quiet again.
Their bloated bodies still lay fused to the cracked pavement under the headlights.
None of them moved.
None of them growled.
None of them even turned their heads.
It was as if the sudden stirring earlier had never happened.
As if they had only reacted for one reason.
For her.
Two shots cracked from the far corner of the lot.
Malcolm turned instantly and moved toward the sound.
He rounded the car just in time to see Marybeth standing over two bodies on the ground. She kicked one of them hard in the ribs, making sure he was dead.
Her breathing was ragged.
She looked up at Malcolm.
He nodded once.
Then his gaze moved past her.
To the chair.
Iyisha’s body still slumped there.
Limp.
Unmoving.
Everything around Malcolm seemed to blur as his focus narrowed on her.
The cars.
The bodies.
Marybeth.
The ruined parking lot.
All of it faded.
Only her remained.
Her black hair had fallen forward, hiding her face.
He stepped closer.
He needed to see her eyes.
Needed to know if what he thought he had seen before was real.
Something impossible.
Another step.
The sound of his boots echoed softly across the empty lot.
A gust of wind swept through the headlights.
Her hair shifted.
The strands lifted and slid away from her face.
Revealing her.
Malcolm’s heart lurched.
Her chest moved.
Barely.
But it moved.
A slow rise.
Then a fall.
He ran.
Malcolm dropped to his knees beside the chair, the ropes still cutting into her wrists as her body leaned forward against them.
He pressed his head against her chest.
For a moment there was nothing.
Then he heard it.
A beat.
Faint.
Unsteady.
But real.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened as the sound reached him again.
Another weak, uneven beat.
Iyisha’s heart was beating.
