Night Resurrected (3 page)

And there wasn’t a day went by he

wished he weren’t.

Wyatt kept an eye out for a possible

hiding place, but the problem with

charging into an old building in a hurry

was a question of safety. They didn’t

have time to determine whether the

floors were stable and could hold

weight, or if the roof would come

crashing down at the slightest jolt or

vibration. Aside from that, any structure

that was a potential sanctuary from the

zombies would have to have access to a

second level—and then again, there was

the problem of stairs and whether they’d

hold his 190-some pounds.

All at once Dantès stopped and began

barking. His attention was fixed on

something in the darkness.

Crap.

“What is it, Dantès?” Remy stopped,

looking into the darkness. His ears were

up at full triangulation, and his barking

became a threatening growl. An animal

threat, then, not human.

Wyatt automatically moved in front

of Remy, thrusting an arm out to shield

her. He had a Glock tucked in the back

of his waistband, courtesy of the dead

bounty hunter named Seattle. But he had

only a little ammunition, and a handgun

was of little use against the large

predators that roamed this wild,

overgrown world. Liberated from zoos

and circuses during the catastrophic

events of the Change, all sorts of non-

native wildlife were threats to humans.

A handgun bullet wouldn’t stop a lion or

tiger if it attacked. The pain would just

make them angrier.

Dantès’s growling became more

intense, verging on barking. His ears

were angled forward, and from the

shape of his silhouette, Wyatt could tell

his scruff was standing upright. Not

good.

Remy bumped against him. She had

her gun in hand now and had eased up to

stand next to him. He didn’t waste his

breath explaining why that wasn’t a good

idea. The damn zombies were coming up

from behind, and whatever it was in the

brush was coming from the left. They

didn’t have many options. He scanned

the area with new purpose, his eyes

recognizing familiar shapes, calculating

options.

“This way, slowly,” he said, pulling

her to the right. “Into that truck there.

And for God’s sake, don’t make any

sudden movements.”

She muttered something that sounded

like
duh!
and disengaged her arm from

his grip. Dantès stayed in place,

guarding the area, as Wyatt nudged

Remy toward the only thing that looked

like a safe bet. It was an old semi-truck

cab. High enough to dissuade the

zombies or a pouncing cat, strong enough

to withstand a battering rhino or

elephant. He hoped.

Still eyeing the shadowy forest,

Wyatt reached for the metal handle of the

truck cab’s door. It was too much to

hope it wouldn’t be rusted into place. It

was, but the window was missing most

of its glass. “I’m going to have to lift you

up through there,” he said, glancing back

at the dog. “Watch the glass.” Dantès

had backed away from whatever he saw

in the shadows and stopped growling.

Bad sign.

Ruuuu-uuuthhhh . . . ruuuu-thhhhhh.

“They’re getting closer,” Remy said,

and he wasn’t certain whether she meant

the zombies, whatever was in the

woods, or both. To his surprise, she

actually sounded nervous.

Suddenly, Dantès erupted into a

frenzy of chaotic barking and Wyatt saw

a long, low figure slinking from the

shadows. The moonlight dappled over

its face, spots, and triangular cat ears. A

jaguar. Just fucking great.

Without another word, he scooped up

Remy by the waist and launched her at

the cab’s window, just above his head.

He couldn’t worry about pieces of glass

stuck in the frame; that was her problem

if she wanted her ass saved.

She muttered something rude as she

slammed up into the steel, but caught an

edge of the window anyway. Still

watching the frenzied Dantès, Wyatt

gave Remy another good boost, neatly

avoiding grabbing her ass by levering

her off a foot instead, just as the cat

pounced. Dantès’s barking choked off

into a snarl as he met the jaguar in a ball

of fury.

“Dantès!” Remy screamed, her head

popping out of the open window.

Wyatt was already looking around

for a big stick. Between that and his

Glock, he might be able to help before

the dog was injured too seriously. He

was a good-sized canine and a match for

the jag, but Wyatt was taking no chances.

He’d lost enough of what he loved.

Ruuuthhh . . . ruuuuthhhh . . .

“Stay there, dammit,” he shouted at

Remy, who was actually trying to climb

back out of the damn truck cab.

The animalistic snarling was now

interspersed with squeals and whines.

Something . . . need something.
Wyatt

saw shiny blood in the mix of two

frenzied animals, and, suddenly terrified

he would be too late or ineffective, he

whipped the Glock from his jeans. He

wasn’t going to stand there and let

Dantès die while protecting them.

But as he was about to flick off the

handgun’s safety, the sounds of zombie

moans rumbling ever nearer, Wyatt saw

a large, fallen branch illuminated by the

moonlight. He lunged for it, shoving the

gun back into his pants, and swung it up.

As thick as his biceps, eight feet

long, the branch was actually a dead

sapling. It still had its countless

branches and dried leaves, and without

hesitation he charged toward the chaotic

mess of snarling teeth and sharp claws.

He slammed the heavy branch onto the

back of the jaguar as hard as he could.

The cat yowled as Wyatt jumped back,

ready to protect himself. He could see

too much blood.

“Dantès,
come
!” Remy shouted, fear

pitching her voice high.

He didn’t spare a glance to see if she

was still in the truck or if the daft

woman had climbed out after all, for the

cat had separated from her victim and

now faced him, snarling and spitting.

Dantès growled, but the sound was

more feeble than before. He was still on

four feet, his hackles up, but Wyatt could

see him trembling.

The jag spared the dog a glance, then

turned to the new threat of Wyatt, who

still brandished the small tree. He was

ready, holding it in front of him to keep

the cat at a distance like a lion tamer

with a chair. After a moment’s hesitation

the cat turned and dove toward Dantès.

“Oh no you don’t!” Wyatt growled,

using both hands to thrust the heavy tree

at the cat again.

The jag hissed and twisted toward

him in a breathtaking midair snap, but

Wyatt didn’t have the luxury of admiring

it. He was now the target and the beast

was pissed. He rammed the tree toward

the furious cat, angling himself around so

he and his weapon were between the

jaguar and Dantès.

Ruuuuuuuthhhhh . . .

Surely the zombies were close

enough by now to smell him and Remy.

Damn it. Now they were really screwed.

He heard a creak and metallic thuds

behind him and suspected Remy was

clambering out of the truck. He wanted

to shout at her but dared not let his guard

down with the jag. The cat fixed him

with green-yellow eyes that glowed in

the moonlight, bisected by a vertical

black iris. Her tail twitched like an

angry whip. Along with streaks of blood,

he could see the outline of her shoulder

muscles in a stripe of moonlight. Damn.

He’d be appreciating her sleek beauty

and strength if he wasn’t half certain

he’d be dead in a few minutes.

“Get back in the damn truck,” he

shouted over his shoulder as he lunged

toward the cat, catching her in mid-leap

with the widespread branches of the

tree. It connected with solid muscle and

furious fur, and he grunted with effort

from the force, then shoved it back as

hard as he could. A few branches

snapped but there was still plenty of

brush between him and the cat as she

tumbled backward, landing on four

paws. As long as he could hold her

off . . .

“Dantès!” Remy called behind him.

“Come, Dantès!
Wyatt!
”

A little out of breath, still hefting the

thick branch, Wyatt looked over at the

panting dog, who still snarled and

growled, ready to leap back into the

fray. “Go, Dantès. Go!” He edged

backward, urging the dog to move with

him, still using the tree as a shield

against the cat.

Ruuuuuthhhhhh.

Ruuuu-

uuuuthhhhh.

Something crackled in the bushes and

Wyatt whipped around to look. He saw

heavy, clumsy figures outlined in black

against the dark gray of night, staggering

through the trees. Their orange eyes

glowed eerily.

“Wyatt!” Remy shouted, as if he

didn’t notice the damn creatures.

“Wyatt!”

He didn’t bother to look back, but

moved more quickly now, easing

backward, shoving the branch at the

spitting jaguar. The feline swiped a

massive paw at the branch, jolting it in

his grip and snapping several more

branches. There was hope that when the

zombies arrived, the cat would become

their target or at least be distracted by

them . . . but then again, he’d never seen

an animal attacked by a zombie.

They preferred human flesh.

“Wyatt!” Remy cried again, and he

finally looked over at her, a furious

retort at the ready, but then stopped.

Damned if the woman hadn’t lit a fire

from something
and
gotten the truck door

open. She was brandishing a blazing

torch and gesticulating wildly with it.

Her meaning was clear, but he was

already moving toward her while

holding off the jag and didn’t need her

explanation.

“Get back in the damned truck,” he

snarled, grabbing the torch from her and

nearly tripping over Dantès as he spun

back. Fire in one hand, hefting the

branch in the other, he rammed toward

the wild cat once more, trying to give

Remy the time and space to get her

injured dog up into safety.

Then he had an idea. If he could set

the branches and leaves of his branch on

fire . . .

The zombies were in full view, but

the jaguar didn’t seem to notice. She was

intent on the man who’d infuriated her,

and in one breathtaking move launched

herself in a long, sleek pounce from atop

a fallen tree. This put her higher and sent

her farther than before, and she would

have landed on top of his branch if

Wyatt hadn’t dodged away. He tripped

and nearly lost his balance, dropping the

torch as he caught himself. It rolled out

of reach.
Damn.

Heart pounding, he swung quickly

and connected with the cat, then realized

his error was an opportunity. Distance

gave him the chance. He jammed the

dead tree and its dry leaves at the

flaming torch, still circling around,

keeping it between him and the jag until

suddenly it burst into flames.

Now he had a massive torch, and in

the breadth of a moment it was blazing

wildly.

The sight terrified the cat, and she

backed away, still hissing and spitting as

Wyatt charged after her. Heat from the

flames radiated toward him and he could

feel the trunk beginning to warm. But he

had two threats to attend to. No sooner

had he chased off the cat than, trying to

avoid inhaling the smoke, he turned to

the zombies. They, too, were afraid of

fire, and it took him only a few well-