Chapter 153 One Hell of a Getaway


    Chapter 153 One Hell of a Getaway


    s


    <b>“</b>Move your “sses!” Theresa barked as she mmed her fists into Quentin’s side, barely sparing a nce over her shoulder.


    The group behind her didn’t need telling twice. Her fury sent them scrambling for the zipline, each of them fumbling to clip on their harnesses like their lives depended on it–because they did.


    They’d been scared just moments ago, hesitating at the sixth–floor drop. But after witnessing Theresa lose her temper? Suddenly, dangling over a sixty–foot drop and sliding across a zipline into the unknown seemed like a great alternative.


    One by one, adrenaline–fueled and panic–powered, they clipped in and hurled themselves into the open air, sliding and scrambling across to the building across the street.


    Back in the room, Theresa finished her hands–on motivational speech by grabbing Quentin by the cor. “Run! Ain’t you supposed to be good at running?”


    1


    Quentin chuckled, head bowed, his voice light despite the bruises blooming across his face. “You hit like you mean it.”


    “You think that’s funny?” she snapped.


    Crash.


    The door exploded inward.


    <i>The </i>cab and couch braced against it barely budged an inch–but it was enough. Enough for a dozen pale, skeletal hands to reach through the gap, ws scraping against wood and fabric and air, desperate to grab something–anything–alive.


    Only two people were left in the room now.


    Theresa darted to the door, nting her boot hard against the cab to wedge it shut again. “Go!” she yelled over her shoulder.


    Across the way, Kyle shoved the zipline harness back toward them, the pulley wheels squealing.


    The two remaining survivors didn’t hesitate. Harnesses snapped on, fingers found purchase on the window ledge, and they wed their way out into the open air like panicked roons.


    Theresa braced the cab with her foot, her free hand still locked tight around Quentin’s shirt.


    She yanked out a nylon rope from her gear pouch and wrapped Quentin up, binding his arms tight and tying the other end around her waist.


    Quentin watched the process with bemused delight. “D*mn, Beautiful. You tying me up already? That eager?”


    <b><i>Crack</i></b>.


    Another fist, another ck eye. Now both were evenly matched–left and right, a pair of bruised badges,


    <b>64</b><b>% </b>


    Chapter 153 One Hell of a Getaway


    <b>+5 </b>Free Coins


    “You listen to me, your smug <b>b</b>*stard,” she growled, her voice low and fierce. “From this moment on, you stay within three feet of me. You step one foot out of my sight–I break you.”


    Quentin chuckled, lips split and teeth bloodied. “Three feet, huh? What about when I shower? Or take <b>a </b>piss<b>?</b><b>” </b>


    “You do it in front of me.”


    He blinked. “You serious?<b>” </b>


    Deadpan. “Dead serious.”


    He stared at her for a beat–thenughed even harder. “Well, Beautiful, I guess that means you gotta do the same.”


    <i>Crack</i><i>. </i>


    Her knuckles met his face again, this time mming into the eye under the patch,pleting his full cked–out look.


    “You run again,” she said coldly, crouching low, grabbing his ankle. <i>Snap</i><i>. </i>


    He gasped, a hiss of pain ripping from his throat as both his ankles dislocated with a sickening pop. His legs gave outpletely, and he copsed against her, dead weight.


    Theresa caught him effortlessly, hauling him back up by his cor like a sack of flour.


    “Next time, I won’t stop at the ankles. I’ll break your d*mn legs.”


    Quentin, pale and in obvious pain, managed a smile that burned with manic heat. “So, it’s true… you can’t live without me.”


    <i>Crash</i>!


    <i>Shatter</i><i>! </i>


    The circr ss window at the top of the oak door exploded inward, shards spraying like confetti.


    A rotting zombie head forced its way through the opening, skin peeling, forehead cracked and glistening with pus and blood, the shattered ss stuck deep in its face like glittering pins. It didn’t feel a thing–only pure, mindless hunger.


    Theresa threw Quentin over her back like a backpack, dodging sideways as razor–edged shards whistled past her.


    But with her weight no longer pressing against the door, the full weight of the undead horde outside. forced it open another few inches. One small zombie wriggled through the gap, its emaciated torso squirming like a rat through a pipe.


    Theresa didn’t hesitate.


    She drew her katana with a smooth, practiced motion and cleaved through the writhing mess of arms, heads, and gnashing teeth pushing through the crack.


    HI


    O


    <b>< </b>


    <b>14:59 </b>Mon, 11 <b>Aug </b>O


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    Chapter 153 One Hell of a Getaway


    St.


    The de sang through the air, parting limbs and skulls like butter.


    Thud.


    <b>64</b>%


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    A kick from her boot mmed the cab back into ce, forcing the door shut again—if only for a


    moment.


    Behind her, the zombie that had smashed the window was now half–in, its body scraping over the jagged ss that tore through its scalp, neck, and chest. ckened blood poured down the wooden frame like


    syrup.


    Its mouth gaped wide in ecstasy, its teeth rotting and yellowed, chattering with excitement. Dead, cloudy eyes locked onto her.


    Compared to this freakshow, even the creepiest ghost stories looked like children’s bedtime tales.


    The creature lunged–Theresa met it with a clean, horizontal sh.