Dark Days by Naomi Clark

Author:Naomi Clark [Clark, Naomi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781772337068
Amazon: B01BERF7W8
Goodreads: 29068724
Publisher: Evernight Publishing
Published: 2016-02-02T03:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Nobody came out to investigate the crash. Either nobody heard it, or the keep-away spell held some sway over Dawn's neighbors. Lola was grateful as she raced back down the hall. She didn't have the time or the patience to come up with an explanation.

She burst into Dawn’s Spartan apartment, skidding on the welcome mat and nearly crashing into the sofa in her rush. She righted herself and cast around the open plan room. There was a spotty trail of blood on the bare floorboards, leading through the living area and stopping at a door across the room. Lola followed it, whispering useless prayers to herself. Please let her be alive. Let her be okay. She had no idea who she was praying to and she had no doubt it was too late for prayer to help anyway, but it was a primitive reflex. She couldn’t stop herself.

She pushed open the door to reveal a starkly tidy bedroom, filled with soulless flat-pack furniture and lit with a glaring white bulb. She had the intrusive, ridiculous thought that Caleb would hate it before she heard Dawn moan, low and pained.

“Dawn!” Lola threw herself across the bed and found Dawn on the other side, between the wall and the bed frame. She was curled in on herself, cradling her gun like a protective talisman, her face hidden by her dark hair. Lola smelled fresh blood, felt its pulsing power. But she didn’t see it and she didn’t know whether that was good or bad. “Dawn, it’s me.” She dropped to her knees beside Dawn and rolled her over, terrified of what she’d find.

“I shot her,” Dawn said, her voice hollow and flat. “I shot her, Lola. I shot her.”

Lola bit her lip as she eased Dawn upright. She tried to pry the gun from her hands, but Dawn shook her head so viciously that Lola stopped, afraid they’d end up accidentally setting it off. Dawn’s plain white shirt was bloodied, and there was spatter on her pale face, but Lola couldn’t see any wounds. Some of the screaming tension inside her began to ease. “Dawn, what—” she started to ask, then stopped, her question dying in her mouth as Dawn slowly pulled her hair away from her neck.

The shirt sleeve was torn at the seams, revealing a ragged, bleeding bite in the meat of her shoulder.

“Oh no.” Lola rummaged in her bag, hands shaking. “Oh shit.”

“I shot her, Lola. It’s okay,” Dawn said, still sounding inhumanly calm.

“Dawn, your shoulder.” Lola forced herself to keep the same flat, empty tone. “You’ve been bitten. We need to treat it.”

Dawn’s eyes widened. She craned her neck to look down at her shoulder. “No,” she said. She dropped the gun and grabbed Lola’s arm, squeezing painfully. “No. No, no, no, I won’t go like Eddie, Lola. I won’t go like Eddie!” Her voice rose to a shriek, all the terror and horror she’d been masking just seconds ago let loose. “Lola, do something. Do something!”

“I will!” Lola pulled free of her iron grip and dumped the contents of her bag on the bed.

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