The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3) by Madeline Sheehan & Claire C Riley

Author:Madeline Sheehan & Claire C Riley [Sheehan, Madeline & Riley, Claire C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thicker Than Blood #3
Publisher: Madeline Sheehan and Claire C Riley, via Smashwords
Published: 2021-10-01T18:30:00+00:00

Willow

Leaping through the shattered doorways, Britta and I skidded to a waterlogged stop, shaking rain from our hair and clothes. We’d just finished loading up the last of the clothing when the sky had opened up.

Squinting at the wall of rain beyond the doorway, water gushed from above, flooding the school’s walkway, splashing sharply inside the debris-covered entranceway. A bolt of lightning flashed in the distance, followed by a loud clap of thunder.

“Might as well find someplace to cozy up,” Britta said with a sigh. “We ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til this lets up—can’t see a dang thing out there.”

“Maybe we could hang out in the cafeteria?” I suggested.

“Now you’re talkin’. You remember those little puddin’ cups they used to serve in school?” Britta smacked her lips. “I’m thinkin’ that was the one thing I liked about school. Wonder if they have an expiration date?”

Following the signs for the cafeteria, we found the double doors barricaded with upended chairs and tables, with two lacrosse sticks crisscrossed through the handles. Thin slats of reinforced windows were coated with dried blood and grime, keeping us from viewing inside. The doors rattled against their confines; telltale growls and snarls rumbling from within.

“Maybe not the cafeteria,” I muttered.

“Aw, come on, Willow—I haven’t gotten to kill anything all dang day.” Britta began maneuvering furniture away from the doors. Without the heavy obstructions, the rattling increased; the doors pushed open a fraction and skeletal fingers tipped in long, yellowed nails slithered through the openings.

“Don’t look like too many to me,” Britta said, trying to peer inside. “I reckon there’s maybe a dozen or so. You good with that?”

Gripping tightly to the bat, I nodded, even as Logan’s voice pounded through me. Absolutely not, Willow—you’re not even suited up!

“Shut up, Logan,” I muttered. I could absolutely handle a half dozen Creepers.

“Time to dance with the dead.” Britta whipped her machete from its holster and pulled the lacrosse sticks from the handles, tossing them aside. Three Creepers stumbled into the hallway and Britta started swinging, nimbly slicing through all three necks.

Stepping over the fallen carcasses, we moved inside the room. The cafeteria was a disaster—the gruesome remnants of a decade old bloodbath. Tables and chairs lay overturned, bones and backpacks strewn among them; clusters of Creepers, half petrified, turned in unison, their sunken expressions perking up at the sight of us.

“Take the ones on the right.” Britta gestured with her machete. “I got left.”

Britta sang as she swung her blade, hitting high notes each time she made a killing strike. The noise she made called to every Creeper in the room, turning their attention away from me. Taking advantage of their distraction, I rushed up behind them, swinging. My first hit struck gold; the Creeper crumbled at my feet. The next stumbled sideways and I swung again, sending it hurtling across the floor in a tangle of motionless limbs. A third and fourth Creeper staggered toward me—two teenagers, one distinctly male, one unmistakably female. The boy’s neck was broken,

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