We Are the Fallen: Fallen & Guilty, #1

By YD La Mar

Khalil

It's said that there is safety in numbers, but I call bullshit on that. Surviving is much easier as a lone wolf. No internal conflict. No compromise. No complications. Looking out for #1 is just better—and safer.

Then she came into my life.

I tried to kick her right back out, but it seemed the universe had other plans. The woman can't keep herself out of trouble. I should just let her die. Survival of the fittest. Good riddance and all that. But why does she make me feel like killing everyone who makes her cry?

In my heart, I know she won't make it without me. But does that mean she's mine?

 

Zolimar

I'm going to kill this asshole.

All he does is throw me around and leave me as food for the undead.

I don't need his help anyway.

He needs mine.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

We can't stop crossing paths, and now we're stuck with each other. How long before he decides I'm too much of a burden?

When we're caught in a situation that hides evil under the guise of help, will my new companion and I make it out alive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: YD La Mar
• Release date: May 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215913765

Book preview

ONE

KHALIL

—It’s now spread to major parts of India, Russia, and South Africa. Last known safe zones have been—

Bang! Bang! Thud. Crash.

Uuuggghh.

The crash of boards makes me snap my head to the left as splinters hit the dressers I’ve placed against the door. Memories of the past flit out of my mind. It’s the same now, day in and day out. I haven’t rested since stopping here. The heat of the sun hasn’t gone down, and my skin perspires through the extra clothes I’ve collected in this abandoned house.

The moans continue outside the walls and bangs against the wood but I ignore it.

The memories of the last newscast I heard reverberate through my head like a fading echo as I walk by a broken box television still firmly on its stand.

Stuffing empty bottles and cans I’ve collected into my bag, I carefully avoid adding to the noise as I sling the backpack over my shoulder and begin my way toward the back. Making sure to watch where my feet land, I climb over fallen furniture and broken pieces of who knows what. My boots crunch with each step, breaking glass shards that are scattered from the time of the fall.

This was once a beautiful home. I would have loved a home like this.

One of them crashes through, sure to pull the attention of the others.

Uuuugghh. The sound of shuffling and moaning draws my ears, and my body automatically responds by reaching for my crossbow and bringing it up into position.

Everything around me stops as my mind focuses and narrows in on my task, the sounds dampening into nothingness as my heartbeat begins to drown out reality. The pressure on my fingers is the only thing that grounds me.

I let go. Swoosh. Thunk.

It lands right between the eyes, the body crashing to the ground from the momentum of the arrow. Continuing toward the back door, my eyes scan the surroundings one more time. Seems all of the infected have migrated to the front, following the trail of my entrance. Good, it will buy me some time. Making sure to click the chest strap to the backpack for more security, I slowly push open the exit door. It hits an unknown object on the outside and stops much too early for my body to comfortably squeeze through.

These constant scavenger hunts and runs have honed my body and muscles. I should really cut back on the meat intake in case of situations like these. Pushing again, the metal frame of the screen door squeaks just enough to catch the attention of all the infected within the area.

Shit.

Making sure to loop my arm through the bow and strategically move it behind me, I lean into the door with my shoulder and shove. It’s too late to be quiet now. Groaning on impact, I do it again. The frame bends but still doesn’t open enough.

A crash comes from the front of the house.

Come on, come on.

Slamming my shoulder into the door one more time, it finally opens, the wood loudly splintering at the hinges. Go, go, go! I’m already on the move before my mental chanting pushes me forth.

The sound of items falling and cracking glass not far behind me makes my heart rate pick up. My footfalls are loud in my ears despite knowing my own ability to move stealthily under pressure. The amount of items strewn about in the back of this yard is ridiculous. I’m surprised others haven’t scavenged through it and cleared it out by now.

Jumping over a broken desk, I look back to see the infected crawling out the back door. Unable to problem solve the issue of the door only allowing one person out at once, the infected and their mindless movements buy me enough time to leave the vicinity of the homestead.

The house was too good to pass up, especially after walking for a day without seeing a decent one. My feet lead me through the thick of the trees in the back, giving me enough camouflage and opportunities to dodge any unwanted company. The damp fallen leaves during this season help to further mask the sound of my footfalls.

A breeze comes through, bringing with it the faint smell of decay. I should be used to this by now, death being an everyday part of this life since the fall—the fall of society, the fall of life as we know it.

But fuck if it doesn’t stink like something funky.

Softening my steps even more, I weave in and out of the trees until I find myself in the thick of it. It’s the opposite direction of where I started, but I have no other choice. Where there is the smell of decay, there’s bound to be infected. Keeping my ears sharp, I don’t hear anyone following me, allowing me to slow my steps to a comfortable pace. Opening one of my vest pockets, I pull out the compass I’ve been holding onto. It was a rare find in an abandoned RV.

Looking around me one more time, I let my guard down by staring at the direction of my path. I’m currently facing south, but I really should continue north. I’m going to have to go east for a while until I make a wide enough arc away from the location of the smell.

Decision made, I turn left and slowly start trekking through the trees. Nightfall comes faster than I’d like, but it doesn’t stop me from placing one foot in front of another. When the temperature drops to uncomfortable levels, each exhale comes out in puffs of light fog.

I can feel the weight of the backpack more and more the longer I walk. The sun begins to crest over the horizon, indicating I walked through the night without sleep once again. The sun temporarily blind me as I bring my arm up to try and block out the rays in my eyes. I’m going to have to stop before this puts me too much at a disadvantage.

The shadows of what looks like a roof start to peek over the skyline. It gives me enough motivation to walk faster toward a destination. The lack of sleep for the past few days is finally taking its toll; my body is about to force me into hypothetical hibernation at this point. Goosebumps rise on my exposed skin despite the sun continuing to come up in front of me.

The house looks similar to the last one, a two-story home that probably housed a loving family on a farm. Now it looks dilapidated and scarred like the rest of us. The gate that once surrounded what could have been a bed of flowers is jagged and worn into lethal spikes. Someone must have used this as a home base at some point in time. Who’s to say they’re not still inside?

I catch sight of another much smaller building in my periphery. It lies caddy-corner and is a good distance away from the barn. It’s going to have to do because my legs are getting heavier and heavier. I try my best to lighten my footsteps around the dry leaves. My sense of smell and hearing sharpen the closer I get, an automatic survival reaction these days. Rolling my shoulder, I shove it against the door as quietly as I can and open it slowly to prevent any possibility of creaking. My breath is still coming out in puffs of fog from the chill in the air and my eyes are burning from how long they’ve stayed open.

Which is why I don’t see the dark piece of flat metal coming right at my face.

TWO

ZOLIMAR

Gritting my teeth at the pain radiating from my left leg, my hand grips the handle of the shovel tighter. The guy was huge. He doesn’t smell like one of the infected but he might have been newly infected for all I know.

Something moves in the main house and I quiet my breathing, narrowing my eyes in its direction. The noise at times sounds calculated, but I wouldn’t put it past an undead just wandering around aimlessly, slowly trying to lure in the unsuspecting. Who’s to say they haven’t evolved? It’s been a long time since the fall.

Creeping over with my shovel still raised in case I need to bash his head in one more time, I put some weight on my good leg to lean over for a better look. The sun is just coming up, shadowing his features a bit. He looks intact mostly, a lot of scattered scarring where I can see on his exposed skin. There’s a mask of some sort that covers the bottom half of his face. I’m frowning and leaning in a little more, against my better judgment, trying to get another good look at his face.

Oof. Suddenly a large and very calloused hand grabs my throat, making me struggle for air.

His eyes snap open and they are frighteningly gray, as if life has left them but the warmth of his hand is proving otherwise.

T-t I’m choking even more as my mouth gapes open and closed like a dying fish, trying to tell him to take his stinking hands off me!

He’s eerily quiet as he brings himself to stand and pulls me up with him. Darkness is starting to cloud the corner of my vision as my feet begin to dangle above the ground. This is it. This is how I’m going to die. Better than getting infected in the grand scheme of things.

My eyes are fluttering, and I’m finding it hard to fight the weight of my lids when I think I see the stranger lean in and sniff me right before he lets me go.

I hit the ground like a sack of bad food, bones aching from the impact. That stubborn left leg of mine is throbbing with something phantom as I now choke from the sudden rush of air back into my lungs.

My eyes are beginning to burn when I inhale, and I almost miss the deep rumble of his voice.

You’re not dead.

Gee, what gave that away? It wasn’t the coughing, was it? Blinking back my tears, I can finally breathe in and out without it feeling out of place and unnatural.

You’re not dead, either. My voice croaks at the end, an aftereffect of what he did to me. It hurts to fucking swallow.

Turning my head, the light from the sun coming up shadows the front of him. He doesn’t leave. No. Instead, he walks into my little sanctuary until he reaches the far corner, turns around, drops his bag, and lays down, using the bag as a pillow.

What is this? He’s not serious, is he? ¿Qué cojones? The balls on this guy. How am I supposed to feel comfortable closing my eyes next to someone who just tried to kill me?

You tried to kill him, too.

You know what, brain? I’ve had enough of you these past few days.

Leave, I demand.

He doesn’t answer. His eyes have already closed, blood still dripping from his forehead right between his eyes as it rolls down the side of his face. I’m dumbfounded. Standing up slowly, I continue to stare at the stranger. He’s huge. A body honed from being mostly outside surviving. He’s dirty, like I am, like we all are when we come across another.

Este cabrón, this fucker, is actually snoring.

What am I supposed to do? Turning to look back, the sun is rising higher and higher in the sky, its rays finally highlighting the stranger’s face. Damn, at this rate, everyone is going to see the two of us inside this shed. Limping toward the open door, I slowly close it back and click it shut. The lock hasn’t worked since I’ve been squatting here the past few days, but it settles my mind when I do the motion anyway.

Turning to look at the dark lump in the corner again, I internally groan and go to the opposite far end. Getting down this low is always a pain in the butt, but it has to be done. A sharp pain spikes inside of my leg but quickly goes away once I