The River (Book 3 of The Claiming Series)

Chapter Sixteen

I've crouched down beside the balding man whose name I learned is Larry. Larry's a nice man, but he's on the verge of a panic attack, and I need to get out of here.

It's been nearly ten minutes, but it feels longer. I've been staring at the wall clock while Larry hyperventilates into a paper bag.

Poor Larry.

Shot.

The room jumps.

I stare at the door, half-expecting Eli to come in, the other half of me expecting Rod to come in.

But no one does.

All of us keep waiting.

Waiting.

Twenty-five minutes.

As the minute hand creeps closer to the six, I realize I can't take this anymore. The not knowing. The fact that he hasn't come back yet scares me. The fact that that was the first shot we heard in nearly thirty minutes makes it all worse.

I get to my feet on shaking legs and weakly cross the room towards a knife block on the edge of the counter. I pull out different-sized knives, and eventually I pick a small but very sharp blade.

"What're you doin', girl?" a woman with disheveled hair snaps at me from the floor beside this counter's end. Her face tells me she's maybe thirty or so, but her voice tells me sixty or seventy. It's low and scratchy, like a smoker's.

I sigh.

"I'm going to die, I think," I whisper.

She gives me a wicked smile, and I can't help but return it.

"Whoever it is, kick 'em in the crotch. That ought to do it."

I hold back a spluttering, nervous laugh. "Th-thanks."

I head to the door, and Larry doesn't even try to stop me. He's too busy trying not to pass out.

The door squeaks slightly as I tug it open with trembling fingers. I peer out into the darkness.

Nothing.

I exit the kitchen, and I feel so, so, so dumb.

Eli's going to kill me.

If he's still alive, that is.

I climb the stairs on silent feet, the knife still clutched in my sweating palms. What am I even going to do with this thing? The last time I tried combat was nearly ten years ago. I could never catch on.

At the top of the stairs, is a narrow hallway with banister rails on one side, peering back down into the entryway. Lights line along the walls.

I listen for movement. Something that will tell me which way to go—right or left?

Shot.

It's loud and it rings through my eardrums.

Left.

Definitely left.

I head down the hallway. The banister ends, and I'm now enclosed on both sides with walls and doors. I trail my hand along the wall to have some kind of stability. I come to the end of the hall, but it curves to the right. I sand still against the wallpaper.

Breathe steady.

I slowly peer around the corner.

This is where the sound came from.

I'm sure of it

And I see bodies.

Four bodies sprawled on the carpet, blood staining it red. One of the doors is open.