I start walking, each step sending fresh pain shooting up through my cut feet. The rain has slowed to a drizzle now, but I’m already so soaked that it doesn’t matter.
I arrive at Yasmin’s building and lurch through the glass doors into the lobby. The doorman looks up from his phone and his eyes bulge. “Miss, are you—”
I don’t let him finish. “I need to get upstairs.”
“You’re bleeding.” He stands up and starts to come around the desk. “Should I call an ambulance?”
“No!” I take a breath. “No, I just need to see Yasmin. Apartment 5C.”
He hesitates as he looks me up and down. His mouth opens like he’s going to argue, to insist on protocol or common sense or basic human decency.
But something in my expression must convince him not to. Maybe he’s just worried I’ll induct him into the zomb
