Chapter 49

Book Two: Sanctuary on Fire
It's 2073, the world has become an apocalyptic nightmare, falling under the onslaught of a virus that turns humans to their most basic primitive selves. Survival depends on well-fortified cities called Sanctuaries. Places where government, education, medicine and food is all carefully controlled. These Sanctuaries are ruled by Warlords, men that are often cruel and brutal.
My name is Taran and I'm married to one such Warlord. Like his contemporaries, he is often brutal, his methods difficult for me to understand. As a rebel leader my entire existence thus far has been to improve the plight of the people, to create equality throughout our Sanctuary. But over the course of weeks and months my marriage to the Warlord has become a partnership, a gradual understanding of each other. I love him, desperately and without reservation. I've had my entire family stolen from me, the thought of losing him is unbearable. Yet, we live in a cruel world where more people die than survive.
In an act of violence, I have been forced to leave my husband and my Sanctuary, driven into the desert where Primitives rove the land looking for new victims. In this lawless land, I have finally come face-to-face with my worst nightmare; a Primitive. No one can survive the Death Kiss without turning. From birth, I've been taught that a bitten human is a dead human.
And I've been bitten

***

"Diogo  "
Time stands still as I sit on the dusty ground, my hand over the wound on my neck. Blood drips slowly from Diogo's knife, falling in gruesome drops, reminding me of the ease in which he just took a life. She was a Primitive, a zombie, and she attacked me.
Then the import of what's happened hits me. I've been bitten. By a zombie. I'm going to turn, probably in a matter of minutes, if not seconds.
My gaze creeps up the man standing over me. Strong, savage, brutally handsome. My husband. A zombie killer. It's his job. He protects the city and his people by taking out any threats. I've become a threat. And I know what he does to people that've turned. I'd been told in gory detail how he stabbed Victoria Greystone through the heart. He held her as she died, then he cut her head off, ensuring there would be no chance that she could turn.
I look him in the eyes, searching for the love he'd promised me. I see none. I see nothing at all. His gaze is bleak, flat, dead. Just as I'm about to be.
I hope to find a flicker of love in his expression, or at the very least, indecision. But I see none of that in his face. As though our time together is erased. I'm the enemy. More now than I ever was. The undead.
A sob erupts from my throat, the sound sharp and dry, loud in the stillness surrounding us. The cacophony of noise as Diogo's people and the mercenaries fight the Primitives seems to have died away. Or maybe we're out of hearing range.
I don't want to die.
The decision to run hits me hard, driving another rush of adrenaline through my veins. I dig my fingers into the ground beneath my body, burrowing my fingers into the dirt. Just as Diogo's hand lifts, as he raises the knife, I throw the dirt up at him, aiming for his face. In the split second it takes him to blink and turn his face away I'm on my feet and running. I race full tilt into the foothills, my feet hitting the ground so hard dust flies up with each step, choking me.
If there's one thing I'm good at, it's running. I've been running my whole life, training for this moment. I pelt forward as though my life depends on it. Because it does. Diogo was about to kill me. My husband was about to cut me down in the dirt, his remorseless gaze steady on mine. Terror lends wings to my feet, driving me ever faster.
I know I won't get far, that this was a doomed flight. I'm about to become a Primitive. And when that happens I'll turn back around and launch myself directly at the first person in my path. The husband I've come to love, more than my own life. Suddenly I'm running for a different reason. I have to get away from Diogo before I turn, before I become a danger to him.
This thought distracts me. I stop watching where my feet land and glance back over my shoulder as I round an outcropping of rocks. He's directly on my ass, his long legs easily killing the space between us.
My feet tangle in a scrub brush and I go down in a heap, my body hitting the dirt. Automatically I roll with the impact to stop injury. I land next a tree, dazed, pain shooting through my leg. I groan and reach for my ankle, probably twisted by whatever I tripped over. I don't have a chance to get up again, in a matter of seconds Diogo is on top of me. Standing over me.
Only this time the look on his face isn't cold and emotionless. It's anguished. Finally, an emotion, but it's not satisfying. We're being torn apart. He's gutted by what he needs to do. The thought of his love gives me the strength I need to lift my chin, to look him in the eyes and say, "Do it, Diogo."
The anguish switches to fury as his intelligent brain rapidly searches for a solution, for a way out. I see the moment he loses that hope. He knows what he has to do, and it's destroying him.
"Taran," he whispers my name brokenly, almost pleadingly.
I can't help him. It breaks my heart seeing him this way, but my heart won't stay broken for long. In a moment he'll kill me, separate my head from my shoulders and I'll cease to be. Unless he hesitates too long, giving me time to turn. If that happens, I won't be me anymore.
I can't allow that.
"Just do it, Diogo," I beg him, my voice breaking as I speak. "I can't run anymore, and I don't want to turn into one of them. I'd rather die by your hand than live as the walking dead."
Tears drip down my face, but I keep my hands down, allowing the wetness on my cheeks. Showing Diogo that I won't defend myself. When still he hesitates, I whisper, "I don't want to turn."
A shudder racks his body and I can see the moment he decides. The death in his eyes. But this time, it isn't the lack of emotion. It's my death I see, his death. Because he's going to follow me. I know it. He's said before that there is no Sanctuary without me.
He lifts the knife and I force myself to watch him, to give him the strength he needs. He swings, the blade arcing down at my neck in a blurred rush.