Chapter 202: Fighting The Hybrid Infected of Atlantic City [2]

“You really do have some screws loose, don’t you?”

“What are you even doing here?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.

“That should be my question,” Maribel shot back, her glare intensifying as she opened her mouth to continue the lecture she’d clearly been building up to during her sprint to reach me .

But she never got the chance to finish.

The Hybrid’s neck began turning with slow motion despite the massive wooden lance still embedded through its throat. The creature’s eyes, still burning with that terrible intelligence, locked onto Maribel with clear murderous intent .

Maribel’s expression shifted instantly from irritated concern to combat alertness. She reacted with impressive speed, yanking her lance free from the creature’s neck with a sharp pull and immediately jumping backward to create distance. Dark blood sprayed from the wound in an arc, spattering across the pavement between them .

“Damn it, I should have gone for the head,” she cursed under her breath.

Why didn’t you then? The question formed in my mind automatically, though I didn’t voice it. But maybe I was being unfair. Maybe I was asking too much from someone who didn’t have enhanced senses and reflexes to work with.

The Hybrids all had razor-sharp senses and lightning-quick reactiveness—that was part of what made them so deadly compared to ordinary infected. Maribel must have calculated in that split second that going directly for the brain would have been too greedy, too ambitious. If she’d aimed for the head initially and the Infected had reacted faster than she anticipated, she would have missed entirely and left herself wide open for a counterattack. Better to take the guaranteed strike to a vulnerable area and create an opening for a follow-up .

It was sound thinking, actually. Just unfortunate that even a lance through the throat wasn’t enough to stop these things immediately .

Maribel jumped back further as the Infected’s full attention pivoted toward her, its massive body turning with disturbing speed for something so large and grievously wounded. Its punctured abdomen still leaked dark fluids, its shattered jaw hung at a grotesque angle, and now the lance wound in its throat gaped open like a second mouth—but it kept moving, kept threatening, kept hunting .

“Why did you even come out here? Just run back to the barricade!” I said, my voice rising despite the pain it caused my ribs. “Get out of here while you can!”

“Can you shut up for a minute?” Maribel retorted, her eyes never leaving the Hybrid as she adjusted her grip on the lance, holding it with both hands in a ready stance. Her body language was focused, centered, every bit of her attention locked on the immediate threat .

Is she serious? The thought hit me with disbelief. She was actually planning to fight this thing properly, not just create a distraction and run .

She was going to get herself killed. She didn’t have Dullahan senses to help her predict movements or enhanced reflexes to dodge attacks that came faster than normal human reaction time could process. She was just flesh and bone and training, facing something that was fundamentally beyond human capacity to fight one-on-one .

The Infected growled—that deep, wet sound that came from its ruined throat—and rushed toward Maribel with frightening acceleration. Its massive feet pounded against the pavement, sending small tremors through the ground .

Maribel tightened her grip on the lance. When the Infected reached out with one huge hand to grab or strike her, she moved—not reacting to the motion itself, but anticipating where the hand would be based on the creature’s body positioning and momentum. She jumped to the side a fraction of a second before the hand actually reached where she’d been standing.

As she cleared the creature’s reach, she immediately counterattacked, thrusting her lance into the side of the Infected’s torso. The sharpened wooden point sank several inches into corrupted flesh before she yanked it back out and jumped away again, not even attempting to drive it deeper .

That was a smart choice—probably the smartest she could have made. If she’d tried to penetrate too far or hold the lance in place to do maximum damage, the Infected would have had time to pivot and catch her. She’d be crushed or torn apart before she could withdraw. Better to land quick strikes and maintain mobility than commit to powerful attacks that left you vulnerable .

She stood there now, several yards away from the creature, a bead of sweat glistening as it ran down her tan skin and disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt. Her breathing was elevated but controlled, her stance solid despite the obvious exertion.

And she was the one asking me if I had some screws loose?

The Infected growled again, deeper and more menacing. It rushed toward her once more, its heavy footfalls echoing between buildings .

Maribel immediately began backpedaling, maintaining distance while keeping the lance pointed defensively toward the approaching threat. Her boots scraped against debris and broken pavement as she retreated in a measured way, her eyes tracking every movement the creature made .

Then her back hit something solid with a dull thud that made her stumble slightly—a large trash container that had been pushed against the side of a building, blocking her retreat .

My muscles tensed, ready to intervene. I thought she was done for, trapped against an obstacle with the Hybrid bearing down on her. My hand moved toward the tattoo on my hand, prepared to activate the time-freeze ability if necessary—my trump card, the thing I avoided using unless I really needed it or to face stronger opponents.

But instead of panicking or trying to force her way past the obstacle, Maribel made a split-second decision. She jumped upward and backward, using the trash container as a platform, launching herself over it in a controlled arc .

The Infected, unable to arrest its momentum in time, crashed full-force into the trash container. The metal structure crumpled like paper under the impact, and the creature’s body continued through into the brick wall behind it. The collision was thunderous—metal shrieking, brick cracking, the whole building shuddering slightly from the force. Debris and dust exploded outward in a cloud .

Maribel landed in a crouch on the other side of the wrecked container, now positioned behind the momentarily stunned Hybrid. Without hesitation, she surged forward and thrust her lance upward toward the back of the creature’s skull, aiming for the back of the head—the kill shot that would sever brain function permanently .

But at the last instant, the Hybrid moved. Whether through residual awareness or pure instinct, it shifted just enough that Maribel’s thrust didn’t penetrate where she’d aimed. Instead, the lance punched through the back of the creature’s head at an angle, driving upward and forward until the tip erupted from the Infected’s right eye socket in a spray of dark fluid and vitreous matter .

I thought for a moment that would be enough—that penetrating the brain, even partially, would finally drop this thing. But the Hybrid’s hand shot up with horrifying speed and closed around the wooden shaft of the lance where it protruded from its ruined eye socket .

It pulled. Hard.

Maribel stumbled forward involuntarily, her grip on the lance compromised by the sudden violent motion. The weapon was torn from her hands as the creature yanked it free of its own skull with a wet, sucking sound that made my stomach turn. Dark blood and brain matter dripped from the lance’s tip as the Hybrid held it .

Then, in the same fluid motion, it swung its thick arm backward in a devastating horizontal strike aimed directly at Maribel’s torso. The arm moved like a tree trunk falling, massive and unstoppable .

If she takes that hit directly, she’ll break bones—ribs, spine, maybe her skull if it catches her head. She could die.

I didn’t think. I just moved.

My muscles propelled me forward in a burst of speed that covered the distance in a fraction of a second. I intercepted Maribel just as the Hybrid’s arm was completing its arc, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her into my chest while simultaneously raising my left arm to block the incoming strike .

“Uhhghn!” A grunt of pain was forced from my lips as the creature’s forearm smashed into my raised arm with the force of a battering ram. I felt my bones creaking in protest, the impact radiating through my ulna and radius up into my shoulder with bruising intensity. For a split second, I thought my arm might actually break from the force .

But I didn’t try to resist or absorb the full impact. Instead, I let the momentum carry us both, allowing my body to fly backward with Maribel held protectively against my chest. We tumbled across the pavement together, rolling several times before finally coming to a stop with me on my back and Maribel sprawled across my chest, both of us gasping for breath .

For a moment, I just lay there on the hard concrete, arms spread, staring up at the sky while pain radiated from multiple points across my body—cracked ribs, bruised arm, scraped back. Maribel was still on top of me, her weight pressing against my injured ribs in a way that made breathing even more difficult. But she was alive and relatively unharmed, which was the point .

“W…Why did you do that?!” Maribel gasped out, pushing herself up slightly on her hands to look down at me. Her expression was shocked, but also angry in that particular way people got when someone else took a hit meant for them. “Why would you—”

If you’re worried about me, at least don’t yell, I thought, but kept that observation to myself. Now didn’t seem like the ideal time for that particular comment .

“If I hadn’t intervened, you would have gotten yourself crushed like a ripe tomato,” I replied dryly.

“I was ready to dodge it,” Maribel said with a frown.

“No, you weren’t,” I said bluntly. “You’d just lost your weapon and your balance. You had maybe a tenth of a second to react, and that thing’s arm was already in motion. You would have been hit.”

“Still, you didn’t have to—” She started, then seemed to remember where she was currently positioned. Her eyes widened slightly as awareness caught up with her. “Can you… can you move away? I mean, can I move? I’m—”

“Yes, please move,” I said, trying to keep any hint of amusement out of my voice despite the absurdity of the situation .

Maribel quickly scrambled off me and to the side, her face flushing slightly—though whether from exertion, embarrassment, or anger was hard to tell. She immediately raised her gaze toward the Hybrid, which was already recovering and beginning to move in our direction again .

“It’s coming!”

“I know,” I said, forcing myself to stand. My eyes tracked the Infected, which was now holding Maribel’s lance in one massive hand like a trophy—or worse, like a weapon it intended to use against us. “Perfect. As if it wasn’t strong enough already, now you’ve given it your weapon.”

“I was trying to save you,” Maribel shot back, fixing me with an annoyed look, though the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed a hint of embarrassment beneath the anger.

“Just stay back,” I said, already moving. I pushed off the cracked asphalt and sprinted to the left, boots pounding against the street as I put distance between us.

Predictably, the Hybrid chose to follow me.

“Hey!” Maribel’s voice cracked with panic as she saw it veer in my direction instead of hers.

“Stay back!” I shouted over my shoulder before she could try anything else reckless. “Don’t follow me!”

I plunged deeper into the ruined street, weaving around abandoned cars and heaps of debris. Half-rotted corpses and stray shamblers cluttered the way, but I barely gave them a glance. I slipped past a grasping arm here, shoulder-checked a staggering infected there, never breaking stride as I focused on the heavier, faster footfalls thundering behind me.

The Hybrid was closing the distance. Every second it drew nearer, its breath a ragged, animal rasp that echoed between the buildings.

I gave a quick glance back. Maribel still stood at the end of the street, watching, frozen between the urge to help and the order I’d just thrown at her. Good. If she stayed where she was, at least I only had to worry about getting one of us killed and I could deal with that Infected on my own way.

Alright. Time to end this.

I shifted direction abruptly, cutting across the street toward a storefront with its glass mostly intact, the faded sign above it half-hanging by rusted bolts. It looked like it had been a clothing store once, mannequins still visible in the dusty window, their plastic faces turned toward the street like mute witnesses.

I lowered my shoulder and crashed through the glass.

The window exploded around me in a shower of shards, the sound a sharp, crystalline scream that cut through the air. Tiny splinters sliced at my exposed skin and snagged in my clothes as I rolled into the dark interior, boots skidding on broken glass and dust.

The Hybrid followed without hesitation.

It burst through the ruined window a heartbeat later, glass spraying outward as its massive frame forced its way inside. The floor trembled under its weight, racks of decayed clothing rattling and tipping as it barreled in.

I came to a stop near the middle of the store and spun on my heel, turning to face it.

My right arm had already started to glow, the tattoo there igniting in a deep, dark green that pulsed with power. The familiar sensation of the Dullahan virus stirring inside me flooded my veins—cold and sharp, like inhaling winter air, like pressure building under my skin. Wind gathered around my arm, invisible at first, then visible as faint streaks of distorted air spiraling around my forearm and hand.

The Hybrid saw the glow and reacted instantly. Its growl grew louder, deeper, almost furious, as if it recognized the power and despised it. It lowered its center of gravity and charged, the wooden lance clutched in its hand like a club, ready to swing.

Perfect.

I ran straight toward it.

The distance between us vanished in seconds. At the last moment, just as it brought the lance down in a brutal overhead arc meant to split my skull, I dropped my weight and threw myself into a controlled slide.

My knees hit the glass-strewn floor, shards crunching beneath me, but momentum carried me beneath the descending weapon. The lance whistled through the air above my head, missing me by inches. As I slid under its reach, I shot my right hand up, fingers closing around the wooden shaft at mid-length.

The impact jolted my arm, but I held on.

“Got you,” I muttered.

I twisted my torso and yanked hard, channeling the wind-imbued strength into my grip. The wood splintered with a sharp crack, breaking cleanly in two as the unnatural force reinforced my pull. I let the front half of the lance remain in the creature’s grip while I rolled with the motion, using my slide to carry me past it and behind its back.

Glass scraped my clothes and bit into my knees, but I didn’t slow down. As soon as I cleared its side, I planted my feet, pushed off, and came up behind it in one smooth motion, the jagged half of the lance clutched in my right hand like a makeshift spear.

Wind blades swirled tighter around the broken weapon, wrapping it in a spiraling sheath of compressed air. The power hummed along the wood, making it vibrate in my hand, the edges of the wind so sharp they distorted the air like ripples on water.

The Hybrid began to turn.

Its massive body pivoted unnaturally fast for something so large, its ruined face coming into view as it tried to reacquire me. For a fraction of a second, I saw it clearly—one empty socket still leaking dark fluid, jaw hanging in splintered pieces, throat torn open, abdomen a ragged hole. It should not have been moving. It should not have been standing.

But it was.

Too slow.

My thrust was already in motion.

I drove the broken lance forward with full strength, legs, hips, shoulders all aligned into a single, brutal line of force. The weapon shot out like a bullet, the wind blades around it compressing, amplifying its speed until it blurred.

The tip struck the Hybrid’s face dead-center.

For a heartbeat, there was resistance—thick, rubbery flesh and bone trying to hold against the invading force. Then the wind blades detonated forward, exploding outward in a bloom of invisible, slicing pressure.

Its face came apart like an overripe tomato under a hammer.

Bone shattered like porcelain, teeth and fragments of skull spraying outward in a radial burst. Skin tore and folded back, ripped into strips and tatters. The front of its head simply ceased to be, replaced by a fountain of blood, flesh, and brain matter that erupted outward with sickening force.

The spray hit me full-on.

Warm, wet impact slapped against my skin like a wave. Blood and shredded tissue splattered across my face, soaked into my hair, and streaked down my clothes in thick, dark rivulets. The metallic, rotten stench hit a second later, invading my nose and mouth, coating the back of my throat with a taste that made me want to retch.

The Hybrid’s body staggered, taking one, two unsteady steps forward, as if it hadn’t yet realized it no longer had a face to see with, a brain to command it.

Then it dropped.

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