I waited and stared levelly at the Nightstalkers as the silence and suspense increased like a drawn bow. When it became clear I wasn't leaving, one of the men shifted his stance with a low snarl, trying to intimidate me.

I turned my head infinitesimally toward the trees, as if something had caught my attention and I was trying to hide it. The Nightstalker between Daniel and that area whirled to face the trees with a growl, expecting an attack from the hidden enemy.

The other two glanced back. Using as much strength as I could, I whipped my crowbar at the growling Nightstalker's head. The moment it left my hand, I charged forward with silent footsteps.

I reached behind my back with both hands and pulled out my sickle and the can of spray paint that I had wedged behind the sickle's sheath. Throughout my earlier circling, I had painstakingly angled my body just enough that they couldn't see the bulge under the back of my shirt from the can. I hoped all that effort was about to pay off.

The crowbar whistled through the air, and just as the Nightstalker started to turn back, the piece of steel slammed into his head with an echoing thud. He dropped to the ground, unconscious.

The other two Nightstalkers began to react, only now realizing the fight had begun. I raised the can of blue paint and snarled, having almost reached the closest Nightstalker. He whirled around with his knife at the ready, but I had already pressed the plunger.

He was completely unprepared for a ranged weapon, and the blue paint hit him right in the face. He stumbled backward, quickly trying to wipe his welding goggles clean so he could see.

I threw the can at him and pegged him in the shoulder, still charging forward. He swiped at the can with his knife, thinking it was me. I grabbed his wrist to immobilize the knife and slashed at his throat with my sickle.

His free hand lashed out, and his arm collided with mine, preventing my sickle from landing a solid strike. He roared in pain as my weapon cut through part of his neck. Twisting to the side, he slammed his weight forward, crashing into me.

The collision allowed him to break free from my grasp, and the force sent his blade slashing forward. There wasn't enough time for me to pull my sickle back or grab my belt knife, and I snarled as the knife sliced deep into my right arm.

I dropped to the ground and jumped backward while reaching for my belt knife. My hand grasped only empty air. At the same instant, I saw the blade laying on the trampled grass. It must have fallen out of its sheath when he collided with me.

A sinking feeling grew in my stomach. I had been counting on having two weapons during this fight. My saving grace was that the Nightstalker was solely focused on me and hadn't noticed the knife by his feet.

My feet skidded on the grass as I landed. From the snarling on the other side of the clearing, the third Nightstalker was losing his fight against Daniel even though he had a belt knife and his foe was unarmed.

I tuned them out; unless Daniel made some sort of unfathomable blunder, his speed and reflexes were such that I knew who would win, although he might acquire a few more injuries in the process.

My fight against this Nightstalker was a much more even match and not in my favor. The cut to the side of his neck was bleeding heavily, but he was larger than me. The spray paint had given me an edge, but I was down to just my sickle now.

I circled him silently, waiting for an opening or hoping he'd move away from that spot so I could grab my knife. When he tried to rub more paint off his goggles with a quick brush of his arm, I darted in.

He saw me through his streaky lenses and raised his knife in time to block my sickle with a resounding clang of metal. The fingernails on my other hand dug deep into his forearm, although not quite in the right spot to damage the tendons and prevent him from wielding his weapon.

Skipping back out of range, I grabbed the can of spray paint from the grass. It wasn't as good as my knife, but it would have to do. Most of the paint had been rubbed off his goggles, but plenty of streaks remained. If I could keep him partially blinded, blood loss would slow him down before too much longer. I'd have to remain out of his reach until then; with his size, he'd be stronger than me, and he could do a lot of damage if he got a good grip on me.

He must have realized this as well, and he charged with a snarl. I pointed the spray can at his face, already moving to the side, both to evade him and to get closer to my knife. He stretched out his hand to block most of the spray, and I swung my sickle, cutting deep into his arm until it grated on the bone.

With a roar of fury and pain, he yanked his arm away from me, taking my curved sickle with it. The motion sent it flying into the trees. I snarled at the loss of my favorite weapon and darted past him, hastily snagging my belt knife from the grass.

Spinning around, I dropped into a deeper crouch with my blade in one hand and the can of spray paint in the other. The world around me hazed red from how high my instincts had risen during the fight. I bared my teeth silently, hoping to unnerve him since I was plainly waiting for him to attack, just like in an ambush.

My bluff failed, and he launched himself at me with a deafening snarl that revealed just how close his instincts were to overwhelming his mind. I skipped to the side, but not fast enough to escape his tackle. Blue paint hazed the air as we both went airborne. I released the spray paint and grappled with his wrist, keeping his knife at bay while his free hand tried to grab my blade.

My back slammed against the ground and air escaped my lungs in a strangled huff. With the wind knocked out of me, it was impossible to take a proper breath. He used his weight to pin me as he fought to bring his blade into position.

Taking a chance, I leaned up to snap my teeth at my assailant, barely missing his nose. As he pulled his head back, I slashed my knife at his throat, slicing through more skin and possibly part of his airway before he grabbed my wrist and shoved my hand to the side.

He snarled and leaned forward again; even though I had a solid grip on his wrist, he was slowly forcing his knife closer to my chest. In a desperate attempt to stop him, I awkwardly stabbed him in the hip. At the same time, I brought my knee up, almost striking a very sensitive spot.

With a roar of rage, he yanked the knife out of my hand and flung it into the trees. In his distraction, I swiped my now-empty hand up and snagged the strap on his goggles, ripping them free and throwing them to the side. He reared back on his knees with a pained snarl, instinctively pulling his head away from me and covering his eyes with his hands, although he didn't drop his knife.

I thrashed, trying to free my legs, which were trapped under him. With another snarl, he pulled his arm back and began to slash the knife at me. I froze as Daniel darted up behind him and struck his head with a powerful blow that sent the Nightstalker flying across the clearing to collide with a tree.

The man's limp body fell to the ground like a sack of wet sand. His head was deformed – practically crushed – and blood poured out of the remains of his nose, ears, and mouth. There was no way he was going to recover in less than a month.

Daniel turned to face me, and I tensed up. His eyes were glowing a brighter red than I'd ever seen on a zombie before. I wasn't even entirely certain if he was in control. Since his instincts would consider me less of a threat on the ground, I remained motionless. While carefully watching his body language, I turned my head to the side to show I wasn't going to challenge him like the others had.

His muscles were tense, and he was breathing heavily as he stood over me with bared teeth, as if waiting for me to try attacking him. Then he blinked, and a bit of reason returned to his expression. Taking a step back, he stood straighter as he came out of his crouch and no longer bared his teeth. His eyes dimmed slightly as he regained control.

"Are you all right?" His voice was a deep growl as he tried to suppress his instincts.

I relaxed somewhat and nodded, still cautious. "I'm good."

Daniel took another step back, scanning the clearing to ensure all the Nightstalkers were out of commission. I slowly stood up, keeping an eye on him in case I triggered his instincts, which would be quite touchy after such a fight.

Once I was standing, I gave myself a quick look-over. The cut on my forearm was the worst and went almost to the bone. I had a number of small scratches from the Nightstalker's nails and felt more than a few bruises trying to form.

I glanced over to appraise Daniel's condition. His speed as a Terror had stood him in good stead, and as far as I could tell, he didn't have any more injuries than when I first arrived. More scratches adorned his arms than mine, but none of them looked like they had hit an artery or vein.

I brushed some leaves and dirt off my clothes. "I assume you weren't injured too badly?"

He shook his head. "No, just minor scratches."

"Good," I replied, sighing heavily. "I need to track down my sickle and belt knife. We should probably make sure these guys don't get back up, then we can go back and let Nina know she can stop hiding."

His eyes dimmed a bit more at Nina's name; I was using the same tactics that he usually did, mentioning someone he was close to. He would want to return as soon as possible to ensure she was alright, especially considering we had left her alone for so long. It wasn't likely, but other zombies with a grudge against humans might be around.

When Nicky said my luck wasn't that bad, it was supposed to be a rhetorical comment, not a challenge, I grumbled internally. And it certainly wasn't supposed to summon three hostile Nightstalkers.

"That's a wise plan," Daniel agreed. "By the time they heal, their bloodlust will be unmanageable, and they'll almost certainly go feral. Even if they don't, they're just as dangerous since they attacked a family and other travelers, or so they told me."

I nodded and wandered over to where my belt knife had landed, then went to locate my sickle. It was still covered in zombie blood, so it was easy to track down by scent. When I returned, Daniel had already forced one of the Nightstalker's blades through the neck of the crowbar victim. I took care of my foe, tossing the head into the bushes, while Daniel dealt with the last one.

I looked at my thoroughly bloody clothing. "Well, I have to change before I return. Do you want to run ahead?"

He glanced at his own clothing before heading over to his discarded backpack, which was sitting along the edge of the clearing. "I'd better change as well."

I grabbed my backpack and took it behind some bushes. With how my skin was streaked with partially dried blood and more blood dripping off my arm from the cut, simply changing into clean clothes wasn't going to be sufficient.

With a sigh, I took off my shirt and used my water bottle to wet down the cleanest section of cloth I could find. It took some scrubbing before my arms and legs were mostly blood-free.

The deep cut on my arm was still bleeding enough that it would be a waste to use new bandages, so I pulled an old one out of my backpack. As I unrolled it, I made a wry face at the faint bloodstains that had refused to wash out after my previous injuries.

After using my shirt to wipe the fresh, dripping blood off my undamaged skin, I wrapped the bandage around my forearm and winced at the pain of something touching the wound. It wasn't the best, but it would work until the bleeding stopped.

The shirt and pants I had taken off were so bloody and torn from the fight that there was no salvaging them, so I tossed them under a bush. After I put clean clothes on, I grabbed my backpack and went back to the clearing, where Daniel was filling a handful of small glass vials with the dead Nightstalkers' blood.

It was almost unsettling to see him taking samples from each of the bodies. I shook my head and dismissed the feeling. They were already dead, so it wasn't like they'd care, and I already knew Nina would value each vial. He finished and stuck the vials in his pocket as I slowly entered the clearing.

"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes lingering on the already-blood-soaked bandage on my arm.

"Yeah."

I turned around and started jogging.

He quickly caught up. "Did you pick up the scent of any other zombies before you left?"

"No, but I just realized we left Nicky and Nina by themselves, which is more concerning than a Runner banging on the window bars. To the best of my knowledge, those two have never been left unsupervised together in an enclosed area. We could have an entirely different situation on our hands when we return."

"Nina is more responsible than that," Daniel replied as he pulled ahead, forcing me to pick up my pace if I wanted to keep up.

Nina might be, but I had my doubts about Nicky, although when danger loomed overhead, she usually kept her wits about her. It was when boredom and monotonous day-to-day schedules arose that she decided that everyone around her needed a bit of spice in their lives.