Free Contagious by Emily Goodwin

lingerie line a few years back. I’d wasted much of my hard earned money on her sexy Brazilin lace designs. Then the Depression hit and frivolous spending came to an end. No one cared what your clothes, let alone bra, looked like when you couldn’t afford food.
    I wondered how she ended up in Indy and especially here. Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe these photos belonged to a friend. I thumbed through the remnants of an album of Collette at a theme park, wearing normal clothes and looking happy. She was probably dead right now.
    Something flashed. I snapped my attention to the balcony door. It had come from outside. I waited for it to happen again. And then I saw his reflection, fading sunlight glinting off the knife in his hand.
    “ Jesus, Logan. You scared me.” I held up a picture of Collette in a bikini. “Know who this is?” I turned, expecting Logan’s eyes to bulge at the scantily clad model. He tipped his head down and stared, drool dripping from his mouth. Something wasn’t right. My brain didn’t have time to form a logical thought. Everything happened so fast. With a yell, Logan flew at me, knife raised. I tried to move out of the way. My feet slipped on the photographs, and I fell, sprawled on the floor. He was on me, pinning me down. I watched his reflection as he raised his arm. With horror, I saw the reflection of the knife cut through the air and into my back.
     
    -Chapter 4-
     
    I screamed in pain. I thrashed around, desperate to get out from under him. The wound hurt; pain rippled through my body, running up and down my spine. I didn’t have time to focus on that if I wanted to live. Logan was bigger and stronger than me. Since I was face down, I was defenseless. I snapped my legs up, driving the heel of my boot into his back. If he wasn’t infected, it might have worked. Inflicting pain did nothing to the crazies.
    Out of nowhere he raced into the room. His body flew in a graceful leap and collided with Logan, knocking him off me. Growling, the Doberman circled him. Logan crouched down, knife raised. Running on adrenaline, I staggered up. I took hold of a lamp, yanking its cord from the wall. With all the force I could muster, I slammed it over Logan’s head.
    It didn’t hurt him, I suppose, but it disoriented him long enough for the dog to jump. His jaws closed around Logan’s arm, his flesh tearing instantly. I didn’t want to kill Logan. Just a few minutes ago we were talking. He was fine.
    “ Logan!” I yelled, hoping to spark some sort of remembrance. He only growled at me, fighting against the dog. Afraid he might stab the Doberman, I kicked him in the chest. As soon as my foot made contact I fell, the stab wound throbbing. The knife slipped from his fingers, my blood splattering the floor as it clattered to the ground. Logan fell back, hitting his head on the balcony door.
    The balcony.
    With a plan, I forced myself up. The dog stood by me, growling and showing his fangs. I closed my eyes and kicked Logan again, bracing for the pain that would surely follow. It hurt like hell, but my plan worked. He back stepped, taking his crazy ass out onto the balcony.
    “ Get him,” I said to the dog, not knowing if it was a command he knew. Whether he listened to me or not, the Doberman lunged again, sinking his teeth into Logan’s arm. I pushed on the weak metal railing. Like Aunt Jenny’s, it was loose. I never felt safe leaning on her railing; it felt like it would give away at any second.
    “ Good dog,” I said and put my hand on his back, hoping he wouldn’t turn around and bite me. Thankfully he let go. I shoved Logan. He tipped backward, crashing into the rusting white metal. It creaked and groaned and finally gave way. I grabbed the dog’s collar, jumped back inside and closed the glass door right as Logan toppled down.
    I sank to my knees. I felt like I was going to throw up. I couldn’t catch my breath or slow my pounding heart. The dog nosed me as if he wanted praise.
    “