Free Die For You: Catastrophe Series, Book 1 by Michelle Mills Page A

alert. He whipped out his weapon and froze, listening, trying to pinpoint the origin, the exact nature of the threat. There it was again. He cocked his head and turned toward the restroom behind him. A grinding, grating noise drifted down the parking lot. No. A primitive sound, almost animalistic.
    A woman’s scream shattered the silence.
    Rachel.
    Adam cursed, yanked the driver’s side door open to the truck, pulled out the black duffle bag from behind the seat and sprinted toward the sound coming from around the corner. The parking lot was full of abandoned vehicles that blocked his path. He threw himself over the hood of a car, slid down the opposite side while still holding the bag, hit the ground and kept running, chest heaving, muscles burning.
    Fuck. He should never have left her alone. Not even for a second. If anything happened to her…
    A flash of color came around the corner. He skidded to a halt a few car lengths away. The color grew into a person. Rachel, running at top speed, ponytail flying behind her, arms pumping like an Olympic sprinter.
    “Go, go,” she screamed. “They’re right behind me.”
    What was right behind her? Fuck, he needed a higher vantage point. He noticed a monster truck nearby, jacked up, the bed empty. He heaved his bag up and into the truck bed and scrambled in after it, stood and aimed behind her, Glock ready.
    First, one dog came into view, flying around the edge of the building, snarling with fury. Dogs? What the fuck? Then another, and another. More dogs, all different sizes and breeds, bumping and crowding against one another as they chased after her. Not just a few, not a couple…a whole ocean of them. Where the hell had all these dogs come from?
    Rachel ran straight for him. Smart, smart girl. He aimed and shot the dog closest to her heels, taking it down. There was a squeal and a slowing of pace as the other dogs leaped over their fallen comrade, but the pack kept coming. He leaned down and put a hand out, she grabbed it, and he hauled her into the truck bed. As soon as he had her inside, he fired at a Rottweiler that was way too damn close.
    “Bag. Guns,” he shouted.
    Rachel unzipped the duffle and dragged it close. Adam tossed the Glock down and picked up an AK-47. Enough of this crap. He started firing staccato bursts into the snarling mass of predators swarming around the truck. The dogs scattered as the bullets sprayed. They squealed, a mass of noise and confusion, and ran in groups of three or more, or sometimes in singles, weaving between the cars, hiding from the bullets. He waited a few minutes, his chest heaving, his breath loud in his ears.
    A dog barked in the distance and then all was silent.
    They were gone.
    Adam lowered his gun, whirled around and bumped against Rachel. She lost purchase of the machine gun she’d been trying to yank out of the bag. It fell out of her grasp and she shrieked as she started to tumble backward, her arms pinwheeling like crazy. He caught her forearm with a firm grip and lowered her to the bed of the truck, softening the blow before her ass could slam into the unforgiving metal.
    “Gotcha.” He grinned.
    “Goddammit,” she huffed as she sat up and shrugged off her backpack. “Can’t I get a break?”
    Adam laughed, suddenly relieved as hell that Rachel was perfectly fine and capable of smart-ass remarks and not being torn to shreds by a pack of feral animals. She lifted her chin and met his gaze, her eyes sparkling with good humor. He put his gun down and sank to his knees before her. He trailed his hand down her arm and threaded his fingers through hers. It suddenly hit him how precious this woman was to him. How essential it was that she remain by his side.
    “Jesus, I’m so grateful you’re alive,” he croaked.
    Her face softened and she reached out and put her other hand over his. “You saved my life.”
    She looked so gorgeous to him laid out in the truck. Like they were lovers parked near a lake, watching a