Chapter - 298
The silence that followed the storm of gunfire was a thick, heavy, suffocating thing. It was heavier than the plaster dust that filled the air, heavier than the oppressive, humid stink of gunpowder and pulverized drywall. In the tiny, disgusting bathroom, the only sound was the frantic, high-pitched hiss of the broken toilet pipe spraying a jet of cold, clean water against the moldy wall.
Rick and Sharon were a tangled, awkward, terrified heap in the cast-iron bathtub, Rick on the bottom, Sharon on top, her face jammed unceremoniously into his bloody, soot-covered shoulder.
"You done?" Rick's voice was a strained grunt from beneath her. "Or are we moving in? The rent's cheap."
"Get off me," Sharon hissed, shoving herself off him. She was shaking, her adrenaline dump so severe it made her limbs feel like jelly. They were both soaked. Not just with blood and sweat, but with the high-pressure spray from the shattered toilet.
