Fear the Dead (Book 3)
“My head swam with thoughts of the stalkers shifting in their sleep, their limbs straightening out. I imagined the breeder in the centre of them. A swollen beast, its belly swimming with the stalkers inside it.
We stopped a mile away from the stalkers nest. The forest was as thick as ever, but as far as I could see there were none of the black shapes were sleeping on the floor around us. Billy sunk to the mud and rested his back against a tree trunk. He ran his hand over his bald head and punched the ground.
“Fuck,” he said.
“Shit,” said Lou.
Alice leant against a tree. She gave a quick look behind her, as though she expected something to be waiting in the darkness.
“Are we just going to stand here and swear?”
I scratched my cheek, felt my beard rough against my fingers. My face was cold. “Is there a way around them?” I said.
Billy stretched out his legs, cracked his knees. “We could skirt around them. But it would add a few hours onto the journey.”
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