Текст книги "A Mad Zombie Party"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

I hold Milla in my arms as she dozes. Sleeping is impossible for me, my mind a roller coaster of activity. I can’t stop thinking about our kiss—can’t stop craving another. I told myself I’d let her go afterward. I’d walk away and never look back.

But I kissed her and cuddled her closer, and now the thought of leaving her warmth and softness... Yeah, I’d rather eat nails.

I’m falling hard for this girl, and one way or another, I’m going to lose her the way I lost Kat. Even if we both manage to survive the vision, her brother still stands in our way, whether he supports us or not. I’ll never be content playing second string to River—I was second string with my aunt and uncle, and it sucked—just like I know Milla will never be content playing second string to Kat.

The thing is¸ Kat is no longer my first priority. But River will always be Milla’s.

Maybe she senses my tension. She mutters my name and stretches like a pinup, lifting her arms above her head, arching her back.

So beautiful.

The urge to touch her overwhelms me, and I shift her still-dark locks through my fingers, the strands like silk. The blood in my veins heats, boils...one touch isn’t enough, will never be enough.

I should get up. Leave.

Too late. She blinks open her eyes and gasps. “You’re still here.”

“Where did you expect me to be?”

“Honestly? Anywhere else.” A slow smile blooms. “But I’m glad you stayed.”

There’s a clench of desire low in my gut.

A hard knock sounds at the door. “Zombies are headed toward the house,” Cole announces. “Gear up.”

Zombies? Headed this way?

Mills and I scramble out of bed. The last time zombies approached a home I lived in, they wore bomb collars and destroyed everything in their path, distracting us and allowing Anima’s most lethal agents to close in.

“Don’t try to ditch me out there,” Milla tells me, a tremor in her voice. She straps on the holster for her short swords. “Stay by my side.”

No way in hell. The less time I spend with her during battle, the less likely Ali’s vision is to come true.

“Frosty,” she says, exasperated.

I ignore her and rip open the door. Other slayers are rushing out of their rooms, their expressions a mix of fury and dread. We congregate in the weapons room, hurriedly gathering extra daggers, guns and ammo.

“There are probably two hundred zombies,” Cole says. “Justin and Gavin were on patrol and spotted them. In our favor, they aren’t wearing collars so there are no bombs. Also, when our boys tried to engage, they were ignored. The hordes are acting just like Milla when she searched for Love.”

“But I scented slayers,” she says. “Why would zombies ignore Justin and Gavin?”

“The serum draws like to like, remember.” I hand her my favorite guns, the ones with retractable axes, and show her how to work them. “But why aren’t zombies fighting other zombies right now?”

“They scent Milla.” Kat appears a few feet in front of me, her features tight with worry. “They hunger for thánatos.”

“But she’s not lit up with red flames.” Ali slams a clip in place. “How can they scent it?”

“As with any fire, heat and smoke waft. In this case, spiritual heat and smoke,” Kat replies. “And it’s only growing stronger.”

Milla flattens her hands over her stomach, clearly horrified. “I don’t feel hot. Don’t see any smoke. Should I wear one of the suits?”

“No. Let the hordes come,” I growl. “Let them ignore us while trying to get to you, unable to reach you. Because yes, you’ll ride the pine.”

She stiffens, but nods.

“And if they can’t scent you,” Cole says, “they might attack any humans nearby. That, we can’t allow.”

“Okay. No suit,” Milla says.

A thought—what if something goes wrong?

Worry twists my insides. Did Kat feel this helpless every time I went off to battle? Countless times she tried to stop me. Don’t go. Stay with me. I always resisted, helping and guarding my friends far more important than saving myself from a few injuries.

“Be on the lookout,” Cole says. “Smith might try to use our distraction against us and snatch Tiffany.”

Bronx smiles an evil smile. “I wish her good luck with that. I set some wicked-ass traps around Tiff’s cage.”

No wonder I admire the guy so much.

“I’m thinking we need to stay together, just in case zombies turn on us,” Ali says. “If someone gets bit, we do whatever it takes to inject him—or her—with antidote. Speaking of, Reeve and Weber played with the formula so that it works on anyone who’s built up an immunity.” She opens a case filled with instruments that look like EpiPens. “Take as many as you can carry.”

I stuff a handful in my pocket, and everyone else does the same.

“I’m sorry,” Kat says, at my side now.

Milla’s head is high as she walks away, offering privacy.

“I know,” I say. Kat did what she thought was necessary to protect me. Just like I’ll do what I think is necessary to protect Milla. She learned from it, and now we move on. “You’re forgiven.”

Her shoulders slump with relief. “Frosty the softy,” she says with a half smile. “Thank you.”

“Let’s talk later, okay?”

Kat nods and disappears.

Ali leads us to the roof. I close in on Milla and walk at her side. If anything happens to her...

Nothing better happen to her.

Halogen lights are anchored to the iron fence surrounding the property, and for the first time since I moved in, those lights are glowing. I take stock, watching as the hordes breach the property line and step into the high beams. Zombies in front hiss as they fall back, and the next in line step over them...only to hiss and fall back. But the creatures are determined to reach Milla and won’t be deterred. Soon, even as their spirits sizzle, they are push, push, pushing at the gate.

“Milla,” Cole says, “you stay up here to act as our bait.”

Her nod is clipped.

Bait usually gets eaten. Not this time. I’ll die first.

His violet gaze scans the rest of us. “Fight to kill.” He steps out of his body, the new version of him grabbing the handrail that hangs on a nearly transparent wire, already covered in Blood Lines. He slides down, down, flying over the gate, landing just behind the crowd of zombies.

Ali is next, then Chance, Love and Jaclyn.

River pounds Milla’s fist. “If I kill more zombies than Frosty, you have to do my laundry for a month.”

“No way. I would rather eat a zombie,” she says.

“I’ll take that as a hell, yes.” River steps out of his body and flies into the action.

My gaze follows him, and I see—

No way. Just no way. His spirit ghosts through two of the zombies. Zombies are spirits, not bodies. The two should have collided. There’s only one explanation. Those weren’t zombies but humans dressed as zombies.

Rebecca’s agents are hidden in the masses.

Shit, shit, shit. I search the sea of rot, but it’s too hard to tell real from fake. Except—

There! A collar is hooked to the zombie’s belt loop. Not zombie. Human. Has to be. The agents hope to collar us.

I tell Milla, and she pales.

“We’re in trouble,” she says as she, too, scans the sea.

If the volts in the collars are strong enough, slayers will die in minutes. Or, maybe the goal is to make us solid to the touch, allowing agents to carry us away without civilians able to watch or cameras able to record.

“I have to disable the agents,” I say, remaining in my body as I grip the rail.

“Go. Warn the others.” Milla gives me a push, and I drop, wind slapping against my face.

I let go just before I reach the end of a wire: a giant oak. Landing is jarring, considering I’m moving at what has to be a thousand miles per hour, but I recover swiftly and roll with my momentum. As I straighten, I palm two semiautomatics and spray bullets in every direction. I’m in the physical realm, so I don’t have to worry about hurting my friends, who are in the spirit realm. Grunts ring out, groans of pain soon following.

When I run out of bullets, I drop the empty clips and jam the end of the guns onto new ones, which are currently strapped to my thighs. Then it’s once again party time.

I stop only when Milla’s flying form comes into view. She kicks the agent sneaking up on me and sends him to his back, allowing me to shoot him. She lands and rolls, and every zombie in the immediate area stops to face her.

“Go back,” I snarl. “Now!”

“Clearly you need someone on your six.” She withdraws her own semiautomatics and shoots up the area behind me.

More grunts. More groans.

I whip around to watch three agents topple. Damn it! Like the other one, they’d almost had me.

Zombies head straight for Milla. I drop my guns and reach for my swords, then step out of my body to remove any arms and legs that reach her way. Different parts soon form a wall between us and the rest of the horde.

When I return to my body, I look for Milla. There! An agent stands behind her, one arm snaked around her neck, the other around her waist. She bucks against him, slamming the back of her head into his nose. Howling in pain, he loosens his hold and she’s able to break free by jamming her elbows into his stomach, then latching onto his arm, at the same time ducking and yanking him over her head.

I palm a gun and, while the guy is down, shoot him in the chest.

As zombies scale the wall of parts, I move in and out of my body. Milla cries out. I whip around. Two agents punch at her, keeping her distracted while a third sneaks up behind her, a collar ready to be snapped around her neck.

No way in hell! I aim, squeeze the trigger. He flies backward.

A frantic thud of footsteps behind me. I spin, ready to shoot, and come face-to-face with the barrel of a .38.

“Drop your weapon,” a hard male voice demands.

Like hell. I go low and kick out my leg. Contact! He drops.

I’m there when he lands, slamming my fist into his nose; cartilage snaps. His eyes close, his body going lax. I straighten—only to fly backward as pain explodes in my shoulder.

I’ve been hit.

Milla unleashes a blood-curdling scream, and I fight my way to my feet. Blood gushes down my shirt. Stars wink over my vision as I try to breathe. I step...step, moving forward. My knees give out, but it doesn’t stop me. I crawl. Have to get to Milla... Can’t let her get hurt...or worse.

“No, no. Don’t hurt him.” Suddenly she’s at my side, her soft hands pressing my wound to stop the flow of blood. “Stay still, Frosty. Okay? All right? Just stay still. I’ll take care of you.”

Fog rolls in, but I manage to stay awake. “You...okay?”

“I’m fine. But you... I didn’t shield you.” Tears spill down her cheeks. “Couldn’t get to you in time. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I try to reach up and wipe those tears away, but movement is impossible. My muscles have seized. “No...tears. Not for...me.” I have trouble catching my breath. “You...all that...matters.”

The tears only fall faster.

“You have a choice,” an unfamiliar voice says.

“I know. I know. We die or we go with you calmly,” she snaps. “You don’t need the collars, and you don’t need to hurt him. We’ll cooperate.”

The tallest one smiles without humor. “I know you’ll go with us calmly because, if one of you acts up, the other dies.”

We’re disarmed, dragged to a van and stuffed in the back, and our friends have no idea, can’t see us through the sea of zombies.

A guard barks “Patch him up” before slamming the door. At least we aren’t handcuffed or tied down. More than that, we’re alone in back, a clear plate separating us from the driver and his passenger.

I rip the hem of Frosty’s T-shirt and use the material to bind his shoulder.

“You should have...continued to fight.” He’s panting more heavily now.

“And let them take you away from me? No.”

“Exactly why you...should have stayed...on roof.”

“My main objective has always been your safety. That hasn’t changed.” His skin is pale, and he’s lost a lot of blood. He needs dýnamis.

Look inside...look inside...

I’ve looked countless times and failed to find it.

So what? Try again. Use faith.

Faith. Yes. When faith is low, build it up with words and thoughts. “I can do this.” I can.

I sit back on my haunches, scoot away from Frosty—just in case thánatos escapes—and close my eyes. The mind is a beautiful, complex thing. It observes, stores. It’s how my spirit communicates with my body. I go deep, deeper, enduring horrendous, blistering heat, at last spotting the smoke Reeve mentioned. I do my best to look past it, but it’s just too thick.

Still I go deeper. Pain consumes me, burning, burning, boiling. Sweat breaks out on my skin. My lungs constrict, making it difficult to breathe. A high-pitched scream assaults my ears, and I want it to stop, need it to stop.

“Stop, Milla. Stop now.”

My eyelids pop open, and I slump over, the hideous burn fading, the scream subsiding. “I’m sorry,” I cry. “I’m so sorry.”

He reaches out with his good hand to caress my cheek. “It’s not your fault, sweet pea.”

But it is. I had one job, just one. Save him. “We’ll be okay. Maybe...maybe we can ambush them when they let us out.” I search the back of the vehicle, but it’s been emptied of anything we can use as a weapon. Helplessness bombards me.

“Whatever proves necessary,” he says. “Survive.”

“Ditto.”

When the van suddenly jolts to a stop, I move in front of him, determined to protect him. He yanks me to his side. His body is weak, but his determination is strong.

The back door opens, revealing three agents with rifles already trained on us.

Guess we won’t be doing any kind of ambush, after all.

“Out,” the one in the middle commands.

Frosty gives me a comforting squeeze before he releases me. I slowly climb outside, where I’m swung against the side of the van, my hands tied behind my back. Frosty follows me under his own steam, only to be given the same treatment, despite being wounded.

I look around. We’re in some kind of underground parking garage, but there are no other cars, no one to ask for help. We’re herded to a bank of elevators and whisked to the eleventh floor, where I’m introduced to a nightmare worse than burning alive. The re-creation of Anima.

A handful of men and women in lab coats are bustling around counters scattered with vials, beakers and equipment I don’t recognize. I’ve heard of labs like this. Ali and Jaclyn were tortured in one. River was kept in one for weeks before being moved to the warehouse he “escaped.” He was injected with mysterious serums. His spirit was somehow yanked out of his body by force. His mind was shocked. His skin was torched.

Frosty and I are pulled apart. To be taken to separate rooms? But he erupts into action, throwing off his captors and tackling mine. I hit the ground, released as the guards do their best to defend themselves. Not that they do a very good job. Frosty is like a boy possessed. He head butts, throws shoulders and elbows and kicks. He bites off a piece of a guard’s ear, then spits the bloody cartilage on the floor.

A chorus of pain, a macabre soundtrack as one of the guards lunges at Frosty. I extend my legs, tripping him, and he lands hard, faceup. Frosty slams his booted foot into his neck, crushing his windpipe. The guy doesn’t get back up.

Even without the use of his hands, Frosty is a master fighter, and he’s determined to protect me whatever the cost. I can do no less.

“Put them in a room together.” A dark-haired woman with hair as black as night and skin as white as snow steps into my line of vision. She’s impeccably dressed in a black cashmere sweater and a pair of gray slacks that mold to her legs.

Rebecca Smith in the flesh. The devil pretending to be a business sophisticate. How adorable.

“If either one gives you any more trouble,” she continues, “shoot the boy. He’s damaged goods, anyway.”

Panic claws at me, ripping at my insides. “We’ll behave,” I insist, my gaze beseeching Frosty.

Only two of the guards are able to crawl to their feet. They roughly haul Frosty to his. I stand on my own, only to be grabbed. I offer no protest. We’re shoved into a ten-by-ten room with two-way mirrored walls and a padded floor. Anyone outside the room will be able to see us, making it harder to escape.

But that’s the point, isn’t it.

One of the guards pulls his gun and before I can kick it out of his hand, he smiles and shoots Frosty in his already injured shoulder.

Knocked backward, Frosty slams into the wall and drops, leaving a smear of blood in his wake. I scream and rush to his side.

“He gave me trouble,” the guard says before slamming the door.

I rip off my shirt. I don’t care that everyone can see my bra. Let them look. Fighting a fresh wave of panic, I bind Frosty’s newest wound as best I can. “You’ll be okay. You have to be okay.”

Would he?

I have to reach dýnamis. I just have to. It’s the only way he’ll strengthen supernaturally fast. Maybe the only way he’ll survive. But I try again and again and again—and I fail. No. No! I do not accept failure. I will never accept failure.

“I want you to know,” he pants, “that I’m glad I met you, glad you were a part of my life. I had fallen down a very dark pit, but you pulled me out.”

Damn him! He’s talking like he’s going to die.

Time for me to try something else. “Miss Smith,” I shout. I stand and peer into the mirrored wall, my reflection wild. Hair still dyed brown is tangled with twigs and dirt. Frosty’s blood stains my hands, smears my chest. There’s a tear in my bra. Cuts in my arms, and rips in my pants. “Help him. Please.”

A voice spills over the speaker. “I’ll be happy to help him, Miss Marks. For a price. You remember how things work around here, do you not?”

“I do.” I remember far too well.

“What will you give me in return?”

Nothing...while seeming to give everything. I told myself I’d never again betray my crew, and I won’t. Not even for Frosty.

He’s even paler than before, with a bluish hue becoming more and more noticeable on his lips. His wounds are clean, at least, both bullets having gone out the other side, but infection is likely. The makeshift bandages won’t last forever. Already the one on the left is soaked through.

How much time does he have? How much more blood can he stand to lose?

His eyes are on me, but they’re closing. Still he’s shaking his head no. “Don’t do it.”

I ignore him. I have to ignore him. I have a part to play. “What do you want, Rebecca? Name your price.”

“I want Tiffany...and Ali Bell.”

Of course she does.

“No.” Frosty shakes his head more violently. “No.”

Again, I ignore him. “Thanks to you, Ali lost all her abilities. She’s useless to your cause.”

“I took her abilities, and I can give them back. Will you do what I tell you or not?”

“Yes,” I spit through clenched teeth. “If you help Frosty now.”

“I’m not a cruel woman. You have my word he’ll be on the mend by the time you return.”

Her word means nothing to me.

“If you fail me, Frosty will die—and your brother will be my next target.”

“Milla,” Frosty croaks. “Don’t. Please.”

I close my eyes, tears leaking through my lashes. I don’t have to fake it. So much rides on my ability to trick Rebecca and convince the other slayers I’m on the up-and-up. Two mountains I might not be able to climb.

But I have to try.

“Take me into the hall and tell me what you want me to do.”

* * *

Rebecca’s agents drop me three miles away from the mansion, not wanting to be noticed and followed by slayers. I have to run those miles. Every second counts. By the time I reach the mansion, the sun is at its pinnacle, its heat draining what little strength I have left.

The shirt I was given is drenched with sweat and plastered to my chest; I’m operating on nothing but fumes, desperation and determination.

One of the slayers must spot me on the monitors, because the wrought-iron gate whines open upon my approach.

There’s no trace of the battle along the long, winding driveway, no bodies or body parts littering the yard. As I step inside the foyer, my friends—are they my friends?—run from different areas of the house to greet me. They’re still armed, ready for combat, and I doubt they’ve had any sleep.

River yanks me into his arms, hugging me tight. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Frosty isn’t.” I fight past a fresh wave of tears. “We were captured by agents. He’s badly injured, and he needs help.” I make sure to say only what Rebecca told me to say. If I deviate from her script, she’ll know.

There’s a tiny camera and mic attached to the small, heart-shaped locket she hung around my neck.

One misstep, and Frosty will suffer.

Cole eyes me suspiciously. “I made it through the undead masses as you were being hauled away. I gave chase and tracked the van several miles, but they managed to lose me. Where is he, and how did you get away?”

“Rebecca still has him, but I don’t know where she’s keeping him. I was blindfolded on the drive out.” I rub the tattoo on my wrist—the word Betrayal—and pray someone notices. “Rebecca set me free so that I could deliver a message. Give her Tiffany, and the war ends. Don’t, and she’ll kill us all.”

Curses ring out. Amid them, Cole barks, “Go to your rooms. All of you. Now.”

Several kids gape at him, but everyone obeys.

“You, too, Milla.” He stares at me hard. “I need some time to think.”

“Don’t take too long.” Please.

I hurry to my bedroom. How am I going to tell him what Rebecca really plans?

If I can’t...I’ll have to risk Frosty’s life by telling everyone the truth outright. A whimper escapes me.

Kat appears in front of me and crosses her arms over her chest. As a spirit, the camera can’t detect her and the mic can’t pick up her voice.

Thank God! Cole understood.

“Is Rebecca watching you?” she asks.

I give the barest nod.

“Is she planning an ambush?”

Another nod, and Kat disappears.

She reappears a few minutes later. An eternity. “Okay. Everyone’s gathered in the gym. Let’s see if we can figure this out.”

Yes. Let’s. I walk into the bathroom, grab a bottle of Advil and fish out two little pills. I toss them in my mouth, drink straight from the faucet.

“Headache?” Kat asks.

A shake of my head.

“Advil...medicine...drug! You’re supposed to drug everyone?”

I move away from the mirror and nod.

“To kill?”

A shake.

“To make everyone sick?”

A shake.

“Sleep?”

A nod.

I pace back and forth in front of my desk, ghosting my finger over my new cell phone.

“Is the phone significant?” she asks.

A nod.

“You’re supposed to call Rebecca?”

A nod.

“When? Why?”

I lie on the bed and close my eyes.

“When everyone is asleep?”

A nod. How do I tell her agents will be waiting nearby? I’m supposed to let them in so they can grab Ali and Tiffany, and most likely kill everyone else.

“I’ll be back.” Kat vanishes.

These slayers have no reason to trust me, but I really, really hope that they do. It’s the only way we’ll make it through this alive. The only way Frosty will make it.

Kat appears. “We’re trying to figure out a way to give Rebecca what she wants without actually giving her what she wants.”

I roll my eyes—yeah, I’d already figured that part out, thanks—and she sighs.

“Emma is searching for Frosty, but so far no luck.” She closes the distance, sits on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been good for him, you know. And I think he’s been good for you, too. Your eyes light up every time you look at him.”

He has been good for me.

“Do you love him?” she asks.

Do I?

I definitely chemistry him. He’s real, and he’s smart. He’s driven. He’s always willing to admit when he’s wrong, and he’s not afraid to apologize. I crave his kiss and his touch...his body pressing and rubbing against mine. I adore his smile, and his sense of humor. I love when he protects me, even though I’m capable of taking care of myself. I love the way he looks at me, as if I’m something special. I love his intensity and even his anger. He’s passionate about what he believes in.

I love that he’s guarded, and so few ever get to see the real him—I love it because I’m one of the blessed few. Just like he’s one of the blessed few to know the real me. I let him in, even though there were a thousand reasons not to.

So. Yes. I do, I realize. I love him with all my heart.

I want him to love me, too, even though he’s going to lose me.

A tear leaks from the corner of my eye.

Kat smiles at me. “Good,” she says, shocking me.

Good? She’s actually happy about this?

“Love always finds a way.” She stands. “We’re going to figure this out, don’t worry. We won’t let Frosty die.”

Thank you, I mouth.

She reaches out to pat my hand, but all I feel is a rush of warmth. “In about five minutes, Ali’s going to come in and ask if you’re up to cooking dinner for everyone. You’ll say yes, and you’ll let Rebecca watch you pour the sedative, or whatever it is, into a pitcher of sweet tea. Ali will carry the pitcher out of the kitchen to fill the cups at the dining table, but as soon as she’s out of range, she’ll exchange it for an untainted one. While you eat, everyone will discuss what to do about the situation. Nothing they say will be true. As soon as we’ve got a real plan worked out, I’ll let you know.”

Great. All I have to do now...is wait.