Текст книги "A Mad Zombie Party"

Автор книги: Gena Showalter

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

The girl who darted me at the cemetery is also a recruit. AKA the girl who went to the bathroom.

When she returned to the gym, she hung back in the doorway. Just in case. Our gazes locked, and when I gasped, she knew I knew her identity. I would have recognized BG’s blue-black hair and freckled face anywhere.

That’s when she pulled the alarm.

I almost ran her to ground a few minutes ago, but Frosty’s first shout distracted me and she gave me the slip. And since she’s been living here as a recruit, she knows what I don’t—the layout of the house. Now all I can do is chase her shadow.

She makes it upstairs and hurries around a corner. Pursuing her, I end up in another hallway, this one a smorgasbord of doorways. Twelve in total, each one closed. My heart pounding as I stop, and my ears twitch as I listen.

“Camilla!” Frosty’s voice echoes in the distance.

He sounds worried, but I know better. He wants to ensure I’m not planting bombs or selling secrets. Still, part of me longs to call out, to let him know I’m okay. But I don’t. I don’t want BG to pinpoint my location, and I don’t know what BG will do now that she’s been found out. Attack? Even dogs fight back when they’re backed into a corner. I won’t put Frosty at risk. I won’t be the reason he’s hurt.

As I move forward slowly, I keep my gun raised and my finger on the trigger. Hinges whine when I open the first door. I don’t enter the room, just reach inside to flip on the light. An unfurnished bedroom, dust on the floor. No sign of footprints.

I continue onward, opening door after door, finding no sign of entry. Where the hell—?

A clatter of noise erupts at my left. I turn. A mistake. At my right, I catch a brief glimpse of a sweat-dampened face and dark hair—Bathroom Girl—before I feel a sharp sting in my neck. Suddenly I’m falling backward, falling down...landing with a hard thump and gasping for breath I can’t quite catch. Warm liquid spills over me, soaking my shirt.

I drop the gun and reach up with hands now cold and shaking. They’re instantly drenched by something warm and wet. My throat has been...cut?

Hurried footsteps cause the wood beneath me to vibrate. The slam of a door registers, as does realization. BG left me here, alone, to bleed out.

My lungs burn for air, any bit of air. I’m going to die, even though I’ve never really lived. It’s the very fate I almost delivered to Ali, and I deserve it, I know I do, but I’m not ready. Not here, not now. Not like this. Not before I’ve saved Frosty.

Panic hits me, but it only makes my bleeding worse. Frosty could be... Fog drifts through my mind... Could be hurt...hurt, yes...oh! The pain. The burn. Hurt... I need to warn the others of the threat, but...but... And if I have any hope of survival, I need help, too. Help, yes... The fog is growing thicker by the second... Think, think...

I need...Frosty.

Yes! Frosty! He still hates me, but he wants me well so that Kat will continue to visit him. He’s the only person who won’t look at me and think “good riddance.”

No, no, not true. Justin. He’ll help me.

But I want Frosty.

As my strength dwindles and the burn rages on, I pat the ground for my gun. As soon as my fingers curl around the handle, I aim the barrel away from my body and squeeze the trigger. Boom! I try to fire again, but the muscles in my hand go lax.

A moment passes as I wait, an eternity.

Darkness begins to descend. I fight to remain conscious. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to end for me. Right? If I’m dead, how will I save Frosty? What will happen to him?

“Camilla!” Suddenly, frantic hands are pressing something, a cloth maybe, against my wound. “Who the hell did this to you?” He shouts for Cole... Bronx.

Bathroom Girl, I try to tell him, but no real sound emerges. I wish I could open my eyes, but I don’t have the strength. Cemetery. Darts. Again, no words escape. Blood bubbles up my ravaged throat and gurgles from the corners of my mouth.

Frosty curses with a violence that might have made me grin in any other situation. A moment later, the cloth is gone.

“This is going to hurt,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

Behind my eyelids, I can see a sudden blaze of light. Heat wafts across the air between us. He’s just summoned dýnamis?

Oh, yes. He has—and now he’s pushing a part of his spirit inside my body, the way he does with zombies, letting the flames devour my heart. My lips part, a silent endless scream unleashed. My back arches, the fire blistering through me, charring everything. The pain...the pain...utterly unbearable, worse than anything I’ve ever endured. And I’ve had my throat slit! I’m melting. I have to be melting.

“What the hell happened?” Cole demands.

“I don’t know,” Frosty snarls. “Help her. The dýnamis has stopped the bleeding, but she’s lost so much blood...too much. And damn it, the wound hasn’t closed.”

“Good glory no, no, no,” Ali babbles. “This can’t be happening. She’s not supposed to die yet.”

Yet?

Doesn’t matter. What I considered unbearable a few seconds ago? I’m soon taught differently. The others push fiery hands into my spirit, and it’s too much. The darkness covers my mind and I know nothing else...until strong arms slide underneath my shoulders and knees, lifting me.

The burn is gone, my body now boneless. I have no control as I float a thousand miles, the journey bumpy. I’m cradled against something hard and hot—Frosty’s chest. I can feel the swift drum of his heartbeat, smell the deliciousness of his scent... Wait. I can smell! I’m breathing.

“This way.” A girl’s voice, familiar to me. Reeve, maybe. “Gently...yes, like that. Careful!”

More jostling.

“Milla? Milla!” River’s voice now. “Damn it! Let me have her!”

The jostling stops, but the lack is jarring and my head wobbles, pulling at the skin on my throat. I whimper.

“Get out of my way,” Frosty says.

“Give her to me,” River demands. “Now.”

“Get. Out. Of. My. Way.” Frosty at his meanest. Most people would crap their pants in fear right now, but my brother isn’t most people.

“I like you, my friend, but I will kill you to get to my sister.”

“You won’t live long enough to kill me,” Frosty says. “Move or die. I’m going to save her, and you’re in the way. Last chance.”

The pain only increases as another warm gush of liquid trickles down my chest. I’m bleeding again, fog rolling back in, darkness on its heels, throwing me out of the present and into a hidden corner of my mind, where I’ve stored the worst of my childhood...

“You think you see monsters, little girl? I’ll show you a monster.” Spittle sprays from Daddy’s mouth. He unbuckles his belt and slowly draws the leather from the loops. I know he’s taking his sweet time on purpose, giving panic time to settle deep inside me.

When he finally takes his first swing, he ensures the buckle slams into my hip. Screaming, I scramble away from him, but he follows me and the blows just keep coming. Skin and muscles tear. Bones crack. As much as I hate this—fear this—I’d rather he hit me than Caroline. My twin. My love. My life. She’s weaker, and takes far longer to recover. Not just physically but mentally, too. I’m afraid her mind will one day break.

Just as my father draws back to deliver another blow, the scene morphs, and I’m suddenly trapped in a closet so dark I can’t see my hand in front of my face. But it doesn’t matter; I have to stay still and quiet. River said so, right before he rigged the handle so no one could open it without a fight. Through the door I hear my father screaming at my brother, calling him terrible names, demanding to know where I am. Caro’s dead, and he wants me to take the blame. I’ll spend a little time in juvie, he said, but if he’s blamed, he’ll spend the rest of his life behind bars.

I want him behind bars. He did it. He did it, he did it, he did it, and I hate him. I hate him so much I’m choking on it. And in that moment, I hate Momma, too. She left us to save herself, making everything worse for us.

She’s as much a monster as Daddy.

Without her, Caro and I were supposed to be the women of the house. We’re responsible for Daddy’s breakfast, lunch and dinner. But Caro is a terrible cook, so I’ve been preparing the meals on my own. Problem is, we stayed in the park longer than I intended, waiting for the creatures from my nightmares to appear. I want Caro to see them, just once, so she’ll know River and I aren’t crazy, so she’ll listen when we tell her to run and hide.

River even asked around town and met another boy—Mace—who told him we don’t have to be afraid anymore, he can teach us how to fight.

I want to fight. No more helplessness. No more fear.

I just... I want to start this day over. I want to save Caro.

A crash shakes the foundation beneath me. I hear a thud, a whimper. The closet door is wrenched open, hinges broken, wood shards raining all around me. Light floods inside and my eyes tear against the brightness. Suddenly my father is standing before me, his features twisted with dark rage. I cower back, trying to hide behind the winter coats, but he finds me...and he grins.

“You can’t hide from me, little girl.”

“I’m not gonna do it.” I crawl to the side. “I’m not gonna say I hurt Caro.”

“You will.”

I look away, not wanting to watch as he removes his belt. I see River lying on the floor. His eyes are closed, his lip split. There’s a lump on his jaw. He’s curled around Caro protectively, and he’s still, so still. Is he dead, too?

Rage bubbles up inside me. Daddy killed my sister and maybe my brother. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him! Now, I’ll kill him.

With a screech, I launch at him. I hit him with every bit of strength I possess, but it’s not enough. He laughs and swings his fist at me.

The scene morphs, but this time, I’m not stuck in the past. The pain is gone. The fear is gone. I’m standing in an open field of light, surrounded by puffy white clouds. A sense of peace wraps around me, welcoming me. I breathe deeply, and oh, wow, the air is scented with spring rain and summer flowers, and it’s a heady combination.

I’m... I frown. I’m connected to some sort of power grid, a million different thoughts seeming to stream through my mind at once. Thoughts I can’t fathom. There is no beginning and no end. There was, there is and there always will be. Light triumphs over dark. The battle is already won, and yet, the final battle hasn’t even been waged. Present is one with the future, and the past is wiped away. I have a purpose, a destiny, but I’ve allowed petty emotion to block my way.

What is this place?

Kat appears in front of me, and she’s shaking her head, adamant. She’s no longer wearing the shirt and shorts I’ve seen her in every time she’s visited Frosty. Now a long white robe drapes her short frame.

“No,” she says, still shaking her head. “Your entrance is denied. It’s not yet your time.”

Yet. There’s that word again.

“Fight, Camilla. Fight.” She shoves me backward, and we actually connect. Her hands against my shoulders are solid. I fall backward, losing the connection to the grid, the endless stream of thoughts ceasing, the peace leaving me, the pain returning, until my mind goes blank once again.

The panic I experienced when I found Milla...it’s nothing compared to the panic I feel now. She’s so pale, so still. Blood is splattered over her face. It soaks her neck and chest, and the sight of it brings back my worst memories.

I watched Kat die. I won’t watch Milla do the same.

I’ve spent nearly a month with her. Every day. No exceptions. She’s there when I wake up and she’s there when I go to sleep. I’ve watched her interact with others and I’ve watched her fight zombies. She’s strong. Amazingly strong. But like everyone else, she’s fallible. Seeing her on the floor, cut open and bloody... Something inside me broke. The anger I’ve harbored toward her, maybe. Or what remains of my hate. All I felt was fear and desperation.

I haven’t shaken either one.

When I get Milla into bed, the four people with me—Cole, Ali, Bronx and River—light up and push dýnamis into different parts of her body. Usually the pain of this rivals the pain of the wound, as bone, muscle and flesh weave back together, but Milla gives no reaction and my mouth goes dry.

She’s still breathing. That’s all the matters. Right?

“Our turn,” Reeve says, and we back off. She and Dan Weber—a fortysomething surgeon who used to work with her dad—examine the wound and check Milla’s vitals.

We opt not to take her to a hospital for several reasons. One, our fire is of more benefit to her than any medicine, whether it seems like it right now or not. Two, we can’t risk the cops being called, and Milla being questioned about what happened. Three, what will the doctors do when she heals faster than humanly possible? Test her? Submit her name for further study? Four, we can’t guard her the way I want her guarded anywhere but here.

“To borrow the word I’ve heard both of you use, dýnamis has already repaired her larynx,” Reeve says, her relief palpable.

The surgeon, who is stitching Milla’s throat, nods his agreement. “It’s nothing short of miraculous.” When he ties off the last stitch, he looks to River. “Do you have the same blood type as your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Good, that’s good. Siblings often do.” Weber bustles around the room, gathering the supplies he needs. His hands are steady, his expression impassive.

Cole and Bronx carry a cushy chair into the room, and River sits. Weber sticks him with what looks to be an IV needle, but the tubes are then connected to a needle in Milla’s arm, and blood is poured straight into her veins.

“Take as much as she needs.” There are tears in River’s eyes.

I think there are tears in mine.

“I’ll take what’s safe for you,” Weber responds.

“No,” he snaps. “You’ll do what I tell you and take whatever’s necessary.”

Weber, like the rest of us, knows he’s lashing out because of fear and offers no further comment.

Reeve checks everyone else’s blood type, but only Ali is compatible. If necessary, I’ll steal bags of O negative, the universal donor, from nearby hospitals.

“Get some rest,” Weber tells River after he removes the tube. “I’ll need you again once you’re recovered.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the words slurred. His eyes are rolling around in his head, and I wonder if Weber gave him a sedative, or if the blood loss is to blame.

Reeve shoos away Ali and Cole. “Let’s give the girl some space.”

“I’ll be in the hall,” Bronx says, refusing to stray far from his girl.

She kisses his cheek, then looks me over, her brows raised. “You, too, Frosty. I’ll monitor her and call you if there’s a change.”

I cross my arms over my chest. It’ll take a crane to get me out, and even then it’s iffy. Milla got hurt on my watch. I’m not letting anything else happen to her.

“Well, all right, then,” she says with a sigh.

I’m not sure how much time passes before Milla begins to stir. Reeve and River are asleep, despite the frenzied beeping from the heart monitor.

“Caro,” Milla whimpers. “So sorry. Should have...couldn’t... I’m sorry.”

River’s eyelids pop open and he jolts upright.

Who is Caro?

I reach out to rub Milla’s hand in comfort, but she screams and jerks away, severing contact.

“Don’t touch her.” River rushes over to draw me back. “Not when she’s like this. It only makes the memories feel real.”

Memories, not just nightmares.

Her head thrashes from side to side as she gasps out, “Daddy, no. Please, no. I’ll be good. I swear I’ll be good.”

Sickness churns in my stomach. “She was beaten by Daddy Dearest, wasn’t she?” She’d once alluded to it, but now I know for sure.

River tilts his head sharply. “He used to beat the shit out of us.”

“And Caro?” I ask.

“Milla’s twin, killed by our father. Don’t ask either of us for more details. Just...don’t.”

She had a twin. A sister, loved and lost in the worst possible way. I can’t even... Hell. No wonder she hangs on to River so staunchly, determined to keep the guy alive, whatever the cost. Having lost Kat, I’d do anything to save the loved ones I have left. Things I wouldn’t have considered before.

I scrub a hand down my face. I’ve been the worst kind of hypocrite. Milla deserves far better than what I’ve dished to her.

“Is your dad still alive?”

“No.” River combs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to find out who did this to my sister, and I’m going to make sure the body, when I’m finished with it, is never found. If I’m needed, call me and I’ll return.”

“You have my word. But I expect you to call me if you find the culprit. I’ll help. Or I’ll be your alibi.”

* * *

Over the next handful of days, we’re treated to many more screaming episodes from Milla and all but one revolves around her father. The other is about some guy named Mace. She sobs over him as if he ripped out her heart and stomped on it with cleats.

I want Mace to occupy the same grave as her attacker.

I hate that she’s trapped in such a terrible past, but at least she’s on the mend.

Cole comes by at least once a day to speak with me. He’s locked up the recruits who weren’t in the gym when the alarm went off. He’s questioned them, but each passes a lie detector test. We have no clues, nothing to narrow the list of suspects. The mystery is driving me to the brink. Who did this to Milla, and why?

During the chase, Milla mentioned “cemetery girl.” How would the girl who’d shot darts into her get inside the mansion without being a recruit? Is she a recruit, or are we chasing the wrong lead?

I trust my friends and no one else. I’ve left Milla’s side only long enough to shower and snack. And only while a guard is stationed at her bed.

Kat has visited me every day, but I’ve been miserable company.

“Do you care about her?” she asked just this morning. “Her life matters to you?”

“I don’t want her dead.” It is the truth, and yet, it isn’t the full truth. I’m not sure how I feel about Camilla anymore. “It’s hard to hang on to anger when you learn the nuts and bolts that make her tick.”

Kat stared at her feet, saying nothing, radiating guilt... Why?

“Her twin...Caro...is she a witness?” I asked.

“No. Caroline chose to leave the holding zone years ago and step into the Rest.”

So. Milla wouldn’t receive any comfort on that front. “What about her father?”

“He didn’t go up.”

“I’m happy to say Milla is going to make a full recovery,” Reeve announces, pulling me from my thoughts. “The drugs will leave her system in a day or two, and she’ll wake.”

I’m in the chair beside the bed, and Reeve is standing on the other side. Sweat is beaded on her brow, and her usually brown skin is chalk white.

“You don’t look one-hundred-percent convinced of what you’re telling me.”

“How I look has nothing to do with Camilla. I’m just not feeling well. The flu is going around.”

“Maybe you should go lie down. And not touch the patient. If she gets sick while she’s in this state...” I’ll be ticked.

“I’m wearing gloves. See?” She waves her latex-covered hands. “I just... I want to help her. I know she did some bad things, but after hearing her beg her father not to hurt her, after seeing her scars, I just want to make things better for her.”

“Yeah.” I know exactly what she means.

“We should—oh, crap.” Her eyes go wide as she clutches her stomach. She darts to the wastebasket and vomits breakfast.

Gloves can’t stop the spread of airborne germs. “Get out. Now.” I’m done being nice about it.

I’m pushing to my feet as Bronx rushes into the room. Anytime Reeve is in here, I can count on the fact that he’s in the hall. He’s always been protective of her, but because she’s treating Milla, he’s been taking it to the extreme. I get it, I do, but I’m suddenly irritated by it. Milla is practically in a coma. What harm could she really do?

“You okay, baby?” He looks as sick as Reeve as he winds his arms around her.

I– Damn. A heat wave washes over me, and I shift in the chair. Did someone screw with the thermostat? A moment later, I’m so dizzy I nearly topple to the floor. My stomach flips over, waves of acid eating at the lining.

“You caught it,” Reeve manages to say.

“We all have,” Bronx replies. “Cole and Ali have been hunched over a toilet for the past hour.”

“Out,” I say. “Get out, and take the vomit basket with you. We shouldn’t be in here, exposing Milla.” Though my strength is hemorrhaging at an alarming rate, I get the pair into the hall and shut the door, sealing Milla inside the room and our germs—hopefully—outside it.