Текст книги "Backs Against the Wall"

Автор книги: Tracey Ward

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

Ryan isn’t kidding. He seriously can’t swim.

That’s going to be a problem. It’s one we solve by finding a piece of floating debris, a task that is disturbingly easy with almost all of the Colony boats blown up and burning in the water. A couple are heading for the hills, back up the Sound as fast as their hobbled ships can carry them, but most of the boats are burned beyond salvage. It didn’t take long. The Vashons laid their armada to waste in no time. Almost like they had planned for years for such an attack.

As we swim/paddle toward the opposite shore, I wonder what this night means for the Vashons ‘uneasy treaty’ with the Colonists.

I also wonder what provoked the Colonists to attack.

When we make it to shore all three of us lay on the ground breathing heavily and shivering. The water was cold, but being out in the open while wet feels colder. We need to make camp somewhere nearby soon and start a fire or we’ll all get pneumonia and die.

“We need to get moving,” I groan, sitting up. I feel weighed down by exhaustion and wet clothes.

When I look over at the boys I find both of their eyes closed.

“Hey!” I shout, clapping my hands hard. They both startle, their eyes shooting open. “No sleeping, not here. Especially you, Trent. The last thing we need is you dying in your sleep.”

He sits up slowly. “I don’t have a concussion.”

“Good news. Unless you want hypothermia, it’s time to move.”

“It’s not cold enough for that,” Ryan protests. He’s still lying down.

I lean over him, my face near his and my hair hanging around him. “It’s cold enough to get sick. Get your ass up.”

He reaches up to run his hand over my cheek, back into my hair. “You saved my life.”

“Don’t get mushy on me. Get up.”

He pulls my face down farther and kisses me soundly on the mouth. I don’t fight it because it’s warm, it’s him and he’s alive. I can’t stop to think about how happy I am that he didn’t die out there. I can’t think about what would happen to me if I lost him. Where my heartbeats would go without his to follow.

I pull away. “Move. Now.”

“So bossy,” he grumbles, but he gets up.

We’ve come ashore in an old industrial area. This is good and bad. Good because it’s probably abandoned. Bad because there won’t be much to make a fire with and we absolutely have to have a fire.

“Where do you think we are?” I ask quietly as we slowly make our way through the rusted rubble.

“Judging by the light in that direction,” Trent says, pointing to our left, “I’d say we’re just south of the stadiums.”

“Perfect. So we have to get by the Colonies to get home.”

“We have to go through the valley,” Ryan says.

“The what?”

“On Crenshaw’s map. Remember the valley between the stadiums and the dark shadowy area. He said the space between was the Valley of the Shadow of Death.”

“And the black area was the portal to Hell,” I say, remembering it suddenly.

Ryan cocks an eyebrow at me. “He told us not to go there.”

“He also told us not to go to The Hive.”

“My point exactly.”

“We can’t avoid it,” I protest, feeling frustrated.

Trent stops short suddenly, looking around with his wicked hawk eyes. “We’ll make camp here.”

“Okay, why here?”

“Because over there,” he says, pointing ahead and to the left of us, “are the Colonies, just two blocks away. And over there,” he points to our right, “another two blocks away are the cannibals.”

“Are you kidding me?” I hiss, immediately going tense. “We’re near the cannibals? How do you know that?”

He frowns at me like I’m stupid. “Because I’ve seen them.”

“Of course you have. We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t go back either and we definitely don’t want to go any farther forward. Not at night.”

“Why not at night? The Colonists won’t be able to see us as well.”

“I’m not worried about the Colonists. At night, you have to worry about the cannibals. They’re very territorial, they live underground and they only come out at night. Right now, they can see better than I can. A lot better.”

“Oh man,” I moan, wrapping my arms around myself. “So right now not only do we have to worry about zombies and pneumonia, we have to worry about being kidnapped by Colonists and being eaten alive by cannibals?”

“There are also a lot of mosquitos this close to the water.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter.

“We’ll be alright,” Ryan tells me. “Let’s start a fire and—“

“A fire? Are you crazy? It’ll call them all right to us.”

Ryan shakes his head. “We have to have a fire, Joss. We need to dry off, to warm up. It can’t be helped.”

“We’ll go over there inside that shack,” Trent says, pointing to an old security building at the entrance of the parking lot we’re standing in. “We’ll bust out the windows if they’re not already gone to let the smoke out, but the building should block most of the light from the fire.”

“Fine,” I say reluctantly, knowing they’re right. “But when we die, I want you both to remember I told you so.”

“Noted,” Ryan agrees.

Luckily the shack is a complete mess. Complete mess means things to burn. Things that have been inside and kept from most of the elements, most importantly moisture. Only one window is broken. Trent wastes no time breaking two more while Ryan and I get to work building our fire inside an old metal trash can. It’s easier than you’d think, but then again, we’ve had practice. Lots and lots of practice.

Once it’s burning in the center of the room, we huddle around it. I drape my torn, wet coat over a chair to let it dry faster. I’m shivering from head to toe so when Ryan wraps his arm around me and pulls me in close to his body, I don’t fight it. I tense and my breathing gets tight, but I try to hide it. I don’t want to hate this. I want to like it, and a big part of me really, really does but a little part of me is still afraid. Maybe it always will be.

“Why didn’t they search us for weapons when we went to see Marlow?” I ask, suddenly remembering I had meant to ask Ryan before.

He nods thoughtfully. “I wondered that too. Every time I’ve been in to see him, my weapons were taken.”

“Did they just forget?”

Ryan chuckles. “You don’t forget something like that. Not working for Marlow.”

“Not if you want to live,” Trent agrees.

“So I’m not crazy? It was weird.”

“Yeah, it was.”

“He’s going to be mad about his boat.”

“No, he won’t be, not really, but he’ll act mad,” Ryan says darkly. “He’ll use it as a way to get something from us.”

“He never meant for us to make it back alive did he?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh come on. He sent us there in the U.S.S. Sold You Out. It couldn’t have been more obvious we were associated with The Hive and the Vashons obviously don’t like them.”

“Yeah, but why?” Ryan insists. “Why send us there to have them kill us? I think he wanted to see if it would work.”

“He wanted us to draw them out,” Trent says. “Probably take a few of their people prisoner to barter for something.”

“What though? Land? Turnips?” I ask.

“Probably guns.”

I shiver involuntarily as I remember the black barrel of Ali’s gun pointed at my face.

“Do you think that gun was loaded?” I ask quietly.

“It was,” Ryan replies softly, his grip on my upper arm tightening.

I nod, knowing he’s right. I knew it when I looked at her face. She was ready, willing and fully able to kill me on the spot. But I don’t hate her for it. I don’t blame her at all. She didn’t do it to protect her soft bed or a fluffy pillow. It wasn’t for the sake of central air or a good hot meal at the end of the day. It was for her family. For her daughter and her husband. For the people she loves.

Sitting beside this fire with Ryan’s arm around my shoulder, I can easily understand that.

“So Marlow will be mad when we get back that we lost his boat and didn’t bring him his bounty,” I surmise, “and Crenshaw will be mad that we went to The Hive first and pissed off the Vashons. The Vashons are mad at us, probably all of them want us dead because they think we brought the Colonies to their door in an ambush.”

“By now word has gotten out about what Trent and I have been up to, my fight in The Hive not sanctioned by the Hyperion, going behind the backs of our brothers. We’ll be thrown out of the gang.”

“Will they hurt you?” I ask.

Trent grins, his face lit in a macabre mask by the firelight. “They’re welcome to try.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, feeling like an asshole. I drug them into this and now their lives are ruined. “You’re both obviously welcome to come live with me in the loft.”

“Don’t worry about it, we’ll figure something out,” Ryan tells me, sounding unconcerned. It’s both a relief and a little bit painful that he doesn’t take me up on the offer.

“You two should get some sleep,” Trent says. “I’ll stay up and take first watch.”

“Are you sure, man?”

“Yeah, I got it. I’m not tired.”

“Good, cause I’m exhausted. Wake me up in a couple hours. I’ll take next shift.”

“You got it.”

“I’m not tired,” I tell them, staring into the fire. “I’ll stay up too.”

Ryan frowns at me. “Are you sure?”

I smile weakly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m sure. I need to relax a little. Come down from what’s happened tonight. You sleep, though. You have to be tired from…”

He grins. “Nearly dying.”

My smile fades. “Don’t do that again.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, by the way. To both of you.” He looks at Trent, his mouth going tight. “I’d be dead if it weren’t for you guys.”

Trent shakes his head. “We didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done for us. It’s nothing special. Go to sleep.”

Ryan nods silently before sprawling out beside me. He’s between me and the door again, a position I’m beginning to think he’ll always take. It speaks volumes and I’m finally beginning to understand the language it’s written in. I’m not fluent yet, but I’m getting the gist of it.

It’s not long before Ryan is snoring away. I look across the fire at Trent, giving him a small smile.

“So,” I say softly, “how much trouble are you guys going to be in really?”

Trent watches me for a second, his face blank. Finally, he says, “A lot.”

I nod, hating it but knowing it’s true. I’m glad he’s willing to be real with me about it. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. What’s done is done.”

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to do this to you both.”

“It’ll be worse for Ryan than for me. They were like a family to him. I was only there because of Ryan and Kevin.”

“How did you all end up together?”

He smirks. “How do any of us end up together?”

“You don’t want to talk about it.”

“Not any more than you do. Don’t feel bad about it, though.”

“Which part?” I chuckle unhappily.

“Any of it. I don’t mind and Ryan wouldn’t have done things any differently. If you needed his help, he was going to give it.”

I frown, shaking my head slightly. I’m too embarrassed to look him in the eyes anymore.

“I can’t understand that.”

“Are you sure?”

I shake my head again.

“How many times did you go back under the water for him? How many breathes did you give up? How many would you have given?”

All of them. Every last one of them. I never would have stopped.

I feel dizzy. Disoriented. I take several deep breathes, trying to get my bearings. Trying to find my center, my numb, but it’s been gone too long. I can’t get it back. I want to retreat into myself and hide from everything, all of it that’s not working and the things that are working too well, but I can’t. I’m in the thick of it now. I’m living life surrounded by so many more things than I realized were out there, so many more dangers than I ever dreamed of. There’s so much more to fear than just the Risen, the Colonists and the gangs. There’s so much more to gain. To lose.

I look up at Trent, about to ask him to tell me the story of how he met up with Ryan and Kevin, even if it means I have to tell my own in return. I’m ready for that. I think I can do it. I at least want to try. But the look on his face freezes my breath in my throat.

“What is it?” I whisper, knowing whatever it is, it isn’t good.

Trent stares at me patiently, his weird, light eyes looking white in the firelight.

“We aren’t walking out of here in the morning,” he replies, his deep voice vibrating through my bones.

I swallow hard. “Why not?”

“Because they’re coming.”

My vision goes funny, fuzzy. I’m having trouble breathing. “No one is coming. No one knows we—“

“I can hear them,” he interrupts me, his voice hushed and calm. “They’re not even trying to hide themselves. They want us to know.”

“Why?” I whisper, my eyes glued on his. My ears straining to hear the evil that speaks only to him.

“Because,” he says, his voice dipping lower. I can hear it then, behind his words. Footsteps. Slow, unhurried. Patient. “They want us to run.”

I bite my lip until I taste blood, willing myself not to cry out. Not to jump up and run, to leave them both behind.

“Who?”

I hear the screech of metal over the pavement. It’s not far off. A blade being drug over the ground. A warning. A promise.

“You know who.”

I nod hard.

“The cannibals.”

Chapter Nineteen

Vashon Island

Ali stands at the edge of the water, separated from the rest of the crowd. They’re shouting with excitement because they think they’ve won. But she knows this enemy better than most. Not all of them were there at the start. Not all of them watched the evil grow, seeding from one man, one idea, to ten then twenty then a hundred. Thousands. Tonight, this victory, it’s only the beginning of a war and that cold realization helps her understand that the life they’ve lived for the last ten years has been on borrowed time. This was always going to happen. It would always come to this.

This was always how it was going to end.

“They’re on the run,” Jordan tells her, coming to stand behind her.

She shakes her head. “Tonight they are, but tomorrow…”

“I know.”

And he does. He was there with her at the start. He saw it all.

“Are you hiding?” he asks quietly.

Ali sighs. “I swore I never would again.”

“They’re going to come looking for you soon. Once they realize the prisoners are gone.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure about them?”

She chuckles darkly. “As sure as I am about anything.”

“Sam agrees with you.”

“That is remarkably comforting.”

“Taylor is going to side with you too. He doesn’t believe they were Colony spies. He thinks they were idiots, but not spies.”

“They’re just young,” she says, sounding sad and tired, “and desperate.”

Jordan wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head of long, dark hair. She takes his hand in hers.

“I can remember being that desperate,” he mumbles.

“Me too. It’s part of why I let them go.”

“What was the other part?”

She smiles. “They knew Crenshaw.”

He chuckles behind her, shaking her body with the movement. “Oh, Persephone. You have such a soft spot.”

“You’re just jealous he never gave you a name.”

“I’m hurt he named you after a woman married to the king of Hell. What does that say about me?”

“It says you’re strong. Strong enough to endure.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs thoughtfully, not buying it.

“Do you think they made it?” she asks.

“I don’t know. Maybe, if they were lucky.”

“I lost sight of them once most of the ships were burning.”

“It’s a beautiful night for it.”

She grins. “For what exactly?”

When he speaks, she can hear the familiar sound of a smile in his voice. “For smiting your enemies.”

“You know what’s sad?”

“Soy milk.”

She rolls her eyes. “Jordan.”

“It’s not real milk, Ali. It’s imposter crap and I won’t drink it. I won’t drink a lie.”

“Jordan.”

“Tell me. What’s sadder than soy milk?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve stood in the dark with you watching the world burn.”

He pauses, going serious. “It’s not even the second time.”

“More like fifth.”

“Sixth, I think.”

She sighs heavily, turning to look up at him with watery eyes. “When will it end? When will Beth be safe?”

“I don’t know,” he says softly, shaking his head. He lifts his hand to press it against her cheek. To wipe a stray tear away. “Probably never. Not unless—“

“Unless?”

His eyes drift past her to the burning boats. To the fire on the water. To the shore on the other side swarming with zombies, Colonists and gangs. To the world they outnumber. A world they could easily overrun if only given the right incentive. The right reasons. The right time.

“Unless we end it.”

Watch out for the next book in the

Survival Series, Tearing Down the Wall.

Coming Summer 2014!

Keep reading for the first chapter from

Tracey Ward’s highly rated

sci-fi novel, Sleepless.

Available now!

Prologue

Nick

The first time I saw her, I was dead.

I was rolling down the river with two coins for the Ferryman, heading out onto the infinite, black sea. Worst of all, I was going without a fight.

How she found me is still a mystery or a miracle, depending on your perspective. Any way you slice it, I’m lucky she was there, though showing gratitude for it wouldn’t come easy for a long time after. How she put up with me for as long as she did is pure miracle, no mystery about it. She’s as close to an angel as I’ll ever get. Whenever I think of her, I always remember the way she looked there by the river; long auburn hair, glistening hazel eyes and a T-shirt that read Zombies Hate Fast Food.

When she reached out and took my hand, it shattered my world. Her eyes and the warm press of her skin against mine changed everything. Suddenly I was gasping for breath, fighting for life, and as she lowered her face to within inches of mine, I felt my heart slam painfully in my chest. She parted her lips, making me believe she would kiss me goodbye. If that had been the last sensation I experienced in this world I would have died a lucky man. Instead, she whispered one word against my mouth. One word that would press air into my lungs and pull me back from the void.

“Breathe.”

Then she was gone.

Chapter One

Alex

I wake with a start. My eyes immediately find the black sparrow decals flying across the white paint of the wall beside my bed, calming my racing heart. I trace one with my fingers, smiling at the familiar feel of its edges. This is what I always do. This is how they tell me that I’m home.

I actually hate birds. They’re too quick and erratic with their sharp claws and beaks. They’re like flying, disease carrying knives. But more than anything I hate them because they remind me of the Dragon.

“Are you here?” Cara calls.

“Present and accounted for.” I drop my hand from the bird just as my bedroom door swings open. My sister stands in the doorway. Watching.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“I’m glad you’re home.”

I chuckle quietly. It could go without saying but she says it every time. “Me too.”

“Where’d you go? Do I want to know?”

“Transylvania,” I lie.

“Okay, so I don’t want to know.”

I shake my head. No. She doesn’t want to know.

“I had the Dragon Dream,” I tell her, changing the subject. “It brought me home.”

“The Jabberwocky,” she corrects me quickly.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not the Jabberwocky.”

“I have shown you the pictures. It looks exactly as you described.”

“I know, but—“

“Is it or is it not the spitting image of the Jabberwocky?”

“It is,” I concede, “but how would I have started dreaming of the Jabberwocky when I was four years old? We never had the book.”

“You saw the movie.”

“We’ve talked about this,” I groan. “The Disney Alice doesn’t have the Jabberwocky in it. There’s no way. It’s not him, it’s just a dragon.”

“It’d be cool if you could dream about Pete’s Dragon.”

“Jesus, don’t put the idea in my head!”

“What? He’s friendly! And it’s not like you can Slip to Passamaquody.”

Slip is our word for what I do. For my tendency to fall asleep, dream of New York City and wake up in Times Square in my underwear. My parents called it sleep walking though it’s not at all accurate. It just made it sound normal, made it easier for them. I don’t stand up and walk out the door. When I Slip, I dream of a place then there I am. The base of the Eiffel Tower. The shore on the coast of Ireland. The third baseline at Wrigley Field. While it can take my mind a millisecond to raise familiar images of the Las Vegas strip, it will take me days to return my body home from it. I don’t understand how it happens. No one does. It’s mind over matter to the nth degree. It is unpredictable, terrifying, and most of all, annoying.

“He kicked my ass,” I tell her glumly, thinking of the Dragon. I rub my leg even though there’s no wound on it. Not anymore. Not now that I’m awake.

“Jabberwocky’s are the worst.”

“It’s not the Jabberwocky!”

“Sure. Hey, what are we doing tonight? Did you decide?”

I throw my arm across my face. “Nothing, we are doing nothing.”

“No,” she insists, pulling my arm away. “We were going to do nothing if you Slipped away to Antarctica. But you didn’t. You’re here and we need to celebrate.”

“It’s not a big one. Can’t we just let it slide?”

“Every birthday until your twenty-second is a big one. Your twenty-second is a bust. From there on out you receive no new liberties, other than the right to grow old.”

“That’s depressing.”

“It is, so enjoy the good ones while you can. You’re turning twenty! This is a big deal.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it affectionately. “Plus, you got shafted pretty hard on your last few birthdays. They should have been special and I know they really weren’t. Let’s use this year to make up for it.”

For my Sweet Sixteen my parents gave me an eviction notice and a new car. Worst Showcase Showdown ever. Since then birthdays have held little appeal to me seeing as I now associate them with abandonment and hush money.

My sister is eight years older than I am and was already an established, responsible adult when I got the boot. She’s a Certified Public Accountant making good money and was more than happy to take me in. She knew what was wrong with me, knew she’d have to support me because I can’t hold down a job, but she didn’t care. When I showed up at her door, a lost, crying mess, she promised that she’d always watch out for me. Then she went to our parent’s house, took my things, gave them a piece of her mind and never looked back. She’s fiercely protective of me and I want to say it bothers me and that I can take care of myself, but after growing up with a mother who kept me at a distance, knowing someone has my back is indescribable.

“Can we egg their house?” I ask, referring to our parents.

“No. But I will buy a big ass Margarita and let you take hits off it.”

“Deal.”

∞

I’m standing on the bank of the Missouri River in Omaha, wondering why I work so hard to stay here. I should embrace the escape and let my mind Slip me far, far away to a place that is warm. My hands are freezing and my toes would ache if they could remember what it was like to feel.

Cara brought me here to try and use her old driver’s license to get me into the casinos, but I’m having doubts. Doubts I like to call Mango Margarita: The Devil’s Drink. Or El Bebir Del Diablo? I don’t know, I didn’t do well in high school Spanish. I Slipped to Mexico once and it was a complete disaster. Turns out hambre and hombre are easily confused and when you adamantly insist in broken Spanglish that you be in possession of one, it doesn’t always get you a burrito. Sometimes it gets you a male prostitute. Who knew brothels had a lunch menu?

Cara is up at the car waiting for her work friends to join us while I and my dubious stomach have taken a walk to the river in case of emergency. I’m not fond of the idea of barfing in the parking lot in plain view of everyone. At the moment, I am not fond of anything.

I’m surveying the frozen beach, looking for somewhere to sit and wait out my troubles, when I spot the body. It’s a man, ghostly white and lying in the shallow waters of the freezing river. Before my brain knows what’s happening, I’m rushing down the shore, tripping over mounds of snow and ice slicked rocks until I collapse on my knees beside him.

He looks to be about my age, his pale skin contrasting sharply with his buzzed black hair. He’s naked except for a black Speedo-esque swimsuit. Even to my drunk mind, that seems like weird attire for December in Nebraska. I quickly strip off my heavy coat and throw it over his chest, shivering immediately in just my T-shirt. I don’t see his chest rising or falling so I grab for his hand to take his pulse. Relief floods through me when I find his skin is relatively warm and pliant. I’m hoping this means he’s not dead yet.

The second I touch him, he lurches forward as though I shocked him. His arms and legs spasm wildly before he leans over to cough. He ends up puking almost directly into my lap. It’s all liquid but I smell something chemical in it, something vaguely familiar. I wonder if it’s some kind of alcohol. He drops back down hard onto the rocks, but they don’t make a sound with the impact. I watch as he stares unblinking at the sky, lying so still I think he must be dead now. I may have just witnessed death throws.

I rub his hand between both of mine and lean in close, so close our noses are almost touching and my hair falls around us. His eyes latch onto mine. I gasp at how bright they are. How brilliantly green. How utterly alive.

I whisper one word to him, the only thing I can think to say.

“Breathe.”

He vanishes. My coat is lying on wet stones, my hand is holding cold air.

My heart stops beating. My breath freezes in my lungs. I clench my hands tightly, feeling them tingle and itch where my skin met his. He was real. I held his hand and I’m awake. I know that I’m awake. There’s no way that was a dream.

“What the hell?” I whisper, my voice quivering.

This is it. This is insanity taking hold. I’m breaking from reality. I’m losing my mind, though it never fully felt like mine to begin with.

Trembling from the cold, shock and a growing fear, I grab my jacket to pull it on. I can’t get my hands to work right. The zipper feels painfully cold between my fingertips and I abandon any hope of closing it. Standing quickly, I run back across the rocks and up the bank to my sister’s car. By the time I get there I’m nearly hyperventilating.

Her friends have arrived and they’re standing in a halo of streetlight, clouds of warm breath rising around them in the cold air. Cara sees me and my anxiety must be on my face because she rushes over.

“What’s wrong? Were you sick?” she asks, touching my arm. She frowns and pulls her hand back. “Your coat is wet.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you puke on your coat?” she asks, her face disgusted.

I think of the guy leaning over and throwing up river water.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Gross. I think you’re done for the night.”

“Me too,” I say eagerly. I nod but it’s more of a convulsion and I practically run for the car.

Cara says a hasty goodbye to her friends who laugh in understanding. Once inside, she cranks the heat and eyes me, watching me shake.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I just want to go to sleep.”

“That’s a first,” she says, but leaves it at that.

Over the years Cara has learned that I don’t like to talk about half the stuff that goes on when I’m asleep. I’ve seen things and been places that I don’t like to revisit, waking or otherwise.

“What’s that smell?” she asks suddenly.

“My dinner’s second coming.”

“No, you smell like a swimming pool.” She scrunches up her nose and glances sideways at me. “Like chlorine.”

This night is getting weirder by the second. I vow to never drink again