“You should be more careful,” the Reaper says, pushing his hood aside so I can barely make out his staring eyes.
“And you should get the hell out of my way next time,” I retort, feeling reckless all of a sudden. What am I doing here? Trying to find my sister, I think. Yeah, but I don’t have to hang out with these freaks while searching for her.
“Not a nice thing to say to someone who saved your life.”
“I was handling it.”
“Dangling upside down from a Slammer’s grip is hardly handling it,” the Reaper says. I see the barest sliver of white teeth as he grins in the dark.
“Had her right where I wanted her,” I say.
“Everyone needs a little help sometimes,” the Reaper says.
“Yeah? Well, sometimes people don’t want help, even when they need it.”
“True,” the Reaper says. “If someone’s determined to sink their ship, you can plug holes all day and they’ll just keep making new ones.”
“Don’t go all philosophical on me,” I say. “I don’t even like being on boats. I get seasick.”
“You know, I can see why Rhett likes you,” the Reaper says. “You have a way of making even the most mundane conversations seem much livelier.”
“If they ever create an award for best conversationalist, let me know and I’ll apply. Until then, have a sip from my bottle of I-Don’t-Give-A-Crap and keep on walking.”
The Reaper chuckles and turns away, continuing through the woods.
As Xave brushes past, he says, “Nice work. Even I can’t get him to shut up.” I can’t help the smile that forms on my lips. “But maybe I should do the leading from now on, considering you can’t seem to tell a tree from a bush from a person in the dark.”
I shrug and follow him, because he’s exactly right.
After a few minutes, he fires a glance back and says, “You know, if you’d have gone to the same school as Rhett and I, I’m pretty sure we’d have all been friends.”
“Beth, too?” I snap, right away regretting it.
He stops and my heart beats so loudly he can probably hear it. Thud. Thud. After two beats he strides forward, pulling me behind him. He doesn’t respond to my comment.
So much for that best conversationalist award. More like conversation killer. Although he is a corpse-raising freak, he was…is…Rhett’s friend. And it’s no more his fault he’s a warlock than it is my sister’s that she’s a witch. Right?
“I’m sorry,” I say, the words burning my throat like acid. Apologizing to humans is hard for me. Apologizing to a warlock is like Chinese water torture.
He’s silent for three or four steps and then Xave says, “No apology necessary. I understand why you’d be angry. I know I hurt Rhett with what I did to Beth. I just thought…I just thought…”
“You thought you could bring her back,” I finish for him.
“I wanted her to be perfect,” he says, and although it’s similar to what he said when the missiles were raining down around us and our world was on the verge of collapse, it doesn’t sound nearly as insane this time. It sounds true and heartfelt.
“The eyes needed some work,” I say, snapping my teeth shut too late to stop yet another insensitive comment. Stupid, stupid, I think, for once wishing my diarrhea of the mouth would take a night off.
To my surprise, however, Xave laughs. “You think? I didn’t notice.” I’m not sure what to say to that, nor do I trust my mouth. “Do you think she was still inside there somewhere?” he asks, filling the silence.
Now is not the time for little white lies. “She was already dead, Xave. A long time ago.”
“You think I don’t know that? I was practically there when it happened. We were neighbors. Her scream woke me up. I got over there as fast as I could, but it was too late. She was—” He chokes, coughs, and then continues. “She was gushing blood from a slash in her stomach. I tried to put pressure on it, but the wound was too long, too deep. Too much life had already flowed out of her. She tried to speak, but couldn’t. Her lips were red. I held her until she was gone.”
His voice has grown robotic, like he’s reading a long-rehearsed speech. Detachment. A coping mechanism. “Rhett would be glad to know you were there for her at the end,” I say. “What happened next?”
“People in black cloaks, maybe five of them, burst into Beth’s house and grabbed me, pulled me away from her body, while I kicked and screamed and yelled. I was thrown in the back of a vehicle, a van. At some point I realized I’d lost my voice and stopped screaming, and yet screams were all around me. The dark hooded people, who I later found out were Necros who had been ordered by my father to protect me, started the van and drove away. I found my voice again and told them we had to go back for my friend. For Beth. We couldn’t just leave her there. We had to bury her. They didn’t listen, just kept driving, ignoring me like they were zombies.”
I only just realize we’ve stopped, and that Xave’s hand is on my arm, almost clutching it for support. Even now, months later, this is a hard story for him to tell.
“They took me to a big warehouse, guarded by dozens of Necros. I was scared to death and confused, but they locked me in a room with a bed and said everything would be explained in time. I pounded on the door, on the walls, screaming myself hoarse. No one came.
“A few miserable days passed. They gave me food, they gave me water, but that was all. No information. I was sure I was being held for ransom, and the moment they realized my foster family didn’t have much money, surely they’d kill me. That’s when he came.”
“Who?” I say, realizing the answer the moment the question slips out. “The Reaper.” “Yes. My father. He explained everything. What was happening, who he was, who I was. Of course, I didn’t believe any of it. My best guess was that I’d been abducted by some freaky cult that would sacrifice me to their gods.” He chuckles at the memory, which seems anything but funny.
“Your guess wasn’t too far from the truth,” I say. “I’d say ‘freaky cult’ about sums it up.”
He laughs at that, too, which makes me like him slightly more, just above the I-Hate-Your-Stinking-Guts level. He continues: “When I told the Reaper what had happened to Beth, he jolted, like he’d been shocked. He almost looked…sad. It’s not what I expected from a cult leader. He even hugged me, and I let him because I had no strength left. It actually helped. And then, to my surprise, he said he’d get her body. That we could bury her together.”
“Ha!” I say, my mouth getting the better of me again. “As if a Necromancer would ever bury a potential soldier to add to their army.”
Xavier bites his lip. “Two days later he brought Beth’s body. She’d been cleaned up, the blood wiped off of her lips and body. She was dressed in a clean, white dress. If it wasn’t for the decay and the smell, she would’ve almost looked like she was only sleeping.”
Although I can see the emotion on his face, I can’t hold back the fury building in my chest. “Yeah, a mint condition corpse, perfect for reanimation.”
Xavier looks away, blinking quickly, clearly fighting back tears. “It wasn’t like that. I even dug a hole, out behind the warehouse. The Reaper, who was still insisting he was my father, offered to help, or have his men dig it, but this was something I had to do myself, and they let me. They even got me a coffin for her and helped me lower her into the grave. I covered her with dirt.”
Despite the tears on his cheeks, I say, “That’s where you should have left her.”
He nods. “I can’t change the past. I won’t try to justify digging her up, reanimating her, only that I thought it was the right thing at the time.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your father did a great job of convincing you.”
I just make out Xave’s eyebrows going up in the dark. “No,” he says. “He did everything he could to talk me out of it. But he couldn’t. Once I’d seen what the Necros were capable of…once I’d seen what I was capable of…there was no changing my mind about Beth. Despite m
y father’s constant reminders that Reanimates weren’t the same as the person whose body they used, I managed to convince myself that I could do it. That I could perfect the dark magic and bend it to my will. That I could bring Beth back from the dead, not just reanimate her body.”
I shudder, all the talk of corpses and reanimation bringing recent memories to the forefront of my mind. And because I can see the truth in what he’s saying. I mean, I heard the way the reanimated Beth said Rhett’s name. Was it simply an instinctual thing? A random word said over and over again because she’d said it—thought it—so many times before she’d died? Or was she still in there somewhere, trying to make herself known? No. Impossible. The dead stay dead. Even the most powerful magic can’t change that. “She died in your arms,” I say.
“I realize that now, but at the time I thought if I made her perfect on the outside, she’d be perfect on the inside, too.”
The way he says it is so pure, like the simple logic of a child, that I find myself wishing he’d been right. More than that, I find myself on his side, any wall between us having been torn down by his story.
I’m more confused than ever. I don’t seem to have the slightest idea who the enemy is anymore. The Necros have done so many awful things, and yet they seem to be the ones trying to fight against the other witch gangs. My sister, who’s as pure as they come, is a Claire, but what if she’s the exception and the rest of them are evil, having allied with the Changelings? What if they’re brainwashing her right now, convincing her to use her powers against humanity? My stomach aches at the thought.
My thoughts will have to wait, however, because just then we hear a shout from up ahead.
“Found something!” the voice yells.
Chapter Fifteen
Rhett
We settle down for the night in a Sunoco station. The shelves are empty, looted long ago, but Hex leads us to a small, locked, metal door. There are dozens of dents in it, and the metal lock looks like it’s been shot at, riddled with bullet holes. And yet, somehow, it refused to open.
Bil pulls out his rifle, but I grab the stock, because Hex is already pawing at the door. “You’ll kill yourself with a ricochet. Let Hex do it.”
Hex leaps up and licks the door handle. There’s a click. Bil shakes his head in amazement.
“A lick for a click,” I say. “Good boy.” Hex lets me scratch him behind his dark ear as Bil pushes into the space beyond the door.
“Bingo,” Bil says. “Enough water to last us for weeks and plenty of snacks.”
Hex and I follow him in, where he’s already filling a bag with supplies. Beef jerky. Water bottles. Nuts and dried fruit. There’s even some over-the-counter medicine. Considering my track record for injuries, I’m sure that will come in handy.
There are two stools likely used for reaching the top shelves. Given my height, I don’t need them for that, but I claim one as a seat, placing it against the wall so I have a backrest.
I close my eyes while Bil continues to load up and Hex sniffs everything in sight. I swear the days are getting longer. Was it really only two days earlier that Laney and Trish took off on their own? It seems like weeks since I’ve seen them, each beat of my heart pounding a drum filled only with regret.
Another thought hits me. “Where are all the witches?” I say, thinking out loud. My eyes fly open. Bil looks at me strangely. Hex looks at me even more strangely. “Seriously,” I say. “I haven’t seen a single witch since Pittsburgh. It’s been at least a week.” Which is not normal. There’s one thing that’s been very consistent since this all began: Witches are everywhere.
“The missiles,” Bil says. “New America flexed its muscles and proved it’s a force to be reckoned with. Most of the magic-born are lying low, considering what to do next. It’s likely they’ll realize once more that fighting each other won’t help them defeat the remaining humans. Like before, they’ll form alliances. It’s quiet because we’re about to begin the final fight for our lives.”
His words wash over me like a cold wave, chilling me to the core. Is he right? Could the witch gangs set aside their differences one more time in order to finish us off? Would we stand any chance if they did? Something twists in my heart. A subtle change. This isn’t about revenge. Not for Beth, not for my foster family, not for all the people I’ve failed to save along the way. This is about the survival of a species. And although I’ll continue to fight in honor of Beth, it won’t be to avenge her death. It will be to make her death matter. So that she’ll be able to see from wherever she is now that I haven’t given up.
So that she’ll be proud.
~~~
“You ever wonder how I found you?” Bil asks me the next day. We’re somewhere in West Virginia, cutting a southeastern track diagonally toward Maryland and eventually to what used to be Washington D.C.—now called New Washington.
I look at Bil to see if he’s being serious. I’ve already asked him that exact question twice, and both times resulted in a huge fight. But that wasn’t him, I remember. At least not the normal him. “Uh, yeah,” I say. “How’d you find me?”
“You know that night on Mount Washington, when I ditched you?”
How could I forget the witch panther, Flora, and her two Hallucinator bodyguards? Getting taken captive isn’t something you usually forget. But I don’t say any of that, I just nod.
“Before I left I put a tracker in the heel of your boot,” he says.
“You did what?” I feel a spike of anger in my chest.
“Would you rather I’d carried out my mission and killed you instead?” he asks. Not waiting for a response, he says, “Sorry, buddy, but at that point I wasn’t sure about you. I wasn’t prepared to kill you, but I didn’t know whether you might switch sides, like President Washington suspected you would. Tracking you was the next best option to killing you, just in case I needed to find you later.”
That makes sense. And clearly it was him making the decisions, not his alter ego. I hate to admit it, but I understand now why he did what he did. “Where were you when everything was going down?” I ask.
“Trying to warn you,” he says. “I hadn’t seen you in days, since the Shifter took you inside the stadium, and I was beginning to wonder whether you really had joined the Necros. But something told me that wasn’t it. Either you were dead—which didn’t feel right—or you were captive. I was still in contact with New America and had been informed that the strike would occur later that day, so I sprang into action. While the witches were on a routine patrol, I managed to jump a Pyro and take him out. I stole his clothes and used a little magic trick—his heat retardant gloves and some rubbing alcohol—to show the Wardens I was a Pyro, and managed to sneak in.”
Major. Freaking. Newsflash.
“You were there?”
“Hells yeah I was there. If it wasn’t for being a Resistor, I would’ve been killed seven or eight times. I even got bit by one of those zombies.”
I pull up short, the beautiful lines of Beth’s chin and lips and nose flashing in my mind. The empty unseeing craters that used to be her eyes. “They aren’t zombies,” I say.
Bil stops, too, looking at me strangely. “Who cares what you call ’em?” he says. “They’re the walking dead.”
“They’re Reanimates,” I say, surprising even myself at how pedantic I’m being. The Reaper did the same thing once, during one of our long conversations.
“I don’t care what we call them. They’re scary,” he says. “And they bite like, no offense Hex, like wild dogs.” Hex cocks his head to the side as if to say, What does that have to do with me?
I let out a deep breath. He’s right. It doesn’t matter what we call them. Beth was never one of them, not really. Xave made sure of that. She was the only one that never tried to attack. She just spoke my name, in that rattling, chilling way. It was her voice, but not her voice.
It wasn’t really her, I remind myself. Just her body—nothing more.
“Where’d you get bit
ten?” I ask.
“I’m pretty sure you’d rather not see,” Bil says, chuckling to himself.
“I didn’t ask to see.”
“In the butt-ocks,” he says, doing his best Forrest Gump impression.
I snort. “You’re kidding.”
“Alright, I guess I’ll have to show you.” He starts to turn around.
“No no no no no, that’s quite all right, thank you,” I say quickly, covering my eyes in case he ignores me.
Bil laughs. “I was really hoping Laney would be around so I could show her, too,” he says. “Shame she had to go off on her own.”
Thanks for the reminder. “She’d just as soon shoot you as talk to you,” I say. “You’re not exactly in her good books.”
He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “Thanks for trying to warn me of what was about to go down,” I say. “You risked your life.”
“It was more for Laney,” he says, smiling widely. “She may hate me, but I like her. And I was never in any real danger, not with my ska-zillz.”
“Being a Resistor,” I say drily.
“We’re blood brothers,” he says with a wink.
Hex barks. We should keep moving, I think he says. But no, that’s not it. He’s stiff, his black/brown body frozen as if encased in ice. His tail is between his legs, not wagging like usual. His black-capped nose is pointed off the road, toward where there’s some kind of a sprawling business park.
“What is it, boy?” I say, crouching beside him, resting my hand on his dark coat. Hex twists his head around to look at me, his eyes dark, his teeth bared. He turns back to the office buildings and lets out a low growl.
A shout breaks the hazy silence, punctuated by the crisp crack of a gunshot.
Hex vanishes.
~~~
“Where’d he go?” Bil hisses, crouching low beside me, where my dog used to be.