The Dead Saga (Book 6): Odium VI

by Riley, Claire C.

  “God has a different plan for you,” Stormy replied solemnly. “Just wait and see.”

  I scoffed at her remark. I didn’t believe in God any more than I believed in heaven and hell. There was only this place now—a world where everything came to die and be reborn.

  “How long was I out?” I asked. My throat felt dry and scratchy.

  She came back into view with a needle in her hand. “Not long.” She smiled sadly. “You passed out from the pain. The cut was deep, but not quite deep enough to go all the way through. I had to take the rest.”

  I flinched at her words, memories hitting me in the chest of Scar swinging his knife at me. Of me deflecting it with my machete and swinging back at him. Of Shooter’s bellowing voice calling my name as Scar’s shocked face flew through the air and landed on the ground at my feet.

  And then blood.

  So much blood.

  His knife was sharp, but my machete was sharper.

  “This might pinch a little,” Stormy said, gesturing to the needle.

  “Lady, do you really think I care about the pinch of a needle right now? Have you seen me?” I snapped, and her smile fell. It was like kicking a puppy, and however much I hated myself right then, I instantly regretted offending Stormy. “I’m sorry, I’m in a lot of pain.”

  “It’s fine,” she said with another smile as she injected the liquid into my arm. “This will help right away.”

  I had no idea what it was, but it felt damn good as it filled my veins and worked its way around my body. My eyelids felt heavy and my mind sluggish, so I closed my eyes and rode the wave as the pain subsided to a dull roar in the background of my subconscious. Like I knew the pain was still there, but it was as if the pain was happening to someone else entirely. Good, they could keep it.

  “Better?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.” I breathed out the word, feeling the single word wash across my tongue like liquid satin. “What was that?” I asked on a sigh.

  “You don’t want to know. Something Shooter said to give you if you needed it. I only gave you a quarter of it, though. I doubt your body could take much more than that.”

  I opened my eyes and licked my tongue. “What would happen if I had more?” I asked, because I wanted more. I definitely wanted more of it. More of that feeling. More of the numbness and the warmth. More of forgetting what had happened.

  “It would probably kill you, given how hard that first hit just got to you,” she said with a frown.

  “But I need more,” I said, my chest feeling heavy. “Give me more. It still hurts, damn it!”

  She shook her head. “No. This stuff would take out a horse. You’ve had more than enough to ease the pain.”

  Pain? What pain?

  I reached up with my hands to touch my numb face, flinching when I felt the bandages on my left hand against the skin on my cheek. I felt angry and sad and confused, but mostly I felt hot, sick-to-my-stomach hot. I could feel the trickles of sweat trailing down the sides of my face, trailing down my sides, traveling over my spine.

  Stormy frowned, her gaze traveling over me. “You’re already burning up,” she said. “You have to fight this.”

  Fight it? Fight it? I’d done enough fighting. Now I wanted enough of whatever she’d just given me to put me down. Enough to put me to sleep, forever. I wanted to never wake up, because the reality of my life wasn’t worth living in—not anymore. I couldn’t fight like this. Live like this. It was only a matter of time now before either the undead infection burned through my humanity and I became one of them, or I was killed by one of them. I was weak, injured, a lamb ready for slaughter.

  “Give me some more,” I argued.

  “No, they’re going to be heading out soon,” Stormy said, leaning against the table I was on, her face serious. “O’Donnell figured that you’d want to go with them.”

  I blinked up at her in confusion. “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not going anywhere. I’m done for. I’m fucking worm food! Look at me!” I knew I was being irrational, overly dramatic, and way too emotional about it, but I couldn’t control any of it. I felt like I was coming apart at the seams, the stitching unthreading as piece by piece I came apart like old leather.

  She frowned. “No, Nina, I cauterized the veins and stopped the bleeding. You’ve had antibiotics and you’re strong, you can fight this. You just have to want to.”

  “Fight? Fight? Are you insane?”

  I held up both my arms, staring at the bloody bandages with sickening anger. And then I started to laugh. My gaze moved to Stormy, to her kind and innocent face that remained impassive to my theatrical laughter, and then I started to cry.

  Brandishing my one good hand and the stump on the end of my other arm, I scowled at her, my eyes narrowing in on her pretty face, hate marring my features. “And how long do you think I’ll live out there with one fucking hand, Stormy?”

  Her face washed with guilt, but she lifted her chin and held my hard haze. “That depends on you,” she said.

  “On me?” I gritted out, almost hysterical, but it actually felt good to be losing control. To be letting my tongue and my temper run away with themselves.

  Stormy nodded at me, her stare even and calm, despite the fact that I was losing my shit.

  I squeezed my eyes closed before opening them again. “And how do you figure that? Because the way I see it, when Scar took my hand, whether you stopped the bleeding or not, I’m a dead woman walking. I can’t fight anything like this. And trust me when I say that there aren’t enough people out there that care about me to help me survive.”

  Stormy shook her head at me and frowned. “He said you were a fighter.”

  I scowled right back at her before turning my head to one side. I needed more of what was in that syringe of hers. I needed to blot out the pain, blot out her, and hopefully blot out myself in the process. I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was done listening. I wanted to be gone from the world—on my terms, not anyone else’s.

  “Yeah? Well, whoever the hell he was, was wrong. Now just leave me,” I bit out.

  Stormy reached over and grabbed my chin, dragging my face back to hers.

  “What are you doing? Get the fuck off me!” I yelled. I reached out to hit at her, but I reached out with the arm that was missing the hand and started to freak out, my hysteria bubbling over at the sight of the bloody bandages wrapped around the end of my wrist. The pain was still vicious and raw, and I knew that once the pain meds wore off it was going to be a hell of a lot worse than this. I’m not going to lie about it—that thought scared me.

  “Mikey,” Stormy said, irritation dripping from the name. “Mikey said you were a fighter.”

  That shut me the hell up.

  I stopped fighting her, my body going limp and the fight leaving me.

  Resentment and sadness crawled up my throat like a demon coming up from hell, its bony fingers clinging onto flesh and bone. Stormy let go of my chin and we glared at one another as an angry sob left my trembling lips.

  “He talked about you all the time, Nina. About how you saved his life. About how you were fearless and headstrong. Determined to do whatever it took to survive and keep surviving.” She looked me up and down like I was a dirty dishrag ready to be thrown away.

  “Shut up,” I whimpered.

  “No, you need to hear this. He cared about you a lot. He was a mess when he came to Haven. His head wasn’t in the right place at all, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was looking for his kid then he would have put a gun to his head and blown his brains out because in his head he was already dead. Something broke him. But then something, or someone, also kept him going. Kept giving him the strength to carry on. That was you, Nina. You kept him strong, and I’m not going to lie, I was so excited to meet you after everything he said, but you’re not the woman he described.” She let go of my chin.

  “None of us are the same anymore,” I said, a tear dripping from the corner of my eye.

&n
bsp; “You’re right, we’re not. But you gave Mikey the strength to carry on, now I think you need to dig deep and give yourself the strength to get through this. I won’t lie, it’s not going to be easy, but he believed in you, and so do I.”

  My tongue darted out to wet my bottom lip as the sound of the door opening cut through the air. “Well, it’s a good thing he’s dead then, huh? Now there’s no chance I can disappoint him,” I replied coldly.

  Stormy took a step back. “You really believe that?”

  “What? Do I believe that Mikey’s dead or that I’d disappoint him?” I shrugged. “I’m not a storyteller, Stormy, I say it how I see it. He’s dead, and now so am I.”

  “We’re heading out,” Shooter said from somewhere behind me, making me jump.

  I turned my head to the side to look at him, guilt blossoming in my chest because I’d been speaking about Mikey. It felt like a betrayal even if I hadn’t actually done anything wrong.

  “Thought you should know.” I hated the look on his face, the shame marring his handsome features as he looked at my damaged body. He blamed himself for it—for what Scar had done to me—but it wasn’t his fault, it was mine. I should have listened to him all along. “You’re going to stay here—I don’t want you in this fight. The Reject women and a coupla prospects. If anything goes down, you get into the safe room and you stay there till I get back, Nina.”

  “And what if you don’t come back, Shooter?” I asked on a swallow.

  A slow smile crawled up his face. “That ain’t gonna happen, darlin’.”

  Stormy walked past him, leaving us alone. I felt like a victim lying there, my body broken my mind already giving up. I hated the feeling, but I couldn’t stop it, because every time I tried to, the pain at the end of my wrist was a stark reminder of the feelings I was trying to bury and ignore—a cold and bloody reminder of what I was missing. My hand, and so much more.

  “You don’t know that,” I scowled.

  Shooter stalked forward, and I lay there like a deer caught in his headlights. He reached for me, pulling me gently so I was sitting up, and then he leaned over me, his hot breath washing over my face before he placed a hard kiss on my mouth. That man couldn’t and wouldn’t do gentle, not ever. It wasn’t in his makeup; his DNA demanded that everything he did was strong, rough, and just as demanding as he was. I didn’t kiss him back—I couldn’t—but that didn’t stop him from kissing me. A tear slid out of the corner of my eye and I wanted to reach up and wipe it away, but I didn’t.

  He finally pulled out of the kiss, his face so close to mine that I could see the different shades of blue in his eyes.

  “I do know that, woman. I know I’ll be coming back, because I’ll be comin’ back to you—for you. Because nothin’ could keep me apart from you. Not men, not women, not even the Devil himself could stop me from getting back to you.” He placed another chaste kiss on my lips and stood up straight. “Just remember that.”

  “And what if you die?” I asked darkly, suddenly terrified of losing him. “If nothing else, this should have shown you that we can’t always know what will happen next, and we certainly can’t stop it.”

  Shooter pulled out his cigarettes and lit one, his blue-eyed gaze staring down at me. “Death ain’t nothin’ to a man like me, Nina. I ain’t scared of it, and you shouldn’t be either.” He smiled, that slow, wonky smile that made his dimples pop and made him look half his age. That smile that made him look like he’d stood toe to toe with the Devil and told him to fuck off. “I’ll be seeing you real soon, darlin’.”

  And then he turned and left.

  The clubhouse was noisy with voices, but they slowly started to filter outside and then I really was left alone. Alone with my dark thoughts, my worries, and the feeling that my impending death was getting ever closer.

  The sound of motorbikes roared to life outside, and I slowly slid to the edge of the table and scooted off the end of it. I made my way over to the window and pulled the blinds to one side so I could look out.

  The prospects were opening the gates, and everyone was filtering out. Everyone was going. Highwaymen, Rejects, nomads, NEOs, and the Highwaymen women—my warriors—women that I’d trained to become strong and powerful. Trained to become warriors in that world.

  There were so many people now, all ready to fight, to tear apart the Savages. All fighting for the same cause. Bikes and cars, trucks and people on horseback. There were people of all colors and races, male and female, all going to fight in the war. A war I couldn’t be in anymore because of Scar and how he’d maimed me.

  I didn’t want to feel sorry for myself. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to storm out there and demand to go with them, but I couldn’t. My body hurt, my mind ached, and my heart throbbed with sadness. There wasn’t a single part of me that wasn’t in pain right then. But it was more than just physical; it felt like I had given up.

  And I hated myself for that the most—for giving up.

  I headed back to the table, seeing the half-filled needle next to it. I sat back down on the table and picked it up, knowing that within that needle was the solution to everything for me. It would erase the pain I felt. It would heal the scars I had blackened upon my heart. The contents of that needle would eradicate everything I was feeling. The small amount Stormy had given me earlier had taken the edge off, but I had seen what that stuff had done to Gunner. How it had flattened him and knocked him out. And I had no doubt that he had already used to it. So what would it do to me? Kill me, hopefully.

  I looked back to the window, wishing that I was going with them all. And then I looked back down at the needle, wishing I was anywhere but there. Wishing I was anything but alive. Wishing and wishing and knowing that wishes didn’t come true. That if you wanted something to happen, you had to do it for yourself. Make it happen. I wouldn’t and couldn’t depend on anyone else. It was on me, and it was my decision.

  Chapter Thirty

  Mikey

  “Come on, man,” I grunted as Drag stopped walking. I shifted his weight, pulling him up as he tried to sit down.

  “Can’t,” he mumbled, bloody dribble sliding out the side of his mouth and trickling onto his cut. “Need to take a breather.” His body was sodden with sweat and blood, exhaustion and death clawing at him to rest, forever.

  “We don’t have time to take a breather.” I continued onward, Drag’s feet barely moving as I dragged him through the dark tunnels of the Savages’ caves.

  We came to a fork in the path.

  “Which way now?”

  The cave was lit with medieval-style torches hung on the walls, like we were in Dracula’s castle. Hell, I would have preferred being in Dracula’s castle right then. I’d rather have my blood drunk than have my body taken from me piece by piece. I shuddered at the prospect.

  I leaned Drag against the wall and patted his cheeks lightly to rouse him since he was sinking into oblivion. He wasn’t going to last much longer and I still didn’t feel like I was any closer to getting out of there than I had been twenty minutes ago. Or ten minutes. Hell, it could have been an hour ago since we’d left that tiny hell cell. That place was sucking my life away with every breath I took.

  “Drag, we need to get out of here, man. Come on!” I begged him.

  He grunted something but I couldn’t decipher exactly what. I dragged my hands through my hair and looked back the way we had come. It was quiet behind us, so at least no one was following through the passageways. We’d had to duck into a room earlier when we’d heard the sound of the Savages running. It hadn’t been the best room option, since it held nothing but clothes and shoes, bags and other belongings. I hadn’t thought much of it at first, but then it had occurred to me that they were the belongings of all the people they had killed or traded.

  Some of the stuff looked pretty new, some of it old, but all of it belonged to people who were likely now dead. Or at least wishing they were. Among the things I’d found a crumpled Hawaiian shirt, and I’d known then that it
was too late for Phil. He was gone.

  I wasn’t sure if the Savages we’d hidden from had been looking for us or if they were hunting down something or someone else, but they hadn’t sounded happy about whatever they were running from, or to.

  I still struggled to get my mind around the fact that the Savages were the hunters in the whole thing, and not the other way around. I’d spent so long running from the dead and the Forgotten that I hadn’t seen that there were other dangers growing all around me. If I made it out of this alive, I swore I’d never take my eye off the ball again.

  In fact, I was heading to somewhere secluded to live out my days alone, because people couldn’t be trusted anymore. Not even myself.

  “This sucks,” Drag groaned, and I swung my gaze to him. His eyes were open, though barely. “Yeah, that’s right motherfucker, I’m still here. Don’t you leave my sorry ass in here.” He tried to chuckle but failed and ended up coughing up some blood.

  I covered his mouth to stifle the sound of his coughing. “Can’t leave you behind, dumbass. Only you know the way out of this maze,” I replied seriously.

  I removed my hand and he blinked slowly and forced a smile. “Good answer.”

  “So, which way?” I asked again. “We passed fourteen torches and the pile of bones you told me about, and now we’re at the fork you said there would be.”

  He looked past me and into the dark beyond. His silence was cutting and I wondered what he was thinking about right then, and why he was even doing this. He must have known that there was no saving him. That he was knock-knock-knocking on Heaven’s door…or maybe Hell’s was more likely. Drag didn’t seem the sort of man that God would let into Heaven. If there were such a thing. Either way, he wasn’t lasting the day out. Probably not even the next hour.

  “Left,” he grunted, his face creasing up as pain gripped him from deep inside. His hand came around his middle and he gasped as he doubled over. He made a noise that wasn’t anywhere near human, and I took a step back from him as he choked up blood, spitting it out onto the floor in front of us. He breathed heavily for a few seconds, catching his breath before looking up at me. “I said left, fucker, now get me out of here! I’m not dying in here. Wanna see the sun when I go out of this world kicking and screaming.”