He’d looked around, frozen and unable to get to his feet. Even once Angus spotted the others, his paralysis didn’t disappear. Jim was to Angus’s left, lying on his back with his blank eyes staring at the ceiling, his throat ripped out and a pool of blood gathering beneath his lifeless body. It was Glitter who had his full attention, though. She sat on the floor, her body trembling and her hand covering the bite on her shoulder. It was in almost the exact place as his.
We’ll have matching scars.
The thought had gone through his head a second before reality came crashing down. His daughter had been bitten, and he had no idea what that meant for her.
Angus was scrambling to his feet a second later, shaking his head, his mind whirling with the possibilities as he rushed to his daughter’s side.
“Let me see,” he said when he’d reached her, pushing her shaky hands away.
Vaguely, he was aware of Jada as well, only she was moving toward Jim’s lifeless body, her own injury forgotten as she sobbed. Angus could barely pay attention to her. He’d been too focused on Glitter. Too busy thinking about what might happen.
His daughter had been like him—immune. That was why Star created her, after all, as another subject for his twisted tests. But none of Star’s other test subjects had ever had the kind of immunities Angus did, and he had no clue what a bite from a hybrid zombie might do to his daughter. She could be fine. It was entirely possible that she would walk away from this with nothing to show for the ordeal but a small scar. Or she could turn.
“Daddy.”
Glitter reached for him, her shoulders shaking from her sobs, and the sight of her tears had caused a fissure in his heart that widened with each drop that fell from her eyes. The crack spread, splintering and growing and finally fracturing the organ when Glitter said, “Am I going to turn into one of them?”
He’d had to swallow his own tears before he could respond. “I don’t know.” He swallowed again, and the lump in his throat had felt like a boulder. “Come here.”
His arms were open when Glitter slammed into him, and he’d wrapped her in an embrace. Her body was shaking with sobs, and he felt his defenses shatter. They sat on the floor together, holding on to one another like they couldn’t bear the idea of ever letting go, both of them crying. Angus couldn’t speak through his tears, but that didn’t stop him from silently praying. He begged God to save his daughter, begged for a break. Pleaded for mercy.
His prayers went unanswered.
Angus had no clue how long they sat like that before Parv’s soft voice called out his name. He didn’t release Glitter, but he did lift his head. Parv was staring at Glitter, concern in her eyes, and she had her knife drawn. That was when Angus pulled back, when he’d looked his daughter over, and when his hopes shattered into a million pieces.
She’d already begun to change. Glitter’s eyes, once gray and so like his own, were clouded over and her skin had grown sallow, and there were dark veins around the bite on her shoulder. He’d seen a few people turn from this strain already, but watching those black lines crawl up her neck and spread across her face had still sent a shudder down his spine and twisted his intestines into knots.
“Angus,” Parv said again, firmer this time.
That was when Glitter had looked at the bite. Her eyes grew wide, her tears stopping in a sudden halt as the realization that she was going to die dawned.
She only stared at it for a few seconds, though, before lifting her gaze, her hazy eyes focusing on Angus when she said, “Don’t let me turn into one of them.”
Her voice was amazingly calm, but Angus’s cracked when he said, “I won’t. I promise.”
It had been a stupid thing to say, because there was no way he could put a knife in his daughter’s skull or through her heart. No way he could kill her, even for mercy. It was impossible. Too horrible to imagine. It would destroy him the way nothing else in his life had been able to.
Parv had put her hand on his arm, saying nothing but letting him know she was there. It was like she’d been able to read his mind and knew he would never be able to go through with it, and she was telling him she would do whatever needed to be done. He’d never loved her more than he had at that moment.
A quivering sob momentarily drew Angus’s gaze to Jada. The other woman was sitting beside Jim, one hand on his chest and her face streaked with tears. Like Glitter, her skin was several shades paler than it had been a few minutes ago, making her many tattoos seem almost three-dimensional, and her blue eyes were milky.
They didn’t have much time.
As if reading his mind, Parv had said, “Angus, we have to do it soon.”
“Daddy,” his daughter said in a low voice, drawing his attention back to her.
The black veins had begun to climb, moving over her neck to her chin and cheeks. Spreading.
“It’s gonna be okay.” His tears blurred her face, and he’d blinked them away. “Promise.”
“I love you,” his daughter had said, and Angus felt the crack in his heart grow.
He’d swallowed. “Love you. So much.”
Angus scooted away when the black veins reached her forehead, and Parv stepped forward.
“Close your eyes, baby,” he’d said, his voice low, raw, tortured.
Glitter obeyed, trembling, and reached for his hand. He’d clasped her thin fingers in his before closing his own eyes, working to control his breathing. Trying to hold himself together. Her grip tightened, and he heard her start to sob. His own tears were falling silently, and he didn’t try to hold them back. It would have been impossible.
It was over in seconds. Glitter gasped, and her hand squeezed his before going slack. It slipped from his grasp, and the thud of her body hitting the floor followed. He didn’t move, and another thud came only seconds later, and even though he still hadn’t opened his eyes, he knew Parv had taken care of Jada as well.
His wife’s arms wrapped around him then, and Angus allowed himself to finally break. He’d sobbed, cried as hard as he had when Axl died, harder, maybe. His wails had echoed through the house, coming back to taunt him, and he’d clung harder to Parv, certain he was hurting her but unable to stop himself. Unable to stop the sobbing. She hadn’t complained, and she hadn’t let him go. Not for hours. Or at least that was how long it had seemed to Angus.
When he’d finally managed to rein in his emotions, he and Parv had searched the garage and found a couple shovels. Together, they dug. Only one hole despite the fact that Angus thought his daughter deserved a grave all to herself. Then they’d put their friends to rest and started the long journey home.
It wasn’t until he and Parv were curled up together in their own bed that Angus found himself wondering why the creature had been up at all. It had been daylight, and the things only came out at night. He and Parv had talked about it, but since they’d been at the back of the group and hadn’t seen what happened, they’d had no real theories.
All these years later, sitting in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, the memory still stung. Despite that, Angus clung to the image of his daughter as he forced his body to relax. Raindrops thudded against the roof while he replayed her smile and her laugh, memorizing them, tucking them away for later, and finally drifting back to sleep. That night, Glitter was all he dreamt about.
It was still raining when he woke. The constant tapping of the drops against the roof was enough to make him want to go back to sleep, especially since his daughter’s ghost was still hovering over him. Her laughter echoed through his head, her smile making his body lighter despite the constant aches and pains of everyday life. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye again, but part of his brain, the part that was more conscious, told him he needed to. There were things he had to do.
Angus shifted and opened his eyes. He’d slept in the chair all night, and while he was a little sore—his neck, especially, was stiff—he felt more rested than he had any right to. Probably it was because he’d spent too many nights sleeping on an unfor
giving floor. At least the chair was soft.
The fire had dwindled to embers while he slept, and building it back up would be his first task. Then he’d have to think about food, which meant hunting. He and Naya would be here for a while, so it crossed his mind that he could set some traps, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find the things he needed. Snares meant rope, and it seemed unlikely that whoever had called this cabin home would have a stash of rope just lying around. Unlikely, but not impossible, which meant he’d look.
Fire first.
He sat up, groaning, and his gaze moved to the couch. Every other morning Naya had been awake before him, but today she was curled up under the blanket, only her face and a shock of black hair visible. She looked younger in sleep, more vulnerable, and something in him twisted at the sight of her. What would have happened to this girl if he hadn’t stumbled upon her that day? He couldn’t imagine a fourteen-year-old traveling this world alone. There were too many dangers, too many threats. Too many things that could go wrong.
The thought spurred him into action. He built up the fire, feeding logs and kindling and fifty-dollar bills into the flames until they were nice and strong, licking at the air like they were trying to escape the confines of the chimney and crackling through the quiet room. Once that was done, he moved through the cabin, doing a more thorough search than he had the night before. He dug through closets and looked under beds and searched every nook and cranny to make sure he hadn’t missed anything useful, and he was shocked by how much he found. Boxes of matches, a couple propane lanterns, an old camping stove with plenty of fuel, and rope. Even better was the bow and sheath of arrows he found under the downstairs bed. It was nestled in the shadows, pushed far back as if someone had hidden it, and surrounded by dust bunnies, but still in good shape.
He sat on the bed, the weapon in hand, and stared at it in silence for a few minutes. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a bow, and having it meant he would be able to do some real hunting, but the sight also resurrected old memories, forcing them to the forefront of his mind. He’d taught Axl to shoot when they were kids, had taken him hunting. Later, after the zombies came, he and his brother had spent countless hours searching for food, the bows an asset in a world where noise could bring death. Then there had been Parv. He could still remember the day she’d come to Axl and asked to learn.
They’d left Vegas only a week before, after their supposed safe haven had fallen and they’d run those pricks out of the Monte Carlo. That was how Trey, Parv’s first love, had died, and while she’d been withdrawn and quiet at first, it hadn’t lasted. The loss had done something to her, and overnight she’d changed, showing up with her dark hair cut in a jagged, uneven style she’d given herself. She’d held her chin high when she’d stopped in front of Angus and Axl, an expression of determination in her dark eyes that had never been there before.
“I want to learn to shoot the bow.”
They’d been on the road all day, their destination uncertain, and had stopped to rest. Typically, the brothers had used that time to do some hunting, but they’d come across a stash of canned goods the day before and decided to take one day off.
“The bow?” Axl had repeated like he’d never heard of the weapon.
“You heard me,” she’d spit back.
Angus had been an asshole back then, although even at that point he’d found himself softening toward most of the people in their group—tragedy did that to a person—not that he would have ever admitted it, and he’d looked at her with a sneer on his face the old Parv would have cringed away from.
“Whatcha worried about, anyways? Ain’t you got ’bout a million gods to look after you?”
“Shut up, Angus,” his brother had said, but Parv hadn’t blinked, hadn’t looked his way, hadn’t even acknowledged he’d spoken.
She’d kept her gaze focused on Axl. “Will you teach me?”
Axl had stood, brushed the dirt from his backside, and nodded. “Sure.”
Angus stayed where he was as they walked off, Parv never once glancing in his direction, his teeth grinding at her refusal to be baited.
He hadn’t joined them that day, but he’d watched them closely as he smoked. Darla had been at his side, blathering on about something he hadn’t had the patience to pay attention to. He hadn’t yet admitted to himself that he liked having the woman around for reasons other than her body, and ignoring her constant chatter was easy—not that she seemed to notice or care if he responded or even listened most of the time.
Axl had taken his time with Parv, letting her try out a few of the many compound bows they had before finding one that worked. They all had different weights and tensions, and she was a small woman. Thin arms. Once she’d found the right one, though, things had really gotten moving. Parv listened closely to Axl’s instructions, adjusted her stance each time she released an arrow that didn’t quite hit the mark, and by the time they were ready to move on, she’d shown significant improvement.
Things had gone on like that for the next few days, Angus watching while Parv and Axl practiced, and she’d even worked on her own each time they stopped. She was a natural, with good aim and plenty of patience, and even Angus had been impressed, but she hadn’t yet worked with a moving target, and that would be the real test.
It was on the fifth day that he’d finally gone over to talk to her.
“You’re gettin’ good.”
She’d said nothing as she looked up at him, her expression not changing except for a hint of hesitation in her eyes.
He’d waved his hand toward the tree she’d been shooting at. “The trick is gonna be hittin’ something that’s comin’ after you.”
Parv had tilted her head and frowned. “True.”
“I can take you out if you want. Find us some of the dead.”
“You want to help me?” Genuine surprise had flashed in her eyes.
“Don’t sound too surprised, Rambo,” he’d said, barely even thinking about the nickname when it rolled off his lips. “I can play nice.”
Parv had looked doubtful, but she hadn’t hesitated to nod. “Okay.”
Her response had shocked the hell out of Angus, but it had also given him a newfound respect for the girl. She’d been soft when they picked her up on Route 66, timid and quiet and unsure of everything around her, and he’d been sure spending time alone with him would be the last thing she’d agreed to. But she had, and she hadn’t seemed the least bit hesitant.
She’d barely spoken that day except when asking for tips, had taken in his advice with an almost respectful expression on her face, and best of all, had improved. By the time they’d returned to camp an hour later, Angus had decided she’d earned the nickname he’d inadvertently given her.
They’d formed a quiet almost friendship that day, a mutual respect that baffled everyone—himself especially. Angus had known he was changing before taking Parv out, had known some of the prejudices he’d always clung to were starting to melt away, but it had still shocked the hell out of him to learn he actually enjoyed the company of a nineteen-year-old Indian girl. Sitting with her in companionable silence while they kept watch became a nice break from Darla’s constant gum flapping, and Parv, too, seemed to not mind being with him.
It was one of those nights, shortly before they found the hot spring that would claim so many of their lives, that Parv had first asked for a cigarette.
The group was camped out in a house somewhere in Colorado, everyone but Parv and Angus in the house and fast asleep, while the two of them sat side by side on the porch, keeping an eye on things. It was chilly, late fall, and the temperature had dropped so much that Angus’s fingers were numb when he slipped the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, making it difficult to pull one out. He’d fumbled for a few seconds before finally freeing it, and once he had, Parv held her hand out.
“Give me one.”
His eyebrows shot up, and he’d given her a doubtful look. “You ever smoke, Rambo?”
>
She’d rolled her eyes. “Of course not, but I figure there’s no point in worrying about cancer anymore. I mean, I’m about a million times more likely to get my face eaten off. Might as well live it up.”
Angus had chuckled. “Good point.”
He’d passed the cigarette over, and she’d eyed it for only a second before putting it between her lips. He remembered grinning as he’d flicked his thumb over the lighter. A spark followed, then a flame, and he’d held it to the end of her cigarette, cupping his free hand around it to block out the wind.
“Inhale,” he’d said, doubting she’d know to do that.
She had, and the end of the cigarette flared red.
Angus watched her with an amused expression on his face, chuckling quietly when she coughed. Smoke had come out with it, and she’d waved her hand in front of her face before going back for more. The second time, she’d only coughed a little.
He was still grinning when he pulled his own cigarette out. “Always knew I was a bad influence, just didn’t think I’d be able to corrupt a sweet thing like you.”
“Sweet.” She’d snorted.
Angus had his own cigarette lit by then, and he’d inhaled while looking at her, his eyebrows raised. “You sayin’ you ain’t sweet?”
“No,” she’d replied, frowning, “just that it’s pathetic how sweet I was. How much I missed out on because of it. I should have lived more. Done more.”
He blew smoke in the air and said, “You got time for that.”
“Do I?” She’d stared at him, inhaling again, her expression doubtful. Her eyes sad.
“Sure,” Angus replied. “You’re young. Got your whole life ’head of you.”
“I’m sure Trey thought the same thing.” The words had come out choked, but she tried to cover it by putting the cigarette back in her mouth.
Angus had been able to see the pain clearly on her face and had even understood it. Darla still annoyed the shit out of him half the time, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of losing her felt like a knife in his gut. He loved her, God help him, which was a weakness he’d sworn he’d never give in to. Not after his last relationship.
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 17
