Love and Decay

by Rachel Higginson

  Miller didn’t have as much luck as I did, plus he already had the disadvantage of being second. I didn’t know if he’d had to stop and explain what we were doing to Diego or if he’d had to fight off a Zombie.

  And right now it didn’t matter. I had to catch up to that scout or this would all be for nothing.

  Plus, the battle had wound me up and made me more bloodthirsty than normal.

  I skidded down one hill, my boots no match for the sliding gravel and the momentum I’d picked up along the way. My arms flailed and I let out an embarrassing yelp as I nearly crashed face first into a gigantic cactus.

  Once I hit the short valley between hill rises, I dug my toes into the ground and ran as fast as I could to the top. By the time I reached it, I was wheezing and frustratingly dizzy.

  I should have been expecting an attack, but my mind had switched to one mode and I couldn’t manage rational thought. I had been so focused on finding the spy and capturing him so Diego could have his way with him, that I forgot the scout might also be interested in capturing me.

  The tackle came out of nowhere. Muscled arms wrapped around my arms and torso and wrestled me to the ground. The blow knocked the wind out of me and when we landed in a tangled heap, my head hit another rock, sending a splitting headache screaming through me.

  My attacker landed with an oof, but his hold never loosened. Fear and instinct washed over me and I kicked out without needing to think about it. I hit his shins first and breath hissed through his teeth.

  I knew that hurt, so I kept kicking at him. I didn’t always hit my mark, but I would be damned if he captured me.

  Kicking and struggling did little more than wear me out. All he had to do was hold on and I was the one exerting the energy in my pathetic escape attempt.

  I’d lost my blades along the way and I couldn’t reach my holster at this point. If this asshole managed to subdue me, he would take my weapons from me and either keep them for himself or disperse them among Matthias’s men.

  Neither one of those options was a great one.

  So I continued to fight, even though I couldn’t catch my breath, even though my head swam and my stomach felt close to heaving. I fought and I fought and I fought until I heard him hiss, “Goddamn it, hold still already!”

  His American accent surprised me enough that I froze. Of course, I remembered what one sounded like. My family all had them. Miller and Tyler too. We’d just picked up Joss and she had an American accent.

  But this man was a complete stranger. And chances were he still lived in my home country.

  After everything I’d been through to get here, after the last decade of my life I’d used to prepare for this moment, after endless Zombie hordes and Mexico City and struggling daily just to survive… I was unprepared to meet someone from the Colony so soon.

  “You work for Matthias Allen?” I asked on a wheeze.

  He loosened his grip and leaned back to look at me. “Don’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We saw you earlier in the trucks. What are you doing with the Mexican?”

  “The Mexican?” Oh. “Diego?”

  For the first time since we left Bogotá, invoking Diego’s name had been a very bad idea. The man leapt into action, jumping on top of me, pinning my arms beneath his knees and pressing a knife to my throat.

  “You work with Diego?” he growled at me. His face was clearer from this position. He looked like I would have imagined Matthias’s men to look. His clothes weren’t ragged, but they weren’t new either. They were dirty from the road, just like his skin, tanned and weathered from the sun and our life.

  It was impossible to tell how old he was, but I would have guessed near Diego’s age. His face had deep wrinkles spider-webbing across it and his eyes were hard and compassionless.

  He leaned forward and nicked my neck with his blade. “Answer me, girl. Do you work with Diego?”

  I decided honesty was probably the best policy. “I don’t work with Diego.” The man leaned back a little, releasing some of the pressure of his blade against my skin

  “Then what are you doing here? Why did his Feeders attack you but not his men?”

  These were harder questions to answer. “Why didn’t the Feeders attack you?” I demanded. “Are you working with Diego?”

  The corners of his mouth lifted in a smug smile. “The Feeders learned to fear me a long time ago. And the funny thing about being the scarier predator is that all other predators learn to leave you the hell alone.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard,” Miller deadpanned. Silver glinted in the night air and the man on top of me popped up his hands when a blade pressed against his throat.

  “You set me up,” the man growled at me. He tried to bring his knife down, but Miller grabbed it with his free hand and used his body to knock the guy off me.

  By the time I could prop myself up with one elbow, Miller had him pinned to the ground shoving the guy’s face into the dirt.

  Miller leaned in and spoke low in the guy’s ear. “My Mexican friends tell me you work with Matthias. Is that true?”

  “What do you think?” the guy answered. His face was muffled by the ground and dirt.

  “I think he sent you on a mission to spy on Diego and his people. I think maybe Matthias wanted you to cause some trouble, stir things up a bit.” The guy’s silence spoke for him. Miller’s brutal laugh rang out of place in the middle of our interrogation. “Instead, you did no real damage, didn’t manage to hurt anybody and then got caught.” More silence. “Sounds like you’re having a pretty tough time of it, friend.”

  Finally he growled into the dirt, “I’m not your friend.”

  “No shit.” Miller picked up the guy’s head by grabbing a fistful of hair and slammed it back on the ground. I cringed at the hard smacking sound that seemed to echo through the night, even though I believed this guy deserved it.

  “I-if you don’t work for Matthias, who do you work for?” the spy had lost his tenacity. I watched him wilt under Miller’s dominance.

  Miller leaned in again, enjoying the dramatics. “Don’t you recognize me?” It was a silly question since the guy couldn’t even see Miller from his face-first position on the ground. “I look just like him.”

  “Wh-who?”

  I couldn’t believe Miller was giving away our element of surprise! I pushed to my knees and reached for his shirt, tugging on it to let him know I was still there. He couldn’t just do whatever he wanted or say whatever he wanted. We had a plan.

  I had a plan!

  And like all the best plans in history, it hinged on the element of surprise.

  Zombie groans filled the air as Diego’s men corralled them back into their cage. Spanish shouts echoed over the Feeder sounds as they called out to each other. The man pleaded for his life under Miller’s savage grip. But my heartbeat pounded above it all.

  “Who a-are you?” the man asked again. His voice had shriveled, just like his courage. My nose wrinkled in disgust for the pathetic creature he’d turned into.

  “Please don’t,” I whispered. I didn’t even know if Miller could hear me. He seemed blind with rage, deaf with dark intention. He hadn’t looked at me once since he’d pinned the guy down.

  Miller leaned in at the same time he yanked the spy’s head up by his hair. “You’re lucky she doesn’t want you to know,” he growled. “You’re lucky she’s here at all.”

  I swallowed down a gulp of relief. I never knew what to make of Miller. I could never predict his actions or responses. I never expected him to listen to me or do what I asked.

  And yet he did. At least tonight.

  Miller dropped the guy’s head with a forceful shove and sat back, keeping him pinned under him. My erratic heartbeat started to slow down.

  “Well?” Miller turned to me, a hint of something strange pulling at the corners of his eyes. “What do you want me to do with him?”

  “Diego can deal with him,” I suggested. “I think
they have something planned.”

  We both turned and squinted into the night. Diego’s men were still busy with the Feeders. We would have to stay with the spy until they were ready.

  “It was clever of you to unlock the cage,” Miller noted. “You almost made it out of here alive.”

  “It wasn’t clever,” the man argued. “It’s insane how they keep the Feeders locked up like pets. These men are savages. Just as bad as the Feeders they keep imprisoned.”

  Miller snorted. “Yeah, they’re so different than your supreme leader.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” the spy demanded. He sounded a little more like the man I’d first met. His voice turned to steel. His shoulders straightened, losing that defeated pose he’d had since Miller tackled him.

  “It means,” Miller explained with an obvious struggle for patience, “that Matthias has also been known for keeping Feeders locked up. Only he didn’t feed them or use them to fight his enemies. No, he displayed them. Like trophies. He kept them right where his people could see them so they didn’t get any funny ideas about the way he was running things. He used them to intimidate his own people. Unlike Diego over there that uses them to protect his people.”

  “Lies,” the man spit. “I’ve never seen that and I’ve been with him for years.”

  Miller’s emotions got the better of him and he slid his knee to the back of the man’s spine and applied pressure. “Not long enough.”

  The man cried out in pain. “How would you even know that? Did you defect? He’d have hunted you down if you did. You don’t know Matthias. I don’t believe you.”

  A slow smile spread across Miller’s face. “You’re right. I did defect. And Matthias did hunt me down.”

  “You’d be dead,” the spy insisted. “We’d have killed you.”

  “It’s not like y’all didn’t try.” Miller rarely slipped into the thick southern accent he’d had when we were kids. He had worked hard to even out his tone, sound more like my brothers and Reagan and Haley, who were from the Midwest. But every once in a while, he slipped. His words dragged long and liltingly; his tone turned more to a drawl and he slipped in a “y’all” before he could catch himself.

  “Nobody survives Matthias.” The spy pushed up, trying to struggle against Miller. “Nobody.”

  “Not even the people he’s supposed to be protecting,” Miller finished. “Like you for instance. It’s a shame that despite your delusional loyalty, that you’ll be the one to die tonight. When I get to go on living. Even though I couldn’t be further from loyal. Even though he’s tried to kill me more times than I can count. Even though he would like nothing more than to slit my throat and watch me bleed out. But you’ll be the one to die instead. For his name’s sake. Makes you wonder if you put your faith in the right guy.”

  That was apparently the last straw for this man’s integrity. With a shouting growl he pushed up, knocking Miller off balance. If Miller had been more focused and less smug about his Matthias tirade, he wouldn’t have had trouble keeping the spy pinned. But the captive used every ounce of strength he had, exaggerated with adrenaline and dedication to Matthias Allen.

  The man had lost his weapons somewhere in the earlier struggle, but that didn’t stop him from launching himself at Miller. At that moment my heart stopped. Everything stopped. I didn’t breathe. Or think. Or move. I just waited for something terrible to happen.

  The two men clashed together in a brutal war of punches and kicks. They wrestled around on the ground together, each trying to wrap his hands around the other’s throat. Miller had weapons but it was like he preferred his fists.

  The spy beat him over and over. My lungs ached as I tried to remember how to breathe, watching him accept the blows, watching him take a beating.

  “Miller!” I finally cried out, hoping to shake some sense into him.

  At the sound of my voice, something came over him. He jerked to life, remembering that he wanted to win… that he wanted to survive. I watched his face change, the light spark to life again in his eyes.

  I could call Miller an enigma. I could complain about not understanding him or not knowing what he was thinking. But at this moment, watching him get beaten, I realized that there was a part of him that thought he deserved this. He was punishing himself for unknown crimes.

  As quickly as he’d been overtaken, he switched roles and began a ruthless assault that I could barely watch. His fists were unrelenting hammers, his body a steel weapon of destruction.

  His victim didn’t stand a chance.

  I thought it would be over as quickly as it began. Finally, Miller would subdue the spy and we’d go back to Diego’s headquarters. As nervous as I’d been earlier tonight, I just wanted this night to end. I just wanted Miller somewhere safe where he didn’t blame himself for everything wrong with his father. I just wanted Miller away from the coming conflict for one more night… I just wanted to give him one more night of rest before we threw ourselves back into the Colony’s sickness… But Miller beat the man until he lay unmoving at his feet.

  Miller’s hits lost some of their strength as he tired out and I knew that had at least been therapeutic, if not healing.

  The spy lay limply on the ground. His face had been bruised and bloodied. He was covered with dirt from their struggle. Miller loomed over him, blood running from his nose and lip. His shirt was torn on the shoulder and he was equally dirt-covered and dusty.

  Tears pricked my eyes at this image of him… at the picture of what he felt he deserved. Even if his self-inflicted punishment had only lasted a short time.

  I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck and hold him against me until he felt everything I felt for him… until he stopped hating himself. Until he knew that he was worthy and good and something so beautiful it brought actual tears to my eyes.

  The spy’s hand moved in the dirt searching for something. The subtle movement pulled my attention and through blurry vision, I realized he’d found one of the discarded blades from earlier.

  “Miller!” This time when I shouted it wasn’t a desperate plea or terrified appeal. It was a command and a warning and a threat.

  Miller looked over just as the man grabbed hold of the blade and lifted his hand in the air. Instantly, Miller reached into a holster at his side where he’d slid his blade earlier. He pulled it free, faster and stronger than the spy could move, and plunged it into the victim’s gut. With a sickening slice of flesh, Miller twisted the knife and split the guy open.

  I choked on surprise and relief. Miller stood up and stumbled back while the guy writhed in agony on the ground.

  It was done.

  The spy was dealt with.

  Diego’s Feeder crisis had been taken care of.

  And Miller’s soul was safe for at least one more night.

  He looked over at me, his face open and raw with emotions I couldn’t name. I reached out to him, ready to run to him, but before I could take a step he shuttered his expression and hardened his emotions once again.

  Whatever he had been thinking and feeling was banished to the prison inside him, locked up for eternity. I would never know what he was thinking. He might never be that open with me again.

  “Is that the spy?” Diego’s voice pulled us back to the world where other people existed. “Oh,” Diego continued. “You killed him.”

  “He’s not dead yet,” Miller rasped.

  Diego walked over and toed the lifeless man with the tip of his boot. “Good,” he sighed. “The Dead prefer their meals alive.” He called out in Spanish to his men and they rushed over to scoop up the dying man and take him to the cage.

  Miller and I watched in macabre fascination as the imprisoned Zombies went wild with anticipation for their meal. They pounded rotting fists on the bars and howled at the sky. I could hear their slavering from here and it turned my stomach.

  But the threat was contained for now. Our first run in with the Colony had gone well, considering. We’d come out the winners. A
nd the Colony had paid the price for challenging us.

  A seedling of hope took root inside my chest. Maybe this would be how every interaction with the Colony went. Maybe it would always be this easy… relatively this easy.

  Or maybe this was wishful thinking and this was only a small preview into the nightmare ahead of us.

  “Let’s go,” Diego called to us. “I’m tired.”

  Me too.

  Miller didn’t say anything to me. He collected whatever weapons were on the ground and indicated with a tilt of his head that we should follow Diego.

  I had a million things I wanted to say to him, but I closed my mouth. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the place.

  And for some reason a spiral of disappointment spun through me. I wanted to do more than leave silently. I wanted to say more than nothing.

  I turned and started after Diego, resigning myself to this aching feeling of regret. But then Miller stepped up next to me and slid his hand into mine.

  That was all I needed. His hand was dirty, bloody and bruised. But the small contact between us was enough to keep the tears at bay and promise more hope.

  He was still an enigma. He was still a complete mystery.

  But he was my enigma.

  My mystery.

  He was my Miller.

  Chapter Four

  After an awkward truck ride back to Diego’s estate, Miller and I separated to clean up and change into the only clean sets of clothes we had left. The backpack I took from Colombia was packed with only the most essential supplies. Two changes of clothes, socks, underwear, soap and tools for my weapons and needles and thread for my clothes. We’d packed as much food as we could, but on this side of the trip, the food was mostly gone. And I’d brought a couple of my favorite books, the letters Luke had written to me and a hairbrush.

  This was the sum total of my possessions. I remembered living like this when I was a child, but since we’d arrived in Bogotá, I hadn’t had to face the meagerness of this world in a long time.

  My family was waiting for us when we arrived. They weren’t happy with our irrational decision to join Diego without telling them, but we were filthy enough for them to let it drop for now.