But not if Duncan looked and acted sick or crazy. She leaned into Liam. Before she could whisper, though, he did.
“What’s up with Duncan?” Liam asked.
“I have no idea.” She held her voice at barely a hush. “But it’s something. Any ideas?”
“You won’t like the one I have,” Liam whispered. His eyes went from Duncan to Shaw’s thrashing zombie. A horrible truth surfaced in Ana’s mind.
The zombie screamed in its cage. Duncan flinched, shrinking in his seat.
And then Duncan made his way to the front door, with Ana and Liam right behind him.
Oli yelled, “Duncan, wait!”
That’s when everything changed.
Something terrible happened to Duncan’s face, like blood vessels bursting beneath his skin, flushing his face with a violet hue. His cheeks began to sag, as if someone had let out the air. Then he started to choke, or at least it seemed at first like he was choking. Seconds later, Ana realized he was growling.
Ana said, “Duncan?” confused, like he was playing a trick.
He looked up at her. Though he was looking at her, there was no recognition. His eyes were vacant, as if someone had flipped off a switch. Ana knew something was wrong, but her mind wasn’t yet registering what. She stood frozen and staring.
Shaw said, “What the fuck?”
Oli was already out of his seat, along with a few other members of Paradise. Ana was only peripherally aware of these moments.
The men were swift, but not fast enough to keep Duncan from Ana. He leaped at her, hands closing around her neck as she fell back.
The courier, who was closest to them, rushed forward, pulling Duncan from Ana. Duncan was fast, surprisingly fast, and spun around on the courier and bit down on his neck.
The courier screamed as he fell to the ground clutching his wound. Duncan turned back on Ana, intent to finish what he’d started.
Ana, who was just getting back on her feet, finally realized the threat. Duncan was Duncan no longer. Somehow, he’d become one of the zombies. She couldn’t just shove him away, she had to kill him.
She had to kill one of her only friends in the world.
Instincts took over. Ana punched her fist at his throat, a shot that should’ve immediately dropped him.
Instead, he intercepted her hand as it came toward him …
And bit into her wrist.
Ana screamed, brought her foot up and kicked him in the groin, then propelled herself back.
As she scrambled backward, Shaw, Liam, and Oli rushed Duncan, followed by nearly every man in the hall. They descended on him, and Ana stared in horror as they tore Duncan to pieces.
The men had become one giant kicking, punching, stabbing-with-weapons mass. Duncan’s muffled death cries were replaced with the wet sound of flesh getting mangled and pounded.
“That’s enough,” Oli said, voice void of emotion as he set a hand to Shaw’s shoulder with a care that Ana found surprising. Her thoughts lingered on that sight for only a moment, though.
There was no way to hide her wrist, gushing blood painted the floor below. She met Liam’s terrified eyes.
Then she saw every eye on her.
“So,” Shaw said, pointing at her wound. “What the fuck are we gonna do about that?”
Episode 2
CHAPTER 8 — LIAM HARROW
There was no point in hiding Ana’s wrist—it was leaking like a ripped fuel line, blood all over her arm and in a pool on the floor. Liam’s heart was more rattle than drum, frozen in indecision—too many things going bad, and all at once. He raced to Ana’s side and grabbed her wrist to assess the damage.
It was bad, but he didn’t think the wound alone would kill her. Although there was a lot of blood, it wasn’t spurting out to indicate a ripped artery. He ripped the bottom of his shirt and tore a long strip away. He met her terrified eyes and then looked back down at her wound.
“What are you doing?” Shaw yelled, pointing his gun at Liam.
“She’s going to bleed out if I don’t do something!” Liam shouted, as he began to wrap her arm.
“She’s dead, anyway! You wanna be a zombie, too?” Shaw said.
Liam ignored him as he began to wrap her wound. Yes, Ana might turn, but he didn’t think it would happen that quickly.
Oli took a step toward them. Liam didn’t look at him, but could feel the man on edge. He’d just lost nine of his people, including his son. And now his most trusted confidant—not to mention technical wizard—Duncan, was lying in a pool of gore.
Shaw shouted, “What are we gonna do, Oli?”
Oli looked down, his face grave.
Oli’s gun wasn’t out, but those who came to dinner armed—about a third of the hall—had theirs drawn and aimed at Liam and Ana, every barrel awaiting Oli’s word.
Avery’s gun went from Liam to the courier, who was on the ground, twitching, snarling, and starting to turn. Avery walked over, and put three of Bruce Lindsey’s homemade bullets into the courier’s face.
The zombie woman screeched from behind the bars, rattling the cage. Avery finished her off, too, glaring at Shaw as if to invite complaint. Shaw, uncharacteristically stood down, saying nothing about the man putting a violent and immediate end to his evening’s entertainment.
Shaw asked again, this time getting right in Oli’s face, “What the hell are we going to do about her?”
Seeming to measure breath and voice, Ana said, “I’ll leave. Right now. I’m sorry for all of this.”
Her words sounded heavy and blunt, as if they tore flesh on their way from her throat. The courier had turned fast, in less than five minutes. But the courier had been dead, or close to it. Liam figured that since Ana was still in good shape, she might take longer to turn. But how long? Five minutes? Five hours? Five days? Liam had seen too many varying responses to wager any sort of accurate guess at Ana’s infection. He hadn’t known Duncan was infected, let alone how he became infected or how long ago, so it was impossible to accurately calculate, or even hazard a guess, at how long Ana had left.
The only thing Liam knew for certain was that a bite or scratch was a death sentence, and more immediate in Paradise.
Ana would turn, and there was nothing he could do.
Everything happened too quickly. Liam wished he had recognized the threat sooner, had thought to put a bullet in Duncan before he could bite her. But he had frozen, just like Ana, softened by their friendship with a man they loved and trusted. Now she would pay the price for their kindness—their weakness. It hurt him to think how much the world had already taken from her.
Liam wanted to help, say something. He was often as skilled with words as he was with a weapon, but he had no idea what he could possibly say to make things better.
Especially with regard to Oli.
The leader’s mood could be anywhere. He might order them from his sight—a best-case scenario that saw them leaving Paradise to find Jonah, assuming Ana didn’t turn on the way. But Oli could also add them to the mess in between Duncan and the courier. Shaw would then have to heave the bodies out of the dining hall and burn them in a pile, and Hardwick would have to mop. But Shaw would be happy to double his load and be rid of them in style—with a blazing fire in the yard—and Hardwick wouldn’t mind too much since the floor was already sticky.
“It’s not that easy,” Oli said, sounding sad more than angry. “This isn’t just a bite, it’s a violation.” He looked from Liam to Ana. “What did you two know about the old man’s infection?”
Duncan’s been on the floor for a minute, and already he’s an old man who lost the right to his name.
“Nothing,” Liam answered. “I swear.”
Oli growled, “I was asking Lovecraft.”
Holding her bloodied, bandaged wrist, Ana said, “We didn’t know, Oli. We had no idea, either of us. Never saw him get bit or anything.”
“I don’t even know when he would’ve been bitten,” Liam cut in, “as the only time he’s
left camp was when he went out on raids with us. But we were never attacked by zombies when he was with us.”
Liam looked around for confirmation, and every eye looked back unblinking.
“Exactly,” Oli said. “If he’s not been bitten since getting here, then he came in infected. Duncan knew the rules—you did, too.” He narrowed his eyes into Ana’s, neither flinching. “How long did you know?”
Liam opened his mouth.
Oli wasn’t looking, but still said, “Shut it, Harrow. I asked Princess City Watch.”
“I didn’t know anything,” she said. “We didn’t know anything. I swear on my father in The Barrens, my brother at The Rock, and my mother in the dirt: Oli, we didn’t know a thing, and we weren’t keeping secrets. I accept banishment, and I will go right now if you let me.”
Ana made a small bow, still holding Oli’s eyes. Someone from the crowd—Liam wasn’t sure who without turning, though it was a high-pitched whine and might’ve been Bobby—said, “Bullshit. They’re lying. Kill ’em both.”
After a rumble of agreement, Liam said, “No,” trying to match Ana’s calm and wondering how she had managed. “She’s telling the truth. We didn’t know anything. You think we would’ve been sitting at dinner with Duncan if we knew he was infected? You think we wouldn’t have been the first to put a bullet in his head? You think I wanted to see Ana get bitten? You think we would have kept this from any of you? This happened to all of us.”
Shaw stepped toward them, waving his gun between the pair with the calculated carelessness that made it clear he didn’t care who he shot. “Don’t matter whether they knew or not,” he turned to Oli. “She’s bitten. We kill her before she turns.”
Liam stepped in between Ana and Shaw. “No!” He’d brought his weapon to dinner—didn’t even go to the bathroom without it—but fought his every urge to draw. Another gun aimed would only escalate into a bloodbath. He kept his hands steady. “Nobody touches her. Like she said, she’ll leave. And I’ll go with her. So nobody here is at risk.”
“No,” Oli shook his head, still holding all four of their eyes with the ferocity of his stare. “Like I said, it’s not so simple. This isn’t infection; it’s treason. You three came to Paradise together, one of you infected.” He looked at Liam. “How do I know you were in the dark about the old man’s infection? How do I know you’re not infected right now? Maybe this spreads some other way, other than bites? Maybe you’ve infected us all?”
Liam couldn’t imagine Ana’s pain, but he could see it on her face and could feel her trying to bury it by the way she forced her breath into something that was almost steady, and held her body so stiff it looked like bolts were holding it together. Liam had to speak for her, as much as Ana was certain to hate it. He had no choice, at least so long as she was chewing on her lip and trying not to cry.
“Look,” Liam said, calm and speaking only to Oli. “I can’t claim to understand any of this. I’ve no idea how awful this day’s been for you, but I watched as the worst thing that could have ever happened to you did, after already losing eight of your people. Then having a friend turn during dinner, and one of your favorites bitten,” Liam knew Ana was one of Oli’s most preferred, everyone did, and while it wouldn’t save her life—it couldn’t save his son’s—it might help Liam maneuver his way out of the room.
“I’m sorry about all of that,” Liam continued. “I survived The Darwins, a long month of horror before you found us, and then plenty of hard times after you did, especially the loss of my friends—your friends and family—after the trap I warned us away from. We’ve all suffered horrors and been dealt the unthinkable.” He wanted to put a hand on Oli’s shoulders, but knew that as much as it might soften the man it could just as easily send him into a rage. Liam kept his hands at his sides, though it was still an effort not to draw on Shaw.
The crowd grew restless. A few voices saw the sense and truth in Liam’s words—the ones who appreciated the sacrifices and hard work that he, Ana, and Duncan had all been putting in day after day—and probably appreciated the circumstances that had kept Duncan from telling the camp about his infection, or his two companions. Those voices were whispers compared to the ones screaming for blood. Oli’s biggest concern wouldn’t be about doing right so much as doing what was best for Paradise.
That likely meant killing them both. Liam had come with Duncan and Ana, so he was guilty by association. They’d fear him even if he’d never been bitten, on the outside chance that he too was a silent threat as Duncan had been.
Liam looked around at the rising tide of bloodlust, knowing that at any moment someone might decide to pull the trigger. It was all he could do to keep his own gun holstered.
Shaw shifted on his feet, hungry, eager to kill them both and just waiting for an OK from Oli.
“Wait!” Liam said, sensing the mood was drawing to a conclusion that ended in his and Ana’s deaths. He was still ignoring Shaw and maintaining eye contact with Oli, knowing he was the only one who could possibly allow the two of them walk out of the camp alive. “Oli, don’t forget: Ana’s been summoned to Hydrangea. You can’t kill her. Sutherland wouldn’t send a courier if he didn’t want her. What will he say when she never shows? And worse, that the courier is dead? You really think that’s going to go over well with Sutherland?”
Shaw argued, “I’m sure he’ll understand why we killed her.”
Liam wanted to argue that it was against The Pact between the camps to ignore a request by Sutherland, but truth was, he didn’t know enough about the governing rules the camps abided by to get into a debate. Arguing politics might flare tempers further.
Before Oli could say anything, Bobby yelled out, “She won’t make it a few days with that bite, it’s too deep. No way she’s making it the 10 days to get to Hydrangea.”
Oli spun to face Bobby, whose words snapped Oli out of his staring contest with Liam. “Maybe not, but Harrow’s right. It’s not our call. Sutherland requested we send her, so we do. What happens after she leaves, that’s not on us.”
Oli looked at Ana’s arm, and her, disgusted.
“Hydrangea has doctors, right?” Liam asked. “If we can make it there, maybe they can treat her.”
“There’s no treatment for the infection. But, yes, they’re more tolerant at Hydrangea; they have doctors, and the space to care for the afflicted without risking lives.”
Shaw piped up, “You’re not gonna actually let them go there, are you?”
“I’m the one who has to answer to Sutherland. Not you. I say she goes.” Something flickered on Oli’s face, and Liam knew what was coming. His heart skipped a beat, then another. “Just know, I’ll spare no man in escort. I’ve already lost too many. I wouldn’t even allow you to go, except I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t last a week after what happened tonight. These people won’t trust you. I’m not sure I can trust you.”
“Fine,” Liam said, thinking they just might get out of Paradise alive.
“One other thing,” Oli said, turning to the crowd and gesturing for lowered weapons. His people looked at him as if unsure it was a good idea to put their weapons down for even a moment, like Ana might suddenly turn and tear them all to shreds within seconds.
Oli glared at them.
They obeyed, lowering their guns and sheathing their swords.
Oli turned back to Ana and Liam and said, “We need to mark her.”
“No,” Liam said. Sweat was soaking his shirt, and he didn’t dare turn to see how Ana was faring beside him. He knew there was no way out, but couldn’t bear to watch what was coming. “She doesn’t need a branding. There’s no way she’ll heal in 10 days. The bite will be obvious.”
“It’s nonnegotiable, Harrow. Bites are healed and hidden, as our friend Duncan proved. He’s been living months, or longer, hiding his infection. What if it takes a month to find Hydrangea, or two? What if you waltz into that camp like you waltzed in here, hiding an infection?”
At least he was back to Duncan.<
br />
Liam whispered, almost stuttered: “Please.”
“Infected are branded upon banishment, Harrow. You know this. I’ll make an exception, but only that she’ll get the mark on her left arm instead of the right, seeing as how the bite’s done enough damage there already.”
Liam looked helplessly at Ana. She was silent, body braced, as ready as she could be for whatever was about to happen. Shaw reached out to grab her—hard, Liam was certain—but Oli swatted his hand and said, “Does it look like she needs any grabbing?”
Those campers rooting for Ana’s unharmed release faded from the dining hall and disappeared to their homes, the branding too awful to watch. Those with blood in their nostrils, steeped for retribution, punishment, or plain old-fashioned bloodlust, followed the procession outside.
Ana walked in front of Liam, led by Oli, who could hardly look at her, as if shamed by her infection. Or perhaps, Liam wondered, it was too painful for him to see someone else he cared for infected.
Shaw, Avery, and the other spectators followed behind, hands on their weapons—just in case—as they left the dining hall and walked through the yard to the blacksmith’s hut.
Still saying nothing, Ana closed her eyes and kneeled. Tears spilled from behind her drawn lids. Liam stared, hoping for mercy he knew wasn’t coming.
Unlike some of the crowd, the blacksmith had been kind to Ana since the afternoon of their arrival, giving her all of his rations of wrinkled fruits, since he was indifferent and she loved them. Named Baker Gray, he now stoked the fire in the pit and readied the iron, until the backwards Z was glowing red. He looked at Ana—eyes welled with an apology she couldn’t see—still on her knees and waiting for the brand, like a child at the doctor’s waiting for a shot.
Baker pressed the molten Z to Ana’s flesh and the silent room filled with a sickening sizzle. Liam wished he couldn’t hear it, wished he couldn’t smell the sweet sickly smell of burning human flesh, and wished he couldn’t feel the joy in the room from her misery; he wished he could do something to dull or numb her pain, take it for himself. And yet the hiss of the brand was nothing.
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