The White Rabbit Chronicles

by Gena Showalter

  “We can do other things,” he rasped. “Like before.”

  “Yes. Like before.” The things he’d made me feel...

  He planted his hands at my temples and raised his head. Panting, he said, “But maybe we’ll go a little further this time.”

  I licked my kiss-swollen lips and uttered a trembling “Why are you still talking?”

  His grin was slow and wicked as he played with the clasp of my bra through my tank.

  Beyond the bedroom door, glass tinkled.

  Cole paused, frowned. “What—”

  Multiple footsteps thumped against a wood floor.

  Pop.

  Pop.

  Shocked, we bolted upright together. I knew that sound. Gunshot muffled by a silencer. But...but...

  “Someone’s here,” Cole said, rushing to the nightstand to palm one of the weapons perched on top.

  Who would attack the Hollands? And why? Doesn’t make any sense...no sense...

  Cole gave me a sharp look.

  Right. Arm up. I shook my head to disperse the fog of stupidity and pulled two daggers from my boots. I never went anywhere without them. But daggers were for up-close-and-personal grab-and-stabs with zombies. Shots had been fired. I wouldn’t be dealing with zombies.

  I dropped the daggers and grabbed the pistol I had stashed in my coat.

  “Cole! Run!” his father shouted—just as the bedroom window shattered.

  Cole didn’t have a chance to run.

  More glass shattered. Something launched him across the room like a rocket-propelled grenade. He smashed into the wall, slid to the floor, leaving a thick, bright red smear of blood behind him.

  Chapter 3

  NO SPILLED GUTS,

  NO GLORY

  What the heck was going on?

  Gasping, I dropped to my knees. “Cole?” I whispered, frantically crawling toward him. The pistol clinked against the floorboards, reminding me of a ticking clock.

  I hated ticking clocks. An entire life could be altered in a single second.

  I released the weapon and pressed two fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, please, please, don’t be dead. And yeah, okay, I knew death wasn’t the end for us. Look at my sister. But I wasn’t ready to lose any part of Cole.

  Thump...thump. Thump...

  Thank God! Slow, but strong. He was alive.

  His eyes fluttered open. “Ali?”

  “It’s okay,” I said. “You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”

  “What happened?”

  I surveyed the damage. There was a hole in the shoulder. Blood soaked him.

  “Someone just shot you, I think. Right in front of me. That someone could still be out there. We could still be targets.” The two halves of my brain were at war—hope versus dread—screwing with my focus. “What should I do?”

  “Bind.” He spoke softly, the word little more than air. “Shoulder.”

  Of course. Yes. I knew that. But...binding his shoulder wouldn’t do much good. Blood was gushing out of him. He needed fire; it would cauterize.

  Slayers could produce fire; it was necessary to kill zombies. I could produce fire. When summoned, the flames crackled at the ends of our fingers. We pressed them into zombies, and the heat spread, purified, burning away evil and darkness. Eventually, zombies exploded. For some reason, I could flame from head to toe and only a moment of contact was needed to end a zombie.

  When used on humans, the fire healed...sometimes. Sometimes it caused final death, just like with zombies.

  It had healed me, and it would heal Cole. We were both slayers, and that was the key distinguishing factor between healing and exploding.

  Right?

  I had to try. He wouldn’t make it otherwise. He was hemorrhaging strength, his head lolling to the side. His lips were starting to turn blue, his skin chalk-white.

  Frantic, I closed my eyes. Humans were made of three parts. The spirit, the source of life, was bound to the soul, which consisted of the mind, will and emotions. Both were housed inside the body, the outer shell. With a deep breath in...out...I forced my spirit and body to separate; it was like removing a hand from a glove. Because zombies were spirits, they could only fight other spirits. I’d learned to divide like this at a moment’s notice.

  Cold air enveloped me. Without the insulation of skin and muscle, my spirit felt the temperature drop what seemed like a thousand degrees.

  “What are...you doing?” As a slayer, Cole could see into the spirit realm. Could see me.

  Couldn’t pause to explain. When it came to stuff like this, I was so new I had trouble multitasking.

  Light, I thought, and the ends of my fingers heated. I peeked...flames crackled all the way to my wrist. Good, good. I reached inside Cole’s shoulder.

  His breath hitched. That was it, his only reaction. Even still, I knew his pain was off the charts. Been here, done this. He’d basically just received third-degree burns on his soul. But he hadn’t turned to ash, so I would consider this a win.

  I dismissed the flames and returned my spirit to its proper place with a simple touch, then studied Cole. His color was back to normal. That quickly. I grabbed the shirt he’d discarded and wrapped the material around the still-bleeding, but now-charring wound.

  What next? I didn’t know if there were bad guys with guns trained on the open window that was allowing flurries to bluster inside the room. I didn’t know how many bad guys were in the house, shooting at Mr. Holland—or if Mr. Holland was still alive.

  My insides twisted into a maze of painful knots.

  No matter what, we couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave without him.

  “Can you walk?” I asked.

  Cole’s jaw clenched with determination. “I don’t...care if I...can. I will.”

  Despite the pauses in his speech, his timbre was stronger. Not just because of the emergency cauterization, I was sure, but because his bones were reinforced with iron-hard resolve, and his muscles pumped full of courage.

  “I’ll find your dad and meet you—”

  “No.” His tone was inflexible, meant to stop any argument. “We stay together.”

  “Time is of the essence.”

  “Don’t care. My dad. My decision.”

  Very well. “We need more weapons.” I crawled to the gun he’d dropped and slid it to him. Then I continued on to the nightstand and claimed the minicrossbow he had stashed there.

  Cole struggled to his knees. “I’ll go through...door first. You stay...on my heels. Got it?” He yanked a backpack from his closet, grimaced.

  No, I didn’t get it, and I wouldn’t do as he’d demanded. The strong led the weak, not the other way around.

  “I’ll go first.”

  “Just—” He frowned, then held up a finger for silence.

  I paused to listen for suspicious noises. Wind whistled eerily and...ice crunched. Every instinct I possessed shouted red alert, red alert!

  Someone was coming in hot.

  I turned and aimed just as a masked man swung his legs through the window. As he straightened, I squeezed the trigger. An arrow lodged in his throat, shutting off his airway and cutting off a bellow of pain before it could even form.

  A kill shot.

  I’d done what was necessary. I couldn’t regret that.

  Keeping my weapon trained on the intruder, I closed the distance. His head was turned to the side, his eyes open, but glazed. No pulse. He had an earpiece anchored to his lobe. I lifted the bud and listened, heard a tangle of voices.

  “Hit. I’m hit—”

  “—like me to proceed?”

  “He’s dead—”

  There were more of them.

  The door wrenche
d open, and I spun. I registered Mr. Holland’s identity at the same time I gave the trigger a second squeeze, barely managing to twist my wrist and send the arrow into the post at his side.

  “Get down,” Cole commanded with a mixture of concern and relief.

  Mr. Holland remained on his feet. One of his eyes was swollen shut; he scanned the room with the other, inhaling sharply when he spotted Cole, exhaling slowly when he spotted me. Crimson streaked his face. “There were four. Three inside, one outside. But it looks like you got him.” He stalked to Cole’s side and peeled back the soaked cotton to check his wound.

  Cole winced.

  “Clean shot, all the way through. Edges burned. Bleeding slowing.” Mr. Holland threw the shirt aside, removed the one he wore and rebound his son. “We don’t have much time. One got away. He’ll come back with others.”

  “I’ve already heard others,” I said. “On the dead guy’s earpiece.”

  “Those men aren’t here. They’re at Ankh’s.”

  Mr. Ankh, Reeve’s father. He wasn’t a slayer, but he funded our cause and allowed Nana and me to live at his house.

  “Nana,” I rasped. “Kat.” She’d planned to stay the night with Reeve. Were they hurt?

  Not knowing...

  I should have been there, should have protected them.

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Holland said, “but I don’t know the outcome. This was a planned attack, meant to take us all down at once.”

  All? “You mean—” No. No, no, no. I didn’t like where my thoughts were headed.

  “Ankh called me. Someone shut down his security system. I was getting dressed, intending to go over there and help, when another call came in. Frosty. Soon after, Bronx rang. But I didn’t have a chance to answer either boy. Two men busted through our back door. So, yes. I suspect every slayer on our team was targeted tonight.”

  Frosty. Bronx. Trina. Lucas. Cruz. Collins. Gavin. Veronica. Mackenzie. Justin. Jaclyn. If anything had happened to any of them... Different emotions hit me with the force of a baseball bat. Pain, regret, worry and a sharp lance of rage.

  A to-do list took shape in my mind. Compartmentalize. Get Cole to a doctor. Find everyone else. Destroy the people responsible.

  I didn’t have to wonder about the culprit. Anima Industries. No question.

  “The Ankhs have multiple secret passages meant for quick getaways,” Cole said, his expression fierce. “Ankh got everyone out, Ali-gator. I guarantee it.”

  Like me, he abhorred lies. I believed him.

  I confiscated the backpack, and he winced. “Sorry,” I muttered as I anchored the strap over my shoulder. Whatever he’d stuffed inside weighed a million pounds. At least. “Let’s get out of here.”

  We made it to the garage without incident, and I uttered a quiet prayer of thanks. Cole climbed into the passenger seat of his Jeep, and I set the backpack at his feet.

  Mr. Holland tossed me a set of keys. “You’re driving.”

  “Yes.” A license wasn’t important right now.

  “Take him to Holy Trinity Church. Pastor’s office. Bookshelf.” Mr. Holland looked to Cole. “Like the shelter we built for your mom.”

  Cole stiffened. Any mention of his mother always had that effect. She’d been a slayer, and she might have had a shelter, but she’d still died during a zombie attack.

  Mr. Holland met my gaze. “That’s where Ankh and your grandmother will be if—”

  They survived, I finished for him and would have flown straight into a panic if not for a whispering replay of Cole’s assurance. Ankh got everyone out, Ali-gator.

  “Just make sure my boy gets there,” Mr. Holland said.

  Nothing would stop me. “What about you?”

  “I won’t be far behind.”

  What did he have to do? Bury the bodies?

  Oh, glory. Probably.

  Trembling, I took my place behind the wheel. My palms sweat. My blood ran hot, but my skin iced over. Acid poured through me, stinging. As the garage door lifted, Cole reached over and squeezed my hand, offering what comfort he could. His skin was colder than mine and clammy.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” I vowed, put the pedal to the metal and jetted onto the road. I braced myself, expecting a hail of bullets to pepper the vehicle. As seconds ticked into minutes, I began to relax.

  If only the reprieve could have lasted. I turned a corner and spotted Gavin’s car wrapped around a pole. Steam curled from the crumpled hood. The driver-side door was open, but no one was behind the wheel.

  “No,” I gasped out.

  “He’s tough,” Cole said. “He’s smart, and he’s been through hell and back and survived.”

  Tears welled as I parked in front of the wreckage. If Gavin survived, he was definitely injured. He would be nearby, hiding in the surrounding trees, waiting...unless he’d been carted somewhere else.

  Searching for him could waste precious time. Time Cole didn’t have.

  I had a choice to make.

  Knowing how my mind worked, Cole said, “I’m wounded. Not dead. Stop worrying about me...and do what you have to do...for Gavin.” The more he spoke, the more labored his breathing became.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” I admitted. “You need medical attention ASAP and—”

  “Reason eleven,” he said, and it took me a moment to catch up. All the reasons he loved me. “You’re willing to risk...everything for your...friends. Besides, you won’t...be alone. Where you go...I go.”

  What! “No. You’re staying in the car.”

  “Ali.”

  “Cole. You’re already panting. You’re still bleeding. Movement has increased the flow of blood. And you’re wearing shorts.”

  His gaze raked over me. “Ali-gator. You’re wearing a tank.”

  Again with the iron-hard resolve. “You’ll slow me down. And no, no more arguing. We’re sitting ducks here.”

  He scowled. “Fine. Be careful...or I’ll be mad.”

  I kissed him, hard and fast. Cold air cut at my exposed skin as I emerged. My feet had somehow morphed into heavy boulders, but I managed to maintain a swift pace, tracking a blood trail from the car to a tree that had scratches in the bark. From there I discovered a set of footprints that were the right size, with a depth consistent with Gavin’s muscled weight.

  The prints stopped abruptly.

  “Gavin,” I called, willing to chance Anima’s notice. Anything to help my friend. “It’s Ali.”

  No response. Not even the call of insects.

  The silence...killing me.

  “Gavin. Please.”

  Again, silence.

  A well of tears. There wasn’t anything more I could do. I raced to the car. Cole was paler, and what little strength he’d gained had clearly abandoned him.

  “Any...sign?” he asked.

  “He was definitely here, but whether he’s unconscious or elsewhere, I don’t know. I’ll get you to Mr. Ankh and come back.” Before he could comment about the danger I’d be facing, I said, “How are you holding up?”

  “Baby, we just got back together.” His teeth chattered. “There’s no way I’m dying right now.”

  I wanted to turn on the heat, but didn’t. The low temperature was his best friend right now, helping to slow the bleeding. Thank you, old episodes of Scrubs.

  “Do you promise?” I asked.

  “Promise.”

  * * *

  I eased past the church. A beautiful three-story brownstone, shaped like an M. In the center, steep concrete steps led to the main door. Both sides were raised at the roof, coming to a point in the form of an intricate iron cross. I counted ten stained-glass windows, and all were intact. The parking lot was empty, illuminated by a single street lamp.

  I searched
the surrounding area for any sign that Mr. Ankh—or Anima—was nearby. As late as it was, the shops and cafés were closed. No one seemed to be huddling in the shadows. Only two cars were in the lot across the street, and both were empty. Neither belonged to anyone I knew.

  I parked in a neighborhood two blocks away. Anima clearly knew where we lived. They also had to know what we drove. If they sent someone after us, I didn’t want the vehicle near the church.

  “We’ll stick to the shadows and hoof it,” I said.

  Cole grimaced as he swiped up the backpack. “You were...right. I’m slower. If trouble comes...don’t hang around...to help me. Get yourself...inside that building.”

  No way. “We stay together, remember?”

  “Only when...convenient for you.”

  “Exactly.” I got out before he could respond, the cold sucking the air right out of my lungs.

  When he stood beside me, mist dancing in front of his face, I tried to take the pack, but he scowled at me. “Reason twelve. Stubborn. But as long as...I’m breathing...I will protect you...carry what burden I can.”

  That. That was one of the many reasons I’d fallen in love with him. “Cole—”

  “Me man. You woman.” Everything about him was as hard as granite. He motioned forward with a tilt of his chin. “Walk.”

  “Getting shot makes us cranky, I see.” On the lookout, I launched into action. The night had secrets hidden in its shadows, and if I wasn’t careful I could be bitten by one.

  Cole stumbled several times but managed to keep up.

  Coming to a small brick fence built for decoration rather than security, I crouched. No one loomed ahead; we scaled the obstruction with only minor difficulty and worked our way to the back of the church. While I used the skill I’d picked up from Frosty and jimmied the lock on the door, Cole leaned against the wall. His breathing was even more labored now. Should I use the fire again?

  No time. Hinges squeaked as I shouldered my way inside the building. All the lights were out, pitch black greeting us with open arms. I used the flashlight app on my phone—there was an app for everything—chasing away the shadows. We were in a kitchen. It was small, but clean. We were alone. Ahead, a hallway branched in three different directions.