by Unknown
“Shut up,” he said without sparing me a glance.
My hand was wrenched off the lamppost. The drinker twisted me around until my back was pressed hard against his chest. I could feel his breath against my ear and the smell of it was sickeningly sweet. He curled one arm around my ribcage. The other encircled my throat. Oh God, I thought, he’s using me like one of those human shields in the movies. The ones who always get shot by the good guy trying to get the bad guy. I’m toast.
“I believe I told you to let her go.” Maximus’ voice was impossibly soft, and yet every word was crystal clear and all the more ominous because of it. He took a step forward. The drinker snapped his teeth an inch from my cheek and dragged me back.
“Finders keepers,” he whined in a high-pitched voice that instantly set my teeth on edge. “I found her first. I want her. She belongs to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone, asshole.”
“The girl belongs to Angelique,” Maximus said calmly, still refusing to look at me. “You know the rules.”
There wasn’t going to be any of me left if the drinker didn’t stop choking the life out of me. With every word Maximus spoke his grip around my throat tightened until I was gasping for air. Like a TV stuck between channels my vision went fuzzy and began to gray at the edges. My legs kicked out feebly, striking at nothing.
“You’re killing her!” Maximus didn’t sound so calm now.
The drinker’s grip loosened a fraction of an inch. I sagged forward, wheezing and sputtering. My hair fell in front of my face in a thick tangle of black. Maximus and the drinker continued to talk in low, muted tones but I’d stopped listening. Neither one was saying anything I wanted to hear.
Squinting through the snarled ends of my hair I stared hard at the lamppost. It twisted up from the sidewalk two feet in front of my face, a modern work of architecture rendered useless by the lack of electricity.
The idea came to me suddenly, as all great (and ridiculously crazy) ideas do. If it worked it would give Maximus one open shot where I could only pray he wouldn’t hit me by mistake. If it didn’t work I would most likely end up with a broken neck. Not great odds, but what else was I supposed to do? Wait for Prince Charming to come rescue me?
I just wasn’t that kind of girl.
Summoning every ounce of physical strength I possessed, I counted down from three before I tucked my elbows to my sides and buckled at the knees, throwing the drinker off balance. Humping my back like some kind of deranged whale I charged at the lamppost only to swerve at the last second, spinning out to the left and dropping my right shoulder. Caught by surprise the drinker went soaring rather gracefully over top of me. The lamppost broke his fall.
I scrambled away on my hands and knees, screaming something highly intelligent along the lines of, “SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM! SHOOT HIM!”
Maximus was very obliging. Curled up on the sidewalk I watched between my fingers as he shot three bullets into the drinker with ruthless precision. Head, heart, stomach.
The drinker stutter stepped sideways. He touched his stomach and his palm came away coated in blood. “Why?” he groaned before he collapsed. His body began to twitch, tiny little spasmodic convulsions that made me think of a cat my dad had accidentally hit once.
I was no more than five or six, but I remember running out of the car while it was still moving and Dad yelling at me to come back. The cat was a mess of blood and fur and guts. It should have been dead, but the damn thing was still moving. That, more than anything else, gave me nightmares for a good two months afterwards.
Maximus put one foot between the drinker’s shoulder blades. “You touched her,” he said harshly before he drove the heel of his boot down and the drinker crumbled to ash.
“Holy shit.” Unable to believe what I’d just seen, I scuttled back on my hands and feet crab style until I bumped up against a white picket fence. “Holy shit. What happened? What did you do? He – he vanished. I mean, he turned to dust. Didn’t he? Is that what happened? Where did he go?”
Maximus’ gray eyes were cold. Behind him the sun had all but disappeared and shadows licked hungrily at the asphalt. “He’s gone. That’s all that matters. Get up, Lola. We can’t stay here.”
He extended his hand and I took it, locking my soft palm with his hard one. “So were you, like, following me or something?” I asked once I was on my feet. My legs felt a little wobbly and I was pretty sure I looked like death warmed over, but I supposed vanity was a small price to pay for still being alive.
Maximus lifted his hand towards my face. “Your hair is tangled,” he said quietly.
I held my breath as he pushed my hair behind my shoulders, using his fingers to comb out the worst of the snarls. For an instant his thumb lingered on the curve of my collarbone before he abruptly stepped away and cleared his throat. “That cut on your arm looks freshly healed. I see you still haven’t gotten rid of the marks on your hand.”
I sucked on the inside of my cheek as I studied Maximus. He was a conundrum; cold one second, hot the next. A boy equally capable of killing without remorse and gently untangling a girl’s hair. He hid his emotions with a ruthless precision I envied, but the few times his façade of stoicism had cracked I’d been able to see just how much feeling existed beneath the cold wall of indifference. I didn’t trust him. But I did feel safe with him, and that had to count for something.
“No.” I unconsciously tucked my hand against my side, hiding the evidence of Angelique’s bite from view. “I guess with everything that’s been going on I haven’t had time to schedule an amputation. I’ll get right on it.”
Maximus lifted one eyebrow. “Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Sarcastic.”
I thought about it for a second. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
“What are you doing out in the open so close to night?” he demanded, any and all traces of what could have been confused for genuine compassion vanishing as quickly as the drinker’s body had. “Are you stupid or do you just have a death wish?”
“Are you a jerk all the time or just around me?”
He raked a hand through his hair and made a sound in his throat that could have been a growl or a stifled laugh. It was hard to tell. “You can’t be out here, Lola. It’s too dangerous.”
What did he think I was, an idiot? “For your information I have a perfectly safe place to stay.”
“Where?”
I bit my lip. Maximus had saved my life – twice – but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. He wasn’t a drinker – at least I knew that for certain – but that didn’t mean he wasn’t working for them in some way, like Travis had said. My gut instinct told me he wasn’t dangerous, at least not to me, but that didn’t mean much. In the past twenty-four hours I’d been wrong more than I’d been right, and I didn’t feel like adding another wrong to the pile. “I… I don’t know if I should tell you.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t you trust me, Lola?”
“No,” I answered honestly.
“Good. You shouldn’t.”
We stared at one another, each taking the other’s measure. I knew what I saw when I looked at him, but I wondered what he saw when he looked at me. Did he see the truth? Did he see that beneath my rough exterior, beneath the sarcasm and the snarky remarks and the reckless behavior I was as scared and as lost as I’d ever been?
I didn’t know what I was doing before my town turned into something out of Stephen King’s worst nightmare and I didn’t know what I was doing now that it had. Somehow I was managing to fool my dad and Travis, but I had a feeling it wouldn’t be so easy with Maximus. He looked at me in a way no one else did and it was as frightening as it was secretly thrilling because finally, finally someone saw me as I truly was.
“Why didn’t you leave?” he asked. “Go up to the mountains, like I told you.”
“We tried, but the road was blown up.”
“We?”
�
��My dad and my best friend, Travis.”
“They were alive?” Maximus sounded surprised.
“Of course they were alive. I told you they would be, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but I thought… It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “I am glad your family is unharmed.”
Did a deadbeat dad and a geeky best friend make a family? I guess they did when it counted.
“But they won’t be for long,” he continued. “Not if you don’t get them out.”
The hand at my side turned into a fist. “And how am I supposed to do that? I told you about the road. We went off into the ditch. Totally wrecked the car.” I grimaced at the memory. “And I went through the windshield.”
I jumped when Maximus grabbed both my arms above the elbow and squeezed. His eyebrows pinched together over the bridge of his nose and his jaw hardened as though he were clenching his teeth very, very tight. “Why didn’t you say anything? Are you hurt? Do you need to sit down?”
I looked up at him with wide eyes, a little shocked (but not dismayed) at the depth of his concern. “Magic healing properties, remember? I’m fine. I’m fine,” I repeated when he continued to scowl as though somehow it was my fault I’d been launched through a windshield.
His grip loosened, but even when he let go I still felt the imprint of his fingertips on my flesh. Goosebumps rose in their place and I wished I’d thought to bring a sweatshirt. Now that the sun had completely set there was a slight chill in the air. The wind had picked up as well. It whistled down the street, sending a clump of leaves spinning up into the air. Somewhere behind me a gate squeaked as it swung on its hinges, the sound of it lonely and pitifully small. Barking dogs and laughing kids and honking horns used to drive me nuts, but right then I would have given anything to hear all that and more. “Didn’t you say it was dangerous to be out at night in the open?” I asked, unable to stop myself from glancing over my shoulder.
His eyes moody and unreadable, Maximus followed my gaze. He searched the shadows and, apparently satisfied with whatever it was he saw, tracked back to my face. “You heard something I said? I’m shocked.”
“Now who’s the sarcastic one?”
His smile was reluctant, albeit genuine. It softened his face, making him look far younger than… Well, come to think of it I didn’t know how old Maximus even was. Seventeen? Eighteen? I definitely wouldn’t have put him past twenty, although there was something in his eyes and in the way that he spoke that hinted at a maturity and wisdom far beyond his physical years.
“If you tell me where you’re staying I can accompany you there,” he said. “Keep you safe until morning. You can decide what you want to do then.”
I skimmed my fingers through the ends of my hair. My pinky caught on a snarl. I yanked it out ruthlessly, ignoring the twinge of pain. “You said I shouldn’t trust you, so why would I tell you where we’re hiding?”
“You can always go by yourself. If you run they won’t catch you.” He paused. “At least not right away.”
“The old hotel out past the elementary school.”
His mouth twitched, giving me the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh. “Remind me not to tell you anything important. You’d never hold up in an interrogation.”
“Since I don’t plan on ever being interrogated, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
“We never know what’s to happen to us,” he said quietly. Cryptically.
I looked down the street. It was still and quiet. Oily darkness moved in like a wave, lapping at the edges of the houses. Only a few streaks of red and orange lingered in the sky. In a matter of minutes it would be night, and with the night would come the monsters. “Do you think there is anyone else left? Any survivors, like us?”
The idea that Maximus, Travis, Dad and I were the only humans remaining in Revere weighed heavily on my mind. To think of all the other people, slaughtered for no reason… I swallowed hard and didn’t allow myself to think of what might be happening in the next town, the next city, the next state. Again I wondered at the drinker’s reason. Their purpose. Their goal. Questions I had no way of answering. Questions I didn’t even know if I wanted answered.
Maximus’ shoulders lifted and fell beneath his leather jacket. “There are always survivors. You know what they say about cockroaches, don’t you?”
I shook my head. I was not, by any means, a cockroach expert.
“If the world was destroyed by a nuclear blast, cockroaches would find a way to survive.”
The corners of my mouth tightened. “Are you comparing us to cockroaches?”
“What if I am?”
“Then I would say you’re crazy. This isn’t some kind of nuclear blast or a war or something.”
“That’s where you are wrong, Lola.” Maximus stepped closer, crowding me back against the edge of the sidewalk. I could have easily stepped down over the curb, but I held my ground. I found I liked being close to him, a dangerous thing to discover when you were supposed to be running for your life. “This is a war,” he said softly, so softly I had no choice but to lean towards him. He angled his body to mine. We were as close as two people could physically be without touching. My breath caught in my throat, refusing to go up or down.
“What kind of war?” I managed to croak.
“A war to end all wars.” His eyes burned into mine. “A war to end the human race.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
A War to End the Human Race
A war to end the human race.
Maximus’ words rang in my head. Our eyes held, warm brown against steely gray. I was the first one to look away.
My gaze landed on the case of beer that had gone flying out of my arms when the drinker tackled me. It sat on its side, one corner dented in. I brushed past Maximus to pick it up. He trailed behind me, silent as a shadow.
“Beer?” He looked at the case I had balanced against my hip with thinly veiled disgust. “You risked your life for beer?”
My chin lifted. “It’s not for me.”
“Then who is it for?”
“My dad,” I said, hoping Maximus would let it drop. I should have known better.
“Your father sent you out at dusk to fetch his beer?” Maximus’ carefully constructed layer of control slipped a notch. Brow furrowed, mouth tight, he reached out to grab the case but I twisted to the side, evading him. “Let me have it,” he growled.
“No.”
“Lola…”
“No.”
I clutched the beer to my chest as though it were some sort of lifeline, which for my dad I guess it was. I’d never had to explain his drinking problem to anyone before, not even Travis. I think he knew there was something wrong, but he never asked any questions and I never offered any answers. It was one of those things you didn’t talk about, and I sure as hell didn’t feel like talking about it now.
“Let it go, okay? It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Maximus’ jaw clenched. “You could have been killed.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Why didn’t your father come himself?”
Because he’s a drunk in the beginning stages of withdrawal.
“Because he couldn’t. Leave it alone,” I snapped when Maximus started to say something else. “You have your secrets, I have mine. Now are you coming back with me or not?” It wasn’t the most gracious of invitations, but then I wasn’t feeling very polite. I didn’t want to talk about my dad. Not with Travis, not with Maximus, not with anyone. His drinking was a burden I preferred to carry alone.
Maximus folded his arms across his chest. “You’re a difficult girl to figure out, Lola.”
That made me snort. “I’m difficult? You just showed up out of nowhere and shot a vamp—”
“Drinker.”
“Fine, drinker in the head! That’s not exactly normal behavior. What are you? CIA? MI6? GI JOE?”
“You watch too many movies,” he said mildly. “Let me have the beer.”
I glared at his out
stretched arms. “Not a chance.”
His sigh was long and suffering. “I’ll carry it back for you.”
Well, in that case. “If you ditch it somewhere I’ll just come back and get more,” I warned as I passed the box over.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We started walking. I let Maximus lead the way. His long legs ate up the ground, moving fast without seeming to move at all. We reached the cornfield without running into any drinkers although I imagined I could hear them, slithering in the shadows like snakes. Every few minutes a shrill scream tore through the night, sending a shiver down my spine. Maximus had been right. There were survivors left, but judging by the number of screams they were quickly dwindling.
Moonlight sliced through the stalks, illuminating the long, shiny green leaves in a silvery glow. In another week, two at the most, the corn would need to be harvested before it went to seed. Every summer I came out with Travis to watch the big red tractors mow down the lines, spewing out shucks of corn into vast empty bins. We’d sit out on the swings behind the elementary school, licking ice cream off our knuckles and complaining about how boring our lives were.
Guess the joke was on us.
I glanced sideways at Maximus, searching for some sort of reaction to the blood curdling screams, but his grim, tight-lipped expression never wavered. Only when the high pitched squeal of a child reached us did he falter, jerking to a halt and cursing something unintelligible under his breath.
“Are you… are you okay?” I asked hesitantly. Stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay. None of this was okay.
We’re trained from an early age to get help when something bad happens. Call the fire department when you see smoke. Call the police when you see danger. Our society is based on handing our problems over to someone else. But what if ‘someone else’ no longer exists? What do we do then?
