by Kyla Stone
For a long moment, no one moved. Who’d taken the shots? Who’d been hit? Everyone she cared about was a possible target—Silas, Micah, Jericho, even Gabriel if she allowed her heart a choice in the matter.
Benjie whimpered.
“Stay here,” she whispered urgently. She refused to remain there a second longer. She needed to know.
Celeste ripped off a chunk of Styrofoam and let it drop to the floor. “You don’t know what’s out there. It’s too dangerous. Jericho said to wait—”
“It’s dangerous to wait here like sitting ducks. I’m going.”
“Be careful,” Finn said.
But she was already up and creeping around the front of the counter. She couldn’t see anything through the front windows and shattered glass door but empty sidewalks, silent cars, still buildings. No movement but the cold, gray rain.
She slipped outside. Silas stood stiffly on the sidewalk a dozen yards away, staring at the two bodies at his feet.
She raced down the sidewalk, pushing between people, counting them in her head even as she shoved them out of the way. Micah, Jericho, Willow, Gabriel. None of them hurt.
Relief flooded her. Her knees wobbled. “What happened?”
Jericho grabbed her arm to hold her back. “Silas shot two people.”
She wrenched free from his grasp. Jericho was like her mother, always trying to protect her. She didn’t need protecting from this. She might not be an expert marksman, but she was strong enough to handle death.
She went to her brother. “Silas.”
Silas didn’t move or speak. He hunched his shoulders, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other gripping his rifle with white-knuckled fingers. Rain ran down his face, matting his short brown hair to his skull.
She glanced at the bodies crumpled at their feet. They were both dead. Her stomach lurched. She took a deep, steadying breath and placed her hand on her brother’s arm. “Did they threaten you?”
“Yes,” he said in a dull voice.
“No, they didn’t.” Micah squatted beside the bodies. He lifted the men’s jackets with gloved hands and patted them down. “No guns.”
“That one was reaching for a weapon.” Silas pointed at the smaller man. “It was a trap. They were pretending they needed help to get close enough to attack.”
“He was hurt.” Micah gestured to one of the bodies. The smaller man’s hood covered the top half of his face, the lower half hidden by his face mask. Both men’s clothes were dirty, but the smaller one’s right leg was stained with blood.
“A trick,” Silas spat.
“It’s easy enough to check,” Amelia said with a calmness she didn’t feel.
Micah pulled out his knife and ripped open the man’s tan cargo pants. A long, ugly gash marred his thin, almost hairless leg from the thigh to the shin. His sock and shoe were crusted and clotted with blood. Red swirled in the rain puddling on the sidewalk.
Micah’s face blanched. “We just killed two innocent people.”
“Not us.” Willow glared at Silas. “Him.”
Silas staggered back. “They weren’t innocent. They wouldn’t listen. They wouldn’t stop. We warned them.”
“He’s right about that at least,” Gabriel said. “They refused to stop. They could’ve been infected.”
“You should have waited for orders,” Jericho said.
“I did what I had to do, what none of you were willing to do! That’s what a soldier does. He protects his own.”
Jericho’s voice was hard as steel, his eyes a dark, glittering obsidian. “You’re no soldier. You’re an impudent, reckless child.”
Silas flinched like he’d been slapped. “At least I’m not a weak, indecisive pussy. You’re going soft, Jericho.” He pointed at Micah with a shaking finger. “Just like him.”
Micah’s nostrils flared. “We can’t just go around killing every person we feel threatened by!”
“Wake up, Micah!” Silas snarled. “This is a kill-or-be-killed world. That’s exactly what we need to do!”
“If one of them was hiding an M16 beneath his coat,” Gabriel said evenly, “we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Silas would be a hero.”
“I highly doubt that,” Horne said.
Silas lunged at Horne, but Gabriel and Jericho pushed him back.
Amelia kept staring at the wounded man’s leg. Something wasn’t quite right. It was too thin, too hairless. Too young.
She bent down and tugged off his mask. But for a smattering of pimples around his chin, his face was round and smooth. It wasn’t a man, but a boy, maybe thirteen.
Horror stuck in her throat like a hook. A low buzzing filled her ears. Numb tingling started in her fingers and crawled up her arms. It was just a kid. Her brother had killed a kid.
Silas swore and reared back. His mouth contorted, anguish shadowing his features. He masked it with a contemptuous grimace, but she saw it. Dismay vibrated through his entire body.
“He’s just a boy,” Micah said, shaken.
Silas recovered swiftly. “That doesn’t change anything,” he sneered. “He still could’ve killed us all.”
“He was unarmed. They both were,” Micah said.
“He knows, Micah.” She could see it in the quiver of his lips, the flare of his nostrils, the sharp panic in his eyes. He regretted his actions, but he couldn’t admit it. He’d never admit it. She felt dazed, shaken, unsure what to do. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and slap him at the same time.
Overhead, the sky darkened like a stain. The dull gray light drained all the color out of the world. Cold, dreary rain spat against her face. Her wet hair plastered against her head. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as the first beat of pain pulsed against her temple. A headache, possibly a migraine. Maybe worse.
Finn pointed at the boy’s neck. “There’s something else.”
Micah nudged the boy’s coat aside and revealed a tattoo of a flaming skull beneath his left ear. Amelia checked the older man. His neck sported the same tattoo.
“What is it?” Celeste asked.
Finn peered over Micah’s shoulder. “It’s a gang sign.”
“Are they Pyros?” Willow asked, shaken.
“Maybe.” Gabriel bent down and examined the tattoo with gloved fingers. “Probably.”
“What does that mean?” Celeste asked, her voice edged with rising hysteria.
Micah took off his rain-slicked glasses and wiped them on the shirt beneath his jacket. A single curl was slicked against his forehead. “We’re in even greater danger now.”
“Let’s just face the facts here.” Horne jutted his chin at Silas. “That boy is reckless and violent. He’s a stone-cold killer. He needlessly killed two innocent souls who may now bring the wrath of a ruthless gang down upon all our heads. He’s a danger to us all.”
Amelia whirled on him. “Just what are you suggesting?”
“I vote we kick him out.”
“I don’t know,” Finn said uncertainly, glancing between Willow and Silas. “That seems harsh, but he killed a kid. We can’t just act like it didn’t happen.”
“This isn’t the Boy Scouts or a book club,” Willow said. “We don’t just kick people out.”
Horne gave a scornful shrug. “Then banish him. Use whatever terminology you prefer.”
Celeste crossed her arms over her chest. “I vote for banishment.”
“Absolutely not.” Amelia fought down the anger and fear clawing her insides. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know Silas like she did. He was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a stone-cold killer. “I can’t believe you people.”
“Your brother’s going to get us all killed,” Horne snapped.
She whirled on him. “He protected you!”
“He’s a trigger-happy sociopath.”
She expected Silas to swear, rage, and insult everyone. Instead, he just stood there, his features etched in stone, his fists bunched—taking it.
“He’s a monster,” Hor
ne hissed through clenched teeth, his face turning blotchy and ugly.
“Maybe,” she conceded. “But he’s my monster.”
She was scared and horrified and sickened, but she couldn’t turn on him. He was her brother, no matter what. No one else understood him. No one else knew what they’d both been through, the things they’d endured.
Silas had defended her, protected her, willingly suffering the wrath of their father. It was Silas who put his body in front of hers as she cowered, trembling in fear. Declan had never struck her. The same couldn’t be said for Silas. Could you ever escape violence when you’d been raised in it? It got in your blood, grew in your bones. She couldn’t blame him for any of it.
Her mother was gone. She’d never had a real father. She wasn’t going to lose her brother, too. She stepped in front of Silas. “Go ahead and banish him. But I’m going with him.”
“You can’t do that,” Jericho said tersely.
She glared at him, blinking the rain out of her eyes. “Watch me.”
“You may have the cure in your blood, Amelia,” Micah said. “You are the most important person in this group, maybe anywhere. Our number one mission is to get you safely to the Sanctuary.”
“I’m aware,” she said hotly. “That doesn’t change anything.”
Gabriel ran his hand over his stubbled jaw with a frown. “You don’t have a choice. I won’t let you leave.”
“You won’t let me? What are you going to do, tie me up and carry me over your shoulder like a sack of flour?” It felt good to let the anger out, to say exactly what she thought and felt. She’d spent a lifetime hiding anything that made her flawed, that made her ugly. But she didn’t care about being ugly now.
“I will not leave my brother willingly. I’ll fight you every second.” She shot a look at Micah. “You’ve seen what I can do with a syringe. Just imagine what I’ll do with a knife.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across Silas’s face, then disappeared.
Gabriel studied her with his dark, penetrating gaze, with those eyes that could reach deep into her soul. He was searching for weakness. He’d find no weakness here. She squared her shoulders. She did not flinch or look away.
Gabriel nodded to himself, as if deciding something. “If she goes,” he said, “so do I.”
Amelia flashed him a grateful look.
Horne threw up his hands. “Good riddance is what I say. Let’s rid ourselves of the terrorist and the murderer in one fell swoop.”
“And two of our best fighters.” Jericho turned to Micah, his jaw working. “Say your piece. I know you have something to say.”
Both Micah and Amelia looked at him, startled. Jericho never asked anyone for advice. He was the leader. His word was law. Anyone who didn’t like it could leave. But he’d kept them all alive a dozen times, so everyone accepted his rule, however grudgingly.
Micah cleared his throat. “We’re not savages. We can’t live like that. I refuse to live like that, killing before someone else kills me. We could have shot at their feet again. We could have wounded them if we had to, without killing them.
“Silas behaved recklessly. This boy is dead because of him. We killed two people. I can’t imagine there won’t be consequences.” He met Amelia’s gaze, his expression pained. He looked guilty himself, as if he were taking the weight of shame as his own. “We will deserve it.”
“Would you banish him?” Jericho’s voice was even, his face expressionless. It was impossible to read him, to know which way he would go. Jericho was tough, merciless when he had to be. But he also cared for Silas. Amelia didn’t know what he would do.
Micah glanced at Amelia again. She pleaded with her eyes, begging silently. But she didn’t say anything more. Her words were nails in her throat.
Micah sighed heavily. “All that being said…no, I wouldn’t.”
“Then I won’t either,” Jericho said briskly. “It’s decided, then.”
Amelia let out a breath. She was willing to leave them behind for Silas if she had to, but she felt immense relief that her challenge wouldn’t be put to the test.
Silas growled deep in his throat, the only sign that he’d even heard them. He smiled hard, his teeth pulled back from his lips, his eyes empty. His body was present, but his mind was somewhere else, somewhere none of them could reach.
“You’re just going to let Micah decide?” Horne whined. “Is he in charge now?”
“I’m in charge,” Jericho said. “And I say we need every able-bodied fighter we have to defend ourselves. We’ve dallied for too long already. It’s time to move.”
Silas turned and stalked down the empty street, his rifle over his slouched shoulders, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, leaving the group behind without a backward glance.
“He didn’t even say thank you,” Celeste said.
“He was never one for manners.” Amelia repressed a small, sad smile. This wasn’t the time for humor, not with two dead bodies at her feet. But Silas was Silas. He never changed, not even for the apocalypse.
Finn took Benjie’s hand. “Where’s he going, anyway?”
“Probably to tear the wings off some butterflies,” Finn muttered.
“I know what he’s doing,” Willow said. “I can keep an eye on him. We’ll scout a shelter for the night.”
Jericho nodded. “And food.”
“We need thick leather boots,” Amelia said. “To protect against the rats.”
Willow kissed Benjie’s head. “Stay with Mister Finn. I’ll be back.” She pulled Benjie’s inhaler out of her cargo pocket and handed it to Amelia. “Will you watch this for me?”
“Of course—if you’ll watch my brother for me.” She wanted to run after him herself, but he wouldn’t talk to her. She knew he wouldn’t. He’d only shut her out. Maybe Willow could reach him in a way she couldn’t.
Willow met Amelia’s gaze and nodded. “That’s what I aim to do.” She shouldered her rifle and jogged after Silas, a gray shape disappearing into the rain.
Amelia watched them go, foreboding settling in the pit of her stomach like a block of ice. The group was still intact, but they weren’t out of the woods.
Whether he’d meant to or not, whether he’d acted rashly or not, Silas had killed two Pyros. Somehow, some way, that was going to come back to haunt them.
6
Willow
“This place is as good as any,” Willow said.
She and Silas had spent the last two days scavenging and scouting. As the sun began to sink between the skyscrapers, they’d discovered a huge, abandoned mall. It was mostly free of infected bodies, contained a food court with some packaged and canned goods in storage cabinets, and had clothing stores galore. Best of all, there were no rats in sight.
They’d circled the massive structure, circumventing smaller shopping centers, a huge, mostly empty parking lot, and a residential street of tenement housing filled with cars to provide cover. They approached from the back. There were a few semi-trucks, one parked in front of an open loading bay.
They clambered inside and passed through the darkened warehouse into the main mall. Pale, watery light filtered through the transparent, domed roof. Shadows crouched in the dim corners of the windowless shops. The mall was vast and empty, even their whispers echoing down the silent corridors.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a trio of mirrored spheres hanging outside of a high-fashion smart jewelry boutique—necklaces that predicted your stroke risk, bangles that monitored circadian rhythms. Her knotted, ratty hair was plastered around her drawn face, a streak of dirt marring one cheek, her eyes sharp and cunning as a wild animal’s. She looked away quickly.
She shivered, her clothes soaked, glad to be out of the wet and the cold. Her scalp itched. She ran her tongue over her furry teeth, disgusted. They brushed with manual toothbrushes they’d scavenged from a convenience store, but it wasn’t enough. She would’ve traded her meager life savings for a single night of modern amenities. “I bet they h
ave boots. And I’m dying to change my underwear.”
“It’s time to get the others,” Silas said, ignoring her lame attempt to get some kind of rise out of him.
“Not yet.” They’d barely spoken in the two days since she’d joined him, since he’d killed the boy and the old man. Willow was pretty terrible about talking about feelings, but then, so was he. The more time they spent together, the more comfortable they became with each other’s silence.
Bizarre as it was, she felt a connection to Silas. He was a world-class asshole, but he’d also taught her how to fight, how to win, how to stay alive. They’d both had to kill. They both lived with guilt like a cancer eating away at their insides. “Fight me.”
His mouth curved in its usual smirk, but his eyes were sharp with regret and guilt, emotions Willow knew all too well. Silas knew he’d screwed up. He didn’t need Willow to tell him that. She knew better than anyone how it felt to fail so horrifically. He just needed someone to be near him, someone who understood.
“Now?” he asked. “You look like a drowned poodle.”
“You look worse, believe me.” She shook out her arms and tucked her chin, getting into her fighting stance. “Give me your best shot.”
Silas circled Willow slowly, throwing a few warm-up jabs. Willow deflected his blows easily. She threw a counterstrike, nailing his shoulder.
She faked another jab, intending to come at him with a cross, but he knew her too well. He blocked it and kicked simultaneously, sweeping her legs out from under her.
She went down hard, the air knocked from her lungs, sharp pain striking her elbows and tailbone. Thank goodness for the extra padding on her behind that wouldn’t go away, apocalyptic starvation diet or no.
She leapt up before he could catch his breath. She jabbed an uppercut at his face, her fist glancing off his chin.
He staggered back.
She flexed her fists as she stared at him. His face was still tense, his eyes drowning in
darkness. She needed to say something. This time, silence wasn’t enough. “What happened sucked.”
He only grunted.
