by Cerys du Lys
"That's curious," he said. "I wonder... what if I kiss you?"
I didn't know. I didn't know but I wanted to know. I was no stranger to kissing, but I hadn't ever kissed someone like that before. Who knew that a casual, thankful kiss on the cheek could feel so passionate? That was the only word I could think to describe it, like the fire of pure arousal licking at my lips.
"Sorry," Evan said. "I didn't mean that in a flirtatious way. I was just thinking out loud. Hypothesizing, if you will. I do that a lot now. Trial and error, right? It's a good way to educate yourself as long as you're careful."
"Oh," I said. I wanted him to kiss me now, though. Was he going to?
He gazed at me, into me. Our eyes met. I hoped he saw something nice in my eyes, something he liked. I definitely liked his eyes. They were a sharp, piercing blue and reminded me of something I'd seen recently, but I couldn't quite remember what.
Bang! Bang! Slam!
Jumping up, startled, I looked towards the front of the library where the noise came from. Evan stood with me, taking a place right next to me.
Staring at us through the library's front windows was a small group of the others. They slammed on the windows, trying to crack them open and break in. If they kept it up, they probably would, too.
"They shouldn't be in here," I said. "How did they get in? There's a chain on the front gates."
Evan sighed. "I broke the lock to get in here. I thought if I left the chain in place no one would notice. I guess that didn't work out."
"I know you want to help them," I said. Forcing myself to focus through the intense warmth, I placed my hands on Evan's face and made him look at me. "You need to run, though. They want to kill you."
"I know," he said. "It's alright."
Dashing a few steps away, leaving me cold and alone, Evan ducked under the library table and grabbed something from beneath it. When he returned and stood up, he held a crossbow and an arrow quiver full of bolts in his hands.
My mind reeled and I stared at him, conflicted. "Evan, you can't. Please, don't kill them. You need to run to safety."
He flashed me a grin while strapping the quiver and crossbow to his back. "No one's going to get hurt," he said. Without warning, he swooped forward and took my hand in his. "Let's go."
"What do you mean let's go?" I asked.
I asked him this, but I was already going with him. Evan ran through the library towards the back entrance with me in tow, squeezing my hand for good measure. My legs felt slow and unsteady, but he helped me whenever I took a bad step and nearly slipped. I followed him like a ship guided by a lighthouse, the ever-present heat of his fingers offering me a breadcrumb trail out of this screwed up fairytale forest.
Peeking over my shoulder, I saw the others chasing us. One of them stood at the window still, slapping on it with his bare hands, but the remaining four must have found the front entryway into the library. They hobbled past the turnstile, getting stuck in its slim path, but not for long. One made it through, then another, the third and fourth. None of them waited for each other, though.
They ran towards us in a shambling, awkward gait. The look of confusion on their faces contrasted with the decisive look in their eyes. They didn't want me—I was nothing but competition to them—but Evan's blazing heat was like the promise of a goldrush in their minds.
I understood now; I did. I resisted the urge to partake in the barbaric, seemingly-mindless onslaught of the others, though, no matter how many times I saw it or heard it nearby. Confused and lost, I wanted to retain whatever part of me I could. I wanted to care and have concern no matter how broken and defeated I was.
Others wanted to feel alive. The touch of warm skin igniting life inside of them, bringing them some semblance of normalness back to their cool, clumsy bodies. Strong thoughts and feelings, sensations and emotions, they wanted all of it.
I wanted it, too. Evan ran side by side with me, holding my hand, while the noisy clatter of his crossbow rang through the air and gave away our every move. All the others needed to do was listen for a moment and they'd know where we went, whether we lost sight of them or not. We needed to go faster, but I couldn't.
Evan could, I knew. If he let go of my hand he could flee to safety without worry. Even if he didn't know about the trees in the courtyard and how the college students here used to use them to sneak out at night, he should be fine running to the front gates and leaving the way he came in. If I let him go, if he ran faster, he'd be free.
He held my hand loosely, running with me, but I stopped and let his hand go. That was it, I thought. I expected to see him continue running towards the rear entrance and out into the open air, but he didn't. He stopped and turned around, looking at me with a puzzled expression.
"Go," I said. "You can get away if you leave me here. They won't hurt me. I'll be fine."
"I'm sure you will," he said, smiling. He took my hand in his again and squeezed it tight. "Come on. I have an idea."
"Didn't you hear me?" I said. Looking back, I saw the others gaining on us. I stood in place, thinking to force Evan to leave me, fighting against his gentle tugs.
"I heard you fine, Sadie. I just don't like your plan. Why not try going along with mine?"
He looked at me, smiling, not moving now. We just stood there quietly while the others threatened to catch up to us. I turned and looked and saw the nearest one only a few long library table's lengths away. Our chaser stumbled towards us, persevering despite the difficulty.
Evan tugged my hand lightly once more and this time I went with him.
"This is insane," I said. "I'm not fast enough."
"You don't have to be fast," he said. "Just watch."
We reached the stairs to the second floor of the library. My legs felt thick and slippery like grape jelly. It was difficult to climb stairs on the best of days for me, and after climbing over the walls to get in here and running this far, now was not one of those better days.
"I can't climb stairs well," I said.
Evan grinned. "That's the entire point."
I had no idea what he meant. Apparently he didn't need me to know, either. Kneeling fast, slipping one hand behind my knees and holding my back with the other, he lifted me up and cradled me in his arms.
"Evan!" I shrieked. "This isn't going to work!"
Evan laughed, climbing the stairs one at a time, steady yet fast. "Oh, it's not?"
I looked down, staring at the others following us. At the base of the stairs, barely an arm's length away from us, they hesitated. One of them leaped forwards and grabbed at Evan's foot.
I sucked in air and held my breath. Evan casually walked up the stairs, lifting his foot away from the outstretched hand right before it would have grabbed the cuff of his pants. Our assailant's head smacked against the step with a thud and he slid back down the steps, befuddled. I knew that wouldn't keep him distracted for more than a moment, but for now it worked.
What scars would it leave, though? Evan carried me up the stairs and I looked back sadly, worrying. I knew they wanted to catch him, to kill him, but it hurt to watch them. We might not feel pain as fully as anyone else, but it left its mark nonetheless. If the failed attacker gained a scar, some bruise, he probably wouldn't care, but it'd leave a mark.
I thought of them as marks of inhumanity, of difference. If most people cut themselves, they used bandages or ointment to help it heal, but in our confused, awkward states we really couldn't. Besides the fact that it took a lot of effort, sometimes I never even thought about it. When a regular person is injured, they can feel the pain and know to take care of it, but if that happened to me I might not realize the extent of my injury.
I had a few marks, myself. Evan carried me up the stairs as surely as he started, but I felt more awkward now. Shifting in his arms, hiding my legs with the skirt of my dress and my hands, I hoped he didn't realize what I was doing. Thankfully he didn't seem to notice with the adrenaline from our escape coursing through him.
H
e bounded up the last few steps effortlessly and then placed me back on the floor. I shook, unsteady, but he kept a hand on my waist to help me.
"I don't see how this is going to help," I said.
Already, climbing after us, came the others. One of them held the railing, slowly plodding his way up the stairs, while another followed behind him, half crawling and half pulling himself up. The remaining two stood at the bottom still, but I had no doubts they'd begin their ascent soon.
"The windows," Evan said, as if his comment needed no explanation.
I stared at him, raising one brow. "Huh?"
"The first floor doesn't actually have windows," he said. "They're more like glass walls. Right? Up here you can open the windows, though."
"You can't mean..."
He interrupted me by taking my hand in his. I didn't know for sure, but I thought he did it on purpose, catching me off guard while I enjoyed the heated trill of his skin sending warm shivers through my body.
"Come on," he said.
I went, I followed, but I wanted him to know I didn't enjoy his demanding nature. "You can't just tell me what to do," I said. "And you can't just... do... you're tricking me."
He couldn't just touch me and distract me and expect me to do everything he wanted was what I meant to say, except if I said that it not only sounded wrong, but it maybe told him more about this than I wanted him to know. Did he know? Maybe he didn't realize it yet. And, honestly, was that the reason I was following him in the first place? I wasn't entirely sure.
"I'm not tricking you," he said. "I want you to come with me."
He wanted me to go with him? I didn't understand why, though. For what reason? It hurt to think it, but I assumed he wanted to study me. He wanted to ask me questions and learn about what made us like this. He wanted to know about the others and to understand it, so he could figure out a solution. Some curative desire of his, a medicative need.
He didn't want me to go with him for any real reason. For all I knew, he didn't even really like me. I doubted he hated me, but he had ulterior motives, of that I was positive. Still, was that alright? I liked him, his heat. He seemed nice and friendly. I did want to stay near him, but I didn't really know why or for what exact reason.
We walked to the nearest window and Evan began spinning the handle to levy the window open. I watched him, curious. He was handsome, I decided. I hadn't really bothered to notice before, but I liked the way he looked. Somewhat rugged and rough, but not too over the top. He had a bit of stubble on his cheeks, which looked nice, but I hoped he never grew a full beard. His clothes were loose, so I couldn't tell for sure, but he must be strong since he'd carried me up the stairs without too much effort.
I loved his hair, too. Wavy and loose, dark black. I wanted to run my fingers through it and touch it. I could, I decided, be very happy doing that and then grabbing the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss. If he wanted, if we were dating, which we weren't, and I was a zombie... he, of course, wasn't, and I didn't know why I thought these things because obviously neither of us should care about them. I knew Evan wouldn't, and I shouldn't, but...
He opened the window as far as it would go, which wasn't nearly far enough for either of us to slip out of. The window opened at the top, held in place by retracting metal bars. Standing, surveying what he had to work with, he grunted.
"I wish I had a screwdriver," he said.
"Why?" I asked.
"Then I wouldn't have to kick out the window."
Evan kicked at the sides of the window casing. With a creak, the metal bars strained against his onslaught. A few more kicks on one side of the window and the thin bar came loose, flapping away from the casing. Moments later the other side came loose. The window hesitated for a second, falling outwards slowly. With a loud crash, it smacked against the outside of the library, glass shattering and cascading to the ground in a million little pieces.
"All set," he said.
Behind us, finishing the struggle up the stairs, our first chaser appeared. He must have hesitated at the top, unsure where we went, but at the obvious sound of the breaking glass, his head swiveled towards us. He stared at me as I looked at him, and then he bolted towards us.
Evan leaped out of the window to the grassy ground below. Springing to a stop a few feet away, he glanced up at me and smiled.
I couldn't do it, I couldn't go. I wanted to, I really did, but I couldn't. What if I slipped and fell? If I hit my head, no matter what I was like now, I'd definitely fall unconscious. Or even if I didn't hit my head, what if I didn't jump far enough and scraped my knees? If I landed in the glass and cut myself, I'd end up with more marks; more signs of my inhumanity.
Evan wouldn't leave. I briefly considered not jumping and forcing him to leave. I knew it wouldn't work, though. The leader of the pack coming after us was currently in a mad bullrush for the window and he was going to jump out of it no matter what I did. I imagined Evan standing there, smug, not even caring.
"Oh, I'm in horrible danger?" I pictured him thinking. "It doesn't matter. Let me just act a fool in order to get this zombie girl I just met to come with me."
Except he wouldn't call me a zombie. He hadn't said it at all, not once. He hadn't treated me like anything but a person, and I appreciated that so much. I didn't feel like a zombie, nor did I want to be a zombie. I did feel odd sometimes, out of place, confused and disoriented and unsure, but that was it.
I jumped.
I fell into Evan's arms. He stepped forward to catch me and we toppled to the ground, but no more. I didn't hit my head, didn't scrape my knees. The glass wasn't anywhere near us and so I didn't need to worry about that, either. We lay in the grass, huddled together, breathing quickly.
Our first follower stumbled out of the broken window and collapsed onto the ground next to us. I screamed, startled, staring at him.
He'd landed on his feet, but hadn't had the sense to buckle his knees to soften his fall. Instead, he landed hard and fell forward, face first into the ground. I never knew what happened after that because Evan lifted me off the ground and to my feet, turning me away from the fallen man.
"This way," I said, pointing to the easily climbable tree and the student's secret sneak-out route. "There's a hidden way out."
Evan nodded and we ran for it. He ran slowly now, though, oddly. I looked over at him and realized his crossbow must have jarred his shoulder when he caught me.
"You're hurt," I said.
He brushed it off. "I'm fine. Where is it?"
I showed him to the nearby spot with the tree. There was no bench on this side to get started, but the wall wasn't too high and the tree branches grew lower than the ones on the other side. Evan nodded once we arrived and went straight to business.
Removing the quiver and crossbow from his back, he jumped up and slipped them onto the top of the stone wall. Getting to his knees next to the wall, he looped his fingers together and looked at me pointedly.
"I'll help you up. It'll be faster this way. Just step onto my hands and use the wall to brace yourself. I'll lift you up as high as I can. Can you jump to the other side fine if I get you to the top? If not, I can climb up after you and help you down."
"I can do it," I said. Breathing in deep, I stared at him kneeling on the ground. "I don't know if this is a good idea, though."
"It's not a good idea," he said with a grin. "It's a great idea! I promise I won't drop you."
I rolled my eyes at him and sighed. Stepping into his hand with one foot, I reached out and braced myself against the wall with my arms. Carefully, he lifted me up. He slipped when he went to stand and cursed under his breath.
His shoulder. I'd completely forgotten. I could climb the tree—I'd done it before. We didn't need to do it this way and I should've realized we shouldn't, too.
"I can climb on my own," I said. "You're hurt, Evan."
He ignored me, grimacing, and then with a grunt he pushed through the pain in his arm and stood up. I wobbled
at first, but kept myself balanced against the wall. Worried, frowning, I watched him but he refused to accept my anxiety.
He lifted me higher. I reached out and grabbed the other side of the wall, then pulled one leg over the top while holding on. Lifting my other leg off his hands, I spun up and onto the top of the wall.
But I didn't jump to the other side.
The last of our group of chasers, the one who had never come inside to begin with, content with slamming his open palms against the glass instead, staggered around the corner of the building. The three inside approached the broken glass around that time, too. All four of them surveyed the yard, spying their fallen companion. Slowly, seeking, they scanned for Evan.
And then they saw him. Evan grabbed onto the tree and lifted himself up. Or, he tried to. He used the wrong arm and winced in pain, then jumped back to the ground.
The group of others saw him and regained their desire for the chase. The one already on the ground bolted forward, intent on getting to Evan before the rest. One of the ones on the second floor of the library furrowed his brow for a moment, but then leapt to the ground. Better prepared than his predecessor, he landed lightly in the grass, ready to hunt.
This time with his other arm, Evan grabbed the lowest branch again. He tried to climb one-handed, but wasn't making much progress.
I stared at him, then glanced towards his soon-to-be attackers. Back and forth, my eyes darted from one to the other. He couldn't get up, wouldn't be able to make it in time.
Laying flat against the top of the wall, I reached one arm down and stretched it out as far as I could.
"Evan!" I screamed.
He saw me, saw my hand. With one last ditch effort, he snatched a branch with his good arm and reached up for my hand with his bad one. I touched him, felt the heat flare into my palm. It shocked and startled me, even now, but I clenched my hand into a fist and squeezed his hand in mine.
Clamping my eyes shut, too scared to look, I pulled. Hard. Harder than I ever thought I'd pulled anything before.
Evan's shoulder popped; I felt it. My eyes opened, shocked, and I gasped aloud. I'd meant to help him but I'd hurt him even more. I couldn't bear to look, didn't want to see the others descend upon him in bloodthirsty panic. And yet I didn't want to never see him again, either. I wanted to hold his hand and feel his warmth. I wanted him to touch my cheek and smile at me and talk to me as if I was just a regular person again.
