“How is it fading? What do you mean?”
He sighed, coming to a stop. There was a lab ahead and sure enough there were locked doors preventing us from continuing down the hall. I’d bet money, if such a thing still existed, that was where we’d find Dante. Isaiah tried the door. “It’s locked.” He pointed at the wall. “There’s a scanner that I would bet unlocks it. That’s what we’ll need to do. Get an ID with a scanner. Here.” He tugged on my arm, pulling me into the men’s room just as I spotted a group of Controlled coming down the hall. Isaiah ran a hand through his hair before he put a finger up to his mouth to indicate I should be quiet.
An idea struck me and as soon as the Controlled passed I asked him in a quiet voice, “Do you think they’d know one of us from the others? I mean, they’re not real focused on us. They want Dante, and they want us gone.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I think maybe we pretend to be Controlled. They just let that group through. One of them has a scanner. We join the group, act Controlled, and get through that door the next time they go.”
Isaiah nodded. “I love it. I am totally in favor of this plan. Except we really don’t look Controlled anymore.” He held up his very pink hands. “Any thoughts?”
I did. And it was pretty dark.
“This place is a rehab,” I said. “A lot of people come here to die, and a lot of people know that when they come through the door. Some people stop caring, but others dress up like each day is their last day on Earth.”
His face paled as he caught my meaning. We were going to be raiding the closets of some dead people.
“Good.” I waved a hand at his face. “That’s the shade we need. Come on.” This was really more a Nick skill, but in a pinch, I guessed I could improvise.
I studied the doors as we walked down the hall. “Did your mom decorate her door?” I asked.
Isaiah stopped and then hurried to catch up. “The nurses did. God. I’d forgotten all about that. Sometimes, I’d just read the little biographies on each one.”
My grandmother had been in a similar place. I remembered how the door had been a tiny extension of her personality. She loved Paris, had gone there with my grandfather, and her door had an Eiffel Tower cut-out, and a cat in a beret with the caption, “Bonjour!”
“Look for a girly door,” I said.
Isaiah stopped at one wreathed in a garland of fake flowers. “Here?”
“Might as well,” I said. I leaned over toward the safety glass to look inside. The last thing I wanted was to open the door and let out a bunch of Controlled. It was clear from some of the rooms that it was a place to let people rot. I didn’t get why they didn’t just let them outside. The elements would do more damage than a climate controlled rehab center. “It’s clear,” I told him, and he opened the door.
The room smelled heavily of perfume, like whoever had lived here had sprayed her scent, walked through it, and left. It was weird.
I opened the bathroom door, but it housed only a sink and toilet.
“Found makeup,” Isaiah said. He was half inside a wardrobe and pulled out a tackle box.
“Is that for fishing?” I asked.
He opened it, revealing all sorts of jars and cases. “Originally, probably. This lady meant business.”
“War paint,” I said quietly. Isaiah glanced at me, and I shrugged. “That’s what my mother called it.”
Isaiah held up a bottle with a flesh-colored liquid. “This looks pretty pale. Let’s try it.” Squirting the liquid onto the back of his hand, he studied it.
I stared at him. “What are you doing?”
“I want to see if it matches.”
How? Why? “But why is it on the back of your hand?”
Glancing down, Isaiah shrugged. “This is the way girls do it.”
He had a point. Bottle in hand, I put some on my hand and then walked to the mirror. “Do I just slather it on?”
He stood in front of the mirror, fingers slathered in beige liquid he dragged down his face. He faced me. Two streaks of flesh-tone trailed from beneath his eyes down to his chin. It was a few shades lighter than his skin. “That should work,” I said. “But make sure you blend it into your neck.”
“Dead lady’s makeup…” Isaiah said, turning back to the mirror again. “Creepy.”
I rubbed the makeup into my skin. It was sickly pale on me. Perfect. “Is there any blue eyeshadow in there?”
We really had to make ourselves look sick.
“There is.”
Good. This just might work.
27
Whitney
My eyesight returned slowly. Then everything seemed too bright. With my head clearing, too, I needed answers.
“All right, Nick, start talking.” He would be the most likely to tell me the truth. Nick didn’t have a let’s baby Whitney bone in his body. He would tell me what I needed to know.
He cleared his throat. “Whit, I think you need to relax for a while. There’s going to be plenty of time to deal with this all later. I promise you.”
What in the hell? “Did I die? Become Controlled? You all don’t want to tell me? Is that what’s going on here?”
John approached me, running a hand through his hair. “You never became Controlled. You did die. You’re recovering. That’s what’s happening. I know you hate inaction but there really is nothing for you to do right now except to relax. Okay?”
I wouldn’t have thought John would be the one to tell me, but okay, I’d take it. Brandon fumed in the corner, but I didn’t think it was at me. He stared at the closed door like it might explode from the force of his anger alone. What or who was on the other side of it?
“How did I get sick? I mean, what did I get sick with? I remember struggling to breathe.”
Brandon rose from his seat and stalked to the window. He still hadn’t said anything. It was Nick who spoke. “A flu that the sick doctor here invented himself. That’s why he had the antidote.”
Antidote made me think of super villains and comic book heroes. I used to read them with Brandon in the back of alleys where we would hide. We’d find old copies in garbage cans and stuffed in boxes. The remnants of the world before. In those comics, heroes always searched for the antidotes and fought evil doctors who planned to take over the world. I was apparently living it as reality now.
“Seems kind of convenient. Did he make me sick on purpose? To get Dante here?”
“The thought had dawned on me,” Brandon finally spoke, but didn’t turn. “It’s raining. I suppose we should be grateful we’re not outside in it.”
I stared at the hard lines of his back. “Are you counting your blessings, Brandon?”
His mother had been big on that. When the world seemed like it was coming down on us, she’d have us count our blessings.
“I’m trying.” He turned around. “Whitney’s alive. Not wet. That’s how far I’ve gotten at the moment.”
John stretched his arms over his head. “Anyone else concerned that it’s Isaiah and Carson out there sneaking around and not Nick and me? I mean, why didn’t we think this through a little bit better?”
I shook my head. “All of you are capable of subterfuge if need be. They haven’t been gone very long. Unless I’m losing time?”
Nick stretched his feet out in front of him. “I’ll go looking for them soon. Zero escaped Dex and formed a new township. Carson can quote law statutes from the top of his head. I think they’re fine.”
I pushed against the mattress, moving to a seated position. Having a conversation lying down left me feeling at a disadvantage. I needed to be eye-level and on equal footing, but my muscles were weak and shaky.
I hated it. It was funny how I hadn’t appreciated how well my body worked until it didn’t. The faster I could get strong, the faster I could do what I needed.
“I need to walk around,” I said, pushing the sheets off my body. “This is doing me no good.”
John reached for me, taking m
y arm to help me stand. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”
“Did you suddenly become a doctor?” Nick asked, moving to my other side. “She wants to walk, she walks.”
Grateful, I leaned my head on his shoulder. Locking my knees, I waited for my head to clear. Blood rushed to my ears, and I wobbled for a second, but righted myself. John and Nick’s hands squeezed me tight. “I’m good.” I took a step, and I stayed upright. “I’m good.”
“Don’t overdo it,” Brandon called. His voice still had an edge to it, and I couldn’t fathom the reason for it. Was he angry I had gotten sick? That we were here?
I tried to look over my shoulder, but it gave me the spins and made my eyesight blur. I stumbled. “Dang it.”
“Dante’s been kidnapped by an evil, mustache twisting doctor, and you just pulled a Mary Ingalls.” Nick chuckled. “I think you’re entitled to a damn.”
I loved Nick, but sometimes he confused the hell out of me. “Who is Mary Ingalls?”
He stopped.
“Nick,” John said warningly.
“No.” Nick waved him away. “No. I just learned the woman I love has never heard of Little House on the Prairie. Give me a moment.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. It was probably the wrong time. Scratch that, it was definitely the wrong time, but Nick killed me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I haven’t. What is it?”
Nick clucked his tongue. “My sister read the books aloud to us. I thought it was a girly rite of passage.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister,” I said. Nick’s past was a mystery. The only thing I knew for sure about it was that my father had him killed.
“I had two,” he replied quietly. We’d reached the door, and I was out of breath. “Do you want to keep going?”
I nodded. “Up and back.” I jerked my chin to the hall. “Once, and then again in a little while.”
“Good plan,” John said. He cleared his throat. “You never talk about your family, Nick.”
I kept my eyes on my feet, but Nick tensed next to me and then sighed. “That’s because you’re my family now.”
“I love you,” I whispered, because he needed to hear it. They all did. I needed to remember to say it all the time. What if I hadn’t woken up to say it again? If anything ever happened to me, they would have no doubt that I loved them more than anything.
“Have you ever thought about babies?” Nick said, out of nowhere.
I stopped. Every muscle in my body froze and a sound escaped my mouth: something between a gasp and a squeak.
“Not the time,” Brandon said. I hadn’t realized he was following behind us, though I should have known he wouldn’t leave us.
“On the contrary,” Nick argued. “We have access to medical facilities. We’re all alive. Blood pumping, if you know what I mean. We’re pretty healed. It’s time to start thinking about just how healed we are.” He’d stopped along with me and now I hazarded a glance at him. When our eyes met, he waggled his eyebrows. “Know what I mean?”
“Oh my god.” I laughed and lost my balance, lilting to one side. John caught me, scooping me into his arms. “I can’t even walk.”
“Preparation,” he called as John walked us back to my room. He placed me on the bed and kissed my head.
“The man is exhausting,” he whispered.
“I thought about babies after I realized that we took no precautions to prevent them with Isaiah or Brandon. Or Dante after that if I wanted to be technical. But I got my period, since you were wondering, and so obviously not pregnant. Dante does not think that portion of your anatomy has come back online yet, but he thinks it will and plans to let me know when he thinks you guys have swimmers capable of finding an egg and creating life.”
John visibly swallowed. “Got it.”
Brandon pointed at the door. “Mace is out there. Controlled. That’s what’s bothering me. I know you can tell.”
Mace. All the blood rushing to my head made me think for a second I might actually faint. I’d killed him and now he was outside my door? That couldn’t be a coincidence. “What is he doing there?”
I lived in a world where I could end someone’s life and then have to see him again. He’d hurt me for years and hurt Brandon. I didn’t feel even the least bit sorry I’d killed him, except that it had resulted in John’s dying again. So much for being rid of someone. And he was Controlled. Did that mean he had Dex in his head?
“How many of Dex’s Controlled do we have here? Is there some sort of symbiotic relationship going on?”
John sighed. “I don’t think it’s that complicated. They’re all bad guys, therefore they’re in bed with one another.”
“I don’t think it’s that simple and neither do you.”
The door opened and closed. Isaiah and Carson rushed in, and for a second, my heart stopped. They’d reverted and I hadn’t known. I sat up fast, but strong hands stopped me from jumping off the bed. “What happened?”
The two men stared at each other as realization dawned on Carson’s face. “No. We’re fine. It’s makeup. It must be good. We’re fine.”
I forced myself to breathe. “Why would you do that?”
“So we can sneak out with the next group of Controlled they let through the door,” Isaiah explained. “We wanted to give you an update, and we ran fast so no one would see us. We want to just look like any other Controlled.”
Nick, who had been the one to keep me from jumping up, crossed his arms. “That’s an inspired idea. Well done.”
“Thanks.” Carson grinned. “We wanted to come tell you because as soon as we get through we may be out of touch for a bit. But we’ll get to Dante and make sure he’s fine as well as figuring a way out. You doing okay, Whit?”
I smiled at him. “Better now that you guys are back. Thanks for doing this.”
He stroked a finger down my cheek. “Anything for our family. I think we’ll all feel better when we know Dante is safe. Now that you’re better.” He frowned. “Mace is still standing there in the hall.”
Isaiah nodded toward the door. “It’s everything I can do not to put a knife through his eye.”
“Says my pacifist brother.”
28
Nick
I rummaged through the box of makeup Carson and Isaiah brought back. They had a good idea, and I had to admit, I was a little jealous it hadn’t come from me.
I took out a black pencil and walked to the mirror.
“What did you find?” Whitney asked from the bed.
“Eyeliner,” I replied and uncapped it. I lined my bottom lids and then rubbed it with my thumbs. “What do you think?” I turned around and Whitney’s mouth dropped open.
“I never knew,” she whispered.
“Huh?” Facing the mirror, I studied my face. Behind me, she crooked her finger.
I went to her immediately. The other guys were splayed out, trying to catch some sleep wherever they could. Except for Brandon.
He hovered next to the door, arms crossed. Waiting, he’d said. I assumed he meant for the opportunity to end the Controlled in the hall.
“What didn’t you know?” I asked Whitney as I sat on the edge of her bed.
She touched her fingertip beneath my eye. “I never knew I had a thing for guys wearing makeup. You look…” She shook her head and bit her lip.
Now it was my turn to shift uncomfortably. Whitney was nowhere near ready for intimacy, but when she looked at me like this…
I dislodged her lip from her teeth and eased forward to kiss the tiny indentation. “You like it?” I knew she did, but I wanted to hear it again. Call me self-centered, but I didn’t think there was anything wrong with my girlfriend telling me I was hot.
“I really like it,” she said. Leaning forward, she kissed me again. “I don’t suppose you know how to play the guitar?”
“Guys,” Brandon interrupted us, and I glared at him. Cock blocker. Right. Actually, it was probably a good thing because Whitne
y was still healing.
“Sorry,” Whitney said.
Brandon paced in front of the door. “I don’t like this. Mace. This is—something’s going to happen. I can feel it.”
“That’s more my specialty.” Carson yawned. He’d found a chair and dragged it into the room. He and Isaiah were napping before they escaped. But damn, it was off-putting to see them looking like death, not moving.
They’d done a seriously effective job with the makeup.
“Well.” I stood up. “Let’s just kill him. He worries you so much. I’ll bring him in here and—” I studied the room. There had to be something that I could use to get his head off. I eyed the bed. If I propped it, took the wheels off, maybe I could use it like a guillotine. “Do these wheels come off?” I asked.
“Leave him,” Whitney said. All signs of teasing and humor were gone, and she was pale to her lips. “For now, Brandon. Just leave him. He’s there for a reason, and I’m not going to goad the people holding Dante. That may be their purpose. They’re waiting for us to kill him so they can fuck with us.”
She was right. I blinked at her. “So you like the eye makeup.”
Brandon groaned. “He’s going to be unmanageable now.”
Carson threw a pillow at us. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
I lay next to Whit in the bed. Yes, I was being a jackass. I knew it, but I wasn’t without reason. There were so many bad things in the world. I hadn’t even told Whit about Wendy and the boys at the rail yard, how they had been living as teenage brides… and those evil men.
I hadn’t told her about the suffering I’d seen with the people still trying to survive in Roanoke. I hadn’t told her about the voices I heard in my head sometimes that weren’t Dr. K or Dex. But maybe Controlled filtering through Dex’s connection to me. How terrified they were.
We needed to sometimes be able to laugh or we were never going to survive this. And besides, she thought I was sexy and there was nothing wrong with that. Whitney curled up next to me, pressing her head against my chest. She smelled like cherries. How did she manage to still be so delicious smelling after days of being sick and then being in this pseudo-hospital?
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