Chapter 5
Five
I shuffle into the house from the garage with Ryland, Noah, and Wes close behind. We don’t make it far when I come to a sudden stop. Tilting my head to the side and holding my breath, I listen as a constant vibration flows through the wall. The dead silence which is always prevalent on the first floor has vanished, and in its place is a sound I’ve not heard in over a year—water running through pipes.
“Quinn?” Wes whispers.
Ignoring him, I toss my duffle bag to the ground. My hands shake and my jaw clenches as I march down the dimly lit hallway to the bathroom.
River stands at the sink, holding her hands under the flowing water.
I enter and slam the door shut, leaving us in the buttery glow of her flashlight. “What are you doing?” I ask.
She glances at me from the corner of her eyes and continues to wiggle her fingers under the faucet. “Cleaning out the pipes and making sure the solar water heater still works. ”
“Are you kidding me? You went outside alone?”
“I very well couldn’t take Aiden with me, so yes, I went alone. I can fend for myself.”
“I realize that, but what if something happened?”
She shakes her head and releases a long sigh. “This will make things easier for the boys.”
I place my hands on my hips. “Easier for the boys ? Are you offering turn-down service and mints on their pillows as well?”
With her focus still on the sink, she raises an eyebrow and says, “No, but I did chop them some wood for the fireplace.”
I can’t believe she would be so reckless. She literally risked her life to give strangers a flushing toilet. It infuriates me. I told her to stay safe inside. She knows we shouldn’t go off by ourselves. The risk is too high. She made all the same terrible decisions I made today, except mine almost cost me my life.
I push the sickening thought away and focus all my rage on the issue at hand. Throwing my hands in the air, I pace back and forth. “I got an idea, why don’t I go hang a big neon sign on the road, advertising that we’re a damn bed and breakfast now? Running water, cozy sleeping arrangements, I’m sure some Zs would like to get in on the deal, too.”
River turns off the faucet and leans against the sink. She wears a deadpan expression, blinking several times before saying, “They’re not going anywhere any time soon, so we might as well make sure everyone is comfortable and has what they need.”
“That’s not your job! You get Aiden well enough to stand on his own, and they leave. End of story.”
“You know this is the right thing to do.”
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “This is ridiculous! ”
River’s cheeks burn red, and her hands ball into fists. “No, what’s ridiculous is that you’re choosing not to show compassion to four men in need!”
“I’m choosing to protect us!”
“You’re choosing to play it safe, and disregard everything Mom and Dad taught us, and you know it.” She presses her fingertips to her eyes, and the volume of her voice drops as she says, “The Affliction has torn so much apart. Don’t let it do the same to you. You’re better than this, Quinn.”
River’s words mixed with my earlier trauma crash down on me. Holding back the tears that so desperately want to streak down my face, I concede. “It’s done, just don’t go outside without me again.”
“I won’t.”
I nod and leave the bathroom.
“Quinn,” she calls after me, but I can’t turn around. Nobody knows me like she does, and she’ll see there’s more behind my outburst than just her recklessness. I can’t face the truth, and I don’t want her to see it either.
The following days pass in a haze. I keep my distance from everyone, especially River. It’s only a matter of time before she discovers that my anger was hypocritical, and my stupidity outweighed hers. I just need a little more time to gather my thoughts before I confess to it.
I lie awake staring at the ceiling, watching the subtle orange glow coming from the wood-burning heater dance in the dark. After a night filled with coughing fits from Aiden, the room is finally quiet with only the occasional shifting of sheets or the creaking of the bunk bed frame. My cousin has stolen all the blankets we’re supposed to share on the sleeper sofa. I’d usually put up a fight to keep my half, but she’s been tending to our sick guest most of the night. She’s optimistic that one of the medications we brought back will work for him, but so far, there’s only been a minor change in his condition. Her mission has been non-stop as she frantically looks through outdated medical journals while taking care of Aiden, and I’m glad she finally has a moment of peace. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for me.
It would be easy to blame my inability to succumb to my fatigue on sleeping in a bed that isn’t mine or sharing a room with strangers. But I’m my own worst enemy in this case. My mind continuously replays the events from the supply run. Days are consumed by cursing myself for everything I did wrong, and at night behind closed eyes, I see vivid images of my attacker pinning me to the wall. On a subconscious level, I believe I’m trying to accept what happened by over-analyzing it, but if that were possible, I’d have been fast asleep hours ago.
I roll out of bed, grab my clothes, and head to the tiny bathroom to get dressed for the day. As I finish washing my face, a gentle knock sounds at the door.
“Give me just a second, I’m almost done,” I say.
“It’s just me,” River whispers from the other side.
I let her in, and she relocks the door before taking a seat on the toilet lid. For several seconds, she quietly watches me buckle my belt. When I don’t make any attempt to speak first, she says, “What’s going on with you? I know you can’t still be mad at me for going out without you.”
Knowing my voice will fail me, I simply shake my head.
“Did one of the boys do or say something to you?”
“No. They’re fine. ”
“Did something happen on the supply run the other day? You’ve not really spoken to me since then.”
“It’s nothing, Riv.”
She stands in front of me and takes my cheeks into her hands. Her eyes roam over my face, examining every detail which betrays my words. “Talk to me,” she says, gently coaxing me.
I step away from her and run my palms over my eyes. “I was so stupid.”
“It’s okay. Tell me what happened.” She glides her hand up and down my arm.
Unable to hold back any longer, I allow my tears to flow and recount what happened in that basement. She pulls me into her arms and brushes my hair with her fingers while whispering comforting words. I cling to her until I’m incapable of shedding another tear.
“I wish I could’ve been there to protect you,” River says, kissing the top of my head. “I would have shot him in the balls with an arrow.”
Chuckling, I pull away from her hold and dry my eyes. “I know you would have.”
The unspeakable acts we’ve committed since the virus took over are countless. We’ve killed former classmates and neighbors who wanted to eat us alive. I never envisioned us raiding local stores for supplies or searching dead bodies for ammunition. Every moral lesson we were taught was thrown away like trash the minute we were living just to make it to the next day. I don’t regret it, and River doesn’t either. We will continue to do whatever it takes to keep the other safe. That’s why I don’t doubt that she would have killed the man who attacked me.
The sound of coughing interrupts our moment. River stares at the door, waiting to see if the hacking will subside.
“Go, he needs you,” I say, with a weak smile.
“No more keeping secrets. If you need to talk, I’m here for you,” she says, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before rushing out.
While River tends to Aiden, I pack my satchel with my gun and a box of the stolen ammo that got me in trouble. I take a protein bar from the cupboard in the kitchenette, not in the mood for anything heavy sitting in my upset stomach. With one last look at my cousin, I head out of the bunker.
On the first floor of the house, the sun shines brightly through the windows, causing me to squint against its assault on my eyes. There’s a calm crackle coming from the fireplace in the study, and the comforting smell of burning wood resonates in the air. Without paying any mind to whether Ryland and Noah are awake, I exit through the front door.
My boots make a squishy sound as they meet the sludge caking the ground. I walk around the house, heading toward the far end of the property where Josh installed two shooting targets—one for guns and the other for archery. I unwrap my breakfast and take a bite while approaching the wooden snow-coated slabs. Brushing away the ice, I reveal the silhouette of a human painted dark blue—my opponent for the day.
At a decent distance from the target, I drop my satchel to the ground. With half of the protein bar hanging from my mouth, I squat next to my supplies, load my gun, and place a silencer over the barrel.
Half of my sleep deprivation comes from my irritation with myself. For over a year, I’ve considered myself the protector of what’s left of my family, yet I was unable to shoot a man when my life depended on it. The seconds I used to deliberate his humanity overrode my natural survival instincts, and it almost cost me. I refuse to let myself fall victim like that ever again.
I finish my food before standing and aligning my body with the mark. I imagine the face of the sick pervert who tried to harm me. His massive form is three times as big as mine, and his eyes are glued to me while he wears a wicked grin. This time when he approaches, I don’t falter. I fire the first shot and a pop echoes through the tranquil morning.
The initial kick of the gun startles me, but I shake it off and quickly unload the entire clip into the target. I aim for all his vital organs—lungs, heart, and brain. It’s crucial that I forgo my reasoning and let my instincts take over. The next time I hesitate to shoot someone, it could be River who ends up hurt. I focus on the distant sound of Josh’s firm words in my mind. Don’t close your eyes. Keep your shoulders square and stand tall. It’s you or them, Q-Bean, so make sure it’s them. Take control and don’t let them back you into a situation you can’t get out of.
Every shot I take is within centimeters of my intended mark; it’s almost flawless. Still, my conscience is a conflicted place, holding me back. I need to override the internal setting that has me questioning right from wrong. It doesn’t matter how many times I’m spot-on with landing a bullet if I can’t find the courage to fire my weapon in the first place. I swear, never again will I question myself like I did in that basement.
The world is no longer as it was two years ago. The line separating good from evil and right from wrong is blurred. My optimistic view of humanity has shifted to that of a realist. People are a product of their environment, and our surroundings are hostile and ruled by unmitigated evil. Those who haven’t mutated into flesh-eaters are self-serving. They live with the knowledge that every day could be their last, and so they stop at nothing—not murder, rape, lying, or stealing. They’re out for one more gratifying moment before their life is taken. The inherently beautiful traits I once believed to be the foundation of the human race have met their match in the face of the Affliction, and they’re losing the fight.
My new outlook on humanity mixed with my guilt and self-loathing creates a toxic emotion within me. It demolishes the core of my being and guts me of the compassionate and fun-loving girl I used to be. I’m fashioning into someone hardened and calculated, and I hate that this is who I have to become. It goes against everything my family taught me to be.
The price of River’s and my survival very well could be the sacrificial offering of my soul. It’s going to take the both of us to make it through this, and one day reunite with our parents. I owe it to them to make it happen. Josh and Amara sacrificed so much for me, and now, it’s my turn to repay them. The only way I know how to make that happen is to kill the old me and build a new pragmatic me.
A metallic click and absence of a blast jar me from my thoughts.
“I think he’s dead,” says a low whisper as warm breath contradicts the ice-cold shell of my ear.
I turn on my heels with my gun held firmly, shoulders squared, and arms straight. I’m ready to fight and resolute to win. The barrel of my weapon collides with a chest, but my finger waivers over the trigger.
Ryland doesn’t even flinch as I hold him at gunpoint. In fact, he seems completely indifferent. His eyes are void of any signs of emotion, looking directly into mine. Brown feathery waves frame his clean-shaven face, and the scent of soap and deodorant linger in the cold breeze. Gone are the grungy clothes he wore when he first arrived at my home, and in their place is a red flannel shirt bundled under a thick winter coat. His long fingers wrap around the gun, and calmly, he guides it away from him.
The magnitude of my impulse reaction weighs heavily on me. I flipped to autopilot and abandoned my self-control. I was lost in thoughts of being more reactive and less mindful. As I stand face to face with Ryland, my idea to discard all rationale is reduced to a terrible idea. I risk taking an innocent life if I live only by instinct. Although my conscience can be a limitation, I must learn to incorporate it into my tactics. If by some miracle, we make it out of this mess alive, I don’t think I can live with myself if I’m not confident that any life I take intends to harm us.
It feels like tiny ice cubes are being pressed under my eyes and frozen streaks run down my cheeks. It’s not until Ryland lifts his hand that I realize what I’m feeling. I beat him to it, using the sleeve of my jacket to wipe away my tears.
His hand retreats, and he pushes it into his hair. “What are you doing out here?”
I take a step back, needing to put some space between us. “I was just practicing.”
He looks over my shoulder at the target. “I think he would have been down after the first shot.”
I turn to assess the damage—a single bullet to the head, two to the chest, and the rest of the clip emptied into the groin area. My subconscious took a sadistic turn, and it’s a little embarrassing.
“Well, you can never be too sure, and you should hit ‘em where it hurts, right?” I say, playing down the turmoil raging inside of me .
He laughs. “True, and that would’ve properly done the job.” He steps in front of me, removing the gun I gave him from the back of his pants. “You’re going for the kill, and it’s why you’re reluctant to pull the trigger. If you don’t want to overthink it, you’re going to have to aim for smaller targets on the body. Injure them enough so they stop and possibly have a chance to live.” With little effort, Ryland shoots the target in the knee, hand, and shoulder.
The three precise shots and the smug grin on his face pull me in two different directions. With such accuracy in his aim, I wonder if he went to sharpshooter training or maybe took serial killer 101 classes. He’s shown he has advanced skills when it comes to firearms, and it’s a little scary. Yet as he smiles, I’m transfixed by the perfect dimples on his cheeks. The indentations change his whole appearance—they soften the harsh edges of his face and give him a boyish charm. My confusion raises hundreds of questions regarding him. I’m trusting him to help maintain River’s and my security, and I don’t know the most basic facts about him.
I release the clip from my gun and kneel next to my satchel to reload it. “How old are you, Ryland?”
He secures his gun and stuffs his hands in the pockets of his coat. “Twenty-two.”
His answer is shocking. He carries himself with such command and certainty; I thought he was older. Nobody questions his authority. It’s like his judgment is backed by years of experience. But now that I’m really looking at him, I see a young man. His life, like mine, was only beginning when everything changed.
“What about you?” he asks.
I stand and slide the clip back into my gun. “I’m nineteen.”
A line forms in between his eyes. “You’ve been on your own since you were seventeen or eighteen, I can’t imagine.”
“You’re not much older than me.”
“I didn’t mean it like?—”
“It’s all right,” I say, moving into position and aiming for the outlined body.
Releasing a deep breath, I do my best to mimic his movements, but I don’t possess the same grace in my technique. There’s a pause before each of the three shots as I try to line my sight on the smaller, less vital marks. Each bullet is off from where it should enter, and my posture slumps with defeat.
Ryland walks up behind me. “You need to stop thinking about it.” He gently kicks one of my feet with his. “Your stance is too wide and not natural. If you’re in danger, you’re not going to have time to get into position before you fire. Relax and just keep your eyes on where you want to hit.” He shakes my shoulders. “Even if it feels sloppy, I want you to lift your gun and pull the trigger.”
The air I hold in my lungs burns before I gradually release it. I’m not used to having someone so close to me. It’s nerve-wracking. Part of me is grateful for the barriers of our clothing and another is aching to feel skin to skin contact. I like his touch. I shouldn’t, but I do. He makes me feel desire and need, emotions I have not experienced in over a year.
I shake the thought before I take it too far and focus on Ryland’s instructions. Pulling the trigger in quick succession, I hit two out of three targets.
“Better,” he says.
“Thanks.” I clear my throat and step away from him. “Are your friends the same age as you?”
Kicking the tip of his boot into the snow, he answers, “Yeah, we’re twenty-two to twenty-four. What about River?”
“She’s just a couple of months older than me.”
I release three more bullets into the target and carry on with my interrogation. “Were you in school before coming to Stern?”
“Don’t get too sloppy, just stand comfortably.” He places a hand on my hip to turn it slightly before returning to my question. “Yes, I was preparing to start my final year at university. I was studying photography.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really? I would’ve guessed combat training.”
He laughs for the second time. It’s not a hard belly laugh, but a quick, deep chuckle, and I like the sound of it. “With the current state of the world, I might have to consider it. I don’t think majestic landscapes are in high demand. What about you, were you going to university?”
I shake my head. “I was going to study psychology, but then everything went to hell, and I never made it to university.”
I fire a final round and receive a nod from Ryland. “Good job.”
Placing my gun in the back of my pants, I lean down to gather my satchel and drape it across my body.
Surprisingly, I’ve learned something from Ryland today. I can be hard-headed and get caught up in my old habits. Mutual respect is a must between me and someone before I’m open to their criticism, and Ryland earned my respect when he saved me. I hadn’t so much as said a thank you for what he had done. It’s time I rectify that and show my gratitude.
“About the other day?—”
“I wanted to say?—”
We give each other coy smiles as we reach the steps of the front porch.
“You go first,” Ryland says.
I pick at the white chipped paint on the stair’s railing. “I was going to say you were right—I made about a hundred stupid mistakes, and I had no control over what was happening the other day. Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I could be dead right now.” I finish with a tight smile and ask, “What were you going to say?”
His eyes soften as he looks at me, and I seize the moment and study the imperfections of his face—the dark brown beauty marks, the scar above his eyebrow, and the signs that prove he’s not been sleeping well. Each blemish compliments him and does little to lessen how handsome he is. I could get carried away studying him for hours.
I break his silent hold on me and busy myself by fidgeting with the mood ring on my finger. The stone is a nervous red, confirmed by the swift beating of my heart. I take a couple of deep breaths until the crimson fades to the unsettled shade of amber. When I finally turn back to Ryland, I find that his eyes have gradually hardened to a dark, dingy green. His body is rigid, and his face expressionless. I suck in a lungful of cold air and brace myself.
“I was going to say that I hope you learned something new today, because the next time I might not be there to save your ass,” he says.
My jaw falls open like it’s connected to a broken hinge. The nerve, and after we just had a little moment getting to know each other. And I apologized! Sarcastic comebacks flood my mind—comments about his mother teaching him manners and observations about his douchebag attitude, but it’s the least harsh remark that spews from my mouth. “Got it. Next time, I won’t hesitate to shoot him in the knee.”
Disgusted with my weak retort, I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm and spins me back around. Ryland closes the distance between us, forcing me against the steps’ railing. It digs into my lower back as I lean away from him. His angry stare bores into me, and his breath is warm against my lips as he speaks. “No, Quinn. The next time you shoot the bastard in the head. You were too close, and I wouldn’t take the risk of the bullet going straight through him and hitting you. Have no doubt, I would have killed him. I wanted to kill him. You were the only thing that saved his worthless life.”
He stomps up the steps, and I jump at the sound of the front door slamming behind him.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that? His mood swings are unpredictable—he goes left and then he makes a sharp right. His inconsistency has me twirling in circles and is throwing off my equilibrium. I feel like I’m stumbling in a world that is wobbling as it spins, but it’s only my mind playing tricks on me. Everything is as it should be. It’s only me who is going in circles.
He wants me off-kilter when it comes to him, and in some ways, I am. He exhibits intelligence, valor, and determination—all traits I envy. He’s also overbearing and rude. It’s like he’s setting me up just to knock me down, and I can’t fathom what purpose there is for his contradictions.
Unfortunately for him, I’m not the kind of girl who lets people walk all over her and goes down without a fight. He’s sorely mistaken if he thinks I won’t stand my ground, even if I fear I’m no match for my opponent.