Chapter 8
Eight
R yland and I work together to take out the Afflicted for most of the night. We wander through the woods for what seems like hours picking off Zs one at a time. When my nerves are shot and I’m on the verge of cardiac arrest, we finally step out of the trees and join the others.
The four of us spread out along the edge of the property, hoping to lure the Zs from the cover of the trees. The boys talk back and forth, not bothering to lower their voices, and I keep a vigilant eye on our surroundings. The body count steadily increases throughout the night, and the battle is called in our favor shortly before the sun breaks over the horizon.
Victory is a double-edged sword. I wish we could bury the dead. They were, after all, once human, but it’s impossible with countless bodies. The guys believe if we leave them in the open it will only attract hungrier Zs as they rot in the sunlight. My experience with an attack this size is nonexistent, so I have no choice but to take their advice.
We cover the bloody tracks of our battle and gather the dead into a pile to be burned. Wes and Ryland toss the last body on the stack of remains, and Noah squeezes an old bottle of lighter fluid onto the mound. Never in a million years did I think I’d be cremating bodies, yet here I am tossing the match.
We step back as the fire blazes toward the morning sky. The sound of flesh sizzling and the putrid smell of the Zs makes me sick. None of these monsters look as if they’re at peace with their deaths. Most of them wear tortured expressions with their mouths gaping, and their blank stares watch us as they smolder. My entire body shakes from the gruesome sight, and I struggle against the bile rising in my throat. The adrenaline from fighting all night has worn off, and shock and fatigue have taken over.
“Quinn.”
With my arms wrapped around my waist, I look at Ryland on the other side of the bonfire.
“You’re shivering. Why don’t you go inside and clean up? We will watch over the fire,” he says, with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his pants. Like the rest of us, his clothes are wet and covered in dirt and blood. His hair is matted with a variety of filth, and his face is streaked with Z blood. He is exhausted and cold too.
“I’m okay,” I reply.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Don’t fight me and go… please.”
If it weren’t for his plea and our physical state, I’d stay just to defy him, but we’re both too tired to go back and forth. With a sigh, I meet the gazes of the three men who helped defend my home. “Thank you, guys.”
It’s a simple form of my gratitude taking into account I could write an entire book about the magnitude of the sacrifices they made last night. Without a second thought, they put themselves in harm’s way to protect my house, my cousin, and myself. They didn’t have to and could have suggested we barricaded ourselves in the bunker. Instead, they faced the danger head-on, proving how brave and selfless they are. My thank you will never compare to their heroic acts, but it’s all I have to give.
Wes squeezes my shoulder as I pass by him. “It’s what we do. We take care of each other.”
It’s what River and I have done alone for too long. I imagine what it would be like to add the boys to our twosome and make it permanently six. Extra eyes to look out for trouble, hands to hold guns, and able bodies to help with the day-to-day chores. Their addition would alleviate some of our stress. It’s not just the strength in numbers that appeals to me, but the idea of a multi-person unit like a family. Since they’ve been here, their presence has monopolized my thoughts, allowing me little time to reflect on the past and for depression to consume me. They have helped in so many ways.
I walk into the house and head to the study to pick up the dishes we abandoned last night. I’m not surprised to see them gone and the cards from the game neatly placed in their box. With aching muscles, I inch my way into the basement and scan my finger to unlock the bunker door. Aiden is fast asleep on my bed while River sits with her legs crossed on the couch. Her tight curls are a mess, and her eyes are void of their customary sparkle. She may not have battled Zs all night, but she looks just as sleep deprived.
She gives me a weary smile. “You look like hell.”
“Ditto.”
She looks at her fingernails and says, “I’d ask how it went, but I already know.”
I kick my shoes off and drop my soiled satchel onto the ground outside of the door. “Yeah, I saw you cleaned up the study.”
“I just thought the food might attract the Zs into the house.”
“They eat flesh, not vegetarian dishes,” I sarcastically state as I shut the door.
“You never know, maybe one of them is having second thoughts about eating people. Besides, you guys had been gone for hours, and I needed to know you were all okay. I saw you piling up the Zs.”
“Yeah, they wanted to burn them, so they’re still out there keeping an eye on things until the bodies disintegrate.” I hold myself back from shaking at the memory of the dead blankly staring at me from their fiery grave.
“You should go upstairs and take a hot shower,” she suggests.
“This bathroom is fine.”
River crosses her arms over her chest. “No, it’s not, and I don’t want to take care of another sick person. I turned on the hot water, and you should use it. Now, go upstairs.”
Send me out to battle a handful of Zs, and I have a chance of prevailing, but going head-to-head with River when she’s made up her mind is a losing battle.
I grab all the items I need to wash away the remnants of last night and head to the second-floor bathroom. As tempting as it has been over the last year to move back upstairs and partake in the comforts it provides, self-preservation has overruled the notion. We knew it was a gamble to live in a space where we could be discovered, and after last night, I have to ask if we were always right. Perhaps the reason for the attack was that we spent days unguarded and in the open. Our living situation with the boys might need reevaluating.
The bathroom is void of its accessories, no toothbrush holder, tumbler, or trash can, just a dusty blue shower curtain. The entire space is covered in light grime and not the most sanitary, but the room to move freely makes up for it.
I let the water run for a couple of minutes to wash out the unused pipes and remove the dirt from inside the tub. When the mirrors fog up, I disrobe from my disgusting clothes. The fleece from my hoodie has fused with the deep Z scratch on my arm. I whimper as the scab rips away and ignore the blood running down my forearm as I climb into the shower.
My pain vanishes when the hot water pelts down on me. I’m convinced this is a perfect representation of heaven. Reveling in the heat of the water, I take my time and clean my hair twice, rub every inch of my body with soap, and shave all the unwanted hair. I almost feel like the old me again, and it makes me want to stay in the bathroom forever.
In here, I can pretend my world is how it should be. River is in her room, talking on her phone with music playing in the background. Josh is in his workshop concocting a great invention that will save the planet from imploding, and Amara is picking vegetables in her greenhouse for tonight’s dinner. We’re all safe, happy, and life is moving forward in perfect harmony. But the water turns to a cold stream, harshly reminding me it isn’t so.
I should feel sorry for using all the hot water, but I don’t. This luxury is long overdue, and I’m happy I took advantage of it. I leisurely dry my body, comb my hair until it’s smooth, and dress. With my soiled clothes wrapped in my towel, I return to the bunker. As I pass my satchel and shoes outside of the door, I scrunch my nose at how awful they smell and drop the rest of my reeking laundry on top of the pile.
I enter the underground haven to find Noah sitting in one of the chairs in the kitchen with River standing behind him. She uses her father’s hair clippers to buzz off his hair. His eyes are closed like it’s the most delightful experience of his entire life. Across the room, Wes sits next to Aiden on my bed, deep in discussion. My hot shower must have lasted forever, considering Wes and Noah are clean and my cousin had time to find the clippers.
Wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, I curl up on the couch. I focus on all the events going on in the room. It’s these little things I miss the most, like deep conversations and basic tasks. I close my eyes and bask in normal sounds, praying they will consume my wayward imagination and guide me to sleep.
The door to the bunker bathroom opens, and I crack open my eyes. Ryland holds a towel in one hand to dry his hair and a t-shirt in the other. He’s perfect. Every inch of him is defined, lean muscles and tan skin. My wandering eyes skim over the artwork on his body. The smoky swirls that interlock the tattoos on his arms trail over his shoulders and under his collarbone, arching over a large, embellished hourglass inked onto his sternum. His low-riding jeans allow for a full view of the only colored pieces of artwork on his body—two red roses, one on each hip bone. Their thorned vines peek over the waist of his pants before plunging downward again. I wonder just how far they reach.
“What would you like me to do with my dirty clothes?” Ryland asks, pulling his shirt over his head.
I snap my jaw closed and quickly divert my eyes. “ You can set them outside the door with my stuff. I’ll see if I can salvage them later.”
He opens the door and sets his soiled clothes with mine as River turns off the hair clippers.
“Not bad for never going to beauty school,” she declares, rubbing the top of Noah’s head.
He leaps from the chair and runs his hands through his short hair. “Thanks, babe,” he says before kissing her on the cheek and sitting opposite me on the couch.
I look at my cousin and silently mouth, “ Babe ?”
She flashes me a coy smile and grabs the broom to sweep up the hair.
“Do you think you can give me a trim, River?” Ryland asks.
“I can only shave it all off. If you want an actual cut, you need to ask Quinn. She’s spent years working on her hairstyling skills.”
I roll my eyes as she pokes fun at my teenage experimentation with cutting my hair. I’ve never been able to live down the one time my hair adventures went awry, and I had to make an emergency appointment with a professional hairdresser. Clearly, my explorations into the art of hairstyling paid off since it’s now my responsibility.
Ryland clenches his jaw, moving to the other side of the bunker.
Is he serious? We spent all night relying on each other, but he can’t request a simple favor from me.
With a sigh, I stand and move to the drawer where we keep a pair of scissors and a comb. “I’ll do it.”
“No. You need to sleep,” Ryland replies.
I smile and pat the chair in front of me. “It’s all right, come and sit.”
Ryland does as I ask and sits his long, tense frame on the dining table chair. I run my hand through his wet hair like a comb. It curls when it’s wet and the coiled strands wrap around my fingers like they don’t want me to pull away. After a few more brushes, I take my nails and playfully scratch his scalp to help him relax.
“Don’t worry. I’ve only stabbed someone with the scissors once, and it bled just a little. Right, Riv?”
“Yeah, as soon as the doctor took out the stitches, the hair started to grow over the scar.”
“Funny,” Ryland scoffs.
River scoots in next to Noah on the couch and rubs his head. She attempts to make the act look innocent by complimenting her handy work, but there’s a tenderness to her actions. With a yawn, Noah leans into her touch until his head falls into her lap, and she covers him with a blanket.
I’m torn between focusing on Ryland’s haircut and the two of them. Things are getting too comfortable, and I’m not sure I like it. Perhaps I’m jealous of their blatant affection, or maybe it’s that River has someone other than me to dote on. It might be a little of both.
When Noah closes his eyes, I turn my attention entirely to Ryland.
“Something isn’t sitting well with me about last night’s attack,” I tell him.
He moves to cross his arms, but I give a gentle tug on the strands of hair between my fingers, reminding him to remain still. He opts to sit straight and says, “It was a horde-attack. They happen.”
“I know, but not here, not in Devil’s Lake, and not on this property. I just find it strange that we’ve only had a stray Z here and there, and last night was out of control.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Maybe with so many people in the house, we attracted them. Is it possible?”
Ryland purses his lips and shrugs. “It’s possible, but why would they show up now when you and River have been in and out of here for over a year?”
“We have limited our trips into town and spent almost all of our time down here,” I say before combing out a piece of hair and cutting it.
“Until we showed up.”
“Yes.”
We both fall silent, thinking about the possibility. Ryland is a lot like me when it comes to walking on the side of caution. I appreciate that he’s taking my concerns seriously. It’s better to inconvenience ourselves by entertaining assumptions than risking the lives of our loved ones by disregarding a gut feeling.
“All finished,” I say after trimming the last section of hair.
He looks at me over his shoulder. “We’ll take shifts guarding the house tonight and be prepared if it happens again.”
I give him a tight smile and nod. “Thank you. Now stand so I can make sure the front is all right.”
He gets to his feet and faces me. My fingers barely touch the curls framing his face when he takes my arm and turns it. “What happened?”
I glance at the angry, red scratch and try to pull away, but he firmly holds on. “The Z I stabbed grabbed me and dug its nails in.”
“It looks horrible. I have antiseptic cream in my bag in the study. I can wrap it for you.”
My cousin’s head snaps in our direction, and she chimes in, “Yeah, you should let Ry take care of it for you. Z nails are gross, and it can get infected.”
I gently pry my arm from his grip and shoot a glare at her. We have a first aid kit, and she’s very capable of tending to my wounds, but if I decline his offer, I stand to make a big deal out of nothing. Also, I’m exhausted and all sleeping space in the bunker is claimed. I might as well go with him, and afterward, I can sleep on my old mattress upstairs.
“Let me put everything away and we can head up,” I say.
When Ryland and I reach the study, he retrieves the first aid kit from his backpack. With a red pack in hand, he sits on the couch and motions me over. I take a seat beside him and fidget with the mood ring on my finger as I watch him remove a tube of ointment, gauze, and bandage. He sets the items on his thigh and gently rests my arm on his lap before applying the antiseptic cream to my skin.
I shut my eyes against the initial sting, but relax as his cool fingertips lull away the pain.
“I’m sorry for my outburst yesterday. My words were harsh and absolutely uncalled for,” he says, his voice raspy with emotion.
I open my eyes to find him staring at me. There’s kindness, goodness, and most of all, unadulterated beauty in the depths of his jade eyes. It would be easy to be consumed by a universe shaded in green. But reality is relentless, reminding me that my daydreams can never be any more than what they are. I don’t have time to chase after a mysterious boy and waste away the days with thoughts of him.
I silently urge the butterflies in my stomach to calm and try to focus my thoughts. “Thank you for apologizing.”
My heart aches as he swallows and pulls his gaze from mine with a nod. For the slightest fraction of time, there was something between us. An omniscient presence tying us together and opening me up to the types of emotions I abandoned long ago. It’s not enough to stifle out my lingering fear—the terror of letting someone slide past the defenses that I put in place to minimize the pain of losing them. In a world like this one, my best chance of avoiding a broken heart is to hold tightly to that fear.
Ryland places the gauze over the scratches before wrapping my arm in a white bandage. He stands, reaches for the blanket on the back of the couch, and shakes it out.
Realizing what he’s doing, I say, “You can sleep here. I’m going upstairs to my old bed.”
He ignores my words and proceeds to lean in and cover me with the blanket, forcing me to lie back to keep space between us. After he tucks me in, he smooths the hair on the top of my head and says, “Please, Quinn. After everything that happened last night, I’ll sleep better knowing you’re here and not in danger.”
My cheeks heat in response to his touch, and I turn on my side to hide their redness. He takes a folded blanket and pillow from the top of the desk and throws them on the floor in front of the fire. Carefully, he removes his gun and places it under the pillow before lying down so we face each other.
We remain in awkward silence until I build up my courage and say, “Is your family still in Giran?”
“Yes. They live in a small village outside of the capital.”
“Will you tell me about them?”
He takes a deep breath and says, “My parents divorced when I was young, and I spent most of my time with my mother and older sister. My mother remarried a man who is like my second father. But I worry about my dad. He lives alone and I never saw him as much as I planned on. I was busy being young and spending time with my friends.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
He smiles. “Avery. Do you have any siblings?”
I shake my head. “River is more like my sister than my cousin.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, where is your family?”
I consider where this conversation is heading and if I want to engage in it. Every tidbit Ryland learns about me will give him leverage to wiggle his way into my life, and I can’t afford to have another person I care for. I need to have a single focus, and it must be River and me. Any thought I give to another person takes from our safety. Then again, Ryland is biding his time until Aiden is well enough to travel. Once that happens, he will be on his way. He’s not meant to be a permanent fixture around here. Maybe his temporary presence isn’t such a bad thing. If he doesn’t stay, I’m free to be open with him with no strings attached. Besides, I can use a little therapy, and good therapists are nonexistent these days.
“I was raised by my aunt and uncle, River’s parents. Every summer, we go on an aid trip to Bogati. My aunt and uncle had already left for the village we were to be stationed in. Normally, River and I would have gone with them, but I wanted to stay behind for a couple of weeks. It was our last summer at home before going off to university on opposite sides of the continent, and I just wanted some time alone with her. We were scheduled to leave the day after the quarantine was announced. Needless to say, we never made it.”
“You blame yourself for River being here.”
He has me pegged, and there’s no reason to deny the truth. “She would’ve been just as happy leaving with her parents as she was staying back with me. I talked her into it.”
He doesn’t say anything as he processes what I’ve said. I want to pull the blanket over my head and hide from his analytic gaze. I worry he is affirming my self-hatred due to my stupid decision. As much as I dislike myself for the choice I made, I don’t want him to feel the same.
“What if you’re wrong and she wanted to stay behind with you? What if that summer was the best of her life?”
It’s something I’ve never taken into consideration. I have always been accountable for the part I played in the separation of our family. “It was my idea. I initiated it. I put it into action, and if it was the best summer for her, that’s great, but it’s still my fault we’re here.”
“I can respect that.” He doesn’t flash a reassuring smile or shake his head in disapproval. He remains neutral as he sizes me up. It’s a bit uncomfortable to be under such scrutiny, and I finally have to look away.
River and I have only spoken once about my feelings toward being stuck here. It was a month into the Affliction, and I broke down into a tearful apology. In true River form, she told me I was ridiculous, and it wasn’t my fault. I hate how she has never gotten angry with me about our predicament and tries to brush it off as something I didn’t play a part in. I don’t want her to make the best of a shitty situation. I want us to be safe with our family.
After a few long minutes, I look in Ryland’s direction again. His steely gaze is still fixated on me, his forehead crinkled in concentration. In a hushed voice, he asks, “When was the last time you spoke to your aunt and uncle?”
This is the one subject I try my hardest not to think about. It’s not just that I miss them terribly, but I can’t help reflecting on their state of worry. Every morning they must wake up and wonder if we’re all right, and every night, I’m sure they pray we’ve lived through another day. Josh has probably worn through several pairs of shoes pacing back and forth, trying to reassure himself that he taught us everything we need to know to pull through this. Amara is a light sleeper, and I guess she’s not slept through the night in almost two years. Perhaps they’ve given up hope on ever being reunited with us. They could believe we’re dead. I can’t imagine the toll not knowing has taken on them.
Although I dislike thinking about it, I answer, “A couple of days before the blackout. My aunt, Amara, is from Western Bogati, and they were going to leave the village and go stay with her family until they could come and get us. Being in the middle of nowhere, they didn’t know how bad things were. They just knew millions of people in Stern had died and the continent went into self-isolation to protect the rest of the world. I don’t think they fully comprehended how the virus had changed after the quarantine and what it was turning people into, and we couldn’t bring ourselves to tell them. We thought there would be a chance to talk about it later, but again, we were wrong.”
“What about your biological parents?” he asks.
Looking at the ceiling, I bite my lip. Now, he has crossed into an area of my life which I’m in no hurry to divulge. I pull the blankets under my chin and avoid looking at him. “That’s a story for another time.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t?—”
“Please, don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. I’m just really tired.”
“All right,” he says, forcing a smile before turning his back to me.
I stifle down the ugly, raw emotions rising inside of me. I have to keep them buried. They’re the reason for every insecurity I’ve ever felt. It doesn’t matter how many times I’m told I’m loved and wanted, the doubt is always there, whispering the opposite. I’ve worked hard to move past it, but it waits for a moment like this to get the better of me.