Chapter 8
Last night, I charged my phone while the electricity was still up, then set my alarm for seven o’clock. Pointless. I’m already wide awake by the time it buzzes loudly the next morning.
I spent the rest of yesterday with Jack, knowing that—despite my confidence—they could be our last moments together.
Eventually, he told me that Maverick would be leaving first thing after he got a good night’s sleep, bartered with other survivors for supplies, and had breakfast before the Grave all but kicked his ass out of our settlement.
He was a curiosity, but while we were willing to listen to a stranger, he was too close to being a rogue for Jack’s liking.
Either way, he was leaving today, whether he convinced one of us to accompany him or not.
According to Eddie, he’d spoken to six neighboring communities in New Jersey over the last few weeks, but he couldn’t find a single taker to join his suicide mission.
Until me, that is.
For those who don’t want to dip into their rations, we have a basic meal rotation: three simple meals a day, served at seven in the morning, noon, and five in the evening.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. While I scarfed down the last of Mrs. B’s pancakes, my travel partner would be chowing down in the cafeteria with some of the other survivors.
His plan is to head out at eight. With the sun coming up around six-thirty, dusk sneaking in around twelve hours later, if we leave at eight, that gives us a good ten hours of sunlight to move without worrying about lurkers.
They come at dusk which means, if we want to keep from Turning, we have to hunker down and be prepared to fight before then.
For now, I get ready to go. I rush through my shower, though I should probably be relishing it since there’s a good chance it’ll be my last one for a while.
I double-check my pack one final time, cast a wistful look at my abandoned collection of glass bottles, and exhale softly, shaking my hands as if releasing any lingering tension.
There’s nothing to be nervous about, I tell myself. I’ve killed plenty of lurkers and—no matter how the Grave voted—I know Jack wouldn’t let me go if he didn’t think I could handle this mission.
Besides, I have an antidote now.
The glass vial is wrapped up in a plastic bag, then tucked inside of a thick sock to protect it.
I’d heard it’s nearly impossible to shatter the antidote’s glass case accidentally—it took a lucky hit and all my strength to smash the one I first found—but hell if I want to be the one to prove that it can be done.
Besides, I know how valuable they are. I really don’t want anyone—my new hunting partner included—to find out I even have one.
Jack is already gone. I’d begged him to do it, to leave the condo before I did. He’d fought back, determined to walk me to the borders before passing me off to Maverick, but I refused.
If he did, I wouldn’t go—and we both knew that.
I need to go. I think, deep down, Jack knows that, too. That’s why he gave in, promising not to make my leaving any harder than it’s going to be. Because, no matter what he believes, this is the best thing for me. And maybe, when I do get back, things will be even better.
They certainly can’t get any worse.
With Rory’s jacket a comforting weight on my shoulders, I tuck Denise’s sweatshirt under my arm and heft up my backpack and sleeping bag. I glance around Stacey Finch’s bedroom one last time, promising that I’ll see it again.
I will. I mean, if I could survive a flaming that stole my twin from me, I can survive any fucking thing.
I head out through the front. If I hadn’t been anxiously nibbling on my thumb nail, already thinking ahead to my first steps out of the Grave, I might’ve realized that was a mistake.
Going out the back might’ve been smarter.
It’s closer to Grove Avenue and more private, but the front door…
that’s just the one we normally use so that’s what I did.
I don’t realize my mistake until I tug in the door and nearly stumble into the back of a sandy-haired man sitting on the edge of my porch, knees up, arms hugging his legs as if warding off a chill.
My breath catches in my throat. My teeth click as my mouth closes quickly. A heartbeat later, I swallow back a muffled curse.
It’s Chase.
As the sound of the door closing behind me reaches him, my twin’s fiancé rises up from his crouch.
It’s a slow wobble, nothing like his usual athletic grace.
In fact, his legs nearly give out, hand reaching for the nearest post to steady himself, but I can’t tell if he’s weary, tired, or just took a wrong step.
Then he turns, searching for me, giving me a good look at his face.
I suck in a breath. His eyes are bloodshot, red-rimmed and glassy; his carelessly tousled hair from yesterday is mussed and messy, like he’d spent hours running his fingers through the short length anxiously.
There’s the stubbled beginning of a darker beard along the edge of his jaw that makes it look like he forgot to wash some dirt off.
Overall, he looks like shit. More than that, he looks like he didn’t sleep at all last night. And if he did? He did it while sitting on the porch, waiting for me to finally leave the condo.
I think back to yesterday. Shit. That’s the same shirt he had on at the high school, isn’t it?
Run, Xandra, I tell myself. Run back inside, dash out the back, escape the Grave—
Chase sighs. His gaze is locked on my face, sadness in his eyes. His voice is dry and cracked as he softly utters my name: “Alexandra.”
It’s my full name, too. Alexandra. Four syllables, and I feel like I’m in more and more trouble with each one. Who knows? Maybe I am. Closing my eyes for a moment, I take one shaky deep breath.
Why me? This… this wasn’t supposed to happen. I made sure to say my goodbyes to Jack last night. He’s the only one I owed that to. That should have been it.
And, fuck me, I should’ve known better.
“Chase.” A gulp. A frown. My fingers tap anxiously against my jeans. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to come.”
Maybe he did, but he shouldn’t have. “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” I tell him. Way I see it, there’s no reason to beat around the bush. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m going.”
“Xandra, don’t—” He’s quick, or maybe I’m too slow. Chase closes the gap between us in the time it takes me to glance away, grabbing my wrist in my hand as if he thinks that will somehow keep from me from leaving. “Don’t go.”
I swallow my sigh.
He’s not demanding or forceful. The uncertainty is what makes it worse, that and the pleading in his voice.
“I have to. If I can kill that many lurkers, then maybe I’ll—”
I stop there. My words fail me, or maybe it’s the way he’s standing so close to me.
The heat from his fingers warms me up from the inside out.
We’re too, too close, and as Chase watches me intently, I don’t try to pull away.
Not yet. He’ll be nothing but a memory once I leave the Grave.
What’s another second before we break apart?
Just one more…
“Then let me come with you.”
I expected that. “You can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because the Grave needs you,” I tell him honestly.
It feels good not to lie to him for once, even if I’m talking to his chest because I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes.
“Because you’re one of the best trackers they have and you know how to destroy lurkers better than anyone else here.
Thirty-eight kills since July? That’s got to be some kind of record. ”
“Then let me go in your place,” Chase says instead. He tightens his grip on my wrist and my eyes widen. “You stay here. We both know you’ve been on nearly as many missions as me. You protect the Grave and I’ll go with the stranger to take out the nest.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “His name is Maverick.”
Chase’s fingers tighten, digging into my skin, eyes wild. “That’s what he says his name is. He could be anyone. You can’t trust him.”
He’s not really wrong. Some nobody breaks into the Grave—sneaking in or being caught by one of our patrols, it doesn’t matter, he wasn’t invited—and I’m willing to head out into the outside world with him? Why? Because he’s as murderous as I am when it comes to the lurkers?
“Chase—”
“What if he takes advantage of you? What if he wants something from you… you’re so fucking beautiful. Anyone with eyes can see that. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to have you all to himself.”
Ignoring the way my heart jumps to hear Chase call me beautiful, I scowl at him.
“Is that the problem? I fucked you so now you think I’ll give it up to any guy who looks at me twice?
Is that what you think of me? I’m going to kill lurkers, but in the downtime, I’ll sleep with this guy?
If that’s all I wanted, you’d have found me with Tony Morello this morning. ”
Chase’s expression turns flat. “No, I wouldn’t have. I promise you that.”
He’s not wrong, but that’s the problem. It’s the end of of the goddamn world and if I want to have reckless sex, I can, so long as I’m safe because fuck if I’m bringing any kids into this messed-up world.
I made that mistake once already, and I’m just glad it didn’t bite me in the ass when I was too drunk to demand he find some kind of protection.
Now he thinks I want to go on a lurker hunt and bang my guide? But I won’t because of—
I jab my finger in his chest. “Back off, Chase.”
“Hallie—”
Nope.
“See? That. That right there… this is why I have to go. I’m not Hallie, and maybe if I leave, you’ll finally get that through your thick skull.”
Chase swears under his breath, before muttering a quick apology. “I’m sorry—”
Yeah? So am I. “Let go of me.”
I don’t think he even realized that he was still holding onto me so tightly. He glances where his fingers are circling my wrist, but rather than release me, he squeezes just a little more. “What about Jack?”
My stomach goes cold. “What about him?”
He shudders out a breath of his own. “Look. My family’s dead.
I lost them all in the Turning. Hallie…” He gulps, voice breaking on my twin’s name before he tries again.
“You’re right. Hallie’s gone. There’s nothing left for me in the Grave, especially if you go.
But, if you stay, I’ll hunt those lurkers down for you, Holden.
I need to know you’ll be safe, and you’ll be safe so long as you stay.
There’s nothing keeping me here anymore. ”
It’s my own fault. Sometimes I can put the guilt behind me, but it’s never gone for long. His subtle reminder that I’m the reason he’s alone makes my stomach twist; his touch feels like it’s blistering my skin. What the fuck was I thinking, letting him get so close?
I yank on my hand.
Chase tugs back, stronger than I was expecting.
I’m not even sure how it happens, but suddenly I’m pressed against him.
His free hand curls around my back, pushing me closer.
My tits smash against his chest. I gasp, Denise’s hoodie slipping from my hold, lips parting slightly as I tilt my head back up to glare at him.
Is it a glare? I’m not sure. Chase must’ve seen something in my expression—either that or, desperate as he is, he decided to say “fuck it” and go for it—because he dips his head, taking my mouth with his.
The touch of his lips against mine short-circuits my brain. I stand there, letting him kiss me, letting him slip his tongue into my mouth, stroking his against mine as though his life depends on getting me to respond to its caress. He releases my hand, encircling me with both arms.
And I must’ve lost my goddamn mind because I slip my hands between us, clutching his t-shirt in my fingers, clinging to him for dear life as I kiss him back.
It doesn’t last. As soon as I remember that this is Chase Knight, I yank my head away. I untangle my fingers from the fabric of his shirt, placing my palms against his pecs, shoving him away from me.
He stumbles two steps back before surging forward. His hands go to my elbows, clutching me as his eyes darken in desperation.
“Can you tell me that you didn’t feel anything? That you don’t—”
I thrust down my arms, breaking his hold on me. “I’m not Hallie.”
His expression is so pained, I feel like a heartless bitch for reminding him of the truth. Especially when the taste of his mouth is on my tongue and, damn it, it’s taking everything I have not to dive in for another kiss.
“I know,” he whispers. “But—”
There is no “but”. “I have to do this. Okay? If you give two shits about me at all, can’t you just understand that? Can’t you let me go? Hallie would have.”
We both know that if Hallie were still here, there wouldn’t be any reason for me to leave.
I don’t give him a chance to point that out—or to try to figure out another way to stop me.
Dancing around the frozen man before I give too much away—or say something I’ll regret—I snag the sweatshirt, then stride purposefully down the stairs and away from the porch.
I thought I got through to him. I thought he understood.
And then Chase calls after me: “Do you really think this’ll bring your sister back?”
That gets me to stop. Another lump rises in my throat, tears stinging my eyes. I won’t let Chase see them. I refuse to turn around.
“Hallie is never coming back,” I tell him. My voice is hollow, and every one of those words hurts deep in my chest. “You better get used to it.”
When I start to walk away again, Chase doesn’t follow me.
Maybe my words stunned him or maybe he’s finally figured out that it’s pointless trying to argue with me, but I get all the way across the small parking lot out front before I glance back and see that he’s resting on the balls of his feet, leaning forward on the porch as if he’s about to take flight.
He’s hugging himself, and I can tell from the look on his face that he’d kill to have Hallie here again.
Him and me both.
“Goodbye, Chase.”
“Wait—”
I should go. I should take my pack and run before Chase says something he will regret and there’ll be no going back.
For either of us.
“I just…” His voice breaks a second time, and I feel my tough facade chip away a little like a crack in a windshield. If he doesn’t stop, who knows how far it can spread before I shatter completely? “I can’t lose my Hallie again.”
And I know then that there’s no way in any world that I can stay.