Chapter 10 #2
He shrugs, though the gesture is nowhere near as casual as he probably wanted it to be.
“Twelve years on the force before my chief turned into a beast and devoured half the squad on desk duty for New Year’s.
” There’s no emotion in Maverick’s voice.
He unholsters the gun, lifting it up, the burnished metal glinting in the firelight.
“This was my service weapon. It’s the last thing I have from my old life. ”
I tug on the sleeves of Rory’s jacket. I know what he means.
Maverick re-holsters the gun. “I made a pledge to protect and serve,” he says after a moment.
“The world’s gone to hell, and there’s no such thing as law enforcement in a world with no laws, but that promise means something to me.
It’s why I won’t stop until I take out as many lurkers as I can.
” He nods at me. “And it’s why you can be sure you’re safe with me. ”
If only I can believe that.
Still… “Did you tell Jack? About you being a cop, I mean.”
He nods again.
Figures. No wonder Jack didn’t fight against me leaving as hard as he could’ve.
I don’t trust the police. Even before, there was too much brutality, too much corruption.
My dad… he wanted to believe that anyone in public service thought like him.
He wanted to save lives, never lose them, and he’d feel a kinship with a former police officer if Maverick gave him the same kind of bullshit speech he just gave me.
Jack might believe it. Me? All I know is that, if necessary, I can unholster that gun and take it during my watch shift. He might look at me and think I’d never turn on him… and if he did? He’d be wrong.
The Turning changed us all, whether into lurkers or survivors. And Alexandra Holden will do whatever it takes to survive.
My phone is in my pocket. It’s a habit of my own, I guess, one that I haven’t been able to break even after all this time. Once it dies, I doubt I’ll have the chance to charge it again. For now, though, I can use it to keep track of the time.
“How long should I take for watch?” I ask.
He seems a little surprised—or maybe suspicious—that I let the topic of his being an armed former cop drop so easily. Truth is, I’m exhausted, and the sooner he gets to sleep, the sooner it’s my turn.
It’s quarter after seven. Normally I wouldn’t go to sleep until at least eleven, but we’ve had a long walk today, and tomorrow will start as soon as the sun’s up. Might as well rest now.
He’s thinking the same. “Wake me up around midnight,” he says. “One if you can last. I’ll take over for you then. Unless you’d rather three-hour increments.”
“One will be fine,” I tell him.
“But if you need me—”
Oh. Isn’t he cute?
I have my lighter. My knife.
A gun in reach.
“Sure. If I need you, I’ll wake you up.”
I’m not waking him up.
“We’re in this together, kid. Like I said before, it’s not too late to turn back now.”
Spend all day tomorrow walking back to the Grave? Or trudge forward, heading toward Manhattan?
“Get your rest, Mav.” Hey. If he can call me “kid”, I can call him “Mav”. “I’ll wake you up to take next watch.”
I wait to see if he’ll correct me shortening his name the same way I corrected him for not shortening mine earlier. When all he does is stretch up like a cat, arching his back and showing off his gun again, I slip my hand into my pocket, reaching for the familiar metal of Rory’s pocket knife.
And then, after he settles down on his bedroll, I sit beside the fire, enjoying the warmth and watching the flames flicker while counting down until it’s my turn.
My scream is muffled by a strong hand clamped over my nose and my mouth.
The skin is chilly and damp; it smells of pine and tastes like ash. I have no fucking clue who this hand belongs to. As I’m ripped out of sleep, the night is heavy and still and dark enough that I shouldn’t have to be up yet.
I feel like I only just got to lie down. Now, I have no idea where I am, what’s going on, or why I’m being grabbed. Of course I scream, and even as I return to consciousness, I can’t stop.
Someone shushes me.
It takes everything I have to try. Blinking rapidly, I attempt to swallow back my sudden panic.
The moon hangs high overhead, the weak light strong enough for me to see that it’s Maverick’s hand pressed to my face.
His dark hair shadows his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks as he bows over me.
As soon as he sees that I’m awake and that I’ve stopped struggling, he puts his pointer finger to his lips and hushes me again.
I nod. My heart is racing, my every instinct tells me to get up, to get away, but I’ll have a much better chance of doing that if he isn’t clutching me to him.
Maverick finally lets me go, but not before he repeats the shushing noise one last time. I kick my way out of the sleeping bag, scrabble to my knees, falling forward and crawling away from him as soon as I can.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, keeping my voice low.
“Shh.”
Fuck that. “Are you insane?” I squint, peering at him—and that’s when I realize that the reason I’m having a hard time seeing him is because the fire… it’s out.
It’s out.
I reach for my pack. I must’ve knocked it away in my hurry to escape Maverick because it’s not near my rumpled sleeping bag. Snatching it, I start searching for my matches while Maverick inches closer to me.
“Why is the fire out?” I demand. He had a point earlier. When fire’s the only thing that can keep the lurkers away, it’s a death wish to let the flames die out. “We have to get it started again.”
“I put it out.”
So I was right. He is insane. “Why?”
“Because I heard something out there. Listen. Okay? Just hold on for a second and listen.”
“If it’s lurkers, we need the fire.”
“It sounded like a rogue. More than one. Did you hear that? Nine o’clock. Someone shouted.”
Nine o’clock. My left. I strain my ears—and my stomach lurches.
“Lurkers,” I breathe out. I’m suddenly nauseous.
It reminds me of the time I ate a tuna sandwich that had been left out for two days, a gut-churning sensation that makes me want to hurl.
“Lurkers. A shit ton of ‘em. Four, maybe even five. If there’s a rogue out there, they might be why they’re screaming. The lurkers are coming right at us.”
“How the hell do you know that?” His voice is an accusation disguised as surprise.
I don’t blame him. “I don’t know, but I’m sure of it.” I don’t even bother zipping up my pack. I just get up, shrug it on, then grab my sleeping bag. I crumple it up as best as I can, hugging it to my chest. “We’ve gotta get the fuck out of here. Now.”
I don’t like to run. When it comes to a lurker, I’ve always stood my ground, ready to fight; when it’s me or them, the answer’s forever a resounding me.
But I’m not an idiot. For all my matches and Maverick’s supplies, we haven’t yet stumbled upon any secret caches of glass bottles amongst the trees.
I’m fresh out of firebombs. And while a lit match and a pinch of luck might mean I could go after one lurker on my own, there’s no way we can face so many with what we have.
Maverick hesitates. As though he doesn’t quite believe me, he shields his eyes with his hand, searching for either the rogue or the lurkers.
Screw that.
“They’re coming,” I insist.
I finally get through to him. He nods at last. Stopping only to grab his own bedroll, plus his pack, Maverick turns around and gestures for me to follow him.
But I’m not there. I’m already twenty feet ahead of him.