Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
WAIT.
LYLA
I ease Lucy into park as Jacob hops out of Leon’s truck. That’s when I see her near the tree line, worn Converse planted in the dirt.
She takes a few hesitant steps forward, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped tight around herself like a shield. The spark in her eyes is gone. What’s left is hesitation, uncertainty, like she doesn’t know if she’s allowed to trust me anymore.
My chest tightens. I have a lot of work to do.
Her gaze flicks between me and Jacob as he rounds the hood.
Jacob’s fingers give mine one last squeeze before letting go.
“Looks like someone wants to talk to you,” he murmurs, voice low.
I nod, throat tight.
He kisses my temple and whispers, “I’ll give you two some space.”
He turns and disappears into the rhythm of camp, leaving me with a knot in my stomach and silence pressing in.
Joanie stops a few feet away. Her boots scuff the ground, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets.
“Hey,” she says, chin up in that defiant teenager tilt.
I nod toward Lucy. “Want to talk?”
Another nod.
We walk side by side toward the car. The door creaks as I open it, hinges groaning. Inside, worn leather, old oil, and faint traces of campfire cling to everything. It wraps around us, oddly soothing, like Lucy knows we need the extra love for this.
Joanie slides into the passenger seat, stiff and uncertain. She picks at a loose thread on her sleeve, fingers twitching. Her foot bounces. Her mouth presses into a thin line.
The silence stretches—thick, loaded with everything unsaid.
This is Jo, my Jo. The same girl who followed a stranger when she was lost. The one who held my hand when I bared my soul at the edge of a prison compound.
Joanie’s head snaps up. Her eyes are glassy, rimmed red, tears clinging to her lashes.
“I’m so mad at you, Lyla. You shouldn’t have kept it from me,” she says, voice low but firm. “But I get why you did.”
I watch her, silent. Letting her get it all off her chest.
She exhales like she’s been holding it this whole time, her whole body sagging. “You remember the first time we met?”
I watch her profile as her gaze locks on to the woods beyond the windshield.
“My dad lied to me that day.” Her voice wavers. “He went to scavenge food at a neighbor’s house. When he got back, he hid his bite.”
She turns toward me, and the tears are already streaming, dripping off her chin, soaking into her shirt.
“We always checked each other after scavenging. But that time, he was off. Shifty. I asked if he was okay and he said he was fine. Told me to leave him alone.” She lets out a bitter, hollow laugh. “You know what happened after that.”
My mind flashes back to the moment I first saw her in that house.
I’d crouched low in front of her, our faces close—sharing the same breath.
Her hands hung limp around the revolver, knuckles torn and smeared with her parents’ blood.
I curled my fingers around the cold metal and tugged. She didn’t fight me.
She trusted me even then.
She wipes her cheeks hard, furious with the tears. “I don’t like being lied to. Especially not by someone I trust.”
“I get that,” I say. “And I’m sorry for not being honest with you.” Fresh tears prick my eyes. “You have to understand how hard it is for me to let him go. It was wrong, even if I thought it was for the right reasons, but I’m sorry I forced this burden on you. You mean so much to me.”
“I’m sorry I freaked out and basically threw you under the bus with the group.” Her lips twitch. “Even though you deserved it.”
I chuckle. “Fair.”
“I don’t want to lose you.” Her voice breaks. “You’re all I have left.”
The words hit like a gut punch. Something cracks open in me.
I lean in. “Jo, you’re not going to lose me. I’m sorry I hurt the trust you have in me, but there won’t be any more secrets. We don’t protect each other by hiding things.”
Her chin trembles, but she nods. “You promise?”
“I promise.” I squeeze her hand—tight, sure. “You’re stuck with me, kid, for good.”
Her breath catches, then a shaky laugh slips out. “Really?”
“Really.” I squeeze her hand again. “You’re mine, Jo. My family. End of story.”
Her smile blooms. “Dynamic duo against the apocalypse,” she murmurs.
“Exactly.” I chuckle. “Hopeless, but unstoppable.”
She leans back, steadier now. “I really do love you. You’re like the big sister I never had.”
Warmth unfurls in my chest. I nudge her shoulder. “Love you too, Jo-Jo.”
She glares. “I fuckin’ hate being called Jo-Jo.”
The laughter bursts out of me—loud, raw. Joanie lasts two seconds before cracking, and then we’re both doubled over, snorting and giggling. The tension snaps, gone in an instant.
By the time I wipe my face, my cheeks are damp. “Feeling better?”
“Much,” she says, grinning. “You?”
I lean back, head against the seat. “Getting there.”
Joanie’s gaze drifts out the window. “Looks like Jacob’s having a serious talk too.”
I follow her line of sight. Jacob stands near the edge of camp with Jessica. Her lantern flickers low, casting long shadows. The knot in my gut tightens.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “Guess they needed to talk too.”
Hopefully he’s shutting that down. I meant to tell him how Jessica’s been avoiding me. Watching. Listening. Always . . . off.
Joanie tilts her head, whispering, “She creeps me out. With her dead eyes? She ticks some of those boxes you taught me. The killer signs.”
A startled laugh escapes me, but it fades fast. The comment lands too true.
The hairs on my neck rise. The feeling I’ve been ignoring roars back. Tight. Crawling.
“Say that again.”
Joanie blinks. “I said she displays those killer signs.”
My breath stalls.
Flashes fire through my head.
“She was a surprise.”
“They thought it might be the work of a known serial killer by how she was displayed.”
“They kept the details out of the papers.”
One line crashes into the next, speeding too fast to keep up. But something’s wrong. Something’s not lining up.
I shove Lucy’s door open.
Joanie startles. “Everything okay?”
“Not sure.” I scan the camp. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
She sighs. “Just don’t get into too much trouble.”
“No promises.”
My eyes land on Trish, perched in the med van’s open hatch, legs swinging, nose buried in a vampire romance.
“Trish,” I call, urgency bleeding through.
She looks up, surprised, marking her place with a spare bandage. “Lyla? Shit, you’re back!” Her expression shifts to concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to ask you something about Sheila’s death.”
She straightens. “What about it?”
“Were there any details in the papers? Anything about the crime scene?”
She frowns, shaking her head. “No. The cops kept it locked down. Just the basics made it out.”
“You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. They said she was found in an alley downtown. No suspects. No real info.”
“What details did get released?”
“Her name, time of death, that she was a teacher and engaged to Jacob. That’s it. Jacob never talks about the details, just that she was found behind the grocery store. Murdered. The world was already falling apart so the news moved on fast.”
“Did Jessica ever talk about it? Any details?”
Trish stills. “No. Why are you asking about Jessica?”
Chills wash through me.
“It was hard for him to see her displayed like that.”
Jessica’s words hit like a sledgehammer. I’d brushed them off. Now?
I glance toward the tree line where she and Jacob disappeared, dread curling in my gut. I have some questions for Miss Jessica, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get the truth.
Trish grabs my arm. “Lyla, you’re freaking me out. What are you saying?”
“Jessica knows things she shouldn’t.”
Realization flashes in her eyes. “Wait—”
Leon strides up, calm but alert, eyes scanning our faces. His gaze locks on mine. His jaw tightens instantly.
I grab his arm. “I think I know who killed Sheila.”
He freezes, then pulls a small notebook from his pocket. One practiced flick, one word scribbled.
Explain.
“I will on the way. I don’t have much, but I think you’ll agree Jessica is hiding something.”
The night hums with crickets and camp murmurs, but no sign of that lantern’s glow.
I turn, heart thundering.
“We need to find Jacob. Now.”