15. The Dead Don’t Walk Ronan
15
The Dead Don’t Walk: Ronan
M y skin is slick as water droplets drip steadily down my face and off my jaw. They fall onto the floor from my fingertips and join the small puddles forming at my sides. Clothes cling to my body uncomfortably, and I find myself shifting where I stand inside the small bathroom. With all five of us in here, our combined body heat causes the cramped room to feel much warmer than I know it actually is, unfortunately adding another level of discomfort.
“His body was moved.”
It’s the first thing any of us says, but I know it’s what we’re all thinking, even if we didn’t know how to approach the topic. I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s Nate’s voice that slices through the silence. It seems he’s always the one who breaks the unforgiving silence to address the questionable. I know his statement should be followed by discussion, but the quiet wraps around us like a blanket woven from tension and uncertainties.
Silene sits atop the counter, conveniently the one both closest to the door and farthest from me. Her hair, long and heavy, is falling out of the makeshift ponytail I had made her while she slept. Long strands frame her confused and wary face. Next to her sits Carmen, whose gaze is trapped down at her lap. Her pinky finger is interlocked with Silene’s. A gesture I don’t recall seeing since we’ve found each other.
A gesture that I’m sure might be part of the cause for the confusion locked on Si’s face since she is selective in the touch she allows others to receive from her.
Adonis stands directly across from them a few feet away from me, legs shoulder width apart and arms crossed against his chest defensively. His expression is a little harder to read—it always seems to be. His emotions tend to stay locked in, focused on the tasks ahead. And he’s watching. He’s always watching.
Then there’s Nate, who for some reason feels foggy when I try to remember who he was to me before all of this, but instinct tells me we were close. Closer than most. He sits on the closed toilet seat on the other side of me, looking very similar to Silene in the way his brows furrow, though I can tell he’s also biting on the inside of the cheek to try and silence any other words that try to tumble from his lips. Likely, hoping that someone else voices the questions these missing bodies raise for all of us.
Bodies. Plural. Because both bodies I had seen before we entered the thick veil of fog and forest are gone. Other bodies that had littered the ground before, gone too—though those disappeared much quicker. Quick enough that I had never seen them, and only know of their presence because of the way those quick minutes played out that day.
“All.”
The word is quiet. Tentative, even as is escapes Carmen. It’s sure, though her pensive expression says that she’s not done speaking. And no one interrupts, but instead, we wait for her to continue.
“Four have disappeared, and while that in itself is strange and unusual to think about, that’s not what the focus should be. The dead do not walk, but they often speak—tell stories—to those willing to find them and simply ask.” Hazel eyes flick to mine, and I notice the way her hand slowly slips from Silene’s grasp and tucks away the hair that has fallen into her face. “There’s a door in which we never opened. It might be time we find what the dark has hidden away from us for long enough.”
Though timid in posture and exterior, her words are wiser than most, especially for someone who appears much younger than the rest of us. Mature, not in age, but in experience and wisdom.
“So we break down the door.” It’s Adonis now, the one who always seems to respond to her, and her gaze slowly travels to him. There’s no judgment of the man whose first thought is to break something, but instead intrigue.
Fascination.
She looks at him like he’s a puzzle to solve before giving a small, assured nod.
A whispered, “yes.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Silene’s words are far more chipper than anything else I’d heard from her, and I shouldn’t be surprised that violence excites her. I’m not surprised in the slightest actually. She presses her foot against the cabinets of the counter she sits atop, and kicks off before grabbing her small hatchets. “Let’s go tear this shit down.”
She’s out of the door before I can blink, and then all of us are trudging after her, but rather than walk straight to the door that’s only a few feet away from us, she continues down the hall, kicking every door open. She only briefly peers into each empty room before moving to the next, and when she reaches the stairs, the wood groans beneath her feet. She flicks her gaze over her shoulder and stares at all of us still in the bathroom. None of us followed her through the hall due to what I would assume is confusion on all our parts.
“Well, are you going to make me do all the work? We need to make sure the house is secure before we go destroying everything.” Then, she’s facing forward and walking confidently down the steps. I don’t move as Adonis steps around me to follow, and then Carmen after him. I just stare down at where she disappeared, feeling as if this is all too familiar.
A hand, cold and strong, clamps down on my shoulder, pulling me from the daze that I’ve fallen into. Familiar yet distant brown eyes bore into my own in silent question. A way of asking if I’m okay, maybe. Or more likely as a way of possibly asking why I’m not okay. Because I’d be damned if I described my state of mind as “okay” while grief and hatred lace every longing and uncertain stare she sends my way.
God, hatred is the most common feature painted across her features. A scowl perpetually adorns her. Only she could make disgust look like jewelry.
It’s been nearly twenty-four hours since we found each other, and in that time she has tried to kill me, accused me of betrayal, kept her distance, only spoke to me to ask if I’m a means to an end, looked at me as if I’m the plague itself, and for the briefest moment…relaxed against me. Let her body fall into mine, her back molded to my chest where I know she belongs.
And then I separated myself from her. Not because I wanted to, but because I needed to. I can shamelessly flirt. I can wait for her to come back to me. But I refuse to let myself hope that she will. I refuse to let myself believe that, in a moment of exhaustion, she wanted to lean into my touch. That she wanted comfort. I’m delusional, but not when it comes to her. I know her better than I know myself, and she’s too tired right now to trust anyone, let alone herself.
Though the warmth that radiated from her skin and burrowed itself into me before I let her go and the blush that rose to her cheeks when I looked back at her on the rooftop makes it hard to believe she’s as uncertain as she may seem. I know that sometimes the body reacts against our will, and maybe I used just how much I know her to my advantage. Weaponized the knowledge tattooed into my very soul. Maybe I had been playing unfair in her eyes. But in mine? Any method, no matter how ruthless or unconventional, is acceptable as long as it means she comes back to me.
Focus.
I need to focus.
I release myself from my thoughts and focus on Nate, giving him a tight-lipped smile before pressing forward and following the group down the stairs. They creak and groan beneath my weight, more than they did for Silene, whose first step was the only one to cry out under her. I take note of the way its cry is quieter for Nate than me and tuck that information in the back of my mind as a way to figure out who is coming and going while we reside here.
The house is as I remember it. Clean, very little furniture, a broken lamp near the door in the living area. Shuffling sounds throughout the floor as the search for anything or anyone is well underway by the time Nate and I join the others. I just observe the organized, frenzied chaos that is the woman roaming the area.
Thunder, loud and commanding, rings out through the house, shaking the very foundation as lightning cracks across the graying skies and sends light through each window, illuminating the rapidly darkening room.
Shadows fall over Silene’s face as she immediately turns to me. Her eyes are wide as tension spreads through her body like a disease making it hard to breathe. For all her talk, she’s never been one for thunderstorms. Never been able to stomach the way the Earth would shake beneath our feet as if it were about to open up and swallow us whole. I never understood her fear, but I remember the first time I noticed it and the way she endlessly denied it. I remember the offered comfort and the shiver that overcame her as she laid her head over my beating heart and let the rhythm lull her to sleep.
She’s looking at me for comfort that I know she’ll never allow me to provide in this moment, preferring stiff muscles and uneasiness over the contentment and safety I used to cocoon her in. She’s denying me the pleasure of taking her fear away.
“If we’re all clear, I say we check to see if there’s food and running water. There’s wasn’t much in the forest in terms of hunting.” It’s Nate’s voice behind me, calm and steady as he speaks. I refuse to tear my eyes from Silene as she slowly nods her head, though I’m not sure if she actually agrees.
“The water ran well enough when we woke up here. I’m assuming it still does. There are nonperishables in the cabinets…I checked already. I still think we should check the room first,” Silene says.
“Who does it hurt if we get cleaned up and eat first, though?” Again, it’s Nate who counters her argument, and her expression of neutrality seems to falter almost as if she doesn’t trust the man before her. As if his argument seems unusual to her, but she easily slips on a mask of indifference to hide the mistrust that seems to linger longer than it should. Longer than she usually allows herself to go without a mask in order to keep her true feelings tucked away from the watchful eyes.
“I think if there is someone in that room, leaving it untouched could cause a lot of harm.” The second she says the words, we’re plunged into silence and darkness as thunder booms all around the house, shaking the wooden floor and rattling the untouched broken glass lay untouched. Shakes my bones as we all become nothing more than shadows in an impossibly black room. I can imagine the horror on Silene’s face just as well as I can hear the shuffling of light feet after a small gasp.
Carmen, most likely. The woman who doesn’t seem afraid of the dark or creatures that walk within it as much as she fears those who she’s seen in the daylight. Those who have looked her in the eye, walked by her side and promised her safety as much as they have fed her lies. The conversation last night, a short distance from the prying ears of a liar in the midst of confusion…
A liar.
The one I’ve been labeled as but have no recollection of being.
A soft hum sounds through the house before we’re covered in a yellow fluorescent lighting once again. A backup generator, I assume, which does make sense if this house was used often enough. It also makes sense if there’s something else hiding here that we haven’t caught sight of.
Yet.
I look around my peers. Each silent and still, none where they were before the darkness overtook the room besides her and me. As suspected, our dreamer is standing shoulder to shoulder with Silene, their pinkies interlocked again, while Silene’s hand grips the hilt of one of her knives so hard that her tan knuckles have lost all color. Nate is several steps behind me, one foot resting on the first step of the stairs as if he is ready to quickly ascend and disappear. Adonis, the heaviest of us all, managed to move the farthest. His body, strong and wide, is knelt by the bedroom frame. Kneeling by the broken glass. Red blood drips down dark fingers and white porcelain as an edge digs into the palm of his hand.
I can’t explain how I know this for sure, what it is about everything that I’ve seen and heard up to this point, but something urges me to be cautious. Deep down I know…
One of us is lying.
It isn’t just a fear of Silene and Carmen’s, it’s a truth.
But who?
Is it the one who cloaks himself in silence everywhere he goes, the dreamer dancing in nightmares, the leader who looks at everyone as if they’re a mystery, or the vicious woman who can’t help but keep running?
Or is it me?