Chapter 4
FOUR
DAKOTA
My torn dress sticks to my skin, blood drying in stiff patches that crack when I move.
But Amelia looks worse.
I should be the one comforting her, but my hands won’t stop shaking, and I can’t scrub the image of what I did from my brain.
Three people.
I killed three people.
Things. Monsters.
Whatever the fuck is happening outside, it’s turned regular wedding guests into something inhuman, and I’m covered in their blood.
My mother is hunched over her phone, whispering with my dad. “Last thing I read was that it’s some kind of government thing that went wrong.”
“That’s conspiracy bullshit,” he says, “It’s just a virus. It will be over before we know it.”
I force myself to move across the small room, trying to ignore the reverend’s muttering prayers, his eyes fixed on the ceiling like God might reach down through the acoustic tiles and pluck him to safety.
“Meli?” I crouch beside my sister’s chair. “How are you holding up?”
She looks down at me. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one covered in blood.”
“Most of it isn’t mine.” I try to make it sound reassuring, but the words stick in my throat.
Amelia’s cool fingers find mine. “Your hands are freezing.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” Her voice is soft, barely a whisper.
“Do you need anything? Water? Your meds?” I scan the room, searching for her purse, for the pill organizer she carries everywhere. “Did you bring them?”
“In my clutch. By Mom.” She nods toward the small beaded bag sitting beside our mother on the leather couch.
I hesitate, not wanting to venture into that particular minefield, but Amelia needs her medication.
“Mom.” I stand, keeping my voice neutral. “Could you pass me Amelia’s purse, please?”
My mother looks up from her phone, face pinched with displeasure. “We’d be back at Green Research by now, continuing her treatment, if you hadn’t ruined everything.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” Her eyes narrow, voice dropping to that dangerous register she uses when she’s truly angry. “We’d be safe with security. Now look at us. Trapped in this—this closet, while those things are out there because you couldn’t even manage to get a man to say ‘I do.’”
How is this all my fault?
“Carmen,” my father says, but there’s no real force behind it. Just the usual halfhearted attempt to maintain appearances.
“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” I can’t keep the incredulity from my voice. “The wedding?”
“The money,” she snaps. “It would have saved your sister’s life. And now you’re pretending to care about her?”
I flinch. What? I don’t—
“It’s not her fault,” Amelia says. “ That zombies are attacking us.”
“Stay out of this.” Mother’s tone softens, the way it always does for her. “You’re not well.”
“I’m well enough to know when you’re being cruel.” Amelia tries to stand, her body swaying with the effort.
“It’s okay.” I put gentle pressure on her shoulders until she sits back down. “Really. Let it go.”
“Let it go?” My sister’s eyes flash with rare anger. “She’s blaming you for—”
“Don’t. Mom’s just upset.” I’m grateful she wants to defend me, but the stress isn’t good for her. “We all are.”
“The medication, Carmen.” Rosa shifts in her seat, hands gripping the arms of her chair as she hauls herself to her feet. “Give it to your daughter.”
Mother’s jaw works, but she reaches into the purse, removing a small pill case. She holds it out, not to me, but to Amelia.
Rosa snatches it from her hand and passes it to me. “Water?”
I reach for the half-empty bottle on the side table, helping Amelia sit up slightly, before popping open the compartments to get two of—
“Two of the white ones, one blue,” Amelia whispers.
The reverend’s prayers rise in volume, a desperate counterpoint to our family drama. “Lord protect us from evil, shield us from the unholy…”
“Could someone shut him up?” Father snaps, pacing again. “His babbling is giving me a headache.”
At least he didn’t try to feed you to the monsters outside.
I place the pills in Amelia’s palm, helping her raise the water to her lips. She swallows with difficulty, throat working.
“Better?” I brush her hair back.
“Thanks.”
“Thanks?” My mother huffs, her voice dripping with contempt. “Don’t thank her. It’s the least she can do.”
I close my eyes. Count to three.
One.
“Mother—” Amelia starts.
“What man leaves a perfectly arranged marriage unless there’s something fundamentally wrong with his bride?”
“Enough.” Rosa’s voice cuts through the room.
“I’m talking to my daughter,” my mother says.
“You’re attacking your daughter.” Rosa’s eyes flash. “There’s a difference.”
Mother’s face crumples slightly before hardening again. “You don’t understand what we’ve been through. What we’ve sacrificed—”
“Sacrificed?” The word slips out before I can stop it.
Her eyes snap to mine, wounded. “Everything we’ve done has been for you girls. Every decision—”
“You blackmailed them.” My voice comes out flat, hollow, surprising even me with how calm it sounds while my insides are burning. “Instead of just asking for help, you threatened them. Did it ever occur to you that the Moras might have helped us anyway? For Amelia?”
The reverend’s prayers stutter to a halt.
Mother’s eyes narrow. “You’ve never understood what it takes to protect this family. How far a mother is willing to go for her daughter.”
Amelia makes a small sound. “That’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Mother’s voice climbs. “What’s not fair is watching you fade away while your sister—” She cuts herself off, breathing hard.
The silence stretches, and the words sink into me like teeth, tearing at something I thought was already dead.
That place where hope used to live.
Does she even see me as her daughter?
“While I what?” I focus on the crumbles on the floor before looking my mother straight in the eyes. “Say it.”
“That’s enough.” Father’s warning falls flat.
“No, it’s not enough.” I stand straighter. “It’s never been enough, has it? Nothing I do is ever enough.”
Mother’s hand presses against her chest like I’ve physically wounded her. “I don’t recognize you right now.”
“Good.” Something cold and clear settles in my chest. “Because I don’t recognize myself either.” And honestly? I like this version better.
“After everything we’ve done for you.” My mother rises and crosses to me. “You’ve been nothing but a disappointment since the day you were born.”
Her hand flies up.
I don’t flinch. Just watch it come.
Rosa’s fingers close around Mother’s wrist, stopping it inches from my face.
But I feel it anyway.
The sting. The burn.
Like it connected.
“Don’t you dare,” Rosa hisses, her accent thickening with anger. “Touch her, and I’ll break every perfectly manicured finger on your hand.”
Mother’s eyes widen in shock. With deliberate slowness, she wrenches her arm from Rosa’s grip, adjusting the cuff of her blouse where it’s been wrinkled.
Her eyes flick down to my ruined dress. “You will pay for that dress with your own money. Every penny of it.”
Rosa makes a sound of disgust. “You’re worried about a dress?”
“It’s Cera Mang,” my mother says, as if that explains everything.
“It’s ugly,” Rosa fires back. “And it’s too flowery, like she had to compensate for something instead of letting her true beauty shine.”
In any other circumstance, I might have laughed. But right now, I can’t feel anything except a spreading numbness, like my body is slowly turning to ice from the inside out.
Amelia struggles to stand, her face creased with worry. “Dakota—”
“Stay,” I say, the words coming from somewhere far away. “Save your strength.”
“Where are you going?” Rosa asks as I move toward the door.
“I need some air.” It’s a ridiculous statement. There’s no air to be had in a church filled with the dead and dying. But I can’t stay in this room another second.
“Are you insane?” My father blocks my path. “Those things are out there.”
I look up at him, really look at him. The lines around his eyes. The silver threaded through his dark hair. The stranger who shares my DNA but has never known me at all.
“Yeah,” I say. “And right now, they’re better company.”
I sidestep him before anyone can stop me. Before I can stop myself.
“You’ll die out there,” my mother says.
I turn the knob. Hopefully.
Then this nightmare is over.
“Dakota, please.” Amelia’s voice cracks. “Don’t go.”
“Let her go. Girl needs space.” Rosa fixes my parents with a steely gaze. “From all of you.”
“If something happens to her—” Mother begins.
“It’ll be on your head,” Rosa finishes. “For pushing her there.”
I look back at my sister, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “I won’t go far. Promise.”
I turn the lock and ease the door open a crack, peering into the hallway.
Empty.
Quiet.
I slip through the gap and close the door behind me, hearing the lock click immediately. I lean back against it. My heart hammers against my ribs, but for once, it’s not from fear of disappointing someone.
It’s just fear.
Plain, honest fear.
And somehow, that’s easier to handle than the look in my mother’s disappointed eyes.
Did I overreact?
I hope Amelia’s going to be fine.