Chapter 6 #2
I hesitate, then grab my own plate and drop into the chair. My body aches in places I didn’t know could hurt, muscles screaming from the day’s violence.
“The food is very nice,” Rosa says, chewing on a cucumber sandwich. “Even with the apocalypse, you managed to make it look pretty.”
A strange laugh bubbles up my throat. “At least something I’m good at…”
“More than that is good in you, nina. Much more.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just eat, watching as our strange group arranges itself in this new reality.
Sienna and Cameron sit close together, shoulders touching, sharing food from the same plate. My parents keep to themselves, speaking in hushed tones, while the reverend eats nothing.
After dinner, everyone prepares for bed. Cameron and Julien check the barricades one last time before taking positions by the door for first watch. The rest of us shuffle around with blankets and pillows, pretending this is normal, that we’ll wake up tomorrow, and everything will make sense again.
Amelia sits in her pillow and blanket nest, her face drawn with exhaustion.
“Come on.” I arrange my blankets beside her. “You need to lie down.”
She doesn’t argue, which tells me exactly how tired she is. Normally, she’d insist she’s fine, dismiss any suggestion she needs help. I spread the softest blanket over her, tucking it around her thin shoulders.
“This feels like when we were kids,” she whispers. “Remember those blanket forts in my room?”
“You always insisted on using the good sheets even though Mom would get mad.”
“Worth it.” Her voice sounds thinner than usual. “Are you going to sleep?”
“Right here.” I stretch out my back on the prayer mat beside her, staring at the ceiling where shadows from the candles dance. “Don’t worry.”
“Mind if I join?” Sienna asks, arms wrapped around a pillow. “Would it be weird? I just—I don’t want to be alone when Cameron takes watch.”
This woman was supposed to be my rival. The other woman. The reason my wedding fell apart. But she fought, even throwing herself at one of the zombies.
For me.
“Sure.” I scoot closer to Amelia to make room.
“Thanks.” She settles on my other side, keeping a careful distance. “I know it’s stupid. I’m not usually this clingy.”
“It’s not stupid.” I adjust the blanket to cover her, too.
“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and this will all be some fucked-up dream.”
“Me too.”
“All the women on this side, eh?” Rosa appears, moving slowly toward us. “I think I’ll join you girls, if that’s alright.”
“Of course,” Amelia says before I can respond.
Rosa lowers herself to the floor with surprising grace for a woman her age, settling at our feet. She arranges her pillows, muttering in Spanish under her breath.
“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I say. “There’s a couch—”
“I sleep where I want.” She pats my leg. “And tonight, I want to be with my granddaughters.”
The word strikes me somewhere vulnerable. I wonder—
My mother sits rigidly beside my father, who stretches out on a couch. They whisper to each other, shooting glances our way. Probably discussing how I’ve betrayed them.
The reverend has claimed the farthest corner, his lips moving in endless prayer again. Not the lullaby I prefer.
Julien sits by the door, a machete he found laid across his knees. His eyes meet mine for a brief moment before shifting to Cameron, who crouches beside him, speaking too softly for me to hear.
Probably coordinating watches.
“Try to sleep,” I whisper to Amelia. “I’ll be right here.”
She nods, eyes already drifting closed. “Dakota?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you sing?”
My chest tightens. “I—”
“Please.” Her voice is barely audible.
I used to sing her to sleep every night when she was first diagnosed. When the pain kept her awake and the medication wasn’t enough. But then Mother came in. Said that I sounded like a street performer begging for coins and forbade me to do it again.
But Amelia’s eyes plead with me. And maybe it’s the apocalypse, or maybe it’s watching people die today…
I start softly, just for her, an old lullaby Rosa sang for us during the summers.
“Arrorró, mi nino, arrorró, mi sol…”
My voice cracks on the first line. I clear my throat and try again, stronger this time, letting the melody drift like smoke through the candlelit room.
“Arrorró, pedazo de mi corazón…”
Amelia’s eyes drift closed, a faint smile on her lips. I keep singing, the Spanish words flowing more naturally.
“Este nino lindo ya quiere dormir…”
Rosa joins in, her aged voice harmonizing with mine, creating a texture that wraps around us like a blanket.
My sister’s breathing deepens. She could always fall asleep anywhere. In hospitals. During treatments. Even now, at what feels like the end of the world. As long as she’s alive, I have a purpose.
Something to fight for.
“Háganle la cuna de rosa y jazmín…”
I look up, feeling eyes on me. My father stares at his hands. My mother’s lips are pressed into a thin line, but she doesn’t tell me to stop. The reverend’s prayers have ceased, his lips finally still.
“Arrorró, mi nino, arrorró, mi sol…”
And Julien—Julien is watching me. Not with anger or annoyance or judgment.
“Duérmete, pedazo… de mi corazón…”
I finish the lullaby, the last note hanging in the air like a question. The room is silent except for the soft sound of breathing and the occasional creak of the old building settling.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” Sienna whispers, propped up on one elbow.
I shrug. “Just something I do.”
“Do more often,” Cameron says from his post, voice gentle.
“We don’t know what exactly draws them,” Julien says. “But sound is bad.”
“I’m sorry.” I don’t dare look at him. “It was stupid.”
Sienna catches my hand, stopping my fidgeting. “It was beautiful.”
I settle, embarrassingly clinging to Sienna’s hand while I close my eyes and let the quiet darkness surround me, hoping to fall into whatever peaceful dream my sister has. But my mind conjures the kid’s face as I drove that candlestick into his skull.
How quickly we become monsters to fight monsters.