9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Hector
The monster's been up there for hours.
After hobbling down the stairs yesterday, I'd flopped back onto my bench, angry and still exhausted from getting shot at.
Sometime in the middle of formulating a plan to get inside Zone T, I must have fallen asleep, because it was morning when I'd opened my eyes again. And Charon was still up on the deck.
I'd poked around more, examining the sorry excuse for provisions in his cabinets, which is how I found the jar full of eyeballs currently staring at me on the table. I'd nearly screamed.
My intention was to confront him about it, ambush him when he came back down and demand to know what the fuck he plans on doing with me, but…
well, he never ended up coming back down.
The scent of smoke has been drifting into the cabin all day, an d now that night has long since fallen, my curiosity is getting the better of me.
I creep back onto the steps, wincing when my knee presses on a loose board, causing it to squeak. My ears prick to listen for any signs of footsteps, but all I hear is the crackle of a fire. Sterilizing water, maybe?
One peek onto the deck confirms my suspicion when I spot him sitting before some kind of fire pit, a pot boiling above the flames. His head is bent, hair tied back from his face as he concentrates on a stick in his hands, whittling away at it with a knife.
My pulse kicks up, not because of the weapon, but because he's… completely naked .
From his massive shoulders to the thick calves above his feet, the monster hasn't a shred of clothes on.
Heat rushes to my cheeks when my eyes run over the hair on his chest, the hard ripple of muscled biceps as he carves away at the branch, abs flexing with each movement.
He's all hard lines and tanned skin, built like an oak tree, no stranger to hard labor.
Probably from operating the boat. It isn't until my perusal falls on the long cock resting between his thighs that I rip my gaze up to his face—
And find him staring straight at me.
The jar of eyeballs slips from my sweaty grip, hitting the deck before rolling toward him, stopping only once it hits his foot. But he keeps his attention on me.
“I, uh…” Frozen in place, my heart roars in my ears as I try to think of something to say, all of my strength focused on keeping my gaze above his hips. Horror washes over me when I feel the tightness in my pants as my dick starts to swell .
No, no, fuck no.
Not him.
Charon tilts his head, raising a brow when he looks down at the jar resting against his toes, and I finally find the words to speak.
“I found that. In the cupboard.” My voice comes out scratchy, so I clear my throat. “Do you collect those like some sort of sick freak?”
His gaze snaps up to mine, features growing cold as he sets aside the knife and stick. Reaching for the jar, he clicks his tongue three times, and a squawk answers from the trees.
Nyx flutters down onto his shoulder, talons digging into his skin, but he barely flinches. He opens the jar, holding it up to her with his gaze trained on me. The bird dives beak-first into it, where she fucking swallows an eyeball whole .
The monster beckons me closer, curling a finger in a way that does nothing to ease the situation between my legs.
I cross my arms with a scowl, thankful that the stairs hide the lower half of my body. “I'm coming nowhere near your murder bird when she's munching on human eyes.”
Or your naked dick.
His lips twitch, but he just caps the jar and shrugs, grabbing his branch again to continue on with…
whatever it is he's doing. Nyx croaks loudly before taking off back into the trees, leaving six long scratches on his shoulder.
From the scars crisscrossing his skin, it seems this is a regular occurrence for them.
A line of blood trickles onto his pec, rolling over a taut nipple, but he does nothing to wipe it away.
Like being covered in blood comes naturally to him .
I blink rapidly for several seconds, watching the crimson drip onto his thigh, far too close to that dangling appendage I'm trying my damndest not to look at…and failing.
It's just there . Thick and veiny even while flaccid, nestled between his balls. Not overly humongous but still symmetrical to his body. As tan as the rest of him, like he frequently sunbathes in the nude.
Truth be told, I haven't seen many cocks. When every single day is a fight for survival or a struggle to eat, sex is the last thing on the mind, but Charon's is probably the nicest one I've laid eyes on. Very clean. Part of me wishes I could get a closer look.
He clears his throat, though, causing it to twitch, and I drop my scowl to the floor, cheeks burning.
Every muscle locks up when he stands and turns around, the urge to examine his ass so strong that I squeeze my eyes shut.
Clothing rustles, fabric sliding against skin.
It isn't until I hear chair legs scrape on wood that I crack open a lid, finding him back in his seat with a pair of damp pants on.
The shirt he was wearing earlier hangs from the railing, dripping wet as the waterfall rushes behind him, no longer hitting the boat. He must have been washing his clothes.
A wooden ladle appears in his hands, and he stirs the pot over the fire before using the spoon to pour some of its contents into a dented thermos.
The sweet berry scent fills my nostrils, making my stomach growl angrily.
Charon once again meets my gaze as he offers the thermos to me, lips quirking at the corners.
I scramble onto the deck without making sure my dick is in check, because I'm too fucking thirsty to refuse.
It's demoralizing, the way I crawl toward him, but hopping on one leg would probably be worse.
When I'm close enough, I snatch the thermos from his grasp before gulping down the boiling liquid, not even caring when my mouth blisters with burns.
The monster gapes at me, his hand hovering in mid-air like he'd been seconds away from stopping me, but it's too late. I drain the thermos completely.
Back at Aster’s Hollow, there's a belief that rotters can't feel pain, that the infected gene destroys that part of our brain.
There's some truth to it, I suppose. I can feel pain, but it's usually fleeting.
Some people feel none. Some spend their entire existence in agony.
How the infection affects us is different for each individual, but we all have one singular thing in common—the possibility of turning into biters.
At some point in our lives, the infection might take over.
It could happen tomorrow, next week, thirty years from now, or in thirty seconds.
If we’re lucky, maybe never. Essentially, we're all ticking time bombs, which is why everyone treats us like trash. From what I’ve overheard, it’s why Zone T separates their rotters from the rest of the prisoners, too.
The stories the soldiers have told over the years are too horrible to believe, and yet I fear they tell the truth.
That’s why I need to get inside. To find my sister.
Charon doesn’t speak—not that he could. Even if he did, I don’t think he’d find the words to match the look on his face.
He just stares at me like I grew another head as I wipe my mouth, smearing blood across my chin.
My lips are raw, scalded from the liquid, but it doesn’t matter.
The burn is already fading, healing fast .
His gaze flicks to the thermos, then to my face. My mouth and eyes.
I hand it back to him wordlessly, a shiver running down my spine when his fingers brush mine. Curiosity lights his features, a tilt to his head that tells me he’s got a question burning but can’t figure out how to ask.
Fuck, how would that feel to be trapped inside your head like that? Words crawling around with no way out?
“It happened when I was nine,” I mutter, throat still raw from the liquid. “My sister wanted to see Zone T’s watchtowers, just once. She was… is older than me.”
Charon doesn’t blink, focusing on me intently.
“We climbed one of those maple trees to get a look above the treeline, but…” I pause, the words like gravel in my mouth.
“A red storm rolled in without warning. She always carried this old tarp in her pack for emergencies. Said it made her feel like she had control, I guess? Like she could keep us safe.” My voice hitches.
“She threw it over the branch, tucked us underneath, and told me to stay still. But I slipped.”
The Ferryman shifts closer, his body heat warming my skin.
“My foot went out, and I fell straight through the branches. Hit the ground so hard that it knocked the air from my lungs. The rain got into my mouth, my eyes. I swallowed it before I even realized what I was doing.”
The sound of the branches cracking, the sudden drop, my sister's shriek echoing off the forest mist will forever haunt me. “I broke my arm, got a few scrapes, but I didn’t feel anything at first. Then the fever hit. My vision started going dark, and I was so fucking cold . ”
Charon’s eyes glimmer, lips parting slightly as his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out. But he doesn't.
“I blacked out,” I whisper, swallowing hard.
“Usually happens when I get caught in red rain, and a frenzy takes over.
Lucky for her, she was up in that tree, but all she could do was watch while her little brother lost his fucking mind.
I ran off into the trees, and she stayed up there for almost two days until the weather finally cleared.
Took her forever to find me, face down in the dirt, covered in blood.
I…I still don't know where it came from…”
My voice falters, but I press on, letting all of this pour out of me like an open wound.
“My sister didn’t say anything right away.
She waited until we were home, until she’d cleaned me up and tucked me in.
Then she told our father.” A breath rattles out of me.
“He didn’t take it well. Said that my eyes looked wrong and that there was something inside me now.
That it was like looking at a corpse instead of his son. I think he was right.”
Neither of us moves for a moment. The silence is heavy, only the rush of the waterfall and crackling flames filling the space. But then Charon leans forward slowly. His arm extends, tentatively, before he finally settles his palm on my shoulder. The warmth of it breaks something in me.
Blinking hard, I clear my throat, unsure why I'm telling this giant fucking stranger my life story. “Anyway, it was just me and Lena after that. She told me it didn’t matter, and I was still me. That she’d protect me no matter what.
She left for Zone T a year later after telling me that she'd discovered something big, something that could help a lot of people. Haven't seen her since. That was ten years ago.” I drag a hand through my hair, suddenly self-conscious. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll find her.
That’s why I started a fight with those soldiers before they dragged me to you, I knew they'd bring me here—”
I don’t realize I’m crying until Charon’s other hand comes up to cradle the side of my face. His thumb brushes the tear from my cheek, and when I look at him again, there's no pity in his gaze. Just raw adoration and something like…awe. The reverence in his touch makes my whole body tremble.
Closing my eyes, I lean into his palm, allowing myself a moment of weakness. “You don’t scare me, you know,” I whisper, unable to watch his reaction to my confession.
A soft gasp leaves his throat before his fingertips fall away, and my lids pop open in time to see him grab out the stick that he'd been whittling.
I blink in confusion as he turns it over in his hands, showing me the bend at the top, shaped like a hooked handle.
There are grooves along the side where his knife carved small, steady patterns.
It takes my brain too long to understand what he’s showing me, but when I do, my breath catches. He slides off his chair to kneel in front of me, holding it out with both hands, like an offering. My throat closes, almost too tight to speak.
“You…” I start, then shake my head. “You made this?”
The details are beautiful, each notch carefully measured, each groove smooth under his thumb. Reaching out slowly, my hand shakes as I take it from him before using it to stand.
It’s solid and strong, the handle fitting perfectly under my armpit to lean on.
I try to speak again, but nothing comes out, my emotions frayed from baring my soul to him. So I just nod, too stunned for words, and when I finally meet his gaze, he nods too. Relief softens the harsh planes of his face.
Did he do this for me? Or maybe he just needed to keep his hands busy? Why would he help me like this? No one’s ever…
Charon settles back into his seat, a soft smile playing on his mouth as he gazes toward the horizon. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, thighs widening. The irrational thought of crawling into his lap has me looking away.
“Thank you,” I finally whisper, sitting back down next to the fire.
He doesn’t respond other than holding out his hand, eyes still trained on the pinkening sky, and I…
I take it.
Our fingers thread together as we watch the sun rise in silence, and for the first time since I can remember—since before Lena left, before the hunger and constant fight to live—I just exist .
For one split second, hope sparks in my chest that maybe things will be okay.
But then thunder rolls in the distance. The clouds take on a ruddy tint as the sun rises higher, reminding me where we are. Who I’m with.
I’ve let my guard down, but I need to prepare myself.
This is Zone T, where prisoners go to die.
And once you board the Ferryman’s boat…you’re never heard from again.