Chapter 7
Kate
Sunlight trickles through the lone window, peeking over the horizon. I spent one night here, and it’s one night too long. I’m sure the entire zone is worried about me. About Sal. My stomach pangs at the reminder.
I shove the feelings deep down. There’s no point in getting upset over this. People here die all the time. If I stopped to let myself feel upset about each one, I’d never get out of bed.
Last night, I tried being gentle—both out of fear and hope that she might release me. It got me nowhere.
Agitation burns my skin, setting my teeth on edge. I don’t want to die like a coward. I need to buck up and fight back. Maybe she’ll think I’m not worth the trouble and release me.
Or kill me. I’ll need to get to my gun before she can.
Luckily, my bladder takes this moment to help move things along.
“Hey!” I shout. “I have to pee!”
I don’t hear her approach.
Her white hair is pulled back into a ponytail, which lets me focus on her red eyes. “You really shouldn’t be yelling,” she chides from the doorway.
“The infected prefer the night,” I argue.
She shrugs. “Most do, but others like to wait until late morning to hunker down.”
Pushing off the door, she prowls toward me. I stiffen, still rightfully on edge with having her too close.
“They’re changing,” she murmurs, her eyes locked on my face before dipping to my neck. “They used to only come out during the night, but now, some are braving the sun.”
Annoyance warms my insides. Does she think I don’t know that? We’ve noticed an uptick in infected wandering around during the day, but when this was brought up to Parker, he simply waved the concern away. Viruses mutate, he had said. They’re adapting, but not fast enough to cause us concern here.
“I have to pee,” I repeat through gritted teeth.
Her eerie eyes skate down my body, making my skin heat even more, before she replies, “You get one minute.”
“That’s not very long,” I retort.
“Don’t push it.”
She reaches for a wrist, expertly untying me.
I can’t help the relieved groan that passes my lips when I rotate my shoulder.
Folding my free arm to my chest, I savor the freedom as she unties each ankle and the final wrist. I nearly curl up in a ball but resist the urge, instead sitting up and swinging my legs over the side.
“Where’s the bathroom?” I ask.
“The one up here doesn’t seem to work, so you’ll have to use the one downstairs. It’s right off the stairs, by the front door.”
I nod, nerves wriggling in my veins. This is my chance. I have to play it cool, so she doesn’t notice I’m gone right away. I stand on shaky legs and shuffle across the floor, passing her as I slowly walk out of the room.
I make my way down the stairs, trying to control my body’s desire to sprint out the door. Instead, I land on the ground floor and find the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I face it and press my forehead against the wood.
Easy now, I tell myself. I can do this. I can make it back to the zone without my supplies. There’s no time to find my backpack—she’ll find me well before I can get it.
I quickly take care of business, flushing the toilet and turning the water on in the sink. The water sputters, the pipe clanging from lack of use, but water eventually streams from the spout.
I leave it running as I ease the door open and silently shut it behind me before peeking up the stairs. No sign of her. I tiptoe to the front door, adrenaline spiking. Infected will chase a runner until the end of time. What will she do if she catches me?
I can’t think like that. Gripping the handle, I hold my breath as I peel it open.
Spring morning air greets me, lightly dancing with a few strands of hair that got free from my braid.
Before I can stop myself, I’m running.
I leap off the front porch, my feet carrying me as I sprint down the front yard without looking back. I need to put as much distance between me and her as possible. The team needs to know what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard. It has to be helpful in figuring out the vaccine.
I run past a few houses, hope blooming in my stomach that my little escape plan worked.
My arms are pumping, lungs expanding, my legs—
Something barrels into me from the side, sending me flying. The world blurs before I land in a heap on the ground, shock keeping me from feeling any pain. I twist to see what hit me when I’m shoved onto my back, my wrists pinned above my head.
The infected.
She straddles me, her face nearly pale with rage as she bares her teeth and snarls, “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice is like granite.
Fuck.
“Get off me.” My fight or flight kicks in, my body squirming underneath her, fighting for freedom, but she has me firmly planted.
“No,” she growls.
“Please,” I try to reason. “I need to get back. I need to tell them about you. I’m—”
“No,” she repeats, her eyes narrowing, canines nearly dripping with saliva.
“We’re working on a vaccine,” I pant, hoping this will be my saving grace.
She stills, her pupils the only thing moving as her eyes drill into mine. “There is no vaccine.”
“Not yet,” I argue as I stop flailing underneath her. “But we’re working on it. We’re working in the old labs, trying to find a solution. Please, I need to tell them about you—”
She hisses before climbing off me, pulling me with her. I feel relief for a millisecond, thinking maybe I’ve gotten through to her, until I’m hoisted over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I screech, kicking my legs.
“You’re not leaving.”
To my utter horror, a smack lands on my ass. I yelp and am shocked enough to stop struggling. What the fuck is happening?
The infected carries me back to her lair, throwing me roughly back onto the bed. “No, I don’t want to get tied down—”
“You’ve proven untrustworthy,” she snaps before forcing my wrists and ankles back into the ropes. “No more bathroom privileges.”
Anger explodes from me, blurring my vision. I shout obscenities at her, a stream of consciousness that even I don’t understand. She simply stands there as I rage and thrash against the restraints, but she appears unmoved.
As my throat dries out and my limbs start to ache, I throw all the hatred I can into my next words. “You better hope I never get free, because if I do, I’m going to fucking kill you.”
That seems to get a reaction out of her, but not the one I’m hoping for—she gives me a smirk before sauntering out the door, leaving me worse off than I was a few minutes ago.
I don’t see her until the sun starts to set.
Embarrassment has reared its ugly head at what I’d done. It was foolish to take off at the first chance of freedom. I should have waited it out and bolted when she had her guard down. Of course she was going to find me the first time she let me go.
Still, I need to get out of here. I need to tell Parker and the team that I met an infected that can speak.
The infected are changing; the virus mutating faster than we could have thought possible.
Viruses mutate to keep themselves going—maybe, with each bite, new variants are being created, letting the infected be less impacted by the sun, letting them speak, letting them think for themselves, even when the person originally in the body is dead.
Though her mention of a beast guiding her makes me wonder how much she’s really in control of herself.
How many more like her are out there? If anyone had seen or interacted with them, wouldn’t all survivors know about it? The safe zones communicate regularly with one another. A talking infected would definitely be newsworthy.
If I’m going to be stuck here, maybe it’s best to spend my time gathering information, like how she even exists. What her symptoms were, how long she’s been in this state. Anything that can potentially help.
Now would be the perfect time to tap into what my mother would refer to as my nosiness gene.
I’m pulled from my thoughts by the sense that she’s near. I look to the door and, sure enough, she’s right there with a plate of something in one hand. We stare each other down for a few moments, sizing one another up, both of us refusing to break.
She clears her throat. “Are you hungry?”
I try to shrug. “I can eat.”
Considering I haven’t eaten all day. My stomach takes this moment to make its wants known by gurgling loudly.
Her eyebrows quirk, but she simply waltzes to my side, placing the plate on the nightstand, and sitting on the edge of the bed. She picks up a piece of what appears to be meat and guides it to my mouth.
I don’t even bother pretending to put up a fight. My lips close around the tips of her fingers as I take the food from her. Chewing slowly, I savor it, closing my eyes and pretending like I’m not in this situation.
She feeds me another piece, then another, until the plate is empty. I’d lick it clean if I could.
She goes to stand, but I find myself saying, “Wait.” She hovers, unsure of what I’m doing, but I ask, “If you won’t untie me, will you at least answer my questions?”