17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Shelby
Now that we’re all awake and somewhat refreshed, with the exception of Cason who’s acting like an angry bear, we agree to move on.
The new problem is what to do with Cain. Lilith never resurfaced and whoever Malachi is, he seems to be long gone.
Under normal circumstances, we could just let the fucker loose but if he and his friends are truly torturing animals, I can’t stomach leaving them to it.
It’s also not my job to play judge and executioner either. So now what?
Cason doesn’t look pleased with the dilemma either while Nora glares from the wall, her displeasure over their shenanigans plain to see.
“Look, maybe we just go,” Larry says and Nora huffs, eyeing him with a frown.
“Yeah,” Nate says and Amanda laughs, slashing her hand through the air.
Nate’s mouth pulls into a pouty frown, and I look away because I hardly need another confrontation, but I can feel it brewing below the surface. The little dick weasel has it coming.
When Zoey clutches my hand, I glance down at her heart shaped face and sigh. We’re not murderers. We can’t hurt this boy even if he is an asshole which is why I say, “I agree.”
Cason whips around, meeting my gaze and I tilt my head. His scowl fades to a less menacing frown.
Meanwhile Cain glares at the floor which isn’t helping his situation but whatever, his attitude isn’t my problem.
At least no one has considered asking him to join us. Yet. Ugh.
“Bro,” Lance says, and I roll my eyes. “Maybe you should come with us?”
Thankfully, Cain huffs and shakes his head. “You fuckers don’t know shit.”
When Cason grabs the bridge of his nose, I wince. I can’t imagine what’s going through his head, but I wouldn’t blame him if it’s regret for agreeing to lead our motley group out of hell, or maybe into it.
Only time will tell on that one. So far, all we’ve done is bicker and slow him down. It’s not a good start.
“Fine,” Nora says and Amanda grabs Zoey’s other hand.
Glancing around the group once more, Cason nods and just like that we’re on the move. I can’t say I’m sorry to go. If ever there was a place that gave off bad vibes, it was this one.
Of course, we’re greeted by the slavering undead the minute we hit the street but as we silently make our way toward the highway, they remain disturbingly docile.
On any other day I would be enjoying the newly risen sun soaking my skin and admiring the green leafy trees or even the freedom I so recently gained.
It’s hard to concentrate on the beauty though with the uneasy path we’re walking.
At any moment, I expect one of them to jump out at me, which means a dull ache throbs in my shoulders, and I can’t swallow past the perpetual lump in my throat.
All this slows me down and soon I find myself at the back of the group.
My injuries from before throb and with every movement I make, the pounding in my head escalates.
I don’t know how Cason does it, considering the head trauma he experienced yesterday but I’m coming around to thinking he’s made of steel.
He leads the charge and with each determined step he takes, the harder it is to follow.
I’m not normally this weak, I reason but I can’t force my limbs to cooperate. It’s only when they round a bend and I spy the last of my group disappearing that I speed up.
Thankfully, Bo stayed behind and I touch his bristly fur before freezing when he turns his head with a low growl and I realize it’s too late.
A duo of them emerges from between two thick bushes, staggering onto the street before me. The bigger of the two, a man with a faded pair of blue jeans and a red shirt, groans, causing his companion, a young woman in a sun dress and espadrilles to join in.
Uneasily I glance over my shoulder because the sound is like a war cry to their brethren. Luckily, the other undead or whatever are far enough back that I don’t see them, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time.
In this scenario, the best option is to dodge the threat but I’m not fast enough with my injuries and when the man swings his arm, my halfhearted evasion sends me to my knees.
Clutching my ribs, I roll away. Unfortunately, the thing catches the loose fabric of my shirt with his shoe and of course because fuck my life, he falls forward, tripping over my legs.
With my shirt still wrapped around his feet, I follow him to the ground but slap my palms against the concrete just before I gain a new head injury. This gives the woman time to catch up and she wastes no time in pursuit of her meal, dropping to her knees with her mouth wide open.
Despite seeing some version of this too many times to count in the last few days, it’s still fucking creepy, and I wince before pushing to my side and rolling again.
The sight of her bloodied teeth so close to my skin hovers over my vision as Bo emits a low menacing growl before lunging at the man clawing the pavement at his feet.
With no time to spare, I push to my feet, only to stagger when black dots dance behind my eyes. Simultaneously, the woman grabs for my arm and with the last of my strength, I jump away into something hard but distinctly human.
This is it. I’m toast, or so I think until Cason says, “You, okay?”
Past proper speech, I can only nod because with each encounter the realization that I’m not cut out for this shit presses at my chest.
At this point I feel like a liability rather than an asset and I silently castigate myself when Cason makes quick work of the undead duo before helping me down the street.
Around the corner, I spy the remainder of our group waiting beside a truck. When Bo brushes my side, I run my hands through his coarse hair in thank you.
Shit. Even the dog is more prepared than I am.
Ignoring the self-defeating thoughts, I limp along while Larry wrenches on the driver door of the truck and crouches before the wheel. I assume he’s hot wiring the damn thing to which I heartily approve as Nora opens the tailgate and crawls into the back.
The girls follow with Lance, Nate and the two dogs while Cason leads me around the hood and pushes me onto the seat.
In a daze, I stare dumbly out the windshield as the low rumble of the engine vibrates under my legs and Larry climbs behind the wheel.
When Cason waves me over, I slide closer to Larry, and he puts the vehicle in drive. Although I’m relieved to be off my feet, fatigue pulls at my bones and despair circles my soul.
I’m going to die and it’s entirely likely I’m dragging these people into hell with me.
Cason
The pallor in Shelby’s face worries me but we have to go while we have the chance. I want to be as far away from Cain and his weirdo friends as possible before night falls again.
Although I don’t think they’re a true threat, people like that aren’t stable. I do regret that there was nothing I could do though because anyone who thinks torturing animals in some misguided religious fervor should be behind bars, or at a minimum receiving psychiatric treatment.
I’m still hoping to make it to Rosanne’s parents’ cabin where it’s more desolate and therefore hopefully less populated by the dead, or undead, I guess.
The problem is that for every step forward it feels like we take ten steps back. Now there are so many people looking to me to take charge that I worry about every fucking decision I make.
“Full tank,” Larry says and I nod. Maybe we can go for several hours this time . . . if we're lucky. What should’ve been an easy drive has been filled with every fucking problem imaginable. It makes construction on a normal day a dream.
Beside me, Shelby’s head droops, and I study her face as she slowly drops into sleep. She needs it. We all do. Beyond that, her fat lip has scabbed over and the bruises around her wrists have turned a deep purple hue.
Not for the first time, I wonder what she encountered before I found her and if maybe this new world doesn’t seem as scary as it should.
She’s clearly familiar with the darkness that resides within some human beings. However, the fact that she fell behind is worrisome.
Is she giving up? Or is she just tired?
She has to be in pain. Her ribs are at a minimum bruised. Not only that but her body hasn’t had time to heal, and she continues to sustain more injuries.
If we don’t make it to the cabin soon, I’m afraid she might not make it. She’s a fighter, I know she is. Her actions against Nate point to that if nothing else does but whatever is going on in that head of hers could be deadly.
I don’t know what to do and every time she looks at me as though I have the answers I want to laugh. We’re screwed. This world is screwed but informing her of the shitty ass situation won’t inspire her to fight and she probably needs someone to tell her she’s stronger than she thinks.
Soon, she starts to whimper and despite my resolve, when her head brushes my arm, I lift it, allowing her to lean against me. Much like Zoey, she feels tiny in my arms but Shelby’s no child and when her lips part on a sigh, I ignore the weird ache in my chest.
She’s tired. I’m just helping her get much needed rest or so I tell myself, forcing the image of her bright blue eyes away and focusing on the road.