41. Chapter 41
Chapter forty-one
Shelby
Once they disappear around the side of the building, I turn back to the book’s lining the shelves. Maybe I should grab a few to keep my mind occupied during our journey. I don’t have the flashlight though and I’d rather not explore on my own anyway.
Instead, I plop down beside Nora against the wall. Even though her eyes are closed she smirks and says, “I’m glad you two finally came to your senses.”
“Funny,” I mumble, covering my burning cheeks. Saying it out loud feels too real and my smile fades before I say, “What if it’s too good to be true?”
Rolling her head my way, Nora studies me for a moment and then says, “Then you move on. That’s all life is, Shelby, a series of decisions. Some good, some bad. We just . . . move on.”
I’m not sure if it’s profound or sad but I’m don't like the sentiment. I don’t have time to contemplate it further though because a faint cry comes from behind us and I push to my feet, searching for the source.
Nora follows while Amanda and Zoey slowly stand. Bo quivers from where he’s protecting the girls and Bean lets out a little whine.
“Where’re Nate and Lance?” I whisper.
“Back there,” Nora says and my heart sinks. Are we going to lose another person that I’ve grown to care about? For fucks sake, why?
While Nora edges behind me, waving at the girls to stay put, I approach the darkened space at the back of the store only to pause when Nate and Lance appear.
“There are two more back there,” Nate says, brushing past us.
Frozen, I turn as Lance steps through the door onto the sidewalk. Did he find the comic book section?
My soul burns as I say to the girls, “Hurry, please.”
We’re barely on the sidewalk when the first of them emerges from the darkness. After slamming the door closed behind me, I step back and watch as the front runner slams his palm against the glass with a hiss. His blackened teeth snap the air, a string of black goo sailing past its lips.
Behind him . . . it, whatever, the second one appears. Her shirt twists around her torso in a weird pretzel shape revealing a series of bite marks peppering her abdomen. The edges bleed with the same black viscous goo as the saliva dripping from the other's mouth.
While they writhe against the door, I stare a little too long before giving into the inevitable and turning to the street.
Unfortunately, while Lance is consumed by hysteria, one of them crawls from between two parked cars. It happens so quickly we don’t have time to move or call out a warning. What’s left of the thing, miraculously missing its legs, latches into Lance’s ankle and bites down.
A break in the clouds allows a patch of sunlight to shine through as Lance claws at the pavement, his bloody lips open on a silent cry. Even though Nate drops to a knee and punches it in the head, it’s too late and the thing takes a huge chunk of skin and bone with him.
After the almost painful silence, Lance’s shrill cry sends a razor-sharp ache down my spine, and I jog over before grabbing his arm.
Nate’s blow managed to dislodge it, but these fuckers are nothing if not relentless and it raises its head with a hiss.
With my heart pounding violently, I manage to pull Lance a few feet away before Nate grabs it by the arm and moves to the end of the car. I can’t see his feet but the weird crunch and popping sounds are all too familiar as Nate stomps on its head.
My wince turns to a full-on shudder when Lance says, “He bit me.”
Shit.
This is all my fault. Dammit. I just wanted a moment of normalcy. I should’ve known fucking better. We don’t get normal now, a notion I should heed when it comes to Cason.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I say, “I know.”
“No,” he sobs, laying his head on the concrete.
Helplessly, I stand over him. I don’t know what to say but when a bead of snot dribbles from his nose before covering his lips, I look away, hiding my revulsion.
Strangely, I think it’s the death slowly pushing through his body that has me off kilter as though being too close is a sentence of my own.
His sniffles bring me back to the present and I sit beside him before running my fingers through his sweaty hair.
When he wrenches away, I pause, reminded of that long ago day when we first met.
Similar to then, he slumps against me and I eye the wobble in his lips before saying, “Do you want me to pray with you?”
I don’t know where the request came from. Despite attending Catholic school for a few years as a child, I’ve never been particularly religious.
But what else am I going to do? Lance will die. That’s a fact. It’s just a matter of how long.
“O-Okay,” Lance whimpers, and I tilt my head to Nora standing above us. I’m assuming my wide-eyed expression shows my panic because Nora kneels beside us, takes Lance’s hand before grabbing mine and bows her head.
The words are garbled while I stare at the boy who will never be a man and damn this world once more. Why are we praying to a god that would put us here to watch our friends die?
It’s so fucking unfair, but I suck back my rage when Nora’s fingers tighten around mine, a silent message, I presume and I focus back on the boy, quietly crying as he mouths the words to his own prayer.
Despite the risk, I refuse to leave Lance behind, and Nora reluctantly agrees, although she sends an achingly silent Nate ahead with the girls.
Since Lance’s bite was not immediately life threatening, it could take hours for the venom to flow through his body. Hell, we know so little about what this is, I concede that maybe, he isn’t going to die at all.
It’s slow going though because Lance keeps dragging his feet and right when I’m about to lose my shit and tell him to speed the fuck up we reach the truck right as Cason and Larry emerge from the liquor store.
His eyes flicker to the bookstore before I meet his puzzled frown, whispering, “We should go.”
I’m sensing a silent insurrection though when most of the group turns to Lance and Cason easily discerns the issue. Pale and shaky, Lance continues to sniffle. When Lance looks up, his mouth trembling, I press my hand to his shoulder and look around, saying, “It’s okay. Right?”
The majority avoid my stare when I raise my brow until I meet Cason’s gaze and he asks, “Is he bitten?”
It’s a rhetorical question, of course but if he thinks it’s going to change my mind, he’s about to be disappointed. Raising my chin, I say, “We don’t know that he’ll turn.”
Cason’s eyes slide to Lance and his brows flicker before he says, “No.”
“No?” I repeat in disbelief before waving my hand around the group. “This isn’t your decision.”
“Really?” he barks. “Then whose is it? Yours?”
Although I shrivel under the anger in his tone, I count it as a win when I hiss, “It sure as shit isn’t you because you’ve been trying to get rid of us since the beginning.”
It’s a low blow but when backed into a corner, the only option an animal has is to lash out. Still my chest burns when his lip curls into a cold smile and he says, “Fine. Whatever. He sits in the back . . . with you.”
Refusing to analyze why that shit stings, I look away, as by silent agreement, the girls and Nora head for the truck cab. The bitter part of me wants to make a snide comment when Cason joins us in the back, but I bite that shit back, focusing on Lance and his pathetic facade instead.
Cason
I left for five fucking minutes and everything went to shit. Now Shelby’s avoiding my gaze while Larry slinks over to the truck with Nate behind him.
If Shelby wants to risk her life for a walking dead man. Fine. It’s not my fucking job to make her see the light.
We don’t know how this disease or whatever it is works. Lance could flip in the blink of an eye. Then what? She’s going to kill him. I saw the desperate light behind her eyes when she looked at him, but she can’t save him, and she can’t afford to be weak.
This has disaster written all over it and I show my disapproval by leaning back and closing my eyes. I’m skimming the surface of despair as it is. If I want to live, if I want them to live, I gotta make the tough decisions, even if Shelby might look at me differently for it.
I can’t risk her safety by letting my heart lead my motions and it’s clear that this is the path I’m going down. I don’t want to hurt Shelby but it’s barreling toward us with every single sidelong glance and blink of those devastatingly blue eyes.
Hell, for a moment, I can’t even remember Rosanne’s eyes and I search desperately for an image before mentally sighing. Almost black, like the deepest part of the ocean, her eyes lightened when she was mad, and she was fucking glorious even then.
Now she’s gone. My chest clenches at the reminder, hardening my resolve. I will not let sentiment or anything else get in the way of Shelby’s life.
Beyond the whir of the wind, it’s achingly quiet until Nate’s muffled sobs start up beside me.
Although we didn’t get off on the right foot, I still feel a kernel of pity for him.
The relationships we’ve forged feel more special because of their precarious nature, which is why I fought the connections for so long.
When I open my eyes, I find Shelby sitting across from me with her hand resting against Lance’s thigh. Her thick blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail save for a few wisps around her cheeks, flutters in the wind, the golden strands glinting in the light.
At the sight, my chest tightens for an entirely different reason before I turn to Lance, and I don’t look away until we finally stop as dusk darkens the sky.
Whatever Shelby’s need to save this boy, I’ll be the one who prevents him from killing her . . .