Chapter 1
NOW
“Got a light?”
No one answers me. To be fair, I didn’t expect them to. As frazzled and panicked and abso-fucking-lutely terrified as I am at this moment, there’s a good chance I didn’t actually whisper the words out loud. I was speaking to the ghost of my dead twin if anyone—
My stomach folds in on itself.
Xandra. My sister. My best friend. My twin… she’s dead.
It’s only been a couple of hours since I was tortured into understanding that my name is Hallie Holden, and while I believed Hallie was the twin who died after a flaming-gone-wrong, that’s not true.
It was my tough, brash twin sister who perished, and I just spent the last few months convinced that I was her.
But I’m not. Xandra is dead, and if the lurkers we can spot in the distance catch up to the four of us, so are we.
Maverick is two steps ahead of me when he stops, parked just behind Delilah, the shades-wearing woman in a lab coat that just helped break us out of the National Resilience Institute where my travel companion, my…
my boyfriend, and I were being held captive by the goons responsible for the state of the world.
For the Turning, and the deaths, and the fucking zombie monsters that have ruined our lives.
Project Phoenix. They created an injectable medicine that was supposed to save us all. Those fuckers failed. Now there are hungry, carnivorous zombies that lurk in the dark, ready to feed, and the four of us are sitting ducks.
Either the lurkers will find us and feed or the Men in Black—the pricks who took the first dose of Project Phoenix and are as close to the supersoldiers they were attempting to build as can be—will figure out that Delilah broke us out of the cell we’d been tossed in earlier today.
Just this morning, Maverick, Chase, and I came to Manhattan with a plan and a duffel bag full of explosives.
With the four homemade IEDs that Mav built during our travels from New Jersey to New York, he was going to blow up the NRI; both because he wanted them to pay for what they’ve done to the rest of America, and because his late wife, Lindsay, was a scientist who worked there before the Turning and died when she was injected with the tainted second batch that made regular citizens monsters.
Only we never got the chance. A few blocks away from the NRI building, we were caught.
Maverick’s arm was broken, his duffel bag confiscated, and our lives threatened unless we accompanied them to the facility.
There, we were poked, prodded, and watched like a trio of goldfish in a bowl.
I was tortured by a cruel, sadistic, black-eyed man known only as the Doctor.
So was Mav. Chase would’ve been, too, if Mav hadn’t offered to go down to see the Doctor first, and if Delilah hadn’t proven herself to be a double agent.
The serum they gave us fixed up Maverick’s broken arm and the snapped finger I’d been dealing with since Chase bit me after a lurker bit him.
Of course, they only did that because the Doctor insisted on playing with “whole” specimens—and then, once he had me in his office, he used something like a polygraph machine and a shock collar to break me until I admitted what I knew deep down: that my sister is dead, I’m alive, and the man waiting for me in the cell was the same boy I’ve thought of as mine since I was in fourth grade.
Chase Knight.
His fingers tighten around my hand. He’s standing right next to me, jaw clenched, eyes blazing into the darkness.
My heart skips a beat.
Just before we broke out, he had me under him, fucking me as though it was the last thing—the only thing—he wanted to do before the Doctor attempted to reverse the antidote I gave Chase and see if he would Turn into one of the ravenous lurkers.
Despite the turmoil going on inside of me, I clung to him, and all I can think now is that this… this isn’t fair.
He didn’t have to meet with the Doctor, but I know better than anyone that Chase has been tortured enough.
For months, he looked at the woman who was his fiancée and knew that she was lost to him.
I insisted I was Xandra. To give in to my feelings for Chase was a slap in the face of “Hallie”’s memory.
I stayed away from him because I was convinced I had to, and even now that I know the truth… I love him. That part is easy.
But how can I love him the way he deserves when I’m not the woman I was?
I remember Chase. I remember his moments with Hallie that, for so long, I told myself I only knew about because twins tell each other everything.
There are flashes of a life with him that feel different now that I know those memories are mine.
Only one problem. There isn’t some magical switch inside of my head that flipped when the Doctor forced me to admit that I’m Hallie.
Whoever I am, I just know I’m not Xandra anymore.
It doesn’t matter. We’re moments away from death. It’s after dark in a city that’s crawling with lurkers, and that’s assuming the Project Phoenix goons don’t try to drag us back before the zombies sniff us out.
And that’s when, once again, pain twists my poor belly. Only, unlike before, it’s not pure unadulterated fear that we’re boned. I mean, that’s there, too, but it’s more than that—and it’s something only I can feel.
I suck in a breath, unable to hide how badly I want to vomit all over the asphalt.
Chase turns immediately. “Hal? Hallie, baby? What’s wrong?”
I stiffen. Hallie… I can handle Chase’s pet name for me, but hearing him say that name as if it still belongs to me… “Nothi—fuck.”
His features twist into a look of concern mingled with panic of his own. “Don’t fight it. You hear me? This is you. All along, this ability has been yours. There are lurkers coming, sweetheart. Can you tell us from where?”
There’s a horde of them ahead of us. Even from this distance, I can make out the sound of their ragged cloaks dragging against the street. It could be them. The closer they get, the more my stomach will ache, and I try to tap into that strange gift I’ve had since the Turning and focus.
There’s a difference to the level of pain.
The more there are, the worse it feels. Back in the Grave, when I was still living in the settlement with my twin, our Dad, and the rest of the local survivors (including Chase), I was considered a sensor.
They would pair me up with a hunter—usually Xandra since Chase was too protective to let me patrol with him—and I would let them know if I sensed lurkers approaching our borders.
That’s what I was doing the night Xandra died.
A lamp blew out and we were making sure that none of the lurkers took the newly shadowed area to break into our compound.
Only the firebomb she built found a gas leak along the cracked asphalt, and when the fire blew back at us, I was left with a scar on my arm while my twin took the full brunt of the flames.
Before that, though, she was determined to build up my skill. When Chase was on his own patrol, she would bring me out to the borders and test me, helping me understand what each cramp means.
I close my eyes, trusting Chase to keep watch while I listen to my gut.
“There’s at least six dead ahead. Another group is coming from the south.
Nothing below us,” I add, thinking that’s weird.
I would’ve expected that the subway tunnels and sewers of New York would be ripe with lurkers, and maybe they are, but they know better than to come this close to the NRI.
“The buildings stink like burnt caramel. There’s gotta be more lurkers inside, but because I can sense them everywhere, it’s hard to tell more than that. ”
He’s still holding onto my hand. He squeezes it, and I open my eyes.
“That’s good, babe. That helps.” I’m not sure how until Chase lifts his voice, calling to Maverick and Delilah. “Head that way,” he says, gesturing east. “We might be able to outrun this bunch.”
That’s all we can do without any weapons. On the plus side, an adult lurker’s top speed is about half of that of an active survivor. If we can keep ahead of them and dodge any other nests, we might be able to find somewhere to hunker down before we’re caught.
Lurkers are inhumanly strong. If they get their hands on you, you’re done for. But if you can keep your distance, there’s a chance. If you can spark a flame, you can initiate the stare and burn them to ash. And if they manage to bite you, you’re dead.
I don’t know if the almost-lurkers back at the NRI have to fear the creatures they made.
If they stay inside while it’s dark out so that the lurkers don’t chow down on them.
It would be better if we knew that they wouldn’t be a threat to us while the sun is down, but before I can ask Delilah if her colleagues will be coming after us, I hear the rev of an engine and whimper.
When the Men in Black caught us this morning, they arrived in a shiny black SUV that pulled to a stop before us. I throw myself at Chase, wanting to at least be holding onto him before Winston and the rest of his sunglasses-and-suits-wearing creeps return to capture us again.
Only instead of the SUV coming straight at us, it barrels down the side street about four blocks ahead of us, aiming right for the nearest horde of lurkers.
The SUV slams into the lurkers in the lead. The front crumples. The hooded figures hiss and retreat from the super bright headlights. It’s not enough to incapacitate them, but that’s okay.
The man on the passenger side of the dull grey SUV—not shiny black, but almost matte and more dingy than anything even before the crash—is more than ready to take on the hovering zombies.
With the car stopped, he angles his upper half out of the open window. In one hand, he has a lighter. The other? A can of hairspray minus the lid. He flicks the lighter, presses the nozzle on the can, and—presto—he has an honest-to-God homemade flamethrower burning every single lurker within reach.
For one insane moment, all I can do is stare as he makes quick work of the monsters. From this distance, I can’t tell who he is or if he’s from the NRI. All I catch in the illumination from his flames is a head of fair hair and something dark covering his upper half. A suit? Maybe.
But then the driver maneuvers the car, rolling over the lurkers’ ashes as they turn the SUV our way. Before we can even react, they’re speeding down the open street, heading for us.
Chase grabs my shoulders, breaking my hold on him so that he can shove me behind his back, protecting me as always.
Maverick gives Delilah a push, gesturing for the scientist woman to run as he dashes past her, but she’s only taken a few hurried steps before the driver comes to a halt, throwing open the door, and a woman wearing the same exact face as Delilah—only minus the sunglasses—pops her head over the top of the door.
It’s Veronica. Veronica McLean, the rogue we met on our way to Manhattan, and Delilah’s twin sister.
“Veronica,” breathes out Delilah. “You’re here.”
She slaps the top of the door. “Yeah. Now get in the car. Get in the fucking car!”
We get in the fucking car.
Because Maverick and Delilah started to bolt down the nearest side street, Chase and I are closest to the SUV.
I grab the handle for the back, climbing inside.
Chase is right behind me. The second my foot touches down on the edge of the SUV, he grabs me by the waist, tossing me the rest of the way inside.
He leaps in right after me. Maverick is next, with Delilah jumping on top of his lap so that the four of us are crammed in the backseat.
Veronica doesn’t even wait until we’ve closed the door behind us. The only car on the road, she wheels around, disappearing the same way they first arrived. It isn’t until the open door clips an abandoned police cruiser that Delilah hangs out of the car, snagging the door and tugging it closed.
Without the draft working against us, Veronica pushes the SUV as fast as it can go while I marvel in shock that that… that just happened.
Delilah reaches over the driver’s seat, squeezing her twin’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you made it on time.”