Chapter Seven
MILO, INDY, FRED, AND I spend the day preparing for tomorrow’s mission—sharpening knives, patching the truck’s tires, resetting locks, folding boxes.
I still haven’t seen Peter. His absence pisses me off.
I doubt he’s away doing something important for Chandler. No, he’s being petty. He’s ignoring me.
Fuming, I slam the truck’s back door shut, letting the violent metal clang amp me up. I have to apologize to him, don’t I? Because I still need his help, now more than ever. Peter has no problem sneaking me drugs when I’m his sweet, submissive plaything. When I offer something in return. Like sex.
I sigh. I really don’t want to offer up my body to him. Not today. Maybe not ever. But it’s my only choice. It’s not like I can sneak into Costco during our supply run and steal the insulin myself.
Uniformity fosters unity.
No. This is fucking unfair.
I storm from the rectory’s small parking lot toward Peter’s home, energy buzzing through my veins.
The world is cloaked in darkness. My warm breath penetrates the black night, casting swirling, smoking shadows through the cold evening.
The workday’s over, so most people are in their homes.
It’s probably not smart of me to roam in the dark—unarmed, no less—but my foul mood has inspired some recklessness, so I walk along the edge of the Split instead of the safer, more direct path to Peter’s house.
Walking along the Spilt is permitted, but hardly anyone gets this close to the wall unless they have to.
To be this close to the enemy, to know they’re separated from us by only a foot of concrete, is chilling.
There’s always the chance one of the Macs will scale the wall and ambush our supplies.
Or worse, they somehow figure out how to chuck over a zombie and put us all in more serious danger than starvation.
It wouldn’t be easy, but if anyone could do it, it’d be them.
These fears are irrational, of course. The wall is twenty feet tall. But that’s what happens when you live in a zombie-filled world. Even the irrational feels rational, sometimes.
When I get to Peter’s house, I knock on the door. Tap, tap, tap.
No answer.
I try again.
Nothing.
I’m going inside. There are no keys in Egal, and since all supplies are distributed equally—since we each get but one personal belonging—there’s technically no need to steal.
I push open the front door, and the house is quiet, the pills from last night’s events cleaned up.
Did he sweep them back into the bottle, or toss them?
I walk past the small living room toward the bathroom, noticing the door to his room is shut.
Maybe he’s in there, asleep. I hope so. There’s a chance the pill bottle’s back in the bathroom.
He’d never notice if I snuck a few pills.
There were hundreds in the bottle. I can definitely suck up and apologize to Peter if I can bring Grandma some peace tonight.
A small thud sends a wave of suspicion down my spine. I tiptoe toward the closed door, moving slowly so as not to make any noises. Another thud—and then a grunt.
So, not asleep. What the hell is he doing in there?
The grunts are joined by a female moan, one that I recognize all too well.
I pat my sweaty palms on my pants and reach for the door. My knees wobble. Sparks of violent red and icy white fill my vision. My ears burn like the Sixth Circle of Hell.
I push open the door.
His bedroom is dark, but not dark enough to hide what’s happening right in front of me. Peter and Zara. Half naked. Rolling around in the bed.
“Peter?” I bellow. “Peter, what the actual fuck?”
They spring apart.
“Kota, you weren’t supposed to see this,” Peter says, pulling up his pants.
Zara lifts the sheets to cover her breasts, a satisfied smile painted on her messy lips. Her bright red lipstick is smeared across Peter’s face.
“No shit!” I grip my knife in my hand, tempted, oh so tempted, to do something terrible with it.
Oh, god, I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
“Just go home,” Peter says. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Do not tell me what to do.”
Zara quirks her head and wipes her swollen bottom lip with her thumb. A greasy smile spreads across her cherub face. Goddamn angel of hell.
“Kota, sweetie,” she says, voice saccharine, “I’m so sorry for stirring up drama.”
“No, you’re not,” I say, clenching my fists. “You’re not sorry at all.”
“You’re right,” she giggles. “I was having fun.”
“Shut up, Zara,” Peter snaps.
Zara makes a puppy face and huffs. First dog I’ve ever wanted to kick across the room.
“I’m leaving,” I say. “Of my own volition.”
“Kota—”
“Shut up, Peter.”
I storm off, slamming the bedroom door behind me, then the front door, and fight the urge to fall to my knees and ram my face into the ground.
Last night, Peter was the angriest I’ve seen him.
That much is true. But I didn’t expect this blatant betrayal.
I can’t apologize to him now. Not when he’s ruined everything.
Letting go of our fucked-up relationship is one thing, but now I’ve got nobody to help me.
I’m on my own. And I can’t do it on my own.
The ground crunches under my feet as I stomp away from Peter’s home. Red blurs my vision. I keep my eyes down as I trudge forward aimlessly. Zombie cicadas chirp in my ears, their songs an octave too low, off-key.
“Shut up,” I say through gritted teeth, channeling my anger in any way I can.
Footsteps rustle behind me. A loud, gruff grunt slices through the haunting cicada melodies.
“Kota, wait.”
The fucking nerve.
Every bone in my body wants to turn around, to hear what Peter has to say, but I can’t give him that satisfaction. I deserve more than that.
I charge forward, only just realizing how close I am to the gate. I have to turn back around to get home. Dammit. I dare to look over my shoulder. Peter’s towering figure muscles toward me, boots smashing against the craggy earth.
“Kota,” he says, breathless, “we need to talk.”
I flip him off and turn around—mentally planning a way to circle around him and get back home, far away from him. He’s stronger than me, but not faster. Not as good with a knife.
I’m about to break left when the gate opens. I stop dead in my tracks.
A silver SUV rolls through the gates—the medboys. Home after sunset, far later than is considered safe. Did they run into trouble? What did they come home with?
Peter’s hand grabs my bicep, yanks me back.
“Let me go, you’re hurting me.” I struggle against him.
“Turn around. We need to talk.”
“Will you let me go if I—ow, fine.” I whip around and yank my arm free. “Let’s talk. Talk about how you cheated on me. With Zara. Right under my nose, huh? She doesn’t mind getting my sloppy seconds, does she—”
“Enough, Kota.” Peter purses his lips and wraps his hand around mine. He drags me toward the gate like I’m some puppet he can toy with. “We’re going somewhere private.”
“So you do make all the rules now?”
Peter ignores me and drags me toward the gate. Terrance draws the gate closed with a slapped-together cable pulley system, but before Egal is secured, Peter waves a hand. “Terry! Do me a favor? Kota and I need to get outside for a minute. Doughboy orders.”
Liar.
“You have a written slip from Chandler?”
“Yeah, ’cause paper and pens are so easy to come by. Sky’s raining with office supplies.”
“All right,” Terrance says. “You have five minutes.”
“That’s all we need.”
Peter pulls me through the small opening, toward a patch of trees a few yards from the gate.
“No, no, no,” I say, trying to wrestle out of Peter’s firm grip.
Terrance doesn’t hear me, and I can’t scream.
I can’t draw the shamblers toward the Split.
My stomach is sick. Flashbacks of trekking through ravaged neighborhoods with Grandma and Bunny spring to mind.
No weapons besides our knives. No preparedness since West did all the scavenging for us.
No idea what kind of world we were walking into. What kind of hell.
“What are we doing out here? Why can’t we talk inside the Split? Aren’t you afraid of zombies?”
“Relax. Terrance is keeping watch. You have nothing to worry about.”
Except for you.
Seeing my expression, Peter says, “I need to explain myself—somewhere I know you won’t run from me.”
“So, you’re putting us both in danger?”
“You’re never in danger when you’re with me, Kota. How many times do I have to tell you that?” He cups my cheek, but I swat him away.
“You’re a liar,” I say, pushing my hands against his chest. “And a cheat, and a—”
Leaves crunch behind me. Instinctively, I twirl around and take two steps back toward Peter, and hate myself for it. That I need his protection even when I don’t want it.
“Please,” a deep voice says. “Don’t stop on my behalf. Sounds like you were just getting started.”
“Who’s there?” I say. I search in all directions but see no one.
A branch snaps nearby.
Peter steps forward and wraps his arms around me. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. As if his promises mean anything to me. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What a prick,” the voice says. My ears quirk. The dark, velvety quality is . . . oddly familiar.
“Me? I’m not the one who’s hiding. Come on out, buddy, I’ll show you who’s—”
Peter goes limp. His arms release me as his body crumples to the ground. Before I have the chance to yelp, a hand claps over my mouth. It smells like chocolate.
It’s the Mac—Jasper.
“Be quiet,” he says, breath tickling my ears. An entire army of spiders crawls down my spine. “He’s not dead. I hit him with a blow dart, look.”
Hand still firmly over my mouth, I dare to look down. A thin, long dart sticks out the side of Peter’s neck. I breathe a sigh of relief. I despise him, but I don’t want him dead.
I try to bite Jasper’s fingers, but he pulls his hand away a second too soon. I spin around to a familiar pair of brown eyes.
“What are you doing here?” I spit. “What do you want?”
He sighs. “You can make this easy on yourself and come with me, or you can follow the path of your boyfriend.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
I look around, ready to make a break for it. Where are the guards?
Jasper says, “Blow dart took care of them, too.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He twiddles the weapon between his index finger and thumb. “I’ve got one left, but I really don’t want to use it.”
My balisong. It’s in my back pocket. And this time, I’m not afraid to use it. There’s no gun on his person.
I reach into my back pocket and grab the knife when a whomp slices through the air. A sharp sting pierces the soft flesh of my neck.
“Didn’t want to do that, Kota, but you left me no choice.”
Jasper’s dark silhouette looming over me is the last thing I see before the world fades to black.