Chapter Eleven
AS I FOLLOW JASPER AND Chief outside, fat white splotches of sunlight crowd my vision, awakening the dull throb between my brows that threatens to pop like an overripe zit.
The bright sky is a stark contrast to the squat, windowless building behind us.
I press two fingers into my temples, rubbing off a layer of Hershey bar-colored sweat when I pull them away.
I’m delusional, yes, yet I must repeat to myself three times not to lick my fingers.
It isn’t chocolate. It’s the mud beneath your feet. It’s the dust woven into a Jeep’s seat cushion. It’s whatever the hell was dripping from the ceiling in that godforsaken room. It isn’t chocolate.
Last thing I need is to give myself a stomach bug. Not when I’m being held hostage in enemy territory and have no means of getting medicine.
I look around on the off chance I recognize the area, but those damn white flurries still dance in my vision.
Wish I still had the Ray-Bans my brother gave me for my seventeenth birthday.
The sunglasses were the most expensive thing I owned.
West was making good money at his college bartending gig and felt bad about Dad abandoning us—not that it was West’s fault, but still.
He couldn’t be there to be the “man of the house,” so he replaced my Dollar Store shades with some UV-protected ones.
Those sunglasses were a luxury I’ll never have again.
While UV rays are now the least of my concerns, I wish I had those damn Ray-Bans. I wish I had West.
Chief tips an imaginary hat to Jasper and me, pulling me back to the present. “Safe journey home,” he says. “I’m off to inform Greeley she will not be getting those knives.”
“Good luck, Chief,” Jasper says.
Chief waves and walks to a motorcycle parked on gravel a few feet away. He revs his engine and takes off, his wheels kicking up a puff of brown dust behind him. Bits of dirt catch in my throat, and I sputter out a cough.
Water.
I need water.
A zombird caws overhead, its shrill, unearthly sounds somewhere between a strangled tweedle and a cat who just got its tail stepped on.
It’s a red cardinal, the kind that used to perch on the front porch as Dad sipped his morning coffee.
One of its mutated wings is broken as it speeds toward a bluebird, only for the zombie cardinal to pelt itself into a warped, waterlogged tree.
The bluebird flutters away. I watch it, entranced, until it is out of sight. I hope it’s flying home to its family.
Doubtful.
I smack my lips and swallow, my tongue sticking to the back of my throat until the little saliva I have lubricates it.
Before me is a long gravel road. A wall of healthy yellow trees lines the left side.
On the right, bare, sagging trees sprout out of the ground like ingrown hairs.
The oozing black splotches that pucker their bark tell me that these trees are undead.
Beneath my feet, they reach snarling tendrils toward the living trees.
Eventually, these roots will twist around the base of the healthy tree and wind up the trunk.
The two morph into one horrifying zomtree.
This pattern will repeat until all of the healthy trees are devoured.
I shiver, and not just from the cold wind whistling through the warped branches.
With a frustrated sigh, I wrap my arms around myself and stare down at my feet.
Think. I’ve got two days to concoct a plan to convince Chandler I’m important.
That won’t be easy. Especially considering how mushy my brain feels.
I gulp.
“Need some water?”
Behind me, Jasper leans against a rusty bike rack. A backpack is slung over one of his shoulders, and a look of nonchalance is plastered across his scruffy face.
I narrow my eyes. “Keen ears. Can you hear my thoughts, too?”
“Sure can.”
He unlocks the matte black cruiser on the rack and struts over to me. It looks like the bike’s spray-painted, since there are no visible logos on the body. This must be how Jasper got to Egal’s gates unnoticed.
Once he’s in fist-throwing distance, Jasper reaches down and pulls a water bottle out of the holder. As he twists the cap open, he says, “You can hardly wait to ride on the pegs of this sweet, sweet bike for seven miles. That’s all you can think about. Did I nail it?”
Jasper takes a sip of the water before holding it out to me.
I cross my arms. “Pegs. Those bike pegs. For seven miles?”
He smirks.
“What’s my alternative?”
“You could stay here—”
“Okay.”
“But the coyotes around here have been slowly starving for the past three years, and—”
“You’re not serious,” I counter. “I’ve never seen a zombie coyote in Egal.”
“You’re on the other side of the Split now, Kota. World’s different over here.”
How different could it possibly be? Granted, the Great Zombird Chase of 2020 did just go down.
I weigh my options. I could stay out here, alone, with the threat of lurking zombie animals, or I could go with Jasper, the kidnapper.
A distant howl echoes through the wind, and I make my decision. “Fine. Pegs. Whatever. Tell me about this water—what’s the catch?”
“Come again?”
“You’re sharing your water rations. Why?”
Jasper laughs. “That’s not how it works in Macoby. There are no rations. Why do you think the wall was built in the first place?”
I realize I don’t know, not really. I’ve heard that the Macs are thieves, rapists, cannibals who we need to wall off. I assumed they operated under the same system as us: working set hours for set rations. Equality in effort, equality in reward.
I say, “So you don’t bother us.”
Jasper lowers his arm. “So as not to ruin the fragile system Chandler forces you to live under?”
“I’m not forced to do anything.”
“That so? You’re not forced to turn in, say, a bottle of water you found? Not forced to split ounces of water among hundreds of people?”
“148 people.”
“In Macoby, if you want something, you either take it or trade something for it. Supplies aren’t regulated. People aren’t regulated.” Jasper re-extends his hand. “If I offer you water because you’re clearly parched, it’s my right to do so. Now, do you want the water or not?”
God, that water would taste so good.
I stare down at my feet. “But I don’t have anything to trade.”
“First round’s on me.”
I look up.
While I’m certain there is a catch, I’m so thirsty. I’m so goddamn thirsty.
With a sigh, I snatch the water from him, tip the bottle to my lips, and chug greedily. Tepid water has never tasted so glorious. My empty stomach gurgles as the water washes down my body. I’m human again.
Jasper smiles at me.
I hand the bottle back to him. “You playing the nice guy now?”
“I’ve always been the nice guy,” he says. I want to smack the smugness off his face. Whatever he’s playing at, I won’t fall for it. “Ready to go home?”
“If by ‘home’ you mean back to where you so kindly kidnapped me from, then yes.”
“That’s not at all what I meant.”
“Didn’t think so, nice guy.”
Jasper pulls his backpack over both shoulders, tightens the straps, and throws a leg over the bike seat. His gaze slips to my tattered sneakers, and he raises an eyebrow.
I flex my foot and show him the faded, worn red sole. “They’re Prada.”
“Think they’ll hold up for the journey? Can’t have you splayed on the side of the road like roadkill.”
“But then you won’t have to worry about finding dinner.”
Jasper looks at me like I just kicked a toddler. “We don’t eat people over here, Kota.”
“Whatever you say. Now . . .” I pat the threadbare seat. “If you’re the nice guy you say you are, you’d let me sit right here while you ride the pegs.” I pout my lips and flutter my eyelashes. “Promise I’ll drive safe.”
“Not happening.”
“What about that girl’s Jeep—”
“The Jeep belongs to Greeley. The bike is mine.” He cocks his head to the side. “Now hop on.”
I tighten my scrunchie and take one last swig of water before grabbing Jasper’s backpack to balance on the pegs. My knuckles turn white. “Pull any tricks, and I’ll take you down with me.”
Jasper wraps his hands around the handlebars. “Hold on tight, Pegs.”