Chapter Fourteen
A GROWL RIPS THROUGH THE air.
I jolt awake and search for the source of the sound as bright light streams into the room. Nothing is awry: the window is locked, door shut, and wrapper where I left it on the nightstand—right next to Jasper’s note. All I ask in return is that you trust me.
Nope!
My stomach growls.
Ah, so I was the monster all along.
See, Jasper? Your gesture was worthless. If you were really being kind, you would’ve given up six of your precious granola bars. You would’ve known I needed hella calories to put a dent in my ravenous belly.
I flop over in bed and yawn, curling my toes under the sheets.
Crusty sleep dangles in the corner of my eyes.
I crumble it between my fingers and yawn.
Hunger aside, I’m more rejuvenated than I’ve felt since those bombs dropped in the dams. No nightmares.
No birds leaving me behind. Jasper left me alone. And I don’t smell.
What will today hold for me?
A second later, I have my answer. From somewhere inside the cottage, Jasper shouts, “Fuck!”
My heart rate accelerates. Is he in danger? Am I?
Thunk. A dull, heavy sound reverberates in my ears, snapping me to attention.
Zombie. There’s a zombie in the house.
I bolt out of bed, cursing Jasper for leaving me weaponless. And then I remember—he returned my balisong last night. I bite my tongue and pull the butterfly knife out of my pocket. Sunlight glints off the sharp blade as I flick it open.
Jasper didn’t have to return my balisong. He didn’t have to feed me.
He didn’t have to kidnap me, either.
“Fuck!” Jasper shouts again, louder this time.
Dammit. This is my chance to escape, to bust open the window and haul ass out of here.
And yet, a big part of me wants to stay and help Jasper.
I think of his brown eyes. Of his kind, dimpled smile. The world can’t lose that smile.
I can do this.
Shoulders back, I bound out of my room. I run into the living room and scan for danger. I whip my head left, right, then left again. Something’s wrong. Not a thing is out of place.
It’s only when I reach the kitchen, tucked in the far corner of the cottage, that I find Jasper. Alone. Eyes rolled back. Shoveling a fat spoon of peanut butter into his mouth.
“What the hell are you doing?” I yell, pointing my glass shard in his face. “Why did you scream? I thought there was a zombie attack!”
Jasper raises his eyebrows and pulls the silver spoon out of his mouth. “There are no zombies in the house, Kota,” he says, his words sticking to the roof of his mouth. A glob of peanut butter cements his jaw together.
“Then why—”
“This peanut butter’s really fucking good,” he says, smiling.
Jasper takes one look at my face before bursting out laughing.
“Don’t laugh,” I say. He laughs some more. “You have chunks in your teeth.”
I do not want to enjoy this moment.
Shoulders sagging, I close my eyes and search for a seed of anger, but I come up empty.
Because behind my eyes, there is light. The cottage is full of it.
Streams of golden sunlight pour through the many windows, warming the stone floor beneath my feet.
Sandwiched between two row houses, our home in Egal is dark.
Small. Cramped. Here, the space is endless.
I could eat in private. It’s not that I dislike dining in the church with a hundredish people, but I miss supper with my family.
For the first fourteen years of my life, we had Sunday dinner with Mom and Dad, Bunny and West, and Grandma.
Never missed a week. Even when Mom died and Dad left, Grandma insisted that we continue our tradition.
Sometimes, West would drive down from college to dine with us.
Jasper sets his spoon on the worn butcher countertop. Grandma’s silverware looked similar to this spoon, actually, embellished with a delicate rose on the tip.
He moves to twist the blue top on the Jif jar when a waft of peanut butter reaches my nose.
I launch forward to snatch the jar out of his hands, but Jasper deftly pivots away and darts to the living room.
He plops down in front of the couch, cross-legged, and holds the jar close to his heart.
I walk around opposite him and narrow my eyes.
I nod to the peanut butter and say, “So Chief was true to his word, then?”
“Of course,” he says, fishing a nut out of his teeth. “That’s how it works in Macoby.”
“Do you trust Chief?” I sit down and rest my elbows on the coffee table.
“Pardon?”
“Chief. He’s your leader, right? So you trust him?” Jasper nods slowly. “Then you understand what it means to put your faith in a leader.”
“Chandler’s really brainwashed you, hasn’t she?”
“Chandler has kept me safe. She’s kept me with my family.” And you’re jeopardizing that.
“Two days,” Jasper says. “And then you’re free.
” He slides the jar of peanut butter toward me.
“I’m not trying to keep you from your family.
But I need you for two days. Then you can run back home to your family and fucked-up system.
” When I say nothing, Jasper continues. His voice softens.
“I understand how you feel. My family was torn apart after Z Day, just like yours.”
“You know nothing about my family,” I bite back.
“No,” he says. “I don’t. But I do know that you love them.”
“Then why are you keeping me here? Why are you doing this to me?”
“This thing with Chandler, it’s bigger than you.” He uncrosses his legs and pushes himself to his feet.
I look up at him, clenching my fists. “Bigger how? Who are these missing men, and what do you think Chandler has done with them?”
“That’s not for me to say,” he says, walking back toward the kitchen.
“Fuck you.” I stand and glare at his back.
He turns around when he reaches the counter. “How long have you been in Egal?”
“Two years.”
“So you haven’t been in the Split since the beginning. You weren’t here to make a choice—it was made for you.”
“I would never live here,” I say, the unspoken words lingering on my lips. Not without my family.
“Don’t let these past two years strip you of your future.”
Jasper reaches into a cabinet and slides out a backpack. He pulls a lighter and a knife out of his pocket, throws them in, then slings the backpack over his shoulder. His arm brushes against mine as he walks to the front door, a scent of lavender bar soap trailing behind.
“Wait!” I say, hating myself for sounding so desperate. “Where are you going?”
“On a supply run. That’s the way it goes around here. If I need something, I go get it myself, or I trade with someone who has it.”
“You’re allowed to just leave? Anyone? At any time?”
“Yep,” he says. My stomach growls. I make goo-goo eyes at the jar of peanut butter. “Are you coming?”
I blink, shocked at the invitation. But I hesitate only for a second before nodding. This turn of events could bode awfully well for me. I don’t have to trick Jasper into leaving the Split—he already has plans to do so. And he’s inviting me.
“Sure am,” I say, trying not to sound too eager.
Then, before he can do anything about it, and because nothing can stop me now!, I snatch the peanut butter off the table. I’ve never moved so fast in my life, twisting off the lid and digging my pointer finger deep into the jar. I shove the sweet, salty wad into my mouth.
Jasper says nothing, so I shovel another glob into my mouth. I’m a chipmunk as I say, “Fuck!” My voice pierces through the quiet house. That’s some good peanut butter.
Jasper smiles, wider than I’ve ever seen before. Just like that, any agitation either of us felt fizzles away. He opens the door, and I follow him out of the house, licking my salty lips.