Chapter Twenty-One
THE GOLDEN SUN DIPS BEHIND the wall of tangled trees ahead.
Dark shadows pepper the earth. As I step into the dense woods, a lithe vine wraps around my ankle like it has a mind of its own.
My heart stops. I suck in a breath. What if it does have a mind of its own?
What if it’s the hand of a zombie hiding under a brush, lying flat on its stomach, waiting for prey?
I squeeze my eyes shut as the quick, metallic slice of a knife rings in my ears.
“Open your eyes,” Jasper says, kneeling on the ground by my ankles. He holds a limp vine in his hands. “Could’ve been a lot worse. You’re lucky this wasn’t a zombie snake.”
“Have . . . have you ever come face-to-face with a zombie snake?”
Jasper nods and sheathes his knife. “There’s worse in those woods.”
“How comforting,” I say, the grip on my gun getting sweaty. “I’m completely and utterly at ease.” I wipe a palm on my pants and tighten my grip. “So just to confirm—you do expect me to trek further into the woods with you?”
“Gotta eat.”
“Plenty of peanut butter back home . . .”
“Your choice,” he says, then strides ahead.
My choice. Right.
I sigh, square my shoulders, and follow.
As we move deeper into the thicket, wild branches blot out the sun and force the day into night. Dirt crunches beneath our feet. The sound is masked by scuttering birds and chirping crickets, whistling wind and rustling leaves.
A shudder runs down the length of my spine.
Where are all the animals?
The lack of danger makes me clench my gun even tighter.
Jasper’s a step in front of me, his muscled shoulders tense. He moves more intentionally than I do, careful to make as little sound as possible. His body ripples with an intensity that tells me he was born to do this. Born to hunt.
I step on something squishy and gasp. Squeeze my eyes shut.
Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.
I look down.
It’s a dead squirrel. Not zombie dead. Dead dead. And rotting.
“It’s squishy,” I groan. “Like Jell-O.”
Jasper spins around to face me. His eyes catch mine and send a silent warning. Quiet, he mouths.
“Doing my best over here,” I snap back.
He bends down, his lips brushing my ear. “Do better.”
“Appreciate the support,” I say, hoping he doesn’t notice the stupid blush that spreads from my ears to my neck.
Really, Kota, feeling butterflies at a time like this? Bottle it up.
Jasper’s words are hushed as he says, “You’ll appreciate not being eaten.”
As he pulls away, I quickly kneel, keeping my head bent, and rub the sole of my shoe on a rock. “Oops—did you want to keep the squirrel goop? Save it as a snack for later? We could still scrape it in a Ziplock and freeze it to make popsicles—”
Jasper puts his pointer finger against my lips, shushing me. “Quiet.”
“You’re right,” I whisper against the fleshy pad of his finger. He pulls back, leaving behind the tastes of copper and dirt on my lips. “We don’t have freezers anymore. Dammit.”
“Kota.”
I open my mouth to send another quip his way, but from the look he’s giving me, I think he’s about ready to smear me against a rock. There’s no hint of humor on his face. So I glue my jaw shut.
Stop sabotaging yourself. Do you want to die? Focus.
Just last week, I was chiding Indy for making too much noise in the face of danger. I should follow my own advice.
I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and mouth Sorry before zipping up my lips and tossing the key.
We creep deeper into the dark, trembling woods. The temperature drops, and cold air numbs the tips of my fingers. Monstrous trees blanket the sun completely. Goose bumps prick my arms. Something white zips between two boulders—a fluffy tail, like a puffball.
A bunny.
Bunny.
In front of me, Jasper pauses. He holds out an arm, motioning for me to stay still. I squeeze the knife in my right hand and shift to grab the gun with my left. Jasper shakes his head.
A nearby bramble shakes. My heart rate spikes. My ears hum. Jasper nods, signaling me to move forward. This is real. He is giving me the opportunity to make the kill.
I’m going to kill a bunny.
My palm sweats as I squeeze the life out of my balisong. I take a small step toward the prickly, overgrown, moving bush. I’m going to end up with a stick up my ass.
I drop to my knees and crawl. The bush rustles.
One.
I extend an arm.
Two.
I breathe in deep.
Three.
I jam my arm into the bush and wrench out my hand—and with it, a white, breathing, bouncing ball of fur.
The bunny squeals as I pull it into my chest. “Shhh,” I prompt, petting its head. It tries to break free, but I hold it tight.
“We’re not adopting it, Kota,” Jasper says. “Make the kill.”
I look at the bunny in its big black eyes and see my sister. Innocent, joyful, alive. I look into its eyes and see Milo. Humorous, caring, determined.
I pet the bunny’s soft ears.
Why does my life outweigh that of this sweet creature? Why can’t we bring it home and keep it as a pet? Why can’t we stick to scavenging?
Because, Kota, there’s barely anything left. Not even at Costco. What are you willing to do to survive?
Jasper sighs. “You’re making this harder on yourself. Get it done.”
“I—” I can’t. Salt-tinged tears wet the dirt on my skin and drip down my face. I wish I were more like you, is what I want to say.
A deep, monstrous squeal jolts me out of my thoughts. Jasper’s eyes widen. This is the first time he’s actually looked afraid.
“Fuck,” he whispers, then pulls the bunny out of my hands. I stand frozen as he shoves his blade into its brain. Blood spurts on my face. I can’t bring myself to wipe it off. He unzips his backpack and places the bunny’s limp body inside.
Another raw, blood-curdling squeal rumbles through the woods. Birds scatter. The ground shakes.
“Run,” he whispers.
Jasper takes my hand and pulls me through the woods. Deafening squawks rip through the trees, growing louder and louder.
What is that thing?
I’ve never moved so fast in my life. Whatever beast is chasing us is on our tail. And it’s coming for us.
We’re the prey.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. My thighs burn with every step. I keep my eyes on my feet as I step over loose rocks, gnarled roots, and sharp twigs jutting out of the ground.
Don’t trip, Kota. Don’t you dare trip.
“Shit,” Jasper murmurs.
The beast grows louder.
“What,” I say through shallow breaths, “is,” I press through my feet, launch myself forward with all the strength I can muster, “it?” And can we grow wings and fly away?
Jasper’s grip on my hand tightens. I know he can run faster than me, but he isn’t leaving. He isn’t leaving. “Wild boar.”
The woods become so dense that there’s no path forward. The trees have melded into one giant, menacing wall. Jasper stops dead in his tracks.
“Climb,” he says, pointing to a divot in a zombie tree.
He helps hoist me up. I find a sturdy branch and pull myself onto it, crawling up the rough bark. I sit in the crook of the mottled tree and make room for Jasper. Only he’s not climbing. He’s not climbing.
Instead, he stands in front of the mammoth tree trunk, pointing his gun straight ahead, his shoulders braced. I gasp. The boar emerges from behind a patch of trees. It’s easily the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen.
Massive yellowed incisors line the bottom of its detached jaw. Its mouth is twice the size of my head, and it sputters and drools like a rabid dog. It splatters nearby trees with spit as it sings a horrible anthem of destruction. It wants violence. It wants Jasper. It wants me.
The undead animal surges forward, its claws tearing into the earth, pulling out loose roots and flinging rocks every which way. Dark pink bruised skin peeks through patches of gruff, wiry hair. Like a man balding in patches across his head. Or a lawn that’s been seeded but is struggling to grow.
Or my brain trying to focus on the danger at hand.
Focus.
The boar lunges, leaping off the ground like a goddamn acrobat.
“Jasper!” I scream, right as he pulls the trigger.
The shot is clean. The bullet goes right through the beast’s skull, and its warped, bloated body falls forward onto him. The two pitch backward and land with a thud that shakes the earth. The boar’s body pins Jasper down. The two lie there, unmoving, as leaves settle around them. Is he . . . ?
I block the thought out before it can fully form.
No one else. Not today.
I jump off the tree and drop to my knees. Rocks and sticks leave angry red marks on my palms as I scramble toward them on all fours. I dust my hands on my thighs before placing them on the boar. One, two, three, shove. It doesn’t move. Not an inch.
Jasper’s head pokes out from beneath the boar, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He offers the slightest of nods.
“Let me try this.” I shove my arm under the boar’s bloated stomach in search of Jasper’s hand. I try not to gag as the boar’s stench wafts off its body. The odor is a putrid combination of sewage, unwashed hair, and expired Brussels sprouts.
I find Jasper’s arm and pull.
“You’re gonna rip it out of the socket,” he says.
“What else am I supposed to do?”
“Use your legs.”
“My legs?”
“Trust me.”
“Last time I trusted you, I—”
“What? Got eaten by a zombie boar? No, wait, you didn’t because I saved us.”
“You want out from under this thing or what?” I challenge him with my eyes.
“Please,” Jasper says. “Help.”
I smirk and lower myself to my back. My hair snags on some twigs as I shuffle toward the boar, convincing myself I can do this.
Jasper nods encouragingly. He seems to think I can do this.
I crack my knuckles, square my shoulders, and push.
My thighs burn with the exertion. I heave like I’m giving birth to this zombie pig.
I reckon three contractions pass until the boar lifts just enough for Jasper to wriggle out.
Every muscle in my body loosens as I flop backward next to Jasper.
We lie there together looking up at the blanket of trees.
“Can check that one off the bucket list,” I say.
Jasper turns his head toward me. It makes me uncomfortable, this look he’s giving me. Like he can see that a tangle of emotions lies behind my quips: pain and shock and horror and hope.
“Have you ever had a close call?” he asks.
“You mean with death? Yeah,” I say, the words coming out breathless. “Trying to get insulin for my sister at a Walgreens. That’s how I ended up in Egal. Peter found us.” His name tastes like vinegar on my tongue.
“For what it’s worth,” Jasper says, rolling his head back up toward the canopy of trees. “I wish someone else had found you.”
I stiffen, questions tumbling through my mind. If Jasper found us and brought us back to Macoby, would things be different? Would Bunny and Grandma have better care? Would we be not just surviving, but living?
I open my mouth to respond—to agree, I think—but the sound of leaves crunching stops me short.
If there’s another zomboar in these woods . . .
“Sup, losers!” Greeley emerges from the woods, a white-tailed deer slung over her shoulders. She walks as if the limp body weighs one pound, not a hundred. “What’s all the commotion about?” She looks down and gives the boar a little kick. “Big boy you got there. Who’s up for bacon?”
“We need to go.” Jasper stands, leaning his weight on his left leg. “There are probably more where it came from.”
“Y’all get anything edible?”
Jasper nods. “A bunny.”
Greeley scoffs. “Hope you like the taste of hunger.” She turns toward me. Her eyes widen when I push myself to a stand, and my knees crack. “What about you, Miss Balls of Steel? Got milk?”
“No,” I say, disappointment filling my belly. “I got nothing.”
“Pity,” she says, striding up to me. She drops the deer, bends down, and gives my knees a tap. “No utters to suck from around here. Have to fend for yourself if you want these bones to grow big and strong.”
I want to kick her. I should kick her.
Jasper leans toward me and whispers, “Don’t kick her. You’ll be sorry.”
“Thanks,” I mutter. Greeley hauls up the deer and swings around. The antlers bump my head. “I’m going to—”
Jasper places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Don’t.”
We stand there, still, watching Greeley go back the way we came.
I sort of wish I were the deer right now. At least I’d be at peace. At least I’d have a purpose. At least I’d be carried.