Chapter Thirty-Eight #2
Dread courses down my core. I wasn’t bitten, was I? No. These are puncture marks—five of them, from the thing’s nasty fingernails.
I briefly scan the rest of my body, running my hands up and down my neck, torso, and legs, and exhale a sigh of relief so big that my breath could fill up a hot air balloon.
I’m okay.
I got away.
“Striped bass,” Greeley’s voice says from above. Her head blocks the sun, her blond-black hair swinging over her chin as she peers down at me. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I thought you said there weren’t any fucking bodies in here?” I crane my head back toward the lake, the rippling surface turning glassy once more.
“I wasn’t lying—I’ve never seen anything in there before. Never swam as far out as you, though.”
“I almost died—”
“Hold that thought. Unless we get that wound to stop bleeding, you very well will die.” She makes a face. “Damn, that’s a lot of blood. I give you a sixty-forty chance.”
Sixty to live, or forty? I can’t concentrate enough to care. My calf flutters with its own heartbeat as Greeley rips off a sleeve of her shirt. As she wraps the fabric around the bleeding claw marks on my ankle, I ask, “You don’t think there are more zombies in there, do you?”
“Maybe,” Greeley says. I try not to flinch as she tugs the fabric so it’s taut against my leg. “No reason to be afraid of waterlogged fuckers, though.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“There,” Greeley says, knotting the makeshift tourniquet. “You’ll be fine. Probably.”
“Why are you being nice to me?”
Greeley rolls her eyes, and I wonder how many times she does that a day. Does she ever get sick of giving attitude? “I’m not being nice to you. I’m fixing you. Chief needs your ass alive, and Jasper wants you alive for some reason—and those are the only two people I’d like to not piss off.”
Greeley stares at Bass Jack for a moment, then rips off her other sleeve. She wraps leftover fabric around it, then shoves the wrapped-up fish into her backpack.
I press up onto my elbows. “You don’t think that fish is yours, do you?”
“I just saved you, didn’t I? Consider it payment.”
“I wouldn’t have gone swimming with a zombie if not for you, Greeley.”
“You made your own choice. And now you have to live with it.”
Though I want to tell her to shove it where the sun don’t shine, Greeley is right. I’d finally been given the space to make a choice, and I made mine. A stupid, stupid choice that could very well result in an infection and maybe even death. But . . .
“Bass Jack is mine,” I say. “I caught it.”
Greeley crosses her arms. “We’ll split it.”
“No, we will not.”
“Yes, we will.”
Splash. I whip my head away from Greeley. A raisin-like, bloated hand scratches the shore. An arm and shoulder follow as the water-warped zombie crawls out of the lake. A gurgling groan breaks the silence, and water bubbles from its mouth.
A sudden spike of jealousy toward the zombie tears through me. This monstrous creature knows only hunger. It feels no remorse for its actions, whereas I am hindered by empathy and ego and fear. I suck in air through my teeth. The zombie does not love.
What an uncomplicated life that must be.
I grab my knife and limp-run to the water’s edge. The thing’s rotting torso emerges from the water. My hand shakes, but I do not hesitate a moment longer. I stab it in the skull. With a final shriek, the zombie stills.
My pulse jumps as realization dawns on me. “That was my first kill.”
“Good work.” Greeley slaps me on the back. “How’s it feel?”
I stare at the yellow bones protruding from the zombie’s shoulder, bloody flaps of skin caressing the lake’s shore.
“Sad,” I answer, surprising myself. I expected to feel powerful or strong or satisfied, but I feel .
. . sad. I realize I’ve never wanted to kill anything before—and maybe that’s what’s been holding me back.
Not competence, but compassion. A piece of my humanity died with this zombie.
And if I want to survive, I have to be willing to lose more.
I have to let go of the Kota who froze in Walgreens.
I have to be more like this zombie. For Bunny’s and Grandma’s sakes, I have to.
I’m done overlooking threats. No longer will I leave my life to chance.
I will do what it takes to survive.
The trees behind us rustle, and I’m ready to strike. I clutch my knife tighter, and Greeley reaches for hers. The stirring sounds intensify, and my heart creeps into my chest.
And then—
It’s a deer.
A hearty deer with two delicate antlers, pure black eyes, and a large belly.
Greeley looks at me, and I at her.
I shake my head.
The deer is mine.
I slowly creep toward the creature, careful not to spook it. It doesn’t move; perhaps it’s just happy to see another living being.
I wish I had better news for you, deer.
Red-hot pain zings through my leg as I launch myself toward the beautiful creature. As it springs away, I tackle it.
I hear a rib crunch as the deer and I hit the earth—not sure whose rib crunched, but it’s unimportant. I gaze into the deer’s sweet eyes and wish so badly it didn’t have to die. But oh, all this meat. I could feed myself—I could feed Bunny and Grandma—for months.
Mere days ago, I couldn’t kill a bunny.
Today, I’m stronger.
As I pull my arm back to shove the knife into its brain, Greeley yells from behind, “Oh no, you don’t.”
Our knives hit the deer’s temple at the same time. Metal clangs on metal, and the deer goes limp.
Greeley yanks her knife out of the deer’s head, and blood spills, drenching its face in red. I pull my blood-soaked knife out and point it at Greeley’s face, ignoring the rapid heartbeat in my chest. And the one in my leg, too.
“Changed my mind,” Greeley says. “You can have the fish. I’ll take the deer.”
I step toward her. “That’s not how this is going to work.”
She returns my movement with a step of her own. “My knife went in first. Don’t be a sore loser.”
Rage like an active volcano erupts through me. My veins boil with molten lava, red splotches invading the edges of my vision. My ears ring. I clench my jaw so hard my teeth might shatter.
How dare she.
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Try me,” Greeley says, and she means it. I’m injured, and even if I wasn’t, she could beat me in a physical match. I know she’s egging me on, but I want so badly to give in.
Not a chance.
WWTNKD?
What would the new Kota do?
She’d say this: “You want the deer so bad? Fight me for it.”
“Finally,” Greeley says.
She lunges toward me, and I fumble over the massive belly of the deer. I land on my ass with a thud. She looms over me with a triumphant grin.
No. I’m going to take her down with me.
Ignoring the sharp pain slicing through my injured leg, I press into my hands and hurl toward her, circling my arms around her calves.
She topples to the ground, a surprised breath escaping through her teeth as her shoulder catches the fall.
I hitch myself over her torso and pin her down with my hips.
Her brows furrow as I bring my fist up and slam it into her face.
Her nose. Her cheek. Other cheek. Nose again, because fuck you, Greeley, fuck you.
She squirms to escape, but she doesn’t have any leverage. My knuckles burn as they make contact with her face again, again. Her head lolls side to side with every blow, each harder than the last. She may be losing steam, but I’m gaining it.
Enough, I tell myself. Stop.
But I can’t.
I don’t want to.
Three more. I get three more.
One for the fish. Another for the deer. A third and final punch for the goddamn Quaker bars she stole outside Pepsi Co.
My pulse pounds in my ears. I close my eyes to let the red dissipate—it glows orange, then yellow, then white, as I get my breathing under control. I sag backward onto my heels.
Lilac bruises bloom underneath Greeley’s long lashes. There’s no blood on her face, but I think she passed out. I reach down and grab her limp hand to confirm. Yep. I knocked out Greeley. And the power feels . . . good.
Only, as I pull my hand away, she snatches it and squeezes. “That all you got?”
“Let go of me.”
To my surprise, she does. She sits up and wipes a bead of sweat off her swollen face. “Proud of you, Blondie. Those were some good swings. You feel better now, don’t you?”
Yes, I want to tell her. But I don’t.
I let my head droop in my hands. I whisper, “Half.”
“What was that?”
“You can have half of the deer.”
Uniformity fosters unity.
No. We both worked hard for this deer, so we’ll share its meat.
“Deal,” Greeley says.
I add, “But none of the fish.”
“Never been a seafood girl anyway.”
I offer Greeley my hand, and she takes it. Maybe this isn’t the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but it’s something. And that’s enough for me.