Chapter Forty-Five #2
I bring the scuffed lenses to my eyes and scour the land.
Sick Room, where are you?
“There’s so much to see.” I scan from the fields to the church. I catch sight of six-foot-something Indy and the truck outside the rectory. He’s next to the truck, handing boxes to Fred. I know it’s Fred because he trips and busts his chin on the lip of the truck.
“This is the best lookout spot in all of Greenville,” Jasper says. “Do you see the rectory?”
“Mmm,” I say, half listening.
There it is. The Sick Room. The metal roof glints in the sun, but the building itself is hidden from my view, obstructed by the block of rowhomes.
I pull the binoculars away from my face and eyeball the rickety building to my right.
If I could clamber up onto the ledge, I could see inside; I could see Bunny.
Just to make sure she’s safe. Just to see her smile.
I don’t make my move yet. Jasper’s intent on giving me the full bird’s-eye tour. “There, behind the rectory. Do you see that tree stump?”
“I see it.”
“It’s a prop. There’s a hatch beneath it leading to the rectory.”
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “How do you know that?”
“I’ve sat up here for hours at a time, watching Chandler go in and out. I’ve seen her carry unconscious people.” I lower the binoculars and turn to Jasper. “I’ve seen Peter use the entrance, too.”
“And you’re just now telling me this?”
“I wish I didn’t have to tell you at all. But you had to see the kind of people we’re up against.”
I bring the binoculars back up to my face. “What do you think they’re hiding?”
“You know what they’re hiding, Kota.”
Experimentation. On people.
I hear Chandler in the back of my head. It’s for the common good. And yet . . . “Even after everything I’ve seen, I’m having a hard time believing she could do such terrible things.”
“Look at me,” he says. I turn toward him, and the pores on his face are the size of craters. Zoomed in, his lips are massive, pink, and pillowy, and the lashes framing his eyes are thick and black as ink. “Kota. Put down the binoculars.”
“Oops.”
Jasper smiles, but his eyebrows knit together, and his expression is pained.
“When I was twelve, Mom surprised me with an art set. Oil paints and brushes, a few canvases. Chandler hated art. Even at seventeen, she was fixed in her beliefs. Since art didn’t improve society, artists were useless, and they had no right ‘doing art for a living,’ not when they could be contributing in more practical ways.
‘There’s no room for passion,’ she said, ‘in a drying-up world.’
“I painted anyway, though I always kept my canvases hidden under the bed. She found them. Slashed through them with a knife. She squeezed the paint from their tubes and graffitied my wall. Leech.
“Chandler never apologized, not when I fell to my knees and sobbed, and not when Mom yelled at her for getting paint on the carpet. She’s ruthless, and she’ll do anything for what she believes is right, however misguided she may be.”
“Oh, god,” I say, my heart breaking in half. “Did you try to stop her? When the Split was one, did you try to stop her from leaving?”
“No, but I should have. Since the beginning, Chief and I have been trying to clean up our mistake. The Egals are loyal to her, though—Chandler’s a born leader. You, for one, ought to know that.” I do. She tricked me, so easily. “And because of that, she’s going to kill us all.”
“We’ll take her down.”
I bring the binoculars back to my eyes. Fred stumbles into the rectory’s yard with a black bag slung over his shoulders. A body bag. As Chandler gestures for him to bring the bag down the hatch, betrayal settles into my belly. Fred’s in on this?
He trips. As he takes a nosedive, the body bag tumbles onto the ground. Dread washes over me as the body spills out.
My throat constricts.
It can’t be.
I press the binoculars so hard against my forehead that it hurts, and I zoom in. I zoom in close enough to see it all: Thin lines etched on wrinkled palms. Snowy strands of hair woven throughout gray. Delicate lips, still a muted shade of rose. Closed eyelids that will never open again.
Grandma.
I scream so loud that it echoes through the valley.
Jasper places a hand over my mouth. “Kota,” he says. “What’s wrong?”
I double over. The ground spins, and my knees buckle, but Jasper catches me before I hit the ground. My throat is thick and aching, and there’s an incessant pounding between my eyes. I can barely breathe, but I somehow whisper, “Grandma,” before collapsing into Jasper’s chest.
And then I sob.
“Oh, Kota.” Jasper rubs the back of my head. I try to focus on the gentle rhythm of his hand, but I can’t tame the river streaming down my face. “Shh,” he croons.
We stand there for a while, Jasper holding me as I weep. I don’t know how much time passes before I run out of tears, but eventually, I do. Jasper’s shirt will be damp for a while, though. As my eyes dry, grief swirls into fury. The pounding in my head amplifies. My muscles tighten.
I clench the binoculars tighter and shove away from Jasper. A scream erupts from my chest. “Chandler killed her. She killed her!”
Jasper’s hand smacks back over my lips. “You need to be quiet.”
I shake his hand off. “No.”
“You can’t save your sister if a zombie attacks us.”
I wipe threads of snot off my face and snap my mouth shut.
Bunny.
I need to find her. I need to see that she’s alive.
I need a better vantage point.
I barely register Jasper saying no as I move toward the building. He doesn’t stop me. The deck on the back is in okay shape, though every other wooden plank is missing. I hoist myself up onto one of the few planks that looks sturdy. The wood groans under my weight but holds.
I pull the binoculars to my eyes and hunt for Bunny. There. The Sick Room. But the windows are too grimy to see through. God fucking dammit.
A burst of air knocks me off balance. I teeter on my good leg, using the weight of the binoculars to keep me upright. My heart stammers. My gut wrenches. The plank beneath me yawns.
I need to get down.
I need to find Bunny.
One more try, I think. I can do this.
As I pull the binoculars to my eyes, the plank holding me up gives out, splitting right through the middle. My right foot pitches straight through the teeth of the splintered wood.
I drop the binoculars, and they tumble down the cliff. I wrap my hands around my calf to pull my foot free from the grips of the wood, but it’s stuck.
Jasper gracefully clambers over rocks to reach me. “Don’t move, I’m coming!”
But I don’t want his help.
I want to free myself.
I pull harder, mustering up all of my strength to wrench my uninjured leg out of the wood. It won’t give. It’ll give out beneath me, but it won’t free my foot.
Screw you, mouse trap.
I squat down and smash my fist into the wood. Sharp pain tears through my knuckles. Stupid idea. Now I’ve got two mauled legs and a bloody fist.
“Stay back!” I shout at Jasper. “I don’t need your help.”
One more time, Kota. You can do this.
Thighs burning, I push into my legs and do my best jump squat, hoping against hope to dislodge my foot. It worked! I surge upward, freeing my foot and sending myself a foot above the deck.
And then, I free-fall. Belly flop down the side of the cliff.
Rocks and pebbles bite into my face as I slide down the jagged bluff, my shirt and pants scraping against my skin like a nasty rugburn.
I curl into myself to protect my head as I plummet.
A rock bites into my shoulder and searing pain shoots down my arm.
I yelp as another slices my spine. My hip smacks against the cliff’s rough edge, and then my elbow takes the brunt.
Oof! Nothing is funny about hitting the funny bone.
Agony spreads from one spot to the next as I hit rock after rock.
Dear Lord, I pray—for the first and last time—if Mrs. Patty was right, and you really do exist, will you save me? And will you save Bunny? Please save my sister.
God, or gravity, answers my prayers. I land on a sandy rock with a thud. My body’s in one piece. I’m bruised, banged up, and bleeding, but I’m alive.
Curled up into a tiny ball, knees tucked into my chest, I cry until no tears are left, until there’s a puddle beneath me, until salty stains are left on my cheeks, and my throat is raw.
Chest shaking, brain throbbing, I pull my head out of the dark.
The blazing sun blinds me. I peer over the edge of the sandy ledge that’s saved me.
So, I didn’t fall that far. Maybe twenty feet.
What felt like years of falling was probably only a few seconds.
The Split below me still looks like the model version of itself.
Red clay crumbles off the edge.
I scramble backward and look up at the rocky cliff.
How do I get back up?
I grip my throbbing calf, and then I grip my other throbbing calf. Maybe I’m stuck here forever.
“You all right down there?” Jasper’s voice echoes from above, his silhouette black against the bright sky.
“Not really,” I say, my voice raspy. Soot-tinged tears lodge in my throat.
He tosses something down the cliff. At first, I think it’s rope, but it’s too rigid—no, it’s the thickest vine of kudzu I’ve ever seen, hanging off that massive, sturdy-looking tree. The vine wriggles like a snake with a bamboo shoot shoved down its throat.
“Can you climb?” Jasper shouts.
Doesn’t matter if this vine is kudzu or zomzu. It’s my only option.
Jasper tries to lower the vine to me, but it’s too short. I can’t reach it. I push myself to my tippy toes, ignoring the pain lacing through my entire being, trying to gauge how far I’ll have to climb up the cliff to get to the zomzu. If I can climb.
“You can do it,” Jasper yells, echoing my thoughts.
I step toward the jagged wall. I cram my foot into a little divot and clutch a jutting rock as a handhold. I push all of my strength, all of my courage, into the maneuver, and suddenly, I’m off the ground. And smooshed against the side of the cliff.
I dare to look up. The zomzu dangles a few feet above my reach. Two more upward moves, and I’m there.
My arms shake so hard I think they might fall off.
Jasper says from above, “Don’t look down.”
Did that asshole really just tell me not to look down?
“I hate you,” I say, unsure if I’m talking to Jasper or myself. My legs are Jell-O. I am Jell-O.
I find another foothold and reach upward.
I am strong.
The skin on my stomach stretches as my fingers brush the monstrous vine. A rock comes loose and slices through my ring fingernail, the one I’d already bloodied myself earlier today, but I’m so hyped up on adrenaline I don’t feel the pain.
I debate my next move. There are no other handholds within reaching distance. I have to jump.
Jasper swings the vine, trying to get it closer to me, but the movement will only make it harder to catch the rope if I do jump. When I jump. Correct. I have no other choice.
“Steady it!” I shout.
I dig my fingers and toes into the side of the cliff. Fiery pain wraps its arm around my biceps, and my vision blurs. It’s now or never. If I don’t jump, my body will give out—and I’ll fall down the cliff again. This time, the two Gs might not be so kind.
It’s time.
One, I think, squeezing my eyes shut.
Two.
I suck in a deep breath.
Three.
I blow out all the air in my lungs, open my eyes, and push myself off the wall. While my body’s midair, I reach for the zomzu and catch it. My hands slide down a foot, the rough vine scratching and splintering my palms. My feet dangle.
Mustering up strength I didn’t even know I contained, I pull myself up enough to wrap my legs around the zomzu. It’s moving. The vine spasms like it’s trying to bump me off, and knuckle-like protrusions pulsate under my grip.
“Pull me up!” I scream, my voice cracking.
Jasper levers me up, fighting his own war against the zombie vine. For some reason, I look down. My entire stomach lurches into my aching throat, acidic bile coating my tongue.
Puke later, Kota. Not now.
I've always had dreams where I’d fall through the sky as a bird.
I’d soar along, only for a big hand to reach through, pluck me up, clip my wings, and set me back atop clouds.
I thought I’d be safe, sitting on the fluff, but the clouds were deceiving.
They’d give out, made of nothing but mist, and I’d fall through the air wingless, my stomach screaming with the descent.
Before I hit the ground, my eyes would burst open, and I’d be covered in sweat along with my sheets.
This time, as Jasper hoists me over the edge of the cliff, and I fall face-first onto the dirt, I don’t wake up. I keep my eyes shut.