“Yours.” Lucas tossed a box of tampons in Willow’s direction. Without uttering a word, she set them aside. While Lucas resumed pawing through the goods, I studied Willow, trying to recall the last time she’d alluded to needing supplies. Was she pregnant? I dismissed the panicked thought instantly—she’d shown zero symptoms. So then what? None of us were the picture of health—we were all overworked and undernourished—but if Willow wasn’t getting her period anymore, maybe I’d misjudged just how bad off we really were.
Looking at them long and hard, it suddenly struck me how prominent Willow’s collarbone was and how chiseled Lucas’s cheekbones had become. Another wave of guilt washed over me. These past few months we’d been teetering on starvation, and not a damn thing I did seemed to make a difference.
“There’s toothpaste!” Willow jumped to her feet, clutching the several unopened tubes of toothpaste I’d pillaged from one of the upstairs bathrooms. “No more chewing mint leaves.” She danced in clumsy circles around the room before bowing down in front of Lucas, holding out a tube in offering.
“For your awful, stinking breath, good sir,” she said, attempting a British accent.
“Why yes, I do have awful, stinking breath.” Lucas attempted the same accent. “It’s almost as wretched as yours, madam.”
Laughing, Willow continued dancing around the room, coming to a twirling stop in front of me. Again, she dropped down into a dramatic bow, holding out another tube of toothpaste. The deep bow caused her too-big T-shirt to sag open, the stretched-out material offering up a bird’s-eye view of her breasts. Perfect breasts. High, tight mounds of soft flesh topped with dark nipples. Staring, my mouth went bone dry.
“Hello? Earth to Logan. Would you like some toothpaste?”
With a growl, I snatched the tube from her and slumped back against the wall. Oblivious to my mood, Willow resumed dancing.
“Hey,” Lucas said, inching closer to me, holding a box of protein bars. “I found these in the garage—they’re your favorite flavor.”
Taking two, I pushed the box back at Lucas. “You need those more than I do.”
“Ha!” Willow exclaimed from across the room. “A protein bar is not going to help him with those puny little things he calls arms.”
Lucas pushed up his shirtsleeve and flexed, making a big show of giving his slight bicep a kiss. “You love my puny arms, Wilma.”
“That’s what you think, Luke… warm.”
“Lukewarm? That’s the best you could come up with—Lukewarm?”
While Lucas and Willow howled with laughter and made faces at one another, I was once again left feeling like the odd man out. Leaning my head back against the wall, I closed my eyes, grateful there was nothing left to do—
My eyes flew open.
“Did you guys set up the buckets?” Using plastic buckets that attached easily to our packs, we collected rainwater that we’d later filter and use for drinking.
“It’s his turn.” Willow jabbed a finger at Lucas.
“It’s not!” Lucas protested. “I did it last night.”
“I did it last night,” I growled. “One of you can do it tonight—and the other can go pick the grapes I found out back.”
Willow’s brown eyes went saucer wide. “I call grapes!” she shouted, scrambling toward the window. Tossing one leg over the windowsill, she launched herself outside. There was an audible thud as she landed on the ground below.
“I’m okay!” she shouted back.
Lucas snorted. “Remember how Mom always said Willow was like a bull in a china shop?”
“Yeah, well, Mom had a bad habit of making excuses for people,” I muttered.
Lucas glanced over at me, surprised. “That’s not the same thing. You can’t compare Willow and—”
“I know,” I snapped. “I’m not. I’m just—” I stopped speaking and blew out a breath. “I’m just tired.”
Lucas stared at me, his brow creasing, again reminding me of Mom and the concerned look she always wore whenever Dad was around. And I just couldn’t deal with it right now—the anger that was always welling inside me and the guilt that never seemed to abate. Needing a distraction, I forced my weary body to move; there was a gun safe somewhere in this house and I aimed to find it before darkness fell.
Willow
I tossed and turned that evening, sleeping only in short, fitful bursts, fraught with unwelcome dreams. It was this house, and those horrible Christmas decorations, reminding me of things I didn’t want to be reminded of. And it was this room, too hot and dusty, making my skin itch, and smelling like the stale remnants of a life we’d never live again.
At first, I’d hated sleeping outside. I’d spent countless nights too afraid to close my eyes, terrified of the darkness and all the noises hidden in its inky depths. Nowadays, I enjoyed the open air; I no longer lay awake in fear or had trouble finding comfort on rocky terrain. It was the indoors that had become burdensome—rickety shelters that often smelled as bad as they looked and were filled with far more creepy-crawlies than underneath a tree.
We’d endured the unendurable; we’d become experts of the unfathomable; we knew how to stay warm in the winter and how to stay dry in the rain… staying cool during a heatwave, however, was one of the few things we hadn’t quite mastered.
Wiping the sheen of sweat from my face, I rolled over and reached for my canteen. Nearby, Lucas was sleeping soundly, softly snoring. I sent him a narrowed-eyed stare, jealous of his ability to sleep through literally anything, including this hellfire heatwave.
“Make sure you ration that.”
Whipping around, I found Logan straddling the windowsill, the backdrop of the full moon illuminating the dark shape of him, though his face remained eclipsed in shadows. Sending a scowl in his direction, I proceeded to guzzle everything in my canteen.
Logan made a noise of disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t expect to have any of mine tomorrow.”
“Sir, no sir,” I said, giving him a mock salute with my middle finger.
“You’re so fucking funny,” he muttered.
“Thank you—I try.”
Neither of us said anything more; an uncomfortable silence settled in the room, the tension between us growing as thick as the humidity. Something had to give—one of us had to give—and it definitely wasn’t going to be Logan.
I reluctantly rose to my feet and crossed the room. Climbing up onto the window ledge, I mirrored Logan’s position—one leg in, one leg out, the warm evening air on my toes. Staring into the blackness, there was very little to see other than the starlit sky, nothing to be heard but the chirping of crickets. In the dead of night, when I couldn’t see the death and destruction that always surrounded us, I could almost pretend that the world hadn’t gone to hell. That someday I’d get to see all the places I used to dream about. That someday, I’d get to grow up and become somebody.
Glancing at Logan, he remained as he’d been—staring stoically across the yard, undoubtedly considering what sort of fresh hell tomorrow would bring, how it would somehow be all my fault, and how he would single-handedly fix it all. In our story, I was always the villain and Logan was always the hero. Lucas mostly played peacekeeper.
“You know,” I said lightly. “You haven’t slept in days. Maybe you would feel better if you—”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he growled, cutting me off. “You’re not sleeping either.”
“I would be if it wasn’t so hot,” I snapped, working hard not to glare at him. “Anyway, it’s not the same. At least I tried to sleep.”
“You think I don’t want to sleep?” He scoffed. “Did you forget that we don’t have enough supplies to set up a perimeter alarm here? We’re smack dab in the middle of the wide open, and we have a window open. You do the fucking math, Willow. Or is that out of your realm of comprehension?”
My upper lip curled. God, I hated him. And lately, he couldn’t even pretend to like me. If that was how he was going to be then
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep pretending either.
“What is your actual problem? I was just going to offer to keep watch so you could get some sleep. You know you don’t always have to be a dick, right?”
“You want to keep watch?” Logan mocked. “While I go to sleep? You? Keep watch?”
I briefly contemplated choking him, or at the very least, shoving him out the window in hopes that a Creeper lay in wait beneath. Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut, reminding myself that once again I would have to be the bigger person, since Logan was clearly content with being a jackass.
“Yeah,” I bit out. “I’m not completely incapable.”
“And if something or someone finds this place, are you planning on fighting them off barefoot and in your underwear?” He looked me up and down with a snort.
“I am a person of many talents,” I replied tightly. “Look, if you don’t trust me to keep watch, fine—whatever—but you still need sleep. Maybe we should stay here for a few days and you could sleep during the day?”
“It’s not safe here. Too open.”
“It’s not safe anywhere. But at least here we have shelter—defendable and escapable. And we could set up several smaller perimeter alarms—I mean, there’s more than enough garbage lying around this place to put an alarm outside of every door if we wanted. And all those grapes… Logan, we could live off those grapes for a month.”
His widening gaze careened toward me. “We can’t stay here for a month!”
Scowling, I tightly replied, “Yeah, I know that—I only meant we could, not that we should. And before you even mention water, it’s going to rain soon—maybe tomorrow or the next day. I bet your knees are killing you. Your back, too, right?”
Logan always insisted on carrying the most, making his pack the heaviest by far. Despite his young age, the constant extra weight had quickly taken its toll on his back and knees, causing him pain whenever the weather shifted.
He looked off with a sigh, his shoulders slumping forward. Even in the dark, I could see how tired he was. The sort of bone-deep exhaustion that oftentimes made him look old beyond his twenty-six years. Watching him, I felt my own exhaustion flare.
“We need a break,” I whispered. “Logan, please.”
When he faced me, I held his gaze, hoping he would see the truth in my plea. Though obviously tired, his expression was, as usual, as stony as ever.
“We can stay until it rains,” he eventually said. “And after that, we’ll reassess.”
I blinked. “Wait, what?”
“And if it doesn’t rain after a few days, we’re moving on.”
“Whoa, whoa. Wait a second.” I held up my hand. “Are you serious right now? Like, this isn’t a joke—we can really stay here for a few days?”
Logan looked at me, deadpan. “Since when do I tell jokes?”
I shot upright, squealing, clapping my hands together and slapping my feet against the side of the house. I couldn’t believe it—Logan literally never listened to me. In fact, he usually went out of his way to do the opposite of whatever I would suggest.
Logan’s hand crashed down on my bare thigh, squeezing me still. “Stop kicking!” he whispered furiously. “This place won’t be safe for long if you keep making so much fucking noise!”
Slapping my hands over my mouth, I whispered, “Sorry.” It was taking all of my effort to remain still—the thought of being able to lounge around for a few days had me practically vibrating with excitement.
Logan released my leg and cleared his throat. “I need to do a quick perimeter check; make sure you didn’t just lead every Creeper in the area straight to us.” Jumping from the windowsill, he jogged away, his form quickly merging with the shadows.
With a roll of my eyes, I swung my body back inside the house and leaped on top of Lucas. “You’re never going to believe what just happened!”
Lucas sat up with a shout. “What’s going on?”
Grabbing his face, I kissed him squarely on the mouth. “I’m a fucking magician, that’s what!”
We ate boiled oats for breakfast, thanks to my garage finds. There was coffee too—coffee beans that we’d ground ourselves and then added to a pot of boiling water. If you covered the water while it cooled, the grounds would eventually settle at the bottom—it was a trick we’d been taught early on, during our first winter without power… back when there had been a lot more people than just the three of us.
As the harsh smell of hot coffee filled my nostrils, a lump formed in my throat. A memory surfaced—all the adults huddled around the fireplace, dressed in heavy layers, each clutching steaming mugs of coffee, quietly discussing what they didn’t want us kids to hear. Ironic, really, that they were all dead now… alongside their secrets… and we were still here.
After breakfast, Logan announced he’d be heading out to do another needless perimeter check and tasking Lucas and me with straightening up camp. With his departure, I flopped onto my bedroll. “If he ever sat down for more than five minutes, I would die of a heart attack.”
Taking a seat beside me, Lucas chewed thoughtfully on his lip rings. “He probably would, too,” he said. “He’s always got to be working toward something. I think he feels useless if he isn’t.”
I scoffed. “But nothing is ever good enough for him, either. I mean, remember that group in Virginia? I still don’t understand why we didn’t stay with them—they even had a doctor! Literally nothing will ever be good enough for him.”
Lucas snorted. “He wasn’t a doctor; he said he’d been studying to become a doctor. He was probably lying, too. They were all insane, and you know it.”
I pointed an accusatory finger at Lucas. “Almost a doctor is better than no doctor. And you know it.”
“Oh, please. You didn’t like them either. You just love hating on Logan.”
The group in Virginia had been sizable—around fifty people who’d set up a makeshift city inside a shipping warehouse—a massive building made of concrete surrounded by a heavy-duty gate topped with razor wire. Inside, there’d been pallets piled high with nonperishable food products, and shipping containers set up like apartments. At first glance, to three homeless teenagers, it had seemed like the perfect place.
We’d stayed with them only three days, though we’d only needed one to realize that something was off. They’d prayed at all hours of the day, and when they weren’t praying, they were chanting, and when they weren’t chanting, they were singing. At first we’d attempted fitting in but after a giant wooden cross had been revealed to us, with a wriggling Creeper nailed to it, we’d known it was time to leave. As they’d fallen to their knees before the crucified monster, we’d quickly gathered our things and ran.
“Fine,” I conceded. “But what about the forest people in Kentucky—they weren’t completely insane.”
“Forest people? You make them sound like they were fairies or something!” Lucas laughed heartily. “If they’re still alive, they are definitely insane by now!”
“You don’t know that.”
“Pretty sure you can’t live off magic mushrooms, Willy.”
“You know I hate when you side with Logan, Lucy.”
“Yeah, well, you know I hate it when you say stupid things just ‘cause you hate my brother.”
“Whatever,” I muttered. “But just for the record, he hated me first. I just followed suit.”
Lucas shook his head. “You’d think after all this time you two would have learned to tolerate one another.”
Horrified at the prospect, I shook my head violently. “Never. We’re too different.”
Lucas looked at me intently, a wry smile curving his lips. “I think it’s because you’re too similar.”
I gasped, clutching my chest in mock outrage. “How dare you?” I said, swatting at him. “How fucking dare you say that to me? I thought you loved me!”
Laughing, Lucas rolled away, quickly jumping to his feet.
“Get back here and apologize,” I sa
id, scrambling to stand.
Running from the room, he glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Never!” he shouted.
“Where are you going?” I demanded from the doorway as he disappeared down the hall. “I thought we were going to lie around naked and eat grapes?”
Lucas skidded to a stop, his boots squeaking audibly across the hardwood floor. Heavy footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty hall as he quickly retraced his steps back to me. Blue eyes smiled at me. “That sounds… sticky.”
By early afternoon Lucas and I had exhausted the contents of the farmhouse, amassing a decent pile of odds and ends—nothing we needed or could take with us when we left, but things that would serve as entertainment while we were here.
“So many pictures,” Lucas mused, flipping idly through the pages of a family photo album. “We didn’t do photo albums in my house. Logan had a baby book, but that was about it.”
Digging through the contents of an antique steamer trunk, I grumbled, “No need to brag.”
Lucas began to chuckle. “Yeah, your mom was nuts. All your school photos hanging in the stairwell were my personal fav—a step-by-step progression of a happy kid turned emo teen with a homemade septum piercing.”
I touched the tip of my finger to the tiny gold hoop in my nose, recalling the day I’d pushed a sewing needle through my septum. “God, that hurt,” I murmured. “Also, how dare you call me emo.”
“If your hallway was an art piece, it would’ve been called, The Decline of the Smile.”
“If you were an art piece,” I retorted. “You would be called, What Not to Wear.”
Currently, I was wrapped in the rainbow boa I’d discovered yesterday, while Lucas donned several moth-eaten neckties he’d found; he’d fashioned one around his forehead while the others hung loosely from his neck.
Lucas straightened, squaring his shoulders and studiously tightening one of the ties at his neck. “You wish you had my fashion sense.”
The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3) Page 3