When I’d finished combing through the house, I stood in the foyer, the sinking sensation in my stomach doubling. I was seconds away from freaking out when I heard a loud thump. Relief flooding me, I darted down the hall and burst into the office, ready to tear into them for not listening to me. Again.
Willow shrieked when she saw me and staggered back a few steps. “L-Logan,” she whispered hoarsely.
I knew right away that something wasn’t right—Willow was uncommonly dirty and far more disheveled than was typical. She’d been crying too; tear tracks lined her face, streaks of wet through the grime on her cheeks and chin.
“Where’s Luke?” I asked slowly, noting that she was alone.
Willow opened her mouth and then seemed to freeze that way. She stared at me, her expression quickly crumbling. Bending forward, gripping her stomach as if it hurt her, she opened her mouth again, releasing a noise that sounded as if a sob were trying to claw its way out of her throat.
“Willow,” I growled, rushing to her. Gripping her arms, I noticed that one of them was bleeding, the skin around the scratch-like wounds on her shoulder was angry and swollen. Nausea rose in my stomach, burning a fast track up my chest and into my throat.
“Willow,” I rasped. “Were you bit?”
She raised her trembling chin, her shell-shocked gaze locking with mine. “I… lost him. Luke is—” She took a gasping breath, releasing it with a shudder that seemed to take all the energy from her. As her knees buckled, she whispered hoarsely, “He’s gone—Luke is gone.”
Willow
Rocks loosened and crumbled beneath my feet, skittering down the steep side of the ravine, each of them landing with resonating thuds that seemed to echo from all around. Scrambling for a sturdier ledge, I paused to swipe the gathering perspiration from my eyes. Sweat clung to every inch of me, making my clothes stick uncomfortably. My arms and legs ached terribly, my left leg especially, as I struggled to keep my balance and my muscles strained to keep me still. My leg was infected—courtesy of the injury I’d sustained during the violent rainstorm. For the last several nights I’d done my best to try and clean it, though my ministrations only seemed to make the wound angrier. Today, the painful throbbing had seemed to have taken on a life of its own.
“Not so fast!” Logan shouted from below—the canyon nothing more than a silent, empty abyss. The hundreds of Creepers had disappeared; though how they’d escaped their rocky confines, we hadn’t figured out. “You’ve got to go slow!”
For four days I’d searched for Lucas—three of them with Logan. Four days, three nights, and a handful of hours spent combing the woods around the ravine, searching up and down the highway near the farmhouse, and in and around the house itself, hoping Lucas might return there. We didn’t sleep, we hardly ate, and we rarely spoke—we only searched and searched and yet, there was still no sign of him. It was as if he’d vanished into thin air. Eventually, after plenty of begging on my end, Logan finally agreed to attempt crossing the ravine in order to search the other side.
“Whatever,” I mumbled, the single word barely audible. I resumed my descent, this time slower; arms and legs quivering with exertion, I ensured my fingers found purchase in the more substantial rocks jutting from the ravine wall. As my feet finally hit the ground, my left leg buckled, forcing me to cling to the wall until I was steady. Breathing through the pain, I briefly considered telling Logan about my leg, dismissing the thought almost immediately. He was angry enough as it was, and there’d be time for that later…after we searched the ravine.
Logan stood in the center of the ravine, his arms folded across his chest, his eyes narrowed, surveying our new surroundings. Remnants of the horde lay all around us; the earth was trampled—small trees lay crushed, not a single flower or blade of grass to be found. Nearby, a small stream slushed lazily along, discolored by gore, and clogged with bones and bits of clothing. My muddy gaze bounced nervously around, terrified I might actually find something of Lucas among them.
“Are you sure this is where he fell?” Logan demanded.
My hands knotted into fists. He’d only asked me that question several thousand times, each time growing more and more agitated by my unchanging answer.
“No,” I bit out. “I already told you—I didn’t see exactly where he fell.”
All I’d seen—and I’d never forget it—was Lucas running, grinning over his shoulder, his blond hair blazing gold in the sunlight, just before he dropped out of sight. It was burned forever into my memories.
“It doesn’t make sense,” he muttered. “A horde that size doesn’t just disappear.”
“They were climbing on top of each other—maybe they climbed out?”
Logan shook his head. “They couldn’t have all climbed out—there’d still be some down here.” He’d begun walking away mid-sentence, disappearing behind a rocky overhang. I stared after him, feeling nauseous and fatigued, fighting the urge to sit down where I stood.
“Willow! Get the fuck over here—I found something!”
A jolt of adrenaline forced me to move; I limped quickly along the edge of the stream, following Logan around the large outcropping of boulders.
There was a car there—a rusty four-door sedan, its entire front end resembled an accordion, as if it had been driven full speed off the ledge and smashed headfirst into the gorge below. It had landed in such a way, mostly hidden by the rocky overhang, that it hadn’t been visible from above.
“The driver’s still in there.” Logan yanked fruitlessly on the vehicle’s busted door handle. Muttering curses, he divested himself of his pack and pulled a crowbar from his tool belt.
I limped closer, peering through the grime-coated windows. The skeletal remains of the driver remained pinned to their seat, having been crushed by the mangled dashboard.
“The windows on the other side are busted open,” Logan called out from inside the car. Having successfully pried the door open, he was rooting around in the back seat. “And there’s blood here, too. Not sure how old it is. You think Luke could have fit through here?”
I tried to envision a scenario where Lucas had fallen from a cliff into a ravine full of Creepers and somehow managed to evade the Creepers by slipping into the small space between the car and the rock wall, finding shelter through a half-open window. It seemed impossible… but a lot of things seemed impossible until you’re faced with them. And we’d been defying odds for years now.
“He’s skinny enough,” I agreed quietly. It was a desperately needed sliver of hope to cling to while the rest of me fell to pieces. Chewing the inside of my cheek, I looked over the numerous dried blood smears on and around the car, feeling caught between hoping that it was Lucas’s blood, and yet also not wanting to think about what that might mean for him.
“There’s nothing here. Let’s move.” Sliding out of the car, Logan shoved the crowbar back in his belt and pulled on his pack. He marched off without another word or backward glance, his boots pounding the ground with purpose.
Initially, I tried to keep pace with him, but as the hours passed and the temperature continued to rise, my nausea worsened and my steps began to drag until the distance between us was little more than a blur.
“Logan!” I rasped, my words falling on deaf ears.
I attempted picking up my pace only to catch the tip of my boot on a rock. Tripping, I fell hard on my hands and knees. I stayed that way—my eyes squeezed shut, the pebbled ground cutting painfully into my palms, too tired to move.
“Hey,” Lucas said. “Wanna get out of here for a little bit? Go exploring?”
“Oh my god, yes!”
Lucas laughed as I dragged him from the room. “We can’t go too far, and we definitely can’t tell Logan! Willow—are you listening to me?”
Nope, I hadn’t been.
I never listened.
“I should have said no,” I whispered, my fingertips digging down into the rocks and dirt. “Why didn’t I say no?”
“Willow, wh
at the fuck are you doing?”
My head snapped up. Logan towered over me, the breadth of him providing a nice respite from the brutal sun. Despite every inch of me screaming in protest, I managed to pull myself up, sitting back on my heels. “I feel sick,” I said hoarsely.
Logan leveled me with a scathing glare. “Are you fucking kidding me—you feel sick? Jesus, Willow, we have no idea what happened to that horde—what if it’s still down here? Do you want to get trapped down here like—” Logan abruptly stopped speaking. Lips pressed together, nostrils flaring, he looked away.
“Like Luke,” I whispered.
Turning back to me, his blue eyes blazed with disdain. “Get up,” he said sharply. “Let’s go.”
Limp and listless, I merely stared up at him.
“Get up, Willow,” he seethed. “Get the fuck up!”
“Logan, I feel sick. My leg, I think it’s—”
“I don’t give a shit how you feel!” he roared. Cursing, he roughly fumbled with the buckles on his pack before heaving it away. “Luke is gone, you selfish bitch! He’s fucking gone, and you know what? That’s on you! Do you hear me, Willow? You fucking did this!”
Logan ran his fingers through his already messy hair, further disheveling it. “He wouldn’t’ve been out here if it weren’t for you! He would have stayed in the house like I’d told him to!” Logan’s fist swung at the air. “He would have fucking listened if it weren’t for you!”
“And now you’re gonna sit here and whine about feeling sick when Luke is… when Luke is… ” Voice cracking, he trailed off and spun away.
My chin trembled and my eyes blurred. I’d been waiting for this—Logan’s inevitable explosion. I’d expected it days ago when he’d first arrived to find Lucas gone. Of course, I’d known Logan would blame me; he blamed me for everything. What I hadn’t expected was just how bad his condemnation would feel.
“He just disappeared,” I whispered brokenly. “He just… disappeared.”
Logan’s gaze swung back to me, red-faced, his bloodshot eyes wide with rage. “People don’t just disappear! Something happens to them! Someone happens to them!”
Pain lanced my insides. My chest heaved, a dry sob erupting from deep within. Somehow, maybe aided by the torment gnawing away at me, I forced myself to stand. Dizzy and in pain, I waited until the world stopped swimming, and then began limping toward the cliff.
“What are you doing?” Logan demanded.
I said nothing, and I didn’t dare glance back. Without Lucas, there was nothing here for me—Logan had just made that abundantly clear. Grabbing hold of a long root jutting out from the rocky wall, I called upon every bit of strength I possessed and hauled myself up.
“Willow, what the fuck are you doing?”
My next step crumbled beneath my foot and I slipped back down to the ground, pain radiating up and down my left leg. Fighting back a whimper, I grabbed the root once more. “I’m fucking leaving!” I cried out.
“Leaving?” Logan taunted. “But I thought you felt sick.”
Another step crumbled beneath my weight and again I slid down the wall, slapping it in frustration before collapsing against it.
Behind me, Logan began to laugh—a deep, maniacal rumble that beat at me harder than hands ever could. Still holding tightly to the root, I turned to face him. “Stop it!” I hoarsely demanded. “Stop fucking laughing!”
“Oh, this is too much,” he sneered. “Where exactly are you going to go, Willow? Better yet, how will you get there? Your sense of direction is shit, and you can’t go more than two days without fucking everything up.”
I took a trembling step toward him, my body aching from head to toe, the pain in my leg causing my eyes to water. Logan watched my approach; no longer laughing, his biceps bulged, his fingers twitching. He looked as if he might want to break something. Like he might want to break me. Good. I’d finally had enough of him, too.
“Do it,” I rasped, raising my chin. “Go ahead and hit me.”
Logan went noticeably still, the hateful look on his face shifting into one of surprise.
I shook my head tightly. “No, you don’t get to play dumb! I know you hate me. I know you’ve always hated me. So do it—hit me!”
Logan, damn him, began to turn away.
“No!” I screamed, my grief and fury rebuilding anew—a tsunami of emotions that crashed over me and sent me hurtling toward him.
My palms slapped into his chest. “You. Hate. Me.” I emphasized each word with another slap of my hands. “You’ve always hated me and now Luke is gone and it’s all my fault, so just do it! Hit me! Fucking hit me!”
Logan caught my wrists, gripping them painfully. “Stop it,” he snarled.
“Do it!” I screamed again, my traitorous voice breaking. “Do it! Do it! Do it!” I struggled in his grip, twisting and thrashing until he released me.
“I said, stop it!” he roared.
“Fuck you!” I screamed hoarsely, coming at him again, pounding on his chest with everything I had. I wanted him to feel what I felt. I wanted it to build up inside of him like it had built up inside of me. And then I wanted him to hit me. Slap me. Shake me. I didn’t care which, just that I needed his violent retribution, like I needed air to breathe.
Instead, he only stood there.
He stood there and let me hit him until every last bit of energy I’d scraped together had leached from my body and I was slumped against him, shaking and sobbing and he was gripping my arms, holding me upright.
Once I’d quieted, I’d expected him to shove me away, only we remained locked together—me gripping his shirt, him holding tight to my arms, each of us pressed close enough together that I could feel the heavy vibrations of his heart against my cheek and the low pulse in his fingertips on my arms. We weren’t hugging, not even a little bit; we were merely holding one another upright, our grips fierce.
Only when the ground suddenly exploded did we jump apart, scrambling away from the body of a Creeper that had fallen from above. There was little time to react before another body came crashing to the ground in another messy explosion.
“Time to go!” Logan dove to reclaim his pack.
Backing away from the bodies, I blinked up at the cliff’s edge. There was a noise—something that sounded a lot like a hum. Like the buzz of bees, only harsher. The harder I listened, the louder the sound grew.
As a shadow fell over the ravine, blocking out the sun, suddenly bodies began to pour over the edge—a waterfall of living death. They were the noise, the hum—a raw symphony of a hundred toneless groans echoing throughout a no longer empty ravine.
“Run!” Logan shouted.
Logan
Peering over my shoulder, I found Willow several yards behind me, struggling to keep any sort of pace. Shoulders slumped, head bent, she was visibly limping. Sick or not, she had definitely done something to her leg, though I wasn’t about to ask what. We hadn’t spoken since she’d been begging me to hit her.
I’d wanted to hit her—I’d wanted to hit her from the moment she’d told me what happened, and every moment since, right up until the moment she’d squared off with me and demanded I do just that. Suddenly all that rage I’d felt did a tire-squealing U-turn and rushed back my way. Every slap, every shove, I deserved them all. Because I knew, deep down, whose fault this really was.
I’d known they wouldn’t listen to me—they never fucking did. I’d known they’d go on acting like the world was their playground instead of the bloodthirsty cesspool it really was. I’d known and yet I’d left them on their own anyway.
It took me a moment to realize my eyes were burning, not from sweat but from tears, and that my chest was on fire; I couldn’t seem to take a full breath. Staggering to a stop, I stood in the center of the deep ravine, the sun blazing on the back of my neck, barely breathing, trying to force dry the tears blurring my vision.
I hadn’t cried yet, and sure as fuck wasn’t going to cry now—not with an entire town of Creeper
s on my tail, and definitely not in front of Willow. Only the tears didn’t seem to care what I wanted—they were coming with or without my permission.
Lucas was gone.
There was no way he’d survived that fall; and even if he had, he wouldn’t have survived the Creepers waiting below. Without any sign of him, dead or alive, I was forced to finally admit the painful truth I’d been ignoring for days now—my little brother had been devoured, or he’d become one of the devourers. Either way, Lucas was gone.
I couldn’t believe it, but I knew I had to accept it or risk losing my mind entirely. Not that I was claiming any sort of sanity to begin with; I just knew that if I kept going like this—not sleeping, not eating, just desperately searching without even a hint of a trail—that it wouldn’t be long before this world swallowed me up too.
With a frustrated growl, I started walking again, forcing myself through a bout of grief so stifling it felt as if I were wading through quicksand. With each step forward, my breaths eventually came easier, my steps quicker. Once I had myself under some semblance of control, I glanced back at Willow, blinking in surprise when I didn’t immediately spot her. Shading my eyes, finding her sprawled on the ground, my surprise turned quickly to dread.
Running, I skidded to a sliding stop beside her. Untangling her from her pack, I rolled her onto her back, pushing her braids from her face. “Willow! Willow, wake up!”
I could see now that she was still breathing, but it was ragged and dry, and heat was rolling off her skin in hot, heavy waves. Her color was way off—too dark around her eyes, wan over her cheeks and around her mouth.
“Willow?” I lightly slapped her cheeks, trying to rouse her.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her dry lips parted. “I feel sick,” she whispered.
“Yeah, I can see that. Is it your stomach—like the flu or something?”
The Blood that Binds (Thicker than Blood Book 3) Page 7