“Dad!”
Al lifted his gaze, focusing on his son, and when Angus saw how milky his irises had become, he tightened his grip on his knife.
A second later, Luke dropped to his knees next to his father. Al grabbed him, cupping the back of his neck and pulling him forward. Quickly, he’d kissed his son on the forehead, then turned his attention to Lila. Hauling her off him with only one hand wasn’t easy, but he’d managed. Then he kissed her on the cheek, whispered something in her ear, and shoved her toward Luke.
“Take your mom.”
His son had complied, holding Lila back even as she continued to repeat that one word over and over, then Al was on his feet. He’d grabbed Charlie’s hand and pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her. She was crying but not clinging to him the way Lila had, and after he’d pressed one kiss to her forehead, he let her go and stepped back.
“Don’t look,” he’d told his family then turned to Angus. “Do it. Now.”
Angus had nodded, too choked up to speak. He’d been shocked by how much his hand trembled when he lifted his knife, and he forced himself to take a deep breath in hopes of steadying his nerves.
Then he’d gripped Al by the back of the neck to hold him still, aimed the blade at his friend’s eye, and said, “I’m sorry.”
The blade of Angus’s knife sank into Al’s eye, cutting through the milky iris and penetrating his brain. The body dropped, taking the knife with it, and Angus had stumbled back. He was breathing heavily, as if killing his friend had exerted a lot of effort, and he found it impossible to look away from Al’s body. He’d been just a teenager when Angus met him, only seventeen, and even though more than thirty years had passed, all Angus could picture was that kid. The one who’d smiled non-stop, who’d loved zombie fiction, who’d bravely demanded that Joshua amputate his arm when he was bitten. Balls of steel, that was what Angus had thought of him that day, and his opinion hadn’t changed. Al was one of the bravest people Angus had ever had the honor of knowing, but he was gone now. Just like Axl.
“It’s time,” he heard Parv say, and the words finally pulled him back to the present.
Luke still had his mother in his arms and both of them were on the ground, staring up at Charlie. She was standing over them, her face streaked with tears and her shirt soaked with blood, and in the time it had taken Angus to kill her father, she’d changed drastically. Her normal skin tone was light brown, but now it had paled until it looked as if all the color had been sucked from her. Her brown irises were barely detectable through the milky haze that had settled over her eyes, and dark veins had begun to creep up her neck.
Lila let out a moan and hid her face in her son’s chest.
Charlie was breathing heavily when Parv stepped toward her, and she’d shaken her head. “I’m not ready. I’m not ready.”
“We have to do it soon,” Parv told her. “If you come back, you could kill one of us. You know that.”
Charlie looked toward Angus, her eyes wide with terror. “Don’t let her kill me.”
“We gotta,” Angus had said, his voice soothing but strained with emotion. “Be brave, now.”
Tears leaked from Charlies eyes as she glanced around, acting like she was looking for a way to escape. Other people from the settlement had come to watch, and they stepped back, wanting to put distance between themselves and the rapidly changing woman.
“You can’t,” Charlie said again. “You can’t.”
Footsteps approached from behind Angus, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the panicked girl so he could see who it was. A second later, Megan passed him, a knife in her hand. Her dark hair had been a tangled mess and her clothes wrinkled like she’d just thrown them on, and she was barefoot, but her back was straight when she stopped in front of her cousin.
“Meg,” Charlie had said, crying again, reaching out, “Megan. They want to kill me. Don’t let them kill me.”
Megan grasped her cousin’s hand. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Charlie held on to Megan as she fell to her knees, pulling her cousin down with her. Her shoulders were shaking, her sobs sounding like they were ripping their way out of her. She was gasping for air, making it impossible for anyone to hear what Megan was saying, but Angus knew his niece was talking, because he could see her lips moving.
After a second, Charlie started nodding, and by then, more veins had appeared under her skin, climbing up her face and making Angus’s heart beat harder. They were running out of time.
“I know you’re scared,” Angus heard Megan say, “but we have to. You know we do. I’ll be here with you, though. The whole time. I won’t let you go.”
“Promise?” Charlie had sobbed as she pulled Megan closer. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Megan said.
She’d looked up at Parv and given a small dip of her head. Charlie was in Megan’s arms, cradled against her body when Parv stepped forward. The terrified girl’s eyes were closed, and her head was resting on Megan’s shoulder when Parv positioned the knife at the back of Charlie’s head, right at the base of her neck. Megan, too, had closed her eyes.
Angus watched as his wife shoved the blade into Charlie’s skull. The girl’s body went rigid, her milky eyes flying open, then the life drained from her face and it was over.
Megan tried to hold her up, but she’d been crying too hard and had to ease her cousin’s body to the ground.
Everything seemed to happen at once then. Vivian knelt beside Lila and took her from Luke’s arms, who was replaced a second later by his wife, Kelly. Donaghy had helped Megan up and was holding her, and Parv moved so she was beside Angus. Like the others, he took her in his arms, and they all stood beside their dead friends in silence, hugging each other. Comforting each other, trying not to break, and Angus had found himself wondering when it would ever stop. Would the death and heartbreak ever end, or would it rip them apart for good? One or the other had to happen soon, because things couldn’t keep going on like this. Or so he’d thought.
After that night, they never went outside after dark again.
Chapter Eighteen
Angus gave Naya a condensed version of the story even though every moment of the night replayed itself in his mind in excruciating detail. The girl didn’t need to hear about how Parv had sobbed as he held her that night after they’d gone to bed or be reminded of the fact that Lila had never been the same, because none of those things mattered now.
A raindrop hit him on the side of the face, and he looked up. Like it was as affected by the story as he’d been, the sky had darkened while he talked, and the clouds now looked swollen and angry. Any minute they would open up. It was time to find a place.
“Let’s go,” he said then started walking again.
Angus chose a house in the middle of the settlement, two streets away from the wall on one side and three on the other. Like the others they’d passed, every window was broken, the yard was overgrown, and ivy covered most of the front porch and steps, but there was one main difference. This one had a front door.
“This’ll do,” he said, not even bothering to glance at his companion before climbing the stairs.
The wooden steps creaked under his weight, giving a little as if they were thinking about collapsing, but mercifully, he made it to the porch without falling through. It, too, bowed when Angus put his foot down, and there were even a couple places where the wood had rotted, leaving behind gaping holes where weeds poked up as if trying to say hello.
Angus didn’t pause before turning the knob and pushing the door open, but he did hesitate to step inside. He held his breath for a moment, listening, and was greeted by the faint scratch of tiny feet as rodents scurried for cover. It was a good sign. If one of the creatures was using this house as its den, the animals would avoid it.
Still, he paused again when he took a step inside, inhaling slowly as he looked around. The air was stuffy and tickled his nostrils, and long dead leaves and dirt crowded every corner. Cobwebs
were strung across the ceiling, and the furniture was rotten to near uselessness, but assuming they could find an interior room with no windows, the house would probably work for one night.
Outside, the ping of raindrops slamming onto the roof and gutters had taken over the silence, and the sky had darkened even more.
“Let’s find us a place.”
Naya followed without comment as Angus moved deeper into the house, her knife out and her eyes alert as they studied their surroundings. Most of the rooms on the main floor no longer had doors, but he opened the few that were still intact, hoping to find a basement. One concealed a closet, and another led to a garage—the exterior door was torn from the hinges, making it useless to them—but none to a room that would help keep them safe. Angus sighed and looked around, finally moving toward the stairs.
They creaked in protest as he climbed but seemed sturdier than the ones outside had. At the top, he paused again and looked around. Every door was open or missing except one, and faint, hazy light streamed into the hall through the doorways, telling him none of those rooms would do.
He headed for the single closed door at the end of the hall, but he hadn’t even made it halfway when it flew open. It slammed against the wall with a thud that echoed through the house, and Naya screamed as something rushed toward them. Angus had his knife out in a flash, and he didn’t think. He just acted. He brought the weapon forward, stabbing it toward his attacker, but it wasn’t until after the blade sank into flesh that he realized it was a man rushing toward them, not one of the creatures.
Angus released the knife, his hands trembling, his heart pounding in his ears, his mouth hanging open. The man he’d stabbed let out a groan and stumbled back, his hands going his stomach. His eyes were wide and confused as he stared at Angus. Like he’d never seen another human being before that moment.
“You’re real,” was all he managed to get out before dropping to the floor.
“Shit.” That snapped Angus out of his stupor, and he hurried to the guy’s side, dropping to his knees and pushing filthy hands away from the injury. “Let me see.”
The man obeyed, but one look told Angus it was useless. The knife was lodged in his gut. A fatal injury.
“You’re real,” the man said again, drawing Angus’s gaze to his face.
The man lifted a trembling hand, filthy with grime and coated in his own blood, and touched the tips of his fingers to Angus’s cheek. His expression was full of awe, causing a bubble of emotion to rise in Angus’s throat.
“I’m real,” he whispered.
He didn’t push the man’s hand away despite the dirt caked under his nails or the blood covering his fingertips, and he didn’t let the guy go. The stranger’s head was in Angus’s lap, his body cradled in his arms like they were old friends.
“It’s been so long,” the man said, his fingers running over Angus’s cheek again.
There was no way this guy had been alone for as long as Angus had, but he still understood the awe the stranger felt at seeing another person. It was impossible to judge how old he was. His face was too filthy, too streaked with dirt, and his beard and hair too wild, but he wasn’t young. The gray at his temples confirmed that. Had he, like Angus, been alone for years? Had he given up hope of ever speaking to another person again?
The man winced and sucked in a pained breath, and the pool of blood collecting under him grew, spreading across the wooden floor and soaking into the cracks. Angus had killed more men than he cared to think about, but it had been a long time since he’d had to watch the life go out of someone’s eyes and know he was responsible for it. The last time had been Star, and it had been a bitterly satisfying moment. Nothing like this. Nothing like watching a stranger who’d only wanted company die from his actions.
One gasp, then another. The man’s body tensed, his face twisting in pain, and then the light drained from his eyes and he went slack. It was over.
Angus allowed the man’s limp body to slip from his lap.
He exhaled and leaned against the wall at his back, closing his eyes.
Would God ever stop torturing him?
“Angus?” Naya’s voice was soft, hesitant.
He opened his eyes and found her sympathetic gaze focused on him.
“It was an accident.”
“Don’t mean I can’t feel bad.” He only stayed down for a second longer before dragging himself to his feet and moving toward the stairs. “Gotta find us a different house now. The blood is gonna draw ’em.”
Again, Naya followed without comment.
They left the house and walked down the street, icy drops of water hitting them as they went, and even though the girl said nothing, Angus could feel her gaze on him. She stayed silent, though, following him into another house, this one without a front door but in much the same shape as the other one had been. They searched the first floor and, finding a basement, headed into the darkness. Feet scratched and scurried for cover, telling Angus they were once again safe from bumping into a creature. At the bottom of the stairs, he took the little pack of matches from his pocket and lit one, allowing it to flare to life and light up the room. They were in luck. It was a finished basement, and someone must have used it as shelter at some point, because a deadbolt had been installed and was still in good shape.
He held the match up as they crossed to the couches, the flame burning out just as they reached them. Which was fine with him. He needed the cover of darkness right now. It would give him the chance to deal with what he’d just done.
Without having to discuss it, Naya settled onto the loveseat while Angus dropped onto the couch. It was musty, but not horrible, and would do for one night.
Protected by the darkness, Naya cleared her throat. “Have you killed anyone before?”
“Too many.” He pulled the bow and arrows off, then his backpack, dropping them to the floor next beside the couch. “They was all bad, though. All of ’em people who woulda killed me if I hadn’t killed them first.”
“My grandma told me stories about how bad it was in the beginning,” she said. “Her mom told her.”
“Sometimes, people seemed worse than the zombies.”
Naya didn’t respond right away.
Angus had gotten used to her contemplative silences, and he knew she wasn’t finished asking questions. She was just thinking things through before voicing her thoughts, which he appreciated. He had no problem telling her about his past for the most part. He owned his mistakes, all of them, but sometimes he needed a break from one painful conversation before moving on to the next.
“I’ve never had to kill anyone,” she finally said. “I’m not sure I could do it.”
“You could.” He dropped down so he was lying on his back, staring up into the darkness. “You’re a survivor. If it meant life or death, you’d kill.”
“Maybe,” she said, the words full of doubt, then she asked, “Did you ever kill anyone who wasn’t threatening your life?”
Angus swallowed the lump of pain and regret clogging his throat. “Once.”
He didn’t elaborate, but that didn’t stop the memories from rushing back. After years of being locked away, it seemed like nothing could prevent them from resurfacing now. Even when he had no desire to recall something, it bubbled to the surface like a geyser.
It had happened at the Monte Carlo, after the night he spent with Hadley.
One of the big guys who’d passed for guards had come to get her the next morning, and it had been nearly impossible for Angus to watch the asshole drag her toward the elevator and do nothing. He’d wanted to run after them, had wanted to beat the shit out of the guy. Slit his throat, even. In all his life, he’d never been as furious as he was at that moment, which was saying a lot. Once upon a time, Angus had lived on fury.
He’d forced himself to stay where he was until they were gone, though, standing in the doorway and watching in silence as a terrified Hadley was pulled into the elevator where she disappeared from sight. The se
cond the doors shut, he’d headed for the elevator. He’d been so amped up, and if he was going to get through the rest of the day, he needed to calm down. Getting a drink—or three—had been the only thing he could think to do.
Things in the Monte Carlo had been buzzing at all hours. The bar was always open—self-serve only—and the guys in charge had set up big screen televisions in several rooms on the first floor where men could gather to watch porn anytime they wanted. The moans and gasps seemed to follow Angus when he passed those rooms, amplifying his fury.
The casino was open, too, and people were gathered around tables playing cards, using things like cigarettes and packaged snacks and even condoms as currency. On a nearby stage, two barely dressed women danced, swaying to music as armed men stood at their sides, their hard leers letting everyone know they would be just as happy to shoot the women as they were watching them gyrate.
Angus had stood by the stage for a few seconds, watching the women with his fists clenched at his sides. Wanting to rip someone’s head off. He’d had no problem with strip clubs—hell, he’d been a frequent visitor—but the women he used to watch had signed up for the job. They hadn’t been prisoners who were forced to perform or die. This had made him sick.
He’d spit on the floor.
“Enjoying the show?” A man stopped at his side just then, slapping him on the back, his lips turned up into a smile and his eyes focused on the women.
It was the bald guy who’d greeted Angus and Axl when Jon first brought them to the Monte Carlo, and just like then, he was wearing a suit, which didn’t make a lick of sense to Angus. The world had ended, and there were zombies just outside their door, and the guy was walking around in a suit like he was on his way to the office.
Angus’s jaw had been too tense to get any words out.
When he didn’t respond, the bald guy had looked his way. Still grinning. “Worn out from last night?” He’d let out an amused chuckle and patted Angus on the shoulder again. “I can imagine. Honestly, I never found Hadley Lucas all that appealing before, but if the idea of sticking it to a movie star while she cries doesn’t get you going, you’re not human. Am I right?”
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 35