“Get behind me,” he said, not taking his eyes off the lion. “Now.”
Angus had no idea what Naya was thinking as she moved because he was too focused on the massive predator in front of them. He had his hand on the hilt of his knife, and he pulled it free when the lion started walking. It moved down the mountain, hopping from one boulder to the next with little effort. Its amber eyes were focused on him, its mane blowing in the wind.
He’d never seen a lion in person, and the sheer size of the cat took his breath away. Its paws were as big as his hand, its long, sharp claws poking from the fur as if taunting him. The animal’s muscles rippled under its tan fur as it walked, and when it opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth, Angus’s blood turned to ice. He’d fought off wild animals before, but nothing this big. The sheer size of the cat’s head overwhelmed him, and all he could picture was the animal chomping down on his arm, its jaw cutting through flesh and bone with little effort.
The lion jumped to the ground only four feet away from them. So close he could hear the click of its claws against the sandy ground. Angus stepped back, pushing Naya with him, the knife out in front of him as he tried to decide what to do. He’d always heard you should play dead if you came face to face with a bear, but he didn’t know if that was true or if it would work with other predators.
The bow and arrows were on his back, but when he shifted to grab them, the lion took a step closer. Knowing the cat might consider any big movement a sign of aggression, he decided not to go for it. If the cat lunged, there wouldn’t be enough time to free an arrow from the quiver and ready the bow, meaning he was better off relying on his knife. Even if it did look suddenly pathetic when compared to the beast in front of them.
Angus thought his options through as he took another step back, then another, each time forcing Naya to move as well. The lion stuck with him, though, matching his steps, but not lunging. He wasn’t sure if the animal was simply curious—it had probably never seen a human—or if it was stalking its prey, but he did know he was stuck. There was nowhere to run. No nearby buildings, no trees, and there was no way he’d be able to climb the mountain faster than the lion. What was more, if he ran, he would put Naya at risk. What option did that leave him? Only one. If the animal attacked, he’d have to defend himself. It was the only choice.
“What are you going to do?” Naya asked, her voice low. Trembling.
The lion’s ear twitched, and Angus stiffened. “Just stay behind me.”
He tightened his grip on the knife.
The lion lunged with no warning, and Angus acted on instinct. He shoved Naya back with one hand while planting his feet and bringing his other hand up, the knife pointed toward the advancing animal. He felt the blade sink in at the same time the animal’s claws slash across his chest. Their cries of pain were in unison, the lion roaring and Angus letting out a shout of agony. He pulled the blade free as the cat’s huge body slammed into him, bringing it down again as he fell. Warm blood sprayed across his face and chest, and pain bloomed in his bicep. He was only vaguely aware of the lion’s jaw locked on his arm, too focused on pulling his knife free so he could stab the animal again. Over and over he repeated the gesture. Stabbing, pulling his knife free, crying out in both pain and exertion with each blow. Claws sliced into his flesh as the lion fought back, and teeth cut into his arm even more, but Angus never stopped fighting. He stabbed and stabbed and stabbed until at long last, the lion’s hold on his arm loosened and the animal stumbled off him.
Angus was a bloody mess. More torn up than he’d been the day Vivian was killed or after the confrontation at the cabin. Every inch of him screamed in agony, and he couldn’t move. Darkness was settling in, shadowing his vision until he felt like he was falling down a deep, dark pit.
“Angus.” Hands shook him and he groaned. “Open your eyes. Please.”
Naya. His brain was fuzzy, but he registered the panic in her voice, the way her words trembled as if accompanied by tears, and he forced his eyes to open. Once they had, he found the girl hovering over him, her cheeks wet, snot dripping from her nose.
“You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” She lifted her head, focusing on something else, but he wasn’t sure what, then her gaze was on him once again. “It’s getting dark. You have to get up.”
She pulled on his arm. Not the one the lion had chewed, but it still hurt enough that his vision began to swim. She was insistent, though, tugging on him, urging him to move, and somehow, he found himself on his feet. She put his arm around her shoulders and started moving, her arms wrapped around his damaged body to keep him up.
“Hang on,” Naya said, her voice panicked and strained. “Just hang on until we can find somewhere safe.”
There wasn’t anywhere. Even as out of it as he was, Angus knew that. He’d fought hard and he’d done what he could to protect Naya, but it hadn’t been enough. Nothing he’d ever done in his life had been, and just like with everyone else he’d loved, he’d failed her. He’d sworn he would keep her safe, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. He was worthless, just like his mother had always said.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words slurred. “I tr-tried. I tried.”
He stumbled, and Naya grunted, somehow managing to keep him on his feet. He had no clue how she was doing it, though. She was so small.
“Don’t say that,” the girl replied, the words a growl. “Don’t act like this is the end. You can heal. I’ve seen it.”
She was right, but that meant finding a place to rest. It meant not being outside when the sun set, which was looking less and less likely by the second.
Angus’s eyes were slitted, giving him a narrow view of the world around them, and no matter how hard he tried to open them wider, he couldn’t. All he could see was brown. Dirt and boulders and dead bushes. There was nothing in this part of the country. Nowhere to hide.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
His foot hit something hard, and he pitched forward. Naya grunted and she tried to hold on, tried to keep him up, but she wasn’t strong enough. He went down, slamming into the dusty earth. He was on his side, and his already battered body ached when he rolled onto his back. He was gasping for breath, feeling like he couldn’t get enough air no matter how many times he tried to fill his lungs. The act felt useless, foolish.
“Open your eyes,” he heard her say from far away.
Hands shook him, but he barely registered it. He was dying. Finally. For years he’d hoped and prayed for it, but now that the moment was here, Angus didn’t want it. He didn’t want to slip away knowing he was leaving Naya alone and vulnerable.
“You gotta go,” he said, the words a whisper on his lips. “Go. Hide.”
“I can’t leave you,” she said between hiccupped sobs. “You can do it. You can hold on.”
“It’s too late.” This time, he wasn’t even sure if he’d said the words out loud.
“No.”
It was the last thing he heard before darkness enveloped him and he mercifully slipped into unconsciousness.
He felt hands tugging on him, felt pain radiate through his body, but he was barely conscious, making opening his eyes or talking impossible. He was moving, but not on his own. Despite the blackness surrounding him, Angus was aware of the fact that his legs weren’t working. His arms, too, lay limply at his sides, and he felt like he was floating—as crazy as the idea was.
It took a few minutes to realize what exactly was going on, but then all at once it hit him. He hadn’t suddenly developed superpowers, and he wasn’t floating. He was being carried. Somehow, against all odds, Naya was carrying him.
Angus fought against the pain clouding his brain, but his body refused to allow him to wake up. Even in his half-conscious state he understood it was a defense mechanism, got that it was his body’s way of trying to protect him from the agony of his injuries. He still fought it, though, still tried to force his eyes open, tried to force his lips to form the questions clawing at hi
s fuzzy brain. It didn’t work, and soon he felt himself sinking back into the darkness, but not before he heard a voice he didn’t recognize.
“You said he can survive this?”
It was a man’s voice.
It was the last thought to go through his brain before the world slipped away once again.
“Angus,” a soft voice whispered.
“Parv,” he mumbled, sure it was a dream or another memory—despite the throbbing radiating through his body.
He tried to sit up, but an icy hand touched his face. “Don’t move. Not yet. You still need to rest.” Something cool touched his lips. “You need water, though. Your lips are cracked.”
He wanted to tell Parv he didn’t need water, something he hadn’t known about himself until after she’d died, but he couldn’t form the words, and then it didn’t matter because the liquid was being poured into his mouth. The second it hit his tongue he began to gulp it down. He hadn’t known how dry his throat was until that moment, hadn’t registered the scratchy, parched feeling, too overwhelmed by the throbbing pain in the rest of his body. The cool water was soothing, though, like ice on a burn, and even though the simple act of swallowing wore him out, he didn’t want to stop. He thought he might be able to drink an entire lake and still feel parched.
Too soon, though, the water was taken away.
“Now, go back to sleep,” the woman he now knew wasn’t Parv said.
There was a rustle as someone moved, followed by the whisper of voices, then Angus once again slipped into blackness.
This happened again an indeterminable amount of time later. Then again. And again. Each time Angus was unable to open his eyes or figure out how long he’d been unconscious, but he had the sense that a lot of time had passed. He was getting stronger, although slowly, but it wasn’t until the third or fourth time he awakened that he realized he was in a bed.
“Don’t try to sit up,” the same female voice told him.
He had no desire to sit up, because he was with it enough to realize that somehow Naya had gotten him to a safe place. Not only that, but there were other people. Other living, breathing humans. He knew because the woman who was at that moment feeding him water wasn’t Parv, but it wasn’t the girl, either. This woman was older, her voice more mature.
He gulped the water down, his throat less parched than it had been the first time but still dry, then sucked in a mouthful of air and said, “Where am I?”
“Our shelter,” a different voice said. This one male. “Don’t worry. Naya is okay, and you’re safe. Just rest.”
“We can talk after you’ve healed,” the woman who’d given him water added.
Angus nodded once, took another deep breath, then allowed the darkness to engulf him again.
The first time he was able to open his eyes, he found himself surrounded by near blackness and in a large bedroom lit by a few flickering candles. They gave off a soft glow that barely illuminated the space, yet he was able to make out the dresser across from the bed—a mirror above it. A door to the left led into a dark bathroom, while the door to the right seemed to lead into a hallway. The room was oddly familiar even though he’d never been there before, and the sensation was both jarring and welcome, because he instinctively felt safe.
There was no one in sight, and the utter silence told him he was alone, which was different than the other times he’d awakened. Of course, those times he’d been roused from sleep—or unconsciousness—by someone. This time, he’d woken on his own.
He cleared his throat and called out, “Hello?”
Only silence followed.
Angus lay there for a while, taking stock of his body while he waited for someone to check on him. His muscles ached from disuse, but the pain from his injuries had faded to almost nothing, and when he lifted his hands, the dim light from the candles allowed him to inspect the cuts on his arms. They were nothing but scabs and scars now, and when he reached up to probe the areas he couldn’t see, he found the same thing. Only the biggest injury, the place where the lion had bitten into his arm, was still bandaged, but even it didn’t feel that bad.
He’d survived yet again.
Time slipped by, and no one showed up. He sipped water from a glass that had been left on the bedside table, managed to choke down a few pieces of dried meat, and relieved himself with the help of a bottle that he was certain had been left for that purpose. The simple acts wore him out, and when still no one came, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.
The next time he woke, the room was no brighter, but before he’d even come to completely, he knew he wasn’t alone. He opened his eyes and looked around, his gaze stopping on the chair in the corner where a gnarled old woman sat.
“You’re awake,” she said.
This was not the same voice from before.
Angus cleared his throat, but the words still came out gravelly. “I am.”
The woman nodded once as she dragged herself to her feet with what looked like great effort—aided by a wooden cane. Despite her slightly hunched shoulders, she was taller than Angus had expected. Her skin was weathered and wrinkled, the lines around her eyes deep and the skin beneath puffy from age. Freckles and sunspots dotted her face, neck, and hands, and her long hair—pulled into a braid that went to the middle of her back—was nearly white.
Her gaze took him in when she stopped at his side, her brown eyes curious and tinged with doubt. “The girl, Naya, claims you are Angus James.”
“That’s right.”
More doubt flashed in her eyes, and her mouth turned down. “I’m ninety-three years old, and while I’ve never met Angus James, I do know he was older than me.” She looked him over again, her frown becoming more exaggerated as she did. “You can’t be older than seventy.”
“Ain’t exactly sure how old I am,” he began. “I got no idea how much time has passed.”
The woman shifted, putting more of her weight on the cane, her gaze holding his the entire time. “It’s been eighty-two years since the world turned into hell on Earth.”
Eighty-two years?
Angus found it difficult to wrap his head around the number. It seemed too long and too short at the same time. On one hand, the decades he’d spent alone—nearly five, if this woman was to be trusted—had felt like centuries, but thanks to the current resurgence of memories, he also felt as if only months had passed since he’d had to watch his loved ones die.
“You sure?” he asked. “You sure it’s been eighty-two years?”
The woman’s frown deepened, and he got the sense she didn’t like being questioned. “No mistaking it. I was eleven when the dead came back, thirty-one when they started dying off. My body may be giving out, but my mind is still as sharp as a blade.”
Having no reason to doubt her, Angus found himself nodding as he worked the numbers in his head. He’d been thirty-five years old when he and Axl left Tennessee, which meant he was a hundred and seventeen years old now. No wonder she doubted him.
“You’re still going to stick with this story of yours?” the woman asked when he said nothing.
“Ain’t nothin’ I can do ’bout it.”
He shifted to a sitting position and she took a step back like she was afraid he might attack.
“Angus James would be over a hundred years old,” the woman said, her eyes narrowing. “As I said, you don’t look older than seventy, so you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t believe you.”
“You’re gonna believe what you want, I suppose,” he responded, once again thinking of that day in the cellar. The first time he was bitten and Vivian told him she thought there was more to him. He’d told her she was wrong, but it turned out, he was the one who’d been mistaken. So very, very mistaken.
When the old woman pressed her wrinkly lips together, Angus could tell she still didn’t believe him.
“Explain how it’s possible,” she insisted, her tone firmer than before, her hands folded on the cane and all her weight pressed into it like i
t was the only thing keeping her from falling over.
“I survived a bite, didn’t I?” He gestured to the scars on his bare chest. “More than one.”
“You aren’t the only one who can do that.” The old woman waved a bony hand in the air, and her brown eyes flashed as she lifted her arm, turning it so Angus could see the crescent shaped scar on her forearm.
He blinked, his exhausted mind taking a moment to register what he was seeing, but unable to deny the truth once it sank in. It was a bite. Old and faded, but unmistakable.
“You’re immune, too.”
“I am,” the woman replied, “Although it’s been some years since it mattered.”
“You’re lucky the CDC didn’t get their mitts on you.”
Her expression changed, some of the doubt melting away and something else taking its place. Curiosity. “Not for lack of trying.”
“That so?” Angus asked, suddenly as curious as she was.
“A man tried to take me back to Atlanta when I was twenty, about nine years into the apocalypse. I got away, thanks to the help of some other immune people.”
“Nine years,” Angus said, frowning as the memories from that time came rushing back in a wave of agony and pain that had nothing to do with his physical wounds. “’Bout that time I was livin’ in a hell you can’t even imagine.”
The old woman’s gaze brimmed with curiosity. “In the CDC?”
He nodded, only wincing a little when pain throbbed through him. “It’s ’cause of what they did to me in there that I can heal the way I can. Why I can’t die.”
Her posture changed, relaxed a little, and an expression of awe crossed her face as she looked him over. He was shirtless, his many scars clearly visible, and it must have been enough to convince her, because there was no doubt in her voice when she spoke again. “You’re really him, then? Angus James?”
“That I am.”
“I can’t believe it.” The old woman shook her head. “I’ve heard so much about you, but I never would have imagined you were still alive.”
Angus let out a snort that made him sound like the man he used to be. The man who could cut people in half with his words. There was no bitterness in him, though. It made sense that this woman should doubt him. Hell, half the time he doubted he was Angus James. It didn’t feel possible after all this time.
Broken World | Novel | Angus Page 42