The White Rabbit Chronicles

by Gena Showalter

  I knew what I needed to do, and palmed a second blade. Take out as many as I could and run, just as my dad had said. Don’t think anymore. Just act. I jumped, somersaulting over the zombies. When I landed, my knees knocked together, jarring me, rattling my brain against my skull, but I swiftly turned, my arm arcing, both weapons slashing. I nailed a male in the throat so deeply his spine got a nice introduction to the knife’s hilt. A roar ripped from him as he careened to the side.

  There wasn’t time to place my hand on his chest to try and flame broil him. The female batted at me, striking me across the cheek. I stumbled, tripped over something solid and fell. I meant to leap to my feet, I really did. Meant to work my way back up the tree and repeat that little vaulting/neck-slashing trick. Except, strong arms shot out from behind me, wrapping around my waist and holding me down.

  Teeth embedded in my shoulder. I screamed as agonizing pain seared me, flames seeming to lick over me, driving out the cold. My eyesight hazed, and my muscles clenched into hard little knots.

  “Ankh,” I shouted. “Cole.” No footsteps sounded, no big strong man rushed to the rescue.

  This couldn’t be the end. I’d faced death several times before and come out okay. I would again.

  “I will kill you!” I shouted, furious that I’d allowed myself to become this helpless. “You’re dead!”

  To my utter shock, my right hand instantly heated, glowing with the same concentrated white light as the smears. I reached up to grab the zombie still nibbling on my shoulder, but only managed to brush my fingertips against his forehead.

  That was enough.

  He burst into ash.

  Dark particles rained down, the glow fading from my hand. My shock magnified. Why had... How had... We’ve learned that whatever we speak while in spirit form happens, as long as it doesn’t violate someone’s free will and as long as we believe it.

  Cole’s words filled my mind.

  I tried to stand but couldn’t find the strength. Zombies...everywhere...all around me...

  “Stay away!” I shouted.

  They glanced at my hand, saw that the glow was fading...gone...and dove for me, pinning me down. Just like that, it was Open Season on Ali. I tried to push Bridezilla away, but she leaned down and bit me. They all bit and bit and bit.

  “Let go! I’ll...kill...”

  No one obeyed, and my hand did not fire back up. Another starburst of pain blistered through me. I released another scream, this one so shrill I was sure my eardrums would bleed for eternity.

  A very short eternity.

  I was alone, already bitten countless times. They were like animals, groaning in ecstasy, sinking those teeth in, shaking me as though they were dogs and I was their favorite bone. I was a goner.

  Maim...kill...destroy...

  The words filled my mind, some kind of slick, sulfur-scented oil seeming to fill my veins, coat my skin.

  Maim...I should maim someone, I thought dazedly.

  Kill...I should kill someone.

  Destroy...I should destroy EVERYTHING.

  Bridezilla’s jaw suddenly slackened. My arm fell onto the ground, limp, useless. Rattling leaves, pounding footsteps. The zombie chomping on my shoulder abandoned me. More rattling, a swish of air, a terrible roar. I tried to sit up, but again I couldn’t manage it. The burning hadn’t stopped, hadn’t even dulled. Had only increased.

  Something divine suddenly scented the air. My mouth watered. A taste. I wanted a taste of it. Would main, kill and destroy for it.

  A sting shot through my neck. A heavy weight settled over me.

  The dark desires dulled. The “something divine” morphed into something wretched. Bile burned a path up my throat, and I gagged.

  “Oh, Ali,” I heard Cole say, dread dripping from his voice. Gentle fingers brushed over my face, lifted and turned my arm to survey the damage. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left you. I’m sorry. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “I don’t know how she knew,” a man lashed out, “but she caught several in our traps.” His voice was unrecognizable to me.

  Those gentle fingertips returned to my face. “Every zombie that attacked you is dead, Ali. I promise you. They paid.”

  “We need to get her out of here.” Frosty had said that, I think.

  “I’ll take her,” Cole proclaimed, and the words were so sharp I knew no one would dare contradict him. “You take care of her grandparents.”

  Take care of my grandparents how? Arms slid underneath me, hefting me up. With the movement, the burn those chomping zombie teeth had left behind intensified, and I whimpered.

  “I’ve got you,” Cole said. “I won’t let anything else happen to you.”

  Hours seemed to pass before we broke through the trees. Suddenly I could hear party sounds: muffled voices, laughter, fast pounding music, even splashing. Kids must be swimming.

  I struggled against Cole, hurting myself further but not caring. I didn’t want anyone to see me. As strong as he was, I made no progress.

  “Settle down,” he said softly. “There’s an underground passage into the room you and Kat discovered. We’ll be able to doctor you there. No one will see you, I swear. And you will recover, do you hear me? I’ve already administered the antidote. You need other treatment, but the worst that will happen is you’ll miss your curfew and be grounded for a few weeks.”

  Maybe so, but my grandparents would worry every minute that I was late, and that I wouldn’t allow. “Need...call...” I managed to grit out. The pain...it was too much...too much... “Can’t...let...”

  “Frosty will drug your grandparents, okay? Without scaring them,” he added, probably knowing I’d protest otherwise. “They’ll never even know he was there. They’ll get a good night’s rest, and wake up nice and refreshed in the morning. They’ll still know you missed curfew, there’s nothing I can do about that since it’s twelve twenty-five, and Frosty won’t get there for another fifteen, but they won’t know what time you actually came home.”

  His voice had begun to echo. We must be in a tunnel. The underground passage, probably. If I screamed—and I really really wanted to scream—the sound of my agony would echo into eternity and Cole would forever remember me as a wuss. Can’t let that happen.

  But I wasn’t sure what was worse. The potential blow to my ego, or the fact that I felt as if I’d fallen into hell’s fire.

  When Cole stopped, I barely managed to turn the waiting scream into a hiss. I heard another patter of footsteps, then the whine of hinges. Then he was moving again, and I was being laid on top of a cold, hard surface. Suddenly there were voices all around me, both male and female.

  “How many got to her?”

  “Eight that I saw. Could have been more. A nest of them chased her through the grounds.”

  “How long were they able to feed on her?”

  “Don’t know. But she and I were separated for no more than an hour, so it’s gotta be less than that.”

  “Any survivors?”

  “No, sir.” Pride in his tone, followed by the barest of pauses. “How bad are Ali’s injuries?”

  The next pause was brutal, fraying what remained of my nerves. “Very. What they got into her spirit is now in her muscles. If it sinks into her bones...”

  Cole released a spat of dark curses.

  Must be a very bad thing. “Help...me,” I managed. Stop talking to each other and help me! Every second was worse than the last.

  My shirt was cut away, maybe even my bra. I hurt too much to care who was getting a peep show. For that matter, I hurt too much to care about my rep. I screamed, vocalizing the sharpest edges of my torment. Whoever was stripping me never paused. My boots and jeans were discarded in a hurry.

  Something cold probed the wound in my neck, and my entire body bowed as I released another scream. The pain... I’d only thought I knew what it was before. This was true pain. Pain in its purest form. Pain, pain, pain.

  “Knock her out!” Cole shouted.
r />   Another question poised at the edge of my mind, but it refused to crystallize. It bothered me, whatever it was. Made me uneasy, even queasy. Or maybe that was the zombie toxin or the antidote or whatever was working through me.

  After a pinch in my upper arm, something warm began to wash through me. Dizziness overshadowed that sense of pain, distracting me, and suddenly I was floating through a sea of soft clouds.

  Floating...

  ...away...

  * * *

  ...floating...

  ...back...

  I fought the return to my body. I wanted to stay in this vast realm of nothingness, where troubles were a thing of the past and nothing could hurt me. But I lost this fight the same way I’d lost the fight with the zombies.

  Zombies.

  The word was a tether, drawing me back for good. I dropped...settling in...unable to escape.

  My stomach clenched, shooting a blistering sting up and another down. A moan left me. My brain felt like a big, heaping bowl of Jell-O, and my eyelids felt as if they’d been glued together. I had to force them to part by blinking rapidly. I tried to focus. I could hear a quiet beep, beep in the background. Could smell the strong odor of room cleaner overlaid by the rank scent of rot.

  A too-bright light hung above me, swinging back and forth. Last thing I remembered was the party, the zombies. Running, being chased, fighting. Teeth sinking into me. How had I gotten here? For that matter, where was here?

  My heartbeat picked up speed, and the beeping sounds followed suit. I attempted to sit up but something caught on my wrists, holding me down. I twisted to look, cried out. The skin in my neck and arm pulled tight, shooting knifelike pains through every inch of me.

  “Calm down,” someone said.

  Not alone. Stiffening, I searched the room. The speaker was hidden from view. “Who’s there?”

  “And stay still,” someone else added. “You don’t want to rip your stitches.”

  “Besides, you can’t get free.” A female voice I recognized but couldn’t quite place. “You’re restrained.”

  Restrained? At last my gaze zeroed in on my wrists. They were at my sides, cuffed to the gurney. Calm down? As if! “Let me go! Now!” The words scraped at my throat like glass shards in a blender.

  “If you won’t calm down on your own, I’ll drug you again, and you’ll be completely helpless. Do you want to be completely helpless, Miss Bell?”

  Reeve’s dad, Mr. Ankh, walked around a curtain. He’d traded in his suit for bloodstained scrubs and a lab coat. A stethoscope dangled from his neck. His dark hair stood on end, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

  Beside him stepped a taller man with dark, though no less disheveled, hair. His features were rougher, the shadow of a beard on his jaw. His eyes were an electric blue, and his nose had a slight bump in the center. His face and arms were streaked with dirt, and yet his hands were scrubbed clean.

  Beside him stepped Dr. Wright, who had thin, horn-rimmed glasses perched on her nose and her arms crossed over her middle. She’d ditched her dress for a large button-up shirt and sweatpants so long they’d had to be pinned at the ankles. Somehow, she appeared no less authoritative.

  “How are you feeling, Ali?” she asked. “You’ve been out for most of the night.”

  “I feel like I want someone to let me go. Here’s a hint. That someone is you!”

  A newcomer spoke out. “They’re just going to ask you some questions. The sooner you let them start, the sooner you’ll be released.”

  Tensing, I watched as Cole eased through the open door. He hadn’t changed his clothes, even though blood streaked his T-shirt and jeans. My blood, I think. A white ball cap perched on his head, his dark hair sticking out in spikes underneath. Shadows fell over his face, blocking his eyes from inspection.

  “Who is he?” I demanded, motioning to the only one I didn’t know with a tilt of my chin.

  “My father. His name is Tyler.”

  My eyes widened as I refocused on the rougher-looking adult. Now that I knew there was a connection, I could tell that his features were similar to Cole’s. Same slightly uptilted eyes, same stubborn chin.

  I forced myself to relax against the hard surface of the bed and gave a stiff nod. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

  Mr. Holland jumped in first. I just couldn’t think of him as Tyler. It was too informal, too friendly when he was clearly anything but. “How did you know where those traps were? Because I’m thinking there’s no way you could have known where we’d set up an ambush unless you’d been spying on us.”

  To tell the truth, or not to tell the truth? Maybe seeing glowing smears was a sign I was meant to be a slayer—one of those “many more” abilities the journal had mentioned. Maybe not. Maybe it would end all the antagonism lancing my way. Or maybe not. Maybe the antagonism would grow.

  Either way, I did it; I explained the glowing smears. Their expressions remained rigid and harsh, even when they looked at each other, as though curious to know what everyone else thought.

  They had me describe the smears, and I tried not to use a you-are-such-an-idiot-what-do-you-think-they-looked-like tone. They had me pick out the color from a chart on a laptop. Who could have known there were so many shades of white? They drilled me about my father, about the things he’d said and done, and then about the grandfather I’d never met.

  “I think I know what you saw,” Mr. Ankh said. “Or rather, what caused the glow.”

  When he said no more, I snapped, “Well. What?”

  He and Mr. Holland shared a dark look before Mr. Holland nodded and Mr. Ankh said, “The Blood Lines.”

  Cole had mentioned the pouring of a chemical around a home to keep the zombies out. But why would they mark the trees?

  Mr. Holland flicked his tongue over an incisor. “The zombies are coming out when they shouldn’t, just to hunt you. Why is that?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “Why don’t you tell me? You obviously know more about this stuff than I do.”

  He stopped flicking and started growling. “You have to know something. How else would you have survived so many attacks?”

  Anger exploded through me, a white-hot lance consuming everything in its path. “Are you suggesting I’m working with the zombies? That I paid them to pretend to attack me so that I’d trick you into letting me join you?”

  “Did you?” Mr. Holland demanded.

  “Yeah, okay,” I said in a sugar-sweet tone. “You’re right. I was having dinner with Zombie Carl the other night. You know, steaks, rare, and a bottle of vintage type A. He told me all his secrets, but too bad for you I promised him I wouldn’t tell. In exchange I asked him to gather his best undead buddies and stalk me through my friend’s yard. And oh, yeah, it was totally fine if they wanted to use me as an all-night dinner buffet, because having organs is so last season.”

  Cole turned away, and I heard a dubious choking sound coming from his direction. Was he...laughing at me?

  How dare he! This was my life we were talking about.

  I should have zipped my lips to prevent myself from adding fuel to his amusement but my anger urged me on. “You know, there’s a very good chance I’m the best fighter in this room. Did you ever think of that?” Never mind the fact that I’d almost died. “Maybe, if you were better, you wouldn’t be so surprised when someone exhibits extraordinary abilities.”

  All three adults gaped at me.

  “Just so we’re clear,” I said to Cole’s father, “what exactly is it you suspect me of doing? What is it you think I’ve already done? You haven’t said. Do you think I’m going to tattle to the humans Justin Silverstone works with? Well, I won’t. Their motives are questionable, according to Cole, and I have too much to lose.”

  I waited, but they offered no response. They merely stared at me, waiting. My mom had used the same technique, and I knew they hoped I would fill the silence by spilling secrets.

  “Do you treat all newcomers like this?” I asked. “Did you chai
n up Mackenzie and question her before you accepted her into your exhalted home?”

  “Uh-oh,” Cole muttered. “The questions have started in earnest.”

  I ignored him.

  “Cole says you’re the most curious person he’s ever met.” Mr. Holland massaged the back of his neck, an action I’d seen Cole do on more than one occasion. “But if you think we’ll answer without proof of your intentions, you’re as dumb as a box of rocks. Justin betrayed us. He taught those people how to hunt the zombies—how to hunt us. They aren’t the type to take no for an answer, and they certainly wouldn’t think twice about sending a teenage girl into our midst to destroy us from the inside. They want us gone, not the zombies.”

  “Why?”

  “Why else? We fight them, hinder their research.”

  I didn’t point out that he was the one who was dumb as a box of rocks. He’d just answered one of my questions without his precious proof. “I can’t believe you think I’m here to sabotage you. That would mean I’d purposely caused the car accident that destroyed my life.” I tried to air quote the word destroyed, but the wrist cuffs prevented the action. “Maybe I even murdered my own family to draw the zombies and their handlers to my side so that I could join their ranks.”

  Mr. Holland showed no mercy. “Believe me, it’s possible.”

  And that meant I wasn’t to be believed, no matter what I said. “All right. Let’s say I’m working with them. What am I researching?”

  For some reason, Cole burst out laughing, no longer trying to hide it. Mr. Holland shot him a look that shouted shut up at lot louder than actual words, saving me the trouble.

  “What?” Cole said. “You’re not going to be able to intimidate her. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  Mr. Ankh said, “With the zombies, they want to know how to cause immortality. With us, spiritual powers beyond imagining. What else?”

  Maybe they believed me, after all. The answers were coming more easily now. Or, maybe this was common knowledge among slayers and hazmats. Either way, I didn’t care. I was having trouble digesting what he’d just said. Hoping to find a way to allow everyone to spend eternity as a rotting, walking spirit-corpse? Not cool. Now, research on the people who could see those zombies I got. Hated, but got.