Carson lifted beneath her shoulders as Brandon supported her head and neck. It was an awkward position, but one of the advantages of being a zombie was that I didn’t get tired. I could hold this position until I decomposed if I had to.
“Are we bringing her back to Zero?” I asked. Some of us had more control over our urges than others. If an Infected became susceptible to control, they could go into a feeding frenzy. I wasn’t sure bringing a warm-blooded, uninfected human into Zero would end well.
“That’s the plan,” Carson said, earning a glare from Brandon. “What?”
“The plan was to talk to her,” he said. The Infected called out, or groaned out, like it was alerting others to our presence. “Hurry up. We need to double-time it back.” Picking up the pace, he awkwardly ran backward under the bridge toward our home.
Whit’s head bobbled in the cradle of Brandon’s arms. “Carson just said to be careful.”
“We don’t have time to be careful,” Carson muttered. “Grab a handful of dirt and leaves, Nick, and rub it over her face.”
Awkwardly adjusting my hold, I leaned over and scooped up a handful of moist, Virginia soil. I tucked her feet under one arm and spread the dirt over her cut and into her hair. Hopefully it would mask the smell of her blood if our presence didn’t. We were Infected, and as a result, completely uninteresting to a Controlled.
We stayed motionless for a moment as the wind kicked up. Gaze trained on the woods, senses alert for the sound of shuffling, I held tight to Whit.
This was supposed to have been Brandon’s show. The three of us had gone off so he could have closure with the girl of his dreams, so she could see he was okay, and he could stop grousing about worrying about her pain in mourning him. Carson thought we could communicate more with the Uninfected. To him, former attorney extraordinaire, this had been some kind of test case. To me, I’d been bored. But that was all the time. Before I was dead and everything.
Wow, she was pretty. A part of my anatomy that had died with me stood up and took notice. I adjusted my pants. What in the ever-loving fuck was going on? That wasn’t supposed to happen.
We were royally screwed and that was as close to sex as any of us were getting. Besides, she was in love with Brandon. That much had been clear from the fact that she’d come out to meet a zombie in the middle of the fucking night.
“You guys realize that John is going to kill us.” He was our self-appointed fearless leader. He was why we kept away from the Controlled. He gave us hope in the darkness. I snorted at the thought. Or so he liked to tell everyone. John just liked power. I would bet money that was before he died, too.
In any case, until I could figure something else out, I stuck around and pretended to give a shit about what he said.
“As you said,” Carson came up next to me, “hard to kill people who are already dead.”
“Yeah, I’m smart like that.”
I stared at Whit in the darkness. Did she like that nickname? Was it okay to use it? Or was that a thing that she shared with Brandon? Fuck, what did it matter? It really didn’t.
The problem was that it wasn’t me John was going to kill. It was the heart-still-beating-mouth-breather who should not be going home with us.
Except she was.
I liked chaos. So why was this making me so damned edgy?
3
Brandon
Whitney Lake had always been the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I’d tried to get over her, particularly after my father had told me that my chances of actually attaining the girl of my dreams fell somewhere in the realm of slim to none, but it had been no use. She was gorgeous. She got me. She made the planet spin.
And what was even stranger was that she seemed to return my feelings. We’d never said the words aloud, but right before I’d died she’d taken to holding my hand, even when people might notice. When I’d managed to slip the note into the mail carrier’s pocket as he returned to Roanoke from what was left of the District of Columbia, I’d half expected her to ignore my communication.
Why should she bother with the danger of answering a dead guy when she had her whole life in front of her? But being Whit, she’d come. Of course she had. She was always the bravest woman I’d ever known.
“Have any of you geniuses decided what we’re going to tell people when we get back to town?” Nick grunted as we climbed up a hill.
I hadn’t. My only concern once I’d had turned the corner from Controlled to In-Control was to get back to Whit. But I could improvise. “We’ll pretend she was bitten.”
Nick grunted again, probably acknowledging that it wasn’t the worst plan he’d ever heard.
Whit moaned, and I forgot all about my friends, focusing instead on the girl in my arms. Her eyes opened, gaze unfocused as she stared up at the sky and then me. “You’re alive.”
“Mostly,” I replied, unable to help smiling.
“I wished for it.” Her eyes shut, and her voice trailed off. “I wished on our stars, Brandon.” Eyelids lifting, she stared at the sky as if she couldn’t see me. “There it is. Orion.”
I followed her stare and saw the constellation above us. Once the Infection had hit and the world was thrown back in time a hundred years, there hadn’t been much to do at night except watch the sky.
When I was about ten, I’d climbed out my window to find her sitting on the roof of her house. My father had been on an especially long bender, and it had been the first night in weeks I’d gotten away. “I’ll think of you when I see Orion,” she’d said. “And you think of me. Just stick your head out the window and it’s like we’re together.”
“Jesus,” Nick groaned. “You had a star?” He made a sound like he was throwing up, but I knew him too well now to be upset by it. The more sarcastic he was, the more off-balance he felt. He didn’t know how to deal with Whit.
Those of us who’d been infected but had somehow regained control of both our minds and our impulses had formed a community known as Zero.
Zero was Isaiah’s big joke.
He was the first Infected to retain his self-awareness, to awaken to some semblance of cognizance. He was Patient Zero and the community he founded he named after himself. Hilarious.
I had no idea how he’d react to Whit when he realized she wasn’t Infected. Probably laugh and then rip us all new assholes, but as soon as he met her, he’d be fine. One conversation with her, and he’d be Team Whitney. Huh. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Do we have to worry about people coming after her?” Carson asked. We skirted the edge of the Roanoke, going deeper and deeper into the woods. No one came out this far if they valued their life, but Whitney’s father was a force to be reckoned with. I imagined Mr. Lake’s reaction when he realized she was missing, and I wasn’t sure a horde of zombies and a swamp was enough to keep him out.
“Maybe,” I answered honestly.
Nick made a sound of disgust, and suddenly I wanted to punch him in the throat. Not that it would do any good, being dead already.
Carson ignored Nick, as per usual, and kept his attention on me. “How much of a force?”
“A big one.” I cleared my throat. “I’ve told you guys who her father is, right?”
Carson halted, his hands squeezing Whit’s shoulders. I had his full attention now. “No. But I’m thinking maybe you should have. Who is he, Brandon?”
“Gil Lake.” There. I said it. In all the time I’d discussed Whit with them, I’d avoided that detail.
Nick’s sudden laughter was the last thing I’d expected. He doubled over, clutching his side with one hand. Carson closed his eyes and managed not to drop Whit. Did he not want to see Nick losing it or not look at me right then?
“You do realize”—Nick took a long time to get the words out between hysterical bouts of laughter—“how completely fucked up this is, right? This is Whitney Lake. Of course she is. I should have put two and two together immediately. I mean how many Whitneys could there be running around Roanoke?
”
Carson lifted his lids. “It’s not an uncommon name when it comes down to it…”
Nick lifted his hand. “You fell in love with the daughter of the most powerful man in Roanoke since the Infection—hell maybe before the Infection—and now you are dragging her to Zero with us? Are you out of your mind? That gorgeous girl was never going to be yours when you weren’t dead! We’re all going to get killed—again—because you can’t get over the richest girl in town?”
He was right, but he was also wrong. I wouldn’t get everyone killed. That wasn’t fair. But he didn’t understand the depth of my love for Whit. Only the two of us could ever truly grasp the lightning bolt that struck us the moment we met and the connection we’d had since then. “I won’t bring her to Zero then. She and I will survive on our own. I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”
Nick rolled his eyes. Did I see a strange emotion cross his face? What was that? Fear? I didn’t get to dwell. He was talking again, and half the time he spoke I wanted to punch him in the face. If only I didn’t also like the asshat a lot. “That’s even stupider, Bran. You can’t survive on your own.”
“I can hear the three of you for miles, and if I can hear you, it’s a pretty good guess that the Controlled can hear you.”
All three of us swung around. Carson almost dropped Whit in the process, grabbing her more tightly when he righted. Stepping out of the shadows was a man I’d feared so badly when I’d first encountered him that I’d nearly turned around and run back to the Controlled.
Dante stood nearly seven feet tall. Scarred, ugly—probably even before he’d been Infected—and almost as much machine as he was man now. Out of all of us who had control of ourselves, he looked the most like a zombie. Maybe that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t lost body parts. He’d just chopped off the ones that weren’t working and replaced them with things that worked better.
He was scary brilliant, and I’d come to respect the heck out of him. He was one of my closest friends.
And the last person I wanted to see right now.
Out of everyone, Dante was the only one I knew who scared the shit out of Nick. I gulped. “Hey, man. What are you doing out here so late?”
“Saving your ass. It would seem.”
4
Dante
I refused to let my eyes linger on the girl held in my friends’ arms. If she woke while I stood here, fully illuminated by the moonlight, I’d have to see her flinch and gasp.
And I’d prefer not to repeat the curse that was every introduction I’d ever made, even before I was dead.
“This is Whitlee Lake. I wondered when you’d finally give in to temptation.” Brandon had been talking about her since the moment he’d regained control over himself. This moment was inevitable, and unlike the rest of these knuckleheads, I knew exactly who it was Bran spoke about.
Whitlee Lake. Daughter of Gil Lake. Nick’s description of the man was a gross oversimplification. Men like Gil—immoral, fearless, ruthless, smart—excelled in times like these. He’d run blockades and busted through quarantines to build the empire he now oversaw.
I respected the man, even if he’d murdered and stolen his way to the top.
Nick refused to meet my eyes. No surprise there. He’d come a long way from grimacing whenever I spoke though. Lifting my metallic hand to my forehead, I scratched at my scarred eyebrow. “Will she try to run?” I asked.
“Yes,” Nick answered at the same time Brandon replied, “No.”
I waited.
Finally, Carson sighed and stepped in. “She ran away from us. Hit her head. That’s why we’re bringing her back to Zero.”
Now I studied her. A purple bruise surrounded a bleeding cut just below her hairline in the center of her forehead.
“The one thing you have going for you is no one has ever seen a picture of her. She’s unconscious, so she won’t know how to find her way back to Roanoke even if she does leave Zero.” My comment was heartless—all three of the men before me winced—but mine didn’t pump anyway, so I didn’t know why they were surprised.
The girl moaned quietly, and I suddenly wanted her back at Zero where we could fix her. A head injury could mean brain swelling or a brain bleed. A concussion at the very least. And concussions could result in seizures.
Anxiety bubbled up inside me, and I whirled around before I said something that gave me away. “I’ll cover for you when we get there. Follow me.”
The walk back was silent. Nick, Carson, and Bran had learned to walk quietly and stealthily. Hiding was what kept us alive. It spoke to their control that even with the need for haste, they moved intelligently. Sometimes Brandon would signal for us to stop, having heard a Controlled in the distance.
By the time we finally breached the perimeter of Zero, I was three hundred pounds of tension and it seemed as if the world was ready to reflect that. The bright moonlight was hidden behind gathering clouds, and over the tops of trees I saw lightning flashing. A storm was coming.
A sharp streak of lightning zigzagged from the clouds, and for a second, I thought I felt electricity zip along the soles of my feet and up my legs, but that was impossible. The strike had been too far off.
Ignoring the sensation, and the curious looks of our compatriots, I led the group to my workshop.
“Put her on the table,” I growled. It was getting harder to hide my emotions, and why was that? I was more machine than man at this point; I’d upgraded myself past these feelings. Right?
They did as I asked, and I switched on the bright overhead lamp. Now I could see what I was dealing with.
Broken fingernails embedded with dirt—she’d tried to scramble away.
Small scrapes along her arms and neck from her trip to get to Brandon. Her shoes were soggy, the knees of her jeans ripped. Her hair was curled around her forehead from the Virginia mugginess and it stuck in her wound.
My respect for Whitlee Lake grew.
Next to me, Brandon cleared his throat. “You’re scaring Nick.”
Swallowing my growls, I realized I’d been grumbling to myself. Nick, our most recent addition to Zero, still mistrusted me. And despite telling myself it wasn’t my problem, people fearing me wasn’t something I enjoyed.
“Nick,” I gave into the urge and addressed him directly. “If I was going to hurt you, kid, I’d have done so already.”
They all seemed like kids to me, even though they’d all been full-fledged adults when they died. I’d guess Nick was in his mid-twenties like Brandon and Carson. I’d been all of thirty-two. Since none of us aged past death, it didn’t matter how long I had existed as I was anymore. I looked thirty-two. Well, maybe I did somewhere underneath the metal and the scars.
The three newbies with me still had warmth in their bodies. Mine had long since disappeared. Whitlee’s heartbeat was steady. That was a good sign. She moaned, moving her head on the table.
We didn’t have painkillers, but we did have cold compresses and ice. “Carson, ice. Wet towels.”
He jumped to do as I asked just as Nick cleared his throat. “I actually don’t mean to be rude to you. I mean, I guess I don’t care if I am. I don’t care if I’m shitty to anyone. But in your case, I’m just trying to figure this shit out. Am I going to end up looking like you if I don’t drop dead or get Controlled soon?”
I raised an eyebrow, hoping it didn’t fall off in the process. I’d been Controlled a lot longer than anyone else here at Zero, with the exception of Isaiah, but he was another story altogether. Our original in-control hero. The reason, maybe, the rest of us were here. “Maybe.”
I couldn’t give Nick a better answer than that because I didn’t have one. My body was worse off than others because I’d been under longer. Maybe. Isaiah had a few replaced parts but not nearly as many as I did. I really couldn’t explain it. And I hated not having answers. I knew and understood anything I chose to study. I always had.
Whitlee’s eyes fluttered open. They were blue, not clear yet, but lovely. I suck
ed in a silent breath. I hadn’t expected to be hit by the warmth her opened lids spread inside of me. Warm was such an unusual feeling. It disappeared fast. But for just a second, it had been there.
“Whitney?” Shit. Whitney. Dammit. I’d misheard again. Brandon dashed to her side, shoving around me, but it was me she focused on as she regained consciousness.
I waited for it. The flinch. The gasp. The shout. The terror. It had been there in life. Why not in death? When you weren’t normal looking, the world was unforgiving, unkind. I waited. Seconds passed. She didn’t acknowledge Bran or me for that matter. How badly had she hurt her head?
“Hello.” She swallowed. She was speaking to me. “I’m Whitney. You have a metal piece on your chin. That must hurt.”
My one good ear didn’t make it out correctly, again. I knew now her name was Whitney but it sounded like Whitlee. I liked that. Maybe I’d keep calling her that for the few hours I would know her.
“I do.” I nodded. “Lots of metal actually. But don’t worry, I don’t feel a thing.”
She scrunched up her face. “Well, I don’t believe that. Maybe you’ve just figured out how to tune out the pain.” Staring a little longer, she suddenly seemed to regret her comments. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I should mind my own business. I have a bit of a headache.”
“Whit,” Brandon said again, this time capturing her attention. “You okay?”
It took all my self-control not to glower at Brandon. I wanted her focus, her fascinating, unique focus, on me. She hadn’t looked at me like I was a freak.
I wanted more of that. More normalcy in this utterly un-normal world.
“My head hurts.” She lifted a hand to her forehead, and her fingers trembled.
“Here.” I went to a cabinet and dug out an ancient protein bar that was packed with sugar. It was the sort of thing runners ate during a marathon. This would give her the boost she needed if she was going into shock.
Lightning Strikes: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Storm Book 1) Page 2