Jenny shook her head. “No. This isn't Declan. It can't be. He doesn't do shit like this. This is...this is fucking crazy.”
“His girlfriend just died,” said Casey. “And he wasn't exactly the picture of sanity before. Maybe he snapped.”
“No,” said Jenny. “Not Declan.” There was a fluttering in her belly. It felt weird and alien and she touched her abdomen. She stared at the bodies on the floor. The women had been defenseless here. They had no skills, no experience anywhere but below the surface, away from the world. The men weren't much better. “Not Declan,” she whispered. Her head ached.
“Jen?” said Casey.
“I think I'm going to be sick,” said Jenny.
“Calm down,” said Casey. He put his arm around her and led her to the shortest exit. The flutter in Jenny's stomach had become a sharp pain as she bent over, holding onto the cooking table for support. And then she saw him.
Joshua had been beaten. Rich, purple bruises were all over him, making his corpse look like a cheerful Easter egg. His head had been chopped off, but probably not before his hands and legs had been broken. Jenny stood up, forgetting the pain. She walked over and looked down at Joshua. The pain had turned to a cold, empty feeling deep inside her guts. The apathy was gone. This was grief.
“Was he a friend of yours?” Casey said.
“He was a rapist,” Jenny said. “He deserved everything he got.”
“Why do you look so sad, then?” said Casey.
“Because none of that other stuff was Declan's style. And I could believe Declan didn't do any of it. But this...I know Munro did this. And if he did this, then he probably did the rest, too.”
Casey didn't say anything for a while. Finally he said, “Maybe you're wrong. Maybe Munro really didn't do all this. Maybe it was someone else.”
“No,” said Jenny, closing her eyes. “I know he did it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me he was going to.”
FIFTEEN
Jenny was calmer on the way back out. Casey wanted to leave through the tunnel and walk back to the car up the street. But Jenny insisted on going back through the encampment, one more time. The abyss in the pit of her stomach felt like ice. She wished she could shiver, or cry, or shake in madness and frustration, but she couldn't do any of those things. She was dead. Emotions were for the living. Except for rage. That was hers. But this wasn't rage. This was grief. She had never felt so sad. Like what remained of her, of the old Jenny, was falling away from the inside out. She was hollowed out and filled with despair. If Declan had killed all these people like this, then there was no hope for humanity. Declan had been the best of the best. If there was no good in him, there was nothing good in anyone living.
Jenny stopped at the last body. “She's not here,” Jenny said.
“Who's not here?”
“Lily. I can't find her.”
“That's a good thing, right?” said Casey. “She's the girl you told to run, isn't she?”
“Yeah,” said Jenny.
“So maybe she got away before this happened.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Jenny.
“Can we go home now?”
Jenny looked back, toward the dried blood and the bodies and her name scrawled on the walls like a child had taken a crayon to the concrete.
“Jen?”
“I have to see him,” she said, and her voice sounded hollow.
“Who?”
“Declan Munro.”
The smell of them slapped Jenny in the face as they left the station. Living. Blood. She could feel their heartbeats in the pit of her stomach. She knew there were three or four of them before she saw them.
“Prowlers,” Jenny muttered.
“What are they doing over here?” said Casey. “Aren't they usually just meant to protect Expo?”
“Not if someone else hired them,” she said.
Jenny counted three. They were dressed in leathers, and all dirty. She could smell old sweat and cigarettes and grime. And blood. Warm and thick and salty rushing through their veins.
Thump thump thump thump.
Jenny shook her head, trying to push away the hunger, the urge, the red. But her vision blurred. There was a sharp pain on her arm and she looked quickly over to see Casey looking at her, alarmed. His fist was balled up.
“Did you just hit me?” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “Snap out of it.”
“Look at this little miss,” said one of the prowlers. He had red hair that hung in his eyes like orange straw. His face was so dirty that his skin looked gray, though sharp blue eyes studied her. He scratched at a patchy beard with blackened fingernails.
“She's hot for a rotter,” said another prowler, this one with a shaved head. The top of his skull was pointy and he'd missed a few spots where mousy hair sprouted. “Do you think your dick would fall off if you fucked a rotter?” He licked his thin lips.
“They think we're rotters,” said Jenny. “How do they know?”
“The eyes,” said Casey. “It's our eyes.”
“Fuck you, Shank,” said the other prowler. He was older than the other two, with dirt settling into the lines on his face, and gray streaks in his hair and beard. “Do you ever think of anything but fucking?”
Shank shrugged. “No.”
“You can't fuck a rotter, shithead,” said the red-haired man. “You'll get infected.”
“Too bad,” said Shank, looking at Jenny and smiling unpleasantly. “She looks feisty.”
Jenny held the handle of her knife, looking at the three of them. What were they doing out here? She eyed the strip of fabric tied around their upper arms that declared them hired. But no one ever paid prowlers to go anywhere but around Expo.
“Hey, I know this bitch,” said Shank. “She was the one who was talking to Bloody before he offed himself.”
“So?” said the older guy.
“So,” said Shank, “I think she's the reason he's dead.”
“Fuck that,” said the redhead. “He got bit. He was dying anyway.”
“Maybe he wasn't,” said Shank, looking at Jenny with a hungry look in his eyes. “Maybe it's all her fault.”
Jenny and Casey took a step back in unison. Jenny looked beyond the three. Her car was parked behind them. If she wanted to get to it, she was going to have to go through them. She looked at Casey.
“We should run,” said Casey. “I can't be here.”
“No,” said Jenny. She could feel the heat coming off of the men. Even from ten feet away she could feel it. She felt the grip inside her again, the need, the hunger. The rage. She blinked, but the red stayed. It was growing darker, stronger.
Thumpthumpthumpthump.
The men were growing excited, their heartbeats speeding into one long rhythm. Jenny licked her lips. She could taste them already.
“Stop it, Jenny,” Casey said. He sounded so weak. Like he was barely holding on.
“Are they talking to each other?” Jenny heard one of them say. “Maybe they're not rotters.” She couldn't tell which one was talking. They were all blending into one. She could barely tell them apart now. She took a step toward them.
“Run!” she heard Casey say. It took her a moment to realize he wasn't talking to her. He was talking to the prowlers.
“What the fuck?” said one of the men. They were afraid now. Jenny could feel their fear, smell it, taste it. She kept walking toward them. She let her hand fall away from the hilt of her knife, letting it sit in its sheath. She didn't need it. She was vaguely aware of the men pulling out weapons as they backed away.
“Jenny, stop it,” said Casey. “You have to fight it! You're not one of them. You're not a rotter, Jen. You're stronger than this.”
“I'm not,” said Jenny. “I'm so hungry.”
She felt the red wash over her like stepping into a warm bath. It felt so good. She let it happen, she let it take her. And then she was holding something, something warm and sharp
. She looked up to see two men running away, not looking back. She shrugged off hands pulling at her, grabbing her arms. She shrugged them off and aimed an elbow at the source of annoyance. The world was so red and beautiful. Like blood. She looked down at what she was holding. A man. The bald man with the pointy head. There was movement in his hands and she felt a muted pain in her chest. Again and again. He was pushing something into her chest over and over. He smelled like blood. He was so hot.
Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump.
He looked up at her, stopping his movements. A small knife was in his hand, covered in darkness. Her blood, she realized slowly. She was in a fog. A euphoria. She barely realized her movements until she'd made them.
“You're her,” he whispered. “The one that Righteous fuck told us about. It's really true.”
“I'm so hungry,” Jenny heard herself say. And then the red clouded her eyes and she felt herself floating even as she felt the warmth rushing down her throat and down her chin. And someone was screaming.
SIXTEEN
Casey was shaking her and Jenny looked at him slowly. She felt strange. Like she was in a dream.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he said.
“What?” said Jenny. “What do you mean?”
“Look at yourself,” said Casey.
The taste in her mouth was both pleasant and nauseating. She felt different, and after a moment Jenny realized that she wasn't hungry. For the first time since she had woken up drenched in animal blood, she wasn't hungry. For a few seconds she felt happy. Then she felt something sticky on her hands. She touched her shirt and found it wet and cold and tacky with...
“Blood,” Jenny murmured.
“Yes, fucking blood,” said Casey. “That's what happens when you kill someone with your teeth.
“Is it mine?” she said. She felt like she was moving through water. She put her hand over her mouth, but took it away with a gag when she remembered it was covered in blood. She felt something drying on her face, making her skin tingle as the blood became crusty.
Casey looked away from her like she disgusted him. “Some of it,” he said. “You'll be fine. Probably. He won't.”
“Did I...”
“He's dead,” said Casey flatly.
They were sitting in a car. Jenny's car, she realized. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there, but she was sitting in the passenger seat. She remembered the subway tunnel. The dead thumpers. Her name scrawled on the walls, over and over again. She wanted to vomit, but she didn't think she could.
“I need to see Declan,” she whispered.
“Are you fucking listening to me?” said Casey. “You just killed a man.”
“He was going to kill us first,” said Jenny.
“In case you're wondering, I took care of him,” Casey said, finally meeting her eyes again. “He won't come back.”
Jenny blinked. “Are you saying I'm contagious?”
“You're fucking undead,” said Casey, a note of panic in his voice. “What the fuck do you think?”
“He was going to kill us,” Jenny said again.
“You're out of control,” said Casey. “We need to go back to the museum.”
“No,” said Jenny. She opened her door.
“Where are you going?” he said, his voice high and screechy.
Jenny didn't answer, but instead stepped out of the car. She could feel the air on the wetness that soaked into her clothes. She knew that she should have cared about the prowler that she'd killed, but she just didn't have it in her. Not anymore. She felt numb and heavy, a big chunk of ice-cold iron freezing up her insides. She was starting to feel hungry again. She walked around to the driver's door and opened it. Casey glared up at her.
“Get out,” she said.
“Fuck you!” said Casey. “You get in.”
“Get out or move over,” said Jenny. “I've got the keys.”
“You can't see him, Jenny,” Casey said. “This is a bad idea.”
“I seem to be full of those,” she said. “Are you getting out?”
He continued to stare daggers at her, but leaned over, wiping the blood off the seat with his sleeve before scooting his thin frame over the gearshift.
Without a word, Jenny started the car, ignoring the grinding noises, and drove away from the subway. She spat pink out her window. The taste of blood stayed with her. She tried not to like it.
Declan's street was blocked off with cars and debris and plant life. Jenny knew the crew had chosen this place just for that reason. They had a tendency to blow up federal buildings in the beginning. Before it was impossible to find explosives or gunpowder; before it was a pointless act. It soon became apparent that no one would ever use those federal buildings again. Anarchy was pointless because the world was chaos. Soon after, he met Jenny.
She parked at a safe distance on the street. She didn't want to come in at the alley. It was a good way to get killed. She didn't want to run into Lucy or Veronica or Beacon. Only Declan. She just wanted to know he was okay. That her death hadn't sent him off the deep end.
Casey wouldn't shut up.
“When are you going to get it, Jen?” he said, following her out of the car. Jenny squinted down the street. She could see the slate blue house two blocks down. “Munro will kill you before you get a single word out. He doesn't care that you're still you. He only cares that you're a rotter. And you're fucking covered in blood. He's going to murder you on sight.”
“You seem to know an awful lot about him,” Jenny said.
“Damn straight I do. I've seen him in action before. He killed a dozen rotters like it was nothing. I've heard stories of him doing worse, too. He'll kill us.”
“Go back to the museum,” Jenny said. “I'll take my chances.”
“No way,” said Casey. “I'm not leaving you with that psychopath.”
Jenny rounded on him. “You know, I've had it up to here with your fucking Munro diatribe. Why do you hate Declan so much? Have you met him? Did he murder your girlfriend? Steal your lottery ticket?”
“I hear things,” said Casey.
“You hear things,” Jenny repeated. “Like what for instance?”
“Like he knows about The Thirteen,” said Casey. “And he's sworn he'll find us and wipe us out.”
“Declan didn't know about The Thirteen,” said Jenny.
“Maybe you don't know him very well. Maybe he got involved with you because of who you are.”
“Declan didn't even know about Mom,” said Jenny, “let alone that I was some science lab freak whose mother caused the end of the world. When I met Declan I was living on the streets and trying to survive. I had fewer friends than I could count on one hand, and even fewer that wouldn't kill me for a pair of shoes. So don't tell me that Declan didn't love me. And don't tell me that he's a monster, because no one who can feel that way about another person is a monster. He made me feel like I could do anything. Anything, Casey. He would have fucking died if he thought it would save me. So don't you ever tell me Declan Munro was some kind of boogeyman. Because he's the best man I've ever met.”
Casey nodded. “Fine.”
“Who told you all that stuff, anyway?” Jenny said.
“I got a guy,” said Casey.
“You've got a guy?”
“Yeah, so? I can have a guy.”
“It's the goddamn zombie apocalypse, and you have a guy?”
Casey shrugged. “Just this guy who comes and gives us information. He's the one who told me you'd be in the Underground. He must have gotten his days wrong.”
“We are going to finish this conversation,” said Jenny. “But right now we have to run.”
“Why?” said Casey.
“There are rotters coming up the street,” she said, nodding behind him. “Fresh ones, looks like. We have to get out of here.”
“I guess I didn't tell you,” Casey said. “The rotters won't bother you any more.”
“What?”
Casey shrugged. “W
hy would rotters care about other rotters? We're dead, remember?”
“Oh,” said Jenny. “That makes sense, I guess.”
“They have this herd mentality,” said Casey, watching the two rotters come toward themƒ. One of them was wearing a Northwestern sweatshirt, the other was female, her blond hair tangled and caked with blood in spots. “They can sense other...dead people, I guess. They like to travel in packs.”
“I've noticed that, believe it or not,” said Jenny, thinking of her heart thumping in her ears as she waited for the pack of rotters to pass her by. The rotters were trotting toward them. They stopped about three feet away and tilted their heads like they were trying to listen. “What are they doing?” Jenny said.
“Maybe they're sensing living nearby,” said Casey.
“Like Declan's house?”
“Could be,” he said. “Jen, please don't do this. We just found each other again. I won't try to stop you – I don't think I could if I wanted to – but think about what you're doing. You're dead. He's alive. There's a balance to the world. It's not in his nature to accept the ...abnormal like us.”
An old rotter walked past, lingering for a moment next to Casey before stumbling toward the other two. Then another, even older and looking like it was barely held together. With the really old ones it was hard to tell if they were male or female, and this one looked on the point of falling apart. The four were headed straight for Declan's house.
“I have to lead them away,” said Jenny.
“To keep Munro safe?” said Casey. “When has he ever needed protection from rotters?”
“I don't think Declan is himself right now,” said Jenny. She started to walk toward the rotters. The two younger were standing on the street in front of the house. The other two were nearly there. Jenny ran down the sidewalk, toward the house. She was a half-block away when the door opened. She froze, unsure what to do. Declan walked out alone and panic rose inside of her. After all her talking, she didn't know if she could stand him seeing her like this. She touched her face and wiped at dried blood. Did she really want him to remember her walking-around-dead? She backed into the shadow of a dilapidated porch. The railings had rotted and broken, and a porch swing hung by one chain, the other end sitting sadly on the peeling and weather-abused structure. Jenny peeked around the corner to watch Declan. He was holding an ax and striding toward the rotters. He spat on the ground.
Jenny Undead (The Thirteen: Book One) Page 10