by Jones, Isla
2.
The van had broken down a half-mile from the highway. The van that held the cargo … boy. The passenger seat in the RV gave me a perfect view to the back of the van where Castle and Leo argued. Again.
They argued a lot. Most of the time, it was about Mac.
With Mac just clinging onto life and Vicki’s constant demands that we stop at every clinic and for every bathroom break, the deltas had come to see their injured comrade as a burden. Here and there, I’d catch snippets of their conversations—whether whispered or shouted. Leo was the most vocal about the time Mac costed us. Castle never really touched on it; he deflected. It wasn’t like him.
Not that I know who he is, really.
But Castle wasn’t deflecting at the van. He brought his hand down on the hood. Even I flinched at the burst of anger that lit up his eyes. Somehow, it darkened his face at the same time.
Leo didn’t flinch. He shouted back.
I strained to listen. Their words were muffled, but I listened hard and long enough until some of their words strung together and I filled in the blanks. I was right—it was about Mac. And the cargo.
Castle wanted to move the boy into Mac’s bedroom.
I grimaced.
Vicki would have a fit and Mac’s already pained existence would be made so much worse. I know how poorly I would sleep next to a half-rotter boy with my legs all cut up. Not very well.
Though, there was nowhere else to put the boy.
We only had the RV and pick-up truck left. It hit me…
I paled and shut my eyes. The RV was their only option—for all three of them.
Adam, cargo, and Castle.
With a grunt, I pushed myself from the seat and used my IV stand to balance myself. Each hobbled step to the sofa-bed pulled at my stapled bullet wound, but the pain killers Vicki fed me daily dulled the pain to a steady ache.
I settled on the mattress. Even that far down the RV, Castle’s enraged voice—growing louder, harder—reached me. The sound prickled my skin. It twisted my gut with a mixture of unease and aches left over by him.
Before Leo had come back, Castle didn’t raise his voice like that. There had been times he’d been angry with me, stern. Not furious. Never furious. He’d offered me a sense of comfort in his distant calmness. Security. But since then, Castle had become a stranger to me; Leo, an unwanted prison guard masquerading as a suitor.
I see through them.
Their betrayals against me will never be forgiven. I’m too stubborn for that.
On the mattress, I propped up some pillows and shifted to rest on them. The quarrel outside drew closer. It neared the door, and just as I settled myself on the cushion-pile, the door was yanked open.
Leo stomped up the steps. His boots clomped, loud and too recognisable.
A single glance is all he spared me before he marched to the bedroom and pounded on the door, hard. My focus was so set on Leo’s smouldering rage that I hadn’t noticed Castle come up the stairs until the door shut behind him with a quiet click. The sound drew my gaze in.
Hesitation snatched us both up.
I couldn’t tear my eyes from his—cold, green, cutting …
Frosted grass, I’d once called them. It was as true a comparison then as it was in that moment. His cold eyes had once warmed me; now, they cut through me as easily as a knife.
The creak of the bedroom door pulled us out of the daze.
Castle looked away first, turning his gaze on Vicki and Leo. They came down to the kitchenette. Cleo darted passed their legs and leapt onto the sofa-bed beside me. She curled up between my legs.
Pale, Vicki wiped at her eyes—eyes with grey marks underneath, so dark that they could have passed for bruises. But weren’t they? Emotional bruises.
She perched herself on the edge of the thin mattress and rubbed exhaustion from her cheeks. Leo must’ve woken her.
“What’s going on?” asked Vicki, her voice strangled with dehydration and fatigue.
Leo leaned back against the counter. “We’re moving the cargo into the bedroom.”
Vicki stiffened.
I watched every muscles tense in her back, a ripple up her spine. She lifted her head. “When?”
“Now.”
Vicki was upright and rounding on Leo.
“In there?” Her voice was strained; not a shout, not a scream, but loaded enough to widen my eyes. “With Mac, in the state that he’s in? There isn’t any room, Leo. How can you push that on him? What happened to your code?”
My eyes might’ve stayed wide the whole time—I’d never heard Vicki so assertive before—but I found myself nodding along with every word she threw at him. I only stopped when I looked at Castle and saw that he stared at me so hard that it was a wonder his gaze didn’t leave a gash across my face.
Note to self, Castle isn’t a fan of my support for Vicki … He’s not a fan anything, let’s be perfectly honest. Castle probably isn’t even a fan of himself, which I can get on board with. Asshole.
As always, he looked away first.
How it must have boiled him inside to have to drag me across the states to the CDC with him. I had no doubt that when we made it there, I would never be afforded another strung-together sentence from him, not even a single glance.
Vicki’s snappish tone drew me back in. “—has to be another way. That bedroom is not a storeroom. I won’t stand by as you pile injured souls in there as if it’s some halfway morgue—”
“This isn’t up for debate.” Castle’s terse tone sliced through her words. “Either you can rearrange the room to his comfort, or we will—and we’ll make quick work of it.”
Even from my awkward angle, I caught the pallor of her face and the flush at her high, proud cheekbones. The stress ate away at her weight—she didn’t suit it. The hollowness, the gaunt cheeks. Then again, did any of us suit hunger? Living off muesli bars wasn’t great for the body.
“How long until you move him?” asked Vicki, defeated.
Leo offered some sympathy in his softened eyes, so lush with the colours of nature—and deceit hidden deep. “Fifteen minutes at most.”
Vicki nodded, a brisk gesture, then stormed back to the bedroom. As I heard the door shut behind her, I wished for a moment that I was well enough to help her. But with my own injuries, I couldn’t do much, if anything.
Then, I wondered, maybe I did care about more than just Cleo and myself after all. Maybe Vicki was starting to grow on me.
Leo lit himself a cigarette. “So, we’re relocating the prisoner to the bedroom.”
Blankly, I stared at him and wondered if he’d hit his head sometime earlier. “No shit,” I said. “Your big giveaway was when you had an entire conversation about it in front of me.”
Unimpressed, Castle took a few steps closer. He stopped only when his legs touched the edge of the mattress. Holding my gaze with the ice of hell, he leaned closer and pressed his hands into the mattress.
…his hands pressed into the mattress; his body curved over mine like a shield.
No.
I beat those memories back down to where they belonged, stored under ‘Castle’s Lies’.
I held his gaze as evenly as I could. If he saw any flicker of panic on my face, he didn’t show it.
Castle stilled close to me and said, “As long as no one does anything stupid, the rest of the journey should go smoothly.”
I arched my brow and reined in the sudden urge to boot his nose into his face.
Instead, I said blandly, “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
Implications, suggestions, lies—it was all the same from Leo and Castle. They never just said what they thought. I once thought that it was endearing to have to read Castle and his cryptic words. Not anymore.
He browsed me over, like I was nothing more than trash—No, trash juice—then drew back. “To you, I have nothing to say.”
Castle walked out of the RV and slammed the door behind him, taking another piece of me to che
w and spit out later.
For a while, I stared at the door.
Even when Leo poured two teas, my mind lived elsewhere.
Crinkled shutters hung sideways on the door and through the dusty, striped window were shadows. One of those shadows belonged to Castle.
There was a time we talked matters out together—or, rather, bickered over maps and the best places to spend our nights, and who got the soup over the can of beans—and we were a partnership of sorts.
Those days were gone, and I wondered if maybe I should just … get over it.
An easier thought to have than to do. It’s not easy to lose all feelings for an ex when he’s literally one of the last men in the world—and is in the post-apocalyptic world with you, keeping you semi-prisoner.
If the internet still existed, I would’ve put ‘it’s complicated’ on my profile, then stalked his page daily. I won’t lie—it’s that sort of hurt. The toxic sort.
The one who stood in front of me didn’t make it any easier.
Leo handed me a mug of under-brewed, over-sugared tea. Cleo had a quick sniff of it, then curled back up between my thighs. Even she didn’t like Leo’s tea.
I eyed the murky brown water; my nose crinkled.
“We’re low on teabags,” he said. “Had to use one for the both of us.”
I threw him a suspicious glare. I’d bet my good leg that Leo had the stronger tea, and I got the scraps left over from a used teabag.
Cradling his mug in one hand, Leo leaned against the sink and studied me. After a moment, he told me, “Castle meant what he said.”
I frowned at him and blew a steady breath on the tea to cool it. I hoped the steam made me look mysterious—dangerous, even. Knowing myself, I probably looked daft or confused.
“Just don’t do anything stupid,” he said.
The urge to throw my mug at him took me.
Instead, I scoffed and cupped the too-hot mug in my hands. “Stupid like … run away?” I shrugged and made a face. “Free the cargo? Drive off into the night with my bullet wound, IV stand and dog. For what? To live where?” My lips pulled into a mean smirk. “What the hell can I do, Leo? Suggestions are welcome at this point.”
Unfazed, Leo sipped from his tea. After a breath of hot air, he said, “If you weren’t inclined to make stupid choices, you wouldn’t need to be warned,”
With a cutting breath of pain, I twisted and slammed the mug down on the windowsill. My stomach ached in protect, but I snubbed it and glowered at him.
“I’m quiet. All I do is write in my diary, read, and look after Cleo. I don’t bother anyone, but neither of you can back the hell away from me. Don’t do this, don’t do that—I get it. If I run, you’ll both chase me. No need to yammer on about it all bloody day.”
Leo resisted a smile at the end of my rant.
“So you know, then? That we’ll hunt you down if you run.”
I rolled my eyes and shifted on the mattress, turning my back on him.
I’d have to be a registered moron to have not realised that already. Especially since they’ve done little to keep it a secret. They wouldn’t let me get very far at all.
I’m their key to the CDC.
Maybe they’re most valuable prisoner.
3.
Through the gap in the door, I could see Mac’s bed pushed against the wall. Vicki hunched over him, not to tend to him, but to soothe his pain with hushed words. It was a raw moment I spied on, still I couldn’t look away—I was too enthralled in the horror of how much she really loved him.
Mac’s IV store was out. Mine, too. But Mac’s was needed most.
He wasn’t responsive, and through the door, I saw how sweaty his snow-white skin had become. A fever? An infection?
I’m no doctor. The guesses were best left to the professionals.
In that room, the cargo was tied up and restrained in the corner. If I were Mac, stuck in a confined space to face the horror of this group, I’d be sick as well.
Suddenly, the RV felt stuffy.
The stagnant air, though cold, failed to fill my lungs with the sharp, fresh breath they craved.
I pulled on my baggy black sweater and tutted for Cleo to follow.
The IV stand supported my weight as a makeshift crutch; it helped me hobble to the door where Cleo already sat, waiting primly, as though she expected a first-place trophy or a thick juicy steak for beating me.
It earned a rare smile. “Good girl.”
I made to sneak through the door for some fresh air, but I hesitated at the steps.
Shadows moved on the other side of the glass, stopping me. Then, the hushed words sent chills down my prickled skin.
Adam’s voice slithered out; “—all having a hard time with this. He’s our brother, Castle. But sometimes, family isn’t what matters. If we believed differently, we wouldn’t have done what we did back in Los Angeles. Our new mission—the one you set—is what matters.”
Darkness clung to Castle’s voice, so low that it was almost a growl; “He’s slowing us down, but he’s not jeopardising the mission. Mac will get the help he needs when we arrive.”
I heard the start of Adam’s response, but Castle cut him off.
“In LA, you chose to follow me. You put your faith and loyalty with me and in my decisions. Has that changed?”
Adam’s shadow shifted—an uncomfortable shake of the head followed. “No, Sergeant.”
“I’m not your sergeant, Adam, so cut that shit out. I lead, I make the decisions no one else will, but I am not him.”
I could only guess he meant their old sergeant, the one he killed back at the auto-shop. The one who led the true mission and the good deltas.
“That was our deal,” continued Castle. “No titles, no strict chain of command. We banded as a team, and Mac is part of that team.”
There was a quiet moment before Adam said, “Then as a teammate, I’ll just say it.”
Despite his words, Adam collapsed to a nervous silence.
I saw it in the shifty movements of his silhouette, the way he moved from side to side and how his head bowed, as if he stared at the ground. He probably did. Castle had that effect.
Finally, Adam found his voice on the ground. “A month ago, you would’ve put Mac out of his misery yourself.”
Castle didn’t hesitate. Danger licked up and down his chilling voice; “I’d think very carefully about what you’re suggesting, Adam.”
Adam’s shadow drew back as Castle’s advanced.
“Those docs at the CDC … They’re not necromancers—and Mac’s already dead.”
For a pause, I watched their silhouettes. Then, Castle jerked his head and sent Adam away.
I waited until Castle’s shadow started to leave as well before I pushed the door open. My breath hitched when the door hit his back. He was quick to round on me, so quick that Cleo hadn’t even leapt off the final step before his stony, frozen-over glare pierced through me.
I hobbled out, feeling the pinch of his gaze. “Vicki can’t take her out,” I explained, a swift gesture to Cleo who leapt through the snow like she was some sort of gazelle or something. “She needs the toilet.”
Castle’s boot crunched with his one step closer. Much the same as when he spoke to Adam, Castle all but growled at me, “Unless you try to run, I don’t care what you do or why you do.”
My lips set into a thin line and I made to follow Cleo.
I paused a beat. Without looking back at him, I said, “Don’t do it, Castle.” Saying his name aloud hurt more than I’d thought, and I was suddenly glad I faced away from him. “Don’t throw away the scraps of decency you have left just to please someone like Adam.”
Castle didn’t speak. He scrutinised me, the burn of his eyes on the back of my head.
Then, he pulled away to the van.
I waited a while for Cleo to do her business. Once she was finished, I called her back into the RV with me before either of the Dickhead Deltas could find something to complain abou
t, shout about, or even discover a new insult to hurl my way.
Inside, Cleo darted straight to the bathroom. Bum in the air, she stuck her nose under the door and whined.
I inched closer.
The bathroom door was thin. So thin that I would even schedule my business around everyone else being out of the RV or asleep. Performance anxiety.
The door, in all its failures, didn’t stop Vicki’s snivels from reaching me in the kitchen area. I limped over and knocked on the door lightly.
“Vicki, are you all right?”
Nothing—no response, only another snivel.
I knocked again; she ignored me again.
My patience collapsed and I tried the handle. The door opened halfway.
“Just a minute,” she said, her voice thick and hoarse.
I pushed my way in. Vicki didn’t fight me. I was too injured to manhandle and I used that in my favour. Every weakness can be a strength, Summer once told me.
Cleo ducked in with me before I shut the door and leaned back against it.
“What’s the matter?”
It was a stupid question. Yet, I felt the need to ask it.
Vicki slumped on the toilet—lid down—and had her fingers threaded through her hair. She gave a slow, deflated shake of the head.
“It’s only for a few days. Then we’ll be there, and Mac will get the treatment he needs. It’ll all be ok,” I said—a lie I had to tell her. “We’re so close.”
Vicki’s scoff was mixed with a laugh. “He won’t make it,” she said shakily. “I heard Adam and Leo earlier. They want … they want to kill him, Winter.” She wiped snot from her nose, then impersonated Leo’s flavoured accent; “For his own good.”
I wondered if she’d mistaken Leo for Castle. But that was ridiculous. They were opposites; their voices, their appearances, their attitudes ... They couldn’t be confused for each other.
There must have been more of those chats than the one I’d overheard.
I had no words for Vicki.
But she had more for me. “I’m late, Winter.”
I blinked at the crown of her bowed head. My brows furrowed, my heart skipped—and dread ran cold through me.