by Tracey Ward
“It’s time.”
I jerk my head up, surprised to find Alvarez standing in front of me. I hadn’t realized I was parked on a cot in a tent, staring into nothing. I stretch my aching back, shaking my head to clear it.
“Time for what?” I ask groggily. How am I still tired after sleeping all day long?
“The burial.”
I stand abruptly. “Nope.”
His eyebrows form a deep V of disapproval. “Excuse me?”
“No,” I tell him, swaying slightly. I feel lightheaded. Dizzy. “I’m not doing that.”
“No, but the rest of us are and you’re attending.”
“No, I’m not.”
“When did it sound like I was asking?”
“You can’t bully me into saying goodbye to him.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“Then what’s the point?”
He steps in close, crowding me. “The point is we’re honoring a man’s life. I don’t care how sad you are—”
“I’m not sad.”
“Or how unaffected you’re pretending to be. He was a great man, he treated you kindly, and you will show the proper respect for his passing. Now you will walk out of this tent tall, proud, and strong like the warrior he swore to me you were, or so help me God, I will send you on to meet him.”
I believe him. There’s a fire in his eyes that has never gone out, no matter what this world has shown him, and he’s directing it straight at me. Right into my skin until it burns with anger and embarrassment. And shame.
I step around him because he doesn’t give me an inch, then I walk slowly out of the tent. I do it tall, I do it proudly, but I feel anything but strong.
He follows me out, then leads me forward. We walk silently toward the shore where the sun is setting and the Colony is still burning and the zombies are still dining. And the sickness in my stomach gets worse.
Across the water is a madhouse. After the gate was blown and the Zs made their way inside to do their business and ours, the Vashons sealed it. They moved the street barricades and locked the survivors in with the infected. It’s part of the plan that was never openly talked about before. It’s a brutal move that I didn’t see coming and I’m still working out how I feel about it. I can’t tell if the horror and the hallow I feel inside is all from losing Crenshaw or if some of it has to do with the situation going on across the water.
I want to hate them. I want to think they’re getting what they deserve for all the years of slavery, sitting in their comfy compounds while the rest of us struggled and died trying to clear the world of the plague they preach about cleansing. But then I have to hate the Vashons a little for that too. For cleaning their own house and leaving the rest of us to die outside. They were hiding from the Colonies like the rest of us, sure, but they still closed their doors in people’s desperate faces.
Either way, I don’t think anyone is a hero here.
Standing near the water I spot Ali and Sam. Ryan and Trent are not far away from them. I see several familiar faces, several people I could easily go stand beside and wait out this ceremony that I don’t understand. That I feel too raw and scared to be part of.
I hang back, staying on the outside of the gathering.
“We’re ready,” Alvarez announces.
There’s a raft on the shore that’s covered in oily dark cloth. The body is there. The empty shell of nothing with Crenshaw’s beard and staff. Several Vashons, men and women both, wade into the water with it. Guiding it. They go up to their waists before letting it go. Then they cast it off, shoving it out toward the wide mouth of Lake Washington just outside the peninsula.
No one says anything. There’s not a sound aside from the water and the fire burning nearby.
When the raft is far out into the lake, Ali moves. She takes a bow from Sam, who lights the tip of an arrow for her. I watch her launch it, watch as it flies over the darkening sky before finding its home on the raft where it ignites immediately, the entire vessel going up in brilliant flames.
That’s it. That’s the end. Most people leave after that. What else is there to be done? These days you’re lucky if anyone remembers you, let alone buries you in any way. As far as the apocalypse goes, this was a very moving service.
Ryan and the boys leave eventually, all of them carefully pretending not to see me. It’s not long before everyone is gone.
Everyone but Ali and I.
I want to go but I can’t. I can’t take my eyes off the fire on the water. My feet are rooted to the ground, the same ground where miles from here rests a forest. A quiet place with a small earthen hut kept hidden from the wild like a mirage in the desert. I never realized how beautiful that spot really was until now. I never knew how truly magical Crenshaw had been, not until he was gone and he took his magic with him. He took his words and his wisdom and I’ll have to make it through this world without them. I’ll have to make do with what he taught me, with all the things he gave me. Things like my name.
Persephone and I stand by the shore together but separate. We wait until the night comes in completely, until the last ember slips silently under the surface.
We stay with him and we send him on the wind and the water to the next world because it’s our job.
We’re his warriors. His Valkyries.
His family.
Chapter Twenty Two
We’re back in the big tent. It’s the center of our circus and we’re coming to the last act. It’s the Grand Finale. The moment we’ve all been waiting for.
“Westbrook is across the lake. He’s in a mansion with several of his followers. It’s isolated. It’s not heavily guarded. They prepared for zombie attacks. Never an uprising.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re going to kill him.”
“Good plan.”
I watch blankly as Alvarez and Todd hash out the details. We’ll go in by boat, the same one the Vashons came over on that they’ve stored up north, out of sight. Only fifty of us will go. We’ll storm the building in teams. We’ll take it by force. No magic, no illusions, no lies.
We leave at dawn.
The room clears out. I stay behind, staring at the walls flapping lightly in the breeze. I don’t know how long I’m there alone, but I don’t have any desire to leave. I don’t have anywhere to go. Eventually it starts to rain.
“Do you live here now?”
I turn to see Trent standing in the doorway, his hair laying flat and wet against his head. It makes him look different. More human.
“Maybe,” I mutter, turning away.
He stays in the doorway behind me but I know he’s there. I can feel him because he wants me to feel him. He wants me to know he’s waiting.
“What?” I ask irritably.
“You tell me.”
“Tell you what, Trent?”
“What’s on your mind.”
I chuckle dryly. “Shouldn’t Ryan be doing this? He’s our ambassador, right?”
“He already tried. You shut him down.”
My stomach clenches with guilt.
“He says you need space,” Trent continues.
“He’s right. Bye.”
“I told him he’s wrong. I told him you need to talk to someone.”
“And you thought the right person for the job would be you?”
“I killed my dad.”
I spin around in my seat, my mouth falling open. “Why would you just blurt that out like that?!”
“To get your attention,” he replies calmly. He grins slightly. “Did it work?”
“You’re sick.”
“But you’re listening now, aren’t you?”
I face forward, leaning back in my seat. “Come sit down. I’ll strain my neck trying to look at you like that.”
He moves silently through the room, sitting down next to me like a ghost. We both face forward, staring at the wall of the tent. The ceiling is dripping a little in the corners where the water has managed to pool, but
otherwise we’re safe and sound from the rain and wind outside.
“Did you really kill your dad?” I ask, my voice hushed.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he was a zombie,” Trent answers as a matter-of-fact. “I saw him be bitten, I saw him die, then I saw him rise again, so I put a bullet between his eyes.”
“Whoa.”
He looks over at me curiously. “Did you kill your dad?”
“N-no,” I stutter, shocked by how easily he asks the question. “I didn’t. I was eight and they were eaten. And I didn’t have a gun. You know…because I was eight.”
He nods in understanding, looking away. “Ryan’s parents were eaten too. Kevin killed them for him. He didn’t think Ryan could handle it.”
“That was… thoughtful.”
“He was a good guy.”
We fall into a very strange silence. I’m digesting the conversation we just had, trying to follow the breadcrumbs back to the beginning to figure out how we got here while Trent waits patiently next to me. Finally I give up and break down.
“What am I supposed to talk about?”
“Whatever’s bugging you,” he answers vaguely.
“I hate that people die.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it. I hate that people die. That’s what’s bugging me.”
“No it’s not.”
I press my fingers against my eyes to keep my brain from exploding out my face. “Really, Trent? You came in here hassling me about this and now you’re going to tell me how I feel?”
“I’m not telling you how you feel. I’m telling you that that’s not what’s making you act like this.”
“Like what?”
“Do you really want me to say it, or will I get hit for saying it even though you asked me to?”
I drop my hands. “You’ll get hit. Don’t say it.”
“So you do realize it?”
“Of course I realize it. I hate it, but I can’t help it.”
“It’s how you deal with things. No one is surprised.”
I look at him skeptically. “So people expect me to be awful and that makes it okay?”
“No, but no one expects you to change overnight, either. Definitely not Ryan. He’s hurting too. He understands.”
“Are you hurting?” I ask, genuinely curious if this odd bird’s feathers can be ruffled. I can’t picture it. He just told me he killed his dad as though he were telling me about retiring his favorite shoes. After that it’s hard to imagine him torn up about anything.
“He was a nice man,” he says noncommittally. “I’m sorry to see him die. I wasn’t close to him, though—not like you and Ryan were—and that’s what’s making you act like this. It’s not that you hate that people die. You hate that people close to you die.”
I stare at him as he stares back at me, waiting for me to do something—cry, admit he’s right, knit him a sweater. I don’t know what he’s waiting for but he’s better at it than I am.
Finally I sigh, looking away. “You’re right.”
“A little louder please. My hearing is terrible.”
I shake my head. “Your hearing is ungodly good and don’t push it. I said it once, you heard me.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
I groan. “Ah come on! I owned up to it, now I have to do something about it?”
“If you want to keep being around people and not act like a B-I-T—”
I reach over to clamp my hand over his mouth. “Nah nah nah,” I warn him. “I can spell just fine so stow it. That will not be one of our lessons, thank you.”
He smiles against my hand. I lower it so I can see it and when I do, I smile back.
“You’re different than I thought you were,” I tell him.
“How so?”
“I used to think you were a sociopath.”
He laughs lightly, not looking the least bit offended. “You’re exactly what I thought you were.”
“A stone cold bi—”
“A perfect fit for Ryan.”
I blink, surprised. “That’s shockingly romantic to hear from you.”
“Even sociopaths have feelings. You’re rough around the edges but you’re what he needs.”
“What does he need?”
“I have no idea,” he says emphatically. “But whatever it is, you have it. I don’t know why he loves you because I obviously don’t see it. I don’t feel it. I don’t get it. But there’s something about you that Ryan does see. It’s something he understands that no one else can. Not the way he does. You’re not special, Joss.”
“Awesome. Hurtful. Thank you.”
“Neither is Ryan. But the two of you together, that’s different. You guys make something unique, something you’d never be able to have with anyone else.” He looks at me sideways. “So maybe don’t run away from it just because you’re scared.”
“I’m scared he’s going to die,” I whisper nervously, afraid to say it out loud.
“He is going to die. That’s a stupid thing to be afraid of.”
“Jeez, Trent,” I complain.
“What? It’s true. He’ll die, I’ll die, you’ll die. You pointed that out to me not too long ago, remember? No one lives forever. You’re an idiot if you think otherwise. If you’re so convinced he’s going to die tomorrow, shouldn’t you enjoy the time you have with him today?”
That hits home so hard I feel tears sting my eyes. I don’t understand it right away. I have no idea why I react so violently to what he said—not until it sinks in for a second. Then it hits me like a freight train.
Crenshaw.
Leave tomorrow for the cowards. Today you must be fearless.
The last lesson he forced on me. His last, most desperate effort to change my world.
“Dammit!” I shout, standing reluctantly.
Stupid Crenshaw. Stupid Trent!
“Where is he?” I ask him.
“In one of the houses two blocks from here. Back toward town.”
“Do you know the address?”
“2220 Sandy Drive.”
“Thank you!” I shout, already heading for the door.
“What are you going to do?” he calls after me.
“I’m gonna be a man and tell a guy I love him!”
When I come out of the tent, I’m instantly drenched. The rain is coming down harder now. The ground is wet under my feet as it quickly turns to mud, and when I start to run, I worry I’ll slip and fall on my face.
I run so hard it hurts. I want to tear my muscles. I want to claw my way out of this skin, out of this world, out of my mind until I find a bigger and better place where I’m not so scared all the time. So scared and so angry I can hardly see straight. And I’m not when I’m with him. At least not as much. He’s that place, that solace. The hideaway I need where I’m not alone for the first time in forever, and maybe that’s the thing about Ryan that makes me love him like I do. The thing not everyone else can see. There’s a place just for me with him. One that makes me better. A place where I want to be for the rest of my life, no matter how long that is.
So I run. I run and I fall, but I get up and I run again.
I burst through the door of the small, dark house, and I fall headlong into everything that’s haunted me for months. That’s terrorized me. That’s made me doubt and wonder. I run straight into its depths, my breath on my lips as I gag on the words. It’s not as scary as I thought it would be.
It’s so much worse.
Ryan stands when I come crashing through the door. Bray is there with him and they look at me with sad, worried faces that make me cringe inside: it’s more emotion, more feelings I don’t know what to do with—and now the one that sent me running here is screaming in my veins so loud my head hurts.
I breathe heavily, trying to calm myself down.
“Bray,” I say sternly, my eyes on Ryan, “find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”
“Seriously? It’s pou
ring out there,” he complains.
“Bray,” Ryan says firmly. “Get out.”
He’s angry, but he goes. He walks right past me out the door without a word or glance. He closes the door silently behind him, but I still know it when he’s gone. I can feel it, like the air is moving around me differently. It’s burning my skin and giving me goose bumps. I feel like I’m vibrating but I’m standing stock still, my eyes still glued on Ryan’s. His face—his golden, glowing face—is shadowed by pain. I’m not good at reading people, but this feeling I know. It’s this feeling I’ve avoided for so many years, but now it’s caught up with me and it’s brought so much more with it. So many things that I don’t know how to handle.
“Are you okay?” I whisper.
His lips tighten until they’re white and I worry for a second that he’ll cry. I’m worried I won’t be able to handle it.
“I’m okay,” he finally replies softly, his voice steady. “Are you okay?”
“I talked to Trent.”
His eyes widen. “How’d that go?”
I grin weakly. “I’m here. I’m going to try very hard to be nice.”
He chuckles softly before sitting down in a chair behind him. I don’t know why but I wish he’d stay standing. I don’t feel like I can sit. I don’t feel like I can be still or silent or at ease. I have an overwhelming feeling that there’s so much to do and no time to do it. My head and my heart and my body are all talking at once and I can’t make out a word of it. I don’t even know if I speak the language.
“I’m going to miss him,” I say, trying to purge this squirming thing inside of me.
Ryan nods. “Yeah, me too.”
“He wasn’t really crazy, was he?”
“I don’t know.” He smiles sadly. “I think he was when he wanted to be.”
“I think he was hiding, like me.”
“Whoa.”
“What? You don’t think so?”
“No,” he says, his face still covered in surprise. “I think you’re dead on. It’s just a really insightful thing to say.”
“I’m going to try to not be insulted by that reaction.”
“Well, you’re not exactly—”
“Insightful, I know. I didn’t say you were wrong.”