Tunnels and Planes
Page 20
“All clear,” he says when he and Jade return to the van. “Halle-fuckin-looyah. Listen up, ladies! I want you all to climb up and over this seat, one at a time. Move quickly, quietly, and carefully—the dead are trapped behind the gate. I know they’re scary, but we’re safe, so I need all eyes straight ahead as we move toward that door. Understood?”
There are mumbles of “yeses” from those not too terrified to speak, and I do my best to sit up on my own. My stomach feels like actual roadkill. Though I know some nourishment could do wonders for it, I also wonder if I’ll ever be able to eat again. To say I feel like absolute dog shit would be the understatement of the century.
“Come on, sweetie.” Syd takes my arm and wraps it around her shoulder to help me from the van.
“Thank you.”
We make brief eye contact, and seeing her now, under these circumstances, I realize we’re the same height in more ways than one. She isn’t larger than life anymore, and I’m grateful for that, because she’s instead a dear friend now. And though I care about her deeply, and will never forget our moment beneath the waterfall, I sense it was fleeting. It served its purpose.
Jade helps the rest of the girls out from the driver’s side, taking little red from an older girl and sitting her on her hip. Syd struggles to hold my weight, so I help to support it by leaning on the van. And when every last girl is out, Jade comes to aid on my other side, with little red, who’s now wailing.
Too weak to turn my head, I can’t see them, but I can hear them behind us at the gate. Fresh, Jade had referred to them as, recalling to mind the first time I ever saw a “fresh” one—when my mother had transformed into one of them.
Eileen . . .
From day one she told me she saw something special in me, and that I was worth so much, and that I had a bright future ahead of me once I got through this rough patch . . . How many times did I hear those words and not believe them?
I hear them again now, and I believe them. So much so, that the weight of grief and humility makes my knees buckle at the door. My heart is too broken . . . yet not broken enough to carry this too-much love. It hurts as much as it heals me, and maybe that’s the way it should’ve always been. The pain would always come, no matter what. And I can’t go back and change the past, but I can use it to paint my surroundings anew, like Jay said.
The thought of whether or not he survived the melee back at the tunnels, or if Sheryl-Dean, or Kelly, or Jacki, or Yvette did, makes me sad, though the closed doorways to the shops, and stairwell to the Alley brings reassurance. Even in that place there were little sparks of life, of realness, of humanity. . . of love. And even if they didn’t make it out alive, at least I have a piece of them—their seeds—inside of me to share with others, to carry that torch that was given to me a few short months ago. Or maybe it was at birth—who knows?
But what’s most important is here, now. I’ve survived so much, and that’s proof I might just be strong enough to keep others alive, too.
Forty
“All those poor, scared kids,” Evie had said with a cringe, sitting at my kitchen table. “They’ll all die.”
If she were here now, she wouldn’t believe who her “Phelia” became once she rose from the ashes of devastation. I wish I could tell her she doesn’t have to worry. I’m here now, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep them safe. I was frightened by the thought for so long, because I was afraid of more pain, but now that I know it’s inevitable, I choose to love, to protect, and to fight for our new life until it comes.
Logan takes Buddy around with an M16 to sniff out the place, and to make sure we’re alone. Once we’re all clear, we make our place in a section of the old milking house that reminds me of Minecraft—but with hay. Stacked almost to the ceiling are bales of it, with some removed from the center area. We set up camp on some blankets Logan and Buddy discovered in an office closet, and we pass around two of our few bottles of water. Syd and Jade make me a nice little spot to rest a few feet away from the group, in case I puke.
Across from me, an older girl sits with little red, who seems happier now that we’re no longer underground. Despite having little food and water, we have freedom, and we have each other.
“Will you bring her closer?” I ask the girl, and she’s quick to bring her over.
I tuck my lips under my teeth and my fingers in my sleeves, just to be safe, until we know for sure, somehow, how careful I need to be. The little girl smiles, then touches a fat finger to my nose, and babbles something that sounds like angels ringing wind chimes. Then, she leans forward to hug me.
Tears roll down my cheeks as I hug her back, turning my face so I don’t breathe on her. I want to stay close, but my fear of infecting her makes me pull away. “You need a name,” I tell her. And as soon as I say it, the name comes to mind. “Until we find your momma and she tells us what your real name is, we’ll call you . . . Hope.”
And the bond is sealed.
“I love that,” Syd says, petting the little girl’s curls. “It’s perfect.”
“We have a lot of getting-to-know each other to do.” Jade claps her hands and stands, taking her role as enthusiast of our new group, while Logan and Buddy take theirs as watchers and pacers. The little girls rest on one another, and though I can tell they’re weary, hungry, and scared, they all realize the same thing I do. We may have lost so much, but we’ve gained even more.
Movement in my peripheral makes my heart skip a beat, and I hold my breath to scope out the haystacks. To my delight, Murray’s there, resting with his feet propped up. He puffs on the end of his cigar, gives me a grin and a wink, then puts a finger to his lips to say shh.
I return it with a subtle nod, and an inner sigh of relief.
Logan stops his pacing to sit beside me, resting his head in his hands, and I can tell he’s about to burst.
“You okay?” I touch his arm.
“I promised her.” And his unapologetic tears fall to the hay. “I fucking promised her, Grace. I told her I’d come and see her every day, and I . . . I didn’t—not once!”
I give his knee a squeeze. “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t do this to yourself.”
“But what if—?” He leans closer, the internal pain so palpable that it hurts me, too. “What if I never see her again, Grace? I’ll never forgive myself.”
“You will.” I take his hand in mine. “We will.”
I give the angel across from us a smile, and in my soul, I know Missy, Sara, Joy, and the others will be okay, too. Gideon will keep them safe. He’ll find us. Good will prevail, and we’ll survive.
We have hope.
END OF BOOK THREE
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Acknowledgements
As always, I’d like to thank my amazingly talented production team: Kimberly Grenfell, my editor; Christian Bentulan, my cover artist; and John Gibson, my formatter. You guys are my dream team, and without you, these stories wouldn’t be what they are. I look forward to working with you on many more projects to come!
To all of my lovely advance reader-reviewers—you’re my shining stars. Thank you for your love and support of me and my work, as always, and I hope this third installment was everything you’d hoped it would be. Special shout-out to Cheree C. of For Love of Books 4, for her pre-ARC proofread of this story. It’s that last minute magic that really makes a project shine! So thanks for your willingness to assist in polishing up any straggling errors. You rock!
Thank you, as always, to my amazing parents. Without your love and support, this would be a pretty dark road! Not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for all the ways in which you’ve helped me solidify my dreams.
Special thanks to Amy Bartelloni for being such an awesome, encouraging friend. You cheer me on and motivate me
to push through the rough days, shedding your light when I need it most, and you inspire me to continue to be true to myself, and my passion. You’re the best!
Special thanks also to Jay S., for allowing me to literally transplant you from reality to fiction. This story wouldn’t be what it is without you! Having you “meet” Grace was so rewarding to me (and her!), and allowing my readers to meet you as well, to witness what an amazing person you are, I hope, gives you a sense of validation that you more than deserve.
I love you.
Last, but not least, thank you, reader, for taking the time to read these stories. It’s my wish for you to take something from them that will inspire you to live life to its fullest, and to never take anything for granted, because you never know . . . when the zombies might come. ;)
Xoxo
Christina
Contact Info
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Contents
Quick Links
Epigraph
Dedication
PART I
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
PART II
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Thank You
Acknowledgements
Contact Info
Other Books by Christina
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright © 2017 Christina Rozelle
A Spark In The Dark Press
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, with the exception of brief quotes used in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Christian Bentulan
Interior layout by John Gibson