by Tracey Ward
“Far from here,” one of the men says with a wicked smile. “So far you’ll never find him. He is chosen to survive. To lead. To purify what has been tain—”
Alvarez shoots him in the thigh.
He shifts the gun to the other Colonist before repeating, “Where is he?”
“We’ll never tell you,” the man replies defiantly, but his eyes are shifty. He’s scared.
I can’t say I blame him. I’m a little freaked right now myself.
“Is he here?” Alvarez asks the Vashon beside him.
The guy shakes his head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell.”
“Joss, the body there by you and Ryan. The build is about right. Is that him?”
“Wh—what does he look like?” I stammer, staring at the gun in Alvarez’s hand. “I don’t remember what you told us.”
“Glasses,” Ryan says breathlessly. “About sixty years old. Dark hair. Five foot ten.”
“Not anymore.”
There’s a whoosh from above us, then a sickening, wet smack. Everyone jumps, Ryan and I stumbling backwards to get away from the mass that’s just dropped down onto the gleaming floor in front of us. Red splatters and white specks shoot in every direction. I’m hit in the hand by something yellow, small, and hard. It’s a tooth. I stare at it completely confused until my eyes figure it out. I drag them to the mass in the middle of the floor. Then I start to gag.
It’s a severed human head.
“What the—” Ryan begins in amazement, his eyes rising to the landing one floor above us.
There stands Ali. She’s coated in blood, looking creepily like a cannibal, a long hatchet dangling loosely from her hand.
Her eyes black as coal, she grins crookedly. “I’d say he’s closer to five foot four now.”
Chapter Twenty Four
They’re attaching Westbrook’s head to a spike on the front of the boat. Ryan, Trent, and I are sitting on lounge chairs just off the dock, enjoying the warm afternoon sunshine, and watching one of the most disturbing things I’ve seen a human being ever do. Andy eating Marlow is solidly Number One, but this isn’t falling far behind.
“The southern Colony is still burning,” Trent observes casually.
He’s right—smoke is rising from across the water, where the Colony still burns and the zombies still roam. I doubt there’s a living person left in that place, and if there is, I imagine they wish they weren’t.
I think it’s all pretty depressing.
“I wish they’d finish it off already,” I say sourly.
“I wish they’d take that head down,” Ryan grumbles.
“I don’t want to get on that boat.”
“It’s the only way home.”
I grin at him. “We could swim.”
He chuckles, but it turns into a cough and I feel bad for making the joke. “Not even on a good day.”
Ali checked him out before putting the disgusting star on her Christmas tree. She said he’ll be fine. Infection is his only real concern and she found plenty of med supplies in the mansion. She patched him up and told him to rest, so that’s what we’re doing. Vashons are ransacking the mansion, taking everything that’s not nailed down, and anything that is will burn. They’re hell-bent on destroying this place and making sure another Westbrook doesn’t rise up to take this one’s place.
I may not agree with everything they’re doing, but that much I can get behind.
“They’re not bad people, Joss,” Ryan says quietly.
I zoned out staring at the boat, my face pinched with disgust.
“They look like bad people.”
“Good people can do bad things. No one is perfect.”
“I liked them,” I admit sadly. “When we first met them I really liked them. I liked them right up until they sealed the gate on the southern Colony.”
“I know.”
“Do you still like them?”
“Some of them.”
“Sam?”
“And Ali. And Alvarez.”
I shake my head in disbelief but I keep my mouth shut. I wish I still liked Ali.
“You’ll like them again someday,” Trent tells me.
I grin at him, not even mad he’s telling me my own feelings. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. They’re your kind of people. You just caught them on a bad day. If I judged you by your bad days, I wouldn’t like you.”
I snort. “Pretty bad day.”
“They’ll be more good than bad. Give it time.”
“I’ll never forget this, no matter how long I wait.”
“No, but someday you’ll forgive it. At the very least you’ll understand it.”
I look at him quizzically. “Do you still like them?”
He smiles. “Who said I ever did?”
***
We ride at the back of the boat as far away from the head mount as we can. We took the lounge chairs with us and I have to admit, I’m pretty excited about them. They are comfy! Despite the nightmare on the front of the boat, I’m pretty happy sitting back here in the breeze under the sun with Ryan and Trent. The Vashons are driving the boat up over the city, through an inlet, and out into the Sound. We’ll pass over the MOHAI and I wonder if Vin has taken it or if my friend is dead. Part of me is worried, but a bigger part—the part that knows him best—believes what I told Crenshaw: that man is too wicked to die.
We don’t dip down into the cul-de-sac the MOHAI sits in, but Trent helps me find it with the binoculars as we pass. I can’t see anyone on the outside, but the building is intact and they’re not flying a Hive flag, so I breathe a little easier.
When we pass by The Hive, a few men come out to stand on the dock and watch us go by. Their expressions are unreadable.
“And this is why they’re parading Westbrook’s head,” Ryan tells me from his spot on his chair. His eyes are closed against the sun. He looks so peaceful I almost worry about him.
“Why?”
“It’s a warning.”
“Hmm. They couldn’t have sent a letter?”
He smiles. “Who can afford postage these days?”
Next stop is the stadiums. That is a totally different experience than cruising by the empty MOHAI or the indifferent Hive. People come pouring out of the stadiums to swarm the shoreline. They scream and shout, clapping and waving to us like we’re heroes. And maybe to them we are. The Colonists here have been set free by the people on this boat. They’ve gotten their lives back and I’m glad I get to see this. It gives me hope that maybe this wasn’t all a mistake. I’ll never regret what we’ve done, but the sour taste I have in my mouth over what happened in the southern Colony is sweetened a little by the joy we see from the Colonists.
No, not Colonists. The people. The men and women re-released to the wild.
Trent shoves his binoculars against my chest roughly. “Don’t lose these.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, unsure why he’s brusquely pawning them off on me.
When I get my answer, I still don’t understand.
Trent goes back a few steps, crouches down, then sprints forward. He leaps into the air, up and over the side of the boat, and right down into the cold water of the Sound.
“Trent!” I shout, rushing forward to look over the edge.
I wait for a few breathless seconds but he finally appears, his blond hair bright against the dark water. He takes long, powerful strokes away from the boat, swimming for the shore.
“Did he jump?” Ryan asks, sounding shocked.
I turn to face him, my mouth hanging open. “I—he—”
I lift the binoculars to follow Trent as he swims the distance to the shore. I’m nervous the entire time. When he finds land and begins to stride purposefully out of the water, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then I gasp in shock.
“What?” Ryan demands. “Is he okay?”
Trent walks onto the shore, pushes through the crowd patting him on the back, and makes his way directly to a girl—a tall girl with chestnut brown hair
and a sweet smile.
Then he straight-up kisses her.
“What’s happening?!” Ryan shouts at me, getting annoyed.
“Trent kissed a girl!”
“Very funny. Is he okay?”
I turn to Ryan, laughing. “Come here. I know it hurts to stand, but you have to see this! Trent is kissing a girl!”
Ryan moves quick for a guy with a stab wound. He takes the binoculars from me, finds where I’m pointing, and nearly drops them into the water.
“Holy shit,” he mutters numbly.
“Right?”
“Who is that?”
“Amber.”
“Who’s Amber?”
“My friend from the kitchens in the Colony. Trent has met her like one time! Maybe two.”
“I guess he liked what he saw.”
I snatch the binoculars back. “Quit hogging them. I want to see this.”
“Pervert.”
“Yes,” I whisper happily.
I watch Trent bend Amber over backwards, dipping her until she’s nearly horizontal. The best part about it? She’s holding onto him tightly. She’s kissing him back.
“Joss.”
“What?”
When he doesn’t answer me I lower the binoculars.
His warm eyes are glowing with excitement. “Let’s do it.”
“Do what? Jump overboard?”
“No,” he laughs, “the woods. The park. Let’s really do it. Let’s live there. Together.”
The air is too thin. It pinches in my lungs, getting lost down in my stomach and making it bubble nervously.
“You don’t want that,” I protest weakly.
“Yes, I do,” he replies seriously. “I want that more than anything.”
Me too, I think.
So why can’t I say it?
“I’d make a crap roommate.”
He grins. “No worse than Trent.”
I take a step closer to him, my hand gliding along the metal railing toward his. “I can be a jerk.”
“I can handle it.”
I slide my hand closer. My fingertips brush against his. “I can’t cook.”
“I’d never ask you to.”
He slips his fingers between mine, weaving them together.
I blink rapidly. “I can’t live in Crenshaw’s house. I don’t think I can ever set foot in there again.”
“I’ll build you a new one,” he promises, tugging me toward him.
I go willingly, stepping into his space. “I’ll help.”
He smiles. “Is that a yes?”
I take a deep breath, pulling in the air, the sunshine, the water, his eyes. The world. I let it in and I let myself be in it.
I nod my head. I smile.
“Yes.”
He looks so ridiculously happy then, and my heart clenches with a strange joy knowing that I did that. I make him feel that. He looks relieved and light. He looks young, the way he’s supposed to be, the way we’re both supposed to be, and I feel it standing there smiling with him. I feel so many things I never thought I would or could.
I feel loved.
Free.
Wild.
Alive.
Thank you for reading the Survival Series!
I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please consider leaving a review for this or any of the books in the series on Amazon.
If you’d like to read more of my work, go to the next page for Chapter One of my highly rated Sci-Fi Romance novel, Sleepless.
Prologue
Nick
The first time I saw her, I was dead.
I was rolling down the river with two coins for the Ferryman, heading out onto the infinite, black sea. Worst of all, I was going without a fight.
How she found me is still a mystery or a miracle, depending on your perspective. Any way you slice it, I’m lucky she was there, though showing gratitude for it wouldn’t come easy for a long time after. How she put up with me for as long as she did is pure miracle, no mystery about it. She’s as close to an angel as I’ll ever get. Whenever I think of her, I always remember the way she looked there by the river; long auburn hair, glistening hazel eyes and a T-shirt that read Zombies Hate Fast Food.
When she reached out and took my hand, it shattered my world. Her eyes and the warm press of her skin against mine changed everything. Suddenly I was gasping for breath, fighting for life, and as she lowered her face to within inches of mine, I felt my heart slam painfully in my chest. She parted her lips, making me believe she would kiss me goodbye. If that had been the last sensation I experienced in this world I would have died a lucky man. Instead, she whispered one word against my mouth. One word that would press air into my lungs and pull me back from the void.
“Breathe.”
Then she was gone.
Chapter One
Alex
I wake with a start. My eyes immediately find the black sparrow decals flying across the white paint of the wall beside my bed, calming my racing heart. I trace one with my fingers, smiling at the familiar feel of its edges. This is what I always do. This is how they tell me that I’m home.
I actually hate birds. They’re too quick and erratic with their sharp claws and beaks. They’re like flying, disease carrying knives. But more than anything I hate them because they remind me of the Dragon.
“Are you here?” Cara calls.
“Present and accounted for.” I drop my hand from the bird just as my bedroom door swings open. My sister stands in the doorway. Watching.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“I’m glad you’re home.”
I chuckle quietly. It could go without saying but she says it every time. “Me too.”
“Where’d you go? Do I want to know?”
“Transylvania,” I lie.
“Okay, so I don’t want to know.”
I shake my head. No. She doesn’t want to know.
“I had the Dragon Dream,” I tell her, changing the subject. “It brought me home.”
“The Jabberwocky,” she corrects me quickly.
I roll my eyes. “It’s not the Jabberwocky.”
“I have shown you the pictures. It looks exactly as you described.”
“I know, but—“
“Is it or is it not the spitting image of the Jabberwocky?”
“It is,” I concede, “but how would I have started dreaming of the Jabberwocky when I was four years old? We never had the book.”
“You saw the movie.”
“We’ve talked about this,” I groan. “The Disney Alice doesn’t have the Jabberwocky in it. There’s no way. It’s not him, it’s just a dragon.”
“It’d be cool if you could dream about Pete’s Dragon.”
“Jesus, don’t put the idea in my head!”
“What? He’s friendly! And it’s not like you can Slip to Passamaquody.”
Slip is our word for what I do. For my tendency to fall asleep, dream of New York City and wake up in Times Square in my underwear. My parents called it sleep walking though it’s not at all accurate. It just made it sound normal, made it easier for them. I don’t stand up and walk out the door. When I Slip, I dream of a place then there I am. The base of the Eiffel Tower. The shore on the coast of Ireland. The third baseline at Wrigley Field. While it can take my mind a millisecond to raise familiar images of the Las Vegas strip, it will take me days to return my body home from it. I don’t understand how it happens. No one does. It’s mind over matter to the nth degree. It is unpredictable, terrifying, and most of all, annoying.
“He kicked my ass,” I tell her glumly, thinking of the Dragon. I rub my leg even though there’s no wound on it. Not anymore. Not now that I’m awake.
“Jabberwocky’s are the worst.”
“It’s not the Jabberwocky!”
“Sure. Hey, what are we doing tonight? Did you decide?”
I throw my arm across my face. “Nothing, we are doing nothing.”
“No,” she i
nsists, pulling my arm away. “We were going to do nothing if you Slipped away to Antarctica. But you didn’t. You’re here and we need to celebrate.”
“It’s not a big one. Can’t we just let it slide?”
“Every birthday until your twenty-second is a big one. Your twenty-second is a bust. From there on out you receive no new liberties, other than the right to grow old.”
“That’s depressing.”
“It is, so enjoy the good ones while you can. You’re turning twenty! This is a big deal.” She takes my hand in hers and squeezes it affectionately. “Plus, you got shafted pretty hard on your last few birthdays. They should have been special and I know they really weren’t. Let’s use this year to make up for it.”
For my Sweet Sixteen my parents gave me an eviction notice and a new car. Worst Showcase Showdown ever. Since then birthdays have held little appeal to me seeing as I now associate them with abandonment and hush money.
My sister is eight years older than I am and was already an established, responsible adult when I got the boot. She’s a Certified Public Accountant making good money and was more than happy to take me in. She knew what was wrong with me, knew she’d have to support me because I can’t hold down a job, but she didn’t care. When I showed up at her door, a lost, crying mess, she promised that she’d always watch out for me. Then she went to our parent’s house, took my things, gave them a piece of her mind and never looked back. She’s fiercely protective of me and I want to say it bothers me and that I can take care of myself, but after growing up with a mother who kept me at a distance, knowing someone has my back is indescribable.
“Can we egg their house?” I ask, referring to our parents.
“No. But I will buy a big ass Margarita and let you take hits off it.”
“Deal.”
∞
I’m standing on the bank of the Missouri River in Omaha, wondering why I work so hard to stay here. I should embrace the escape and let my mind Slip me far, far away to a place that is warm. My hands are freezing and my toes would ache if they could remember what it was like to feel.