A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena. Страница 33

The scene morphs, but this time, I’m not stuck in the past. The pain is gone. The fear is gone. I’m standing in an open field of light, surrounded by puffy white clouds. A sense of peace wraps around me, welcoming me. I breathe deeply, and oh, wow, the air is scented with spring rain and summer flowers, and it’s a heady combination.

I’m... I frown. I’m connected to some sort of power grid, a million different thoughts seeming to stream through my mind at once. Thoughts I can’t fathom. There is no beginning and no end. There was, there is and there always will be. Light triumphs over dark. The battle is already won, and yet, the final battle hasn’t even been waged. Present is one with the future, and the past is wiped away. I have a purpose, a destiny, but I’ve allowed petty emotion to block my way.

What is this place?

Kat appears in front of me, and she’s shaking her head, adamant. She’s no longer wearing the shirt and shorts I’ve seen her in every time she’s visited Frosty. Now a long white robe drapes her short frame.

“No,” she says, still shaking her head. “Your entrance is denied. It’s not yet your time.”

Yet. There’s that word again.

“Fight, Camilla. Fight.” She shoves me backward, and we actually connect. Her hands against my shoulders are solid. I fall backward, losing the connection to the grid, the endless stream of thoughts ceasing, the peace leaving me, the pain returning, until my mind goes blank once again.

The panic I experienced when I found Milla...it’s nothing compared to the panic I feel now. She’s so pale, so still. Blood is splattered over her face. It soaks her neck and chest, and the sight of it brings back my worst memories.

I watched Kat die. I won’t watch Milla do the same.

I’ve spent nearly a month with her. Every day. No exceptions. She’s there when I wake up and she’s there when I go to sleep. I’ve watched her interact with others and I’ve watched her fight zombies. She’s strong. Amazingly strong. But like everyone else, she’s fallible. Seeing her on the floor, cut open and bloody... Something inside me broke. The anger I’ve harbored toward her, maybe. Or what remains of my hate. All I felt was fear and desperation.

I haven’t shaken either one.

When I get Milla into bed, the four people with me—Cole, Ali, Bronx and River—light up and push dynamis into different parts of her body. Usually the pain of this rivals the pain of the wound, as bone, muscle and flesh weave back together, but Milla gives no reaction and my mouth goes dry.

She’s still breathing. That’s all the matters. Right?

“Our turn,” Reeve says, and we back off. She and Dan Weber—a fortysomething surgeon who used to work with her dad—examine the wound and check Milla’s vitals.

We opt not to take her to a hospital for several reasons. One, our fire is of more benefit to her than any medicine, whether it seems like it right now or not. Two, we can’t risk the cops being called, and Milla being questioned about what happened. Three, what will the doctors do when she heals faster than humanly possible? Test her? Submit her name for further study? Four, we can’t guard her the way I want her guarded anywhere but here.

“To borrow the word I’ve heard both of you use, dynamis has already repaired her larynx,” Reeve says, her relief palpable.

The surgeon, who is stitching Milla’s throat, nods his agreement. “It’s nothing short of miraculous.” When he ties off the last stitch, he looks to River. “Do you have the same blood type as your sister?”

“Yes.”

“Good, that’s good. Siblings often do.” Weber bustles around the room, gathering the supplies he needs. His hands are steady, his expression impassive.

Cole and Bronx carry a cushy chair into the room, and River sits. Weber sticks him with what looks to be an IV needle, but the tubes are then connected to a needle in Milla’s arm, and blood is poured straight into her veins.

“Take as much as she needs.” There are tears in River’s eyes.

I think there are tears in mine.

“I’ll take what’s safe for you,” Weber responds.

“No,” he snaps. “You’ll do what I tell you and take whatever’s necessary.”

Weber, like the rest of us, knows he’s lashing out because of fear and offers no further comment.

Reeve checks everyone else’s blood type, but only Ali is compatible. If necessary, I’ll steal bags of O negative, the universal donor, from nearby hospitals.

“Get some rest,” Weber tells River after he removes the tube. “I’ll need you again once you’re recovered.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the words slurred. His eyes are rolling around in his head, and I wonder if Weber gave him a sedative, or if the blood loss is to blame.

Reeve shoos away Ali and Cole. “Let’s give the girl some space.”

“I’ll be in the hall,” Bronx says, refusing to stray far from his girl.

She kisses his cheek, then looks me over, her brows raised. “You, too, Frosty. I’ll monitor her and call you if there’s a change.”

I cross my arms over my chest. It’ll take a crane to get me out, and even then it’s iffy. Milla got hurt on my watch. I’m not letting anything else happen to her.

“Well, all right, then,” she says with a sigh.

I’m not sure how much time passes before Milla begins to stir. Reeve and River are asleep, despite the frenzied beeping from the heart monitor.

“Caro,” Milla whimpers. “So sorry. Should have...couldn’t... I’m sorry.”

River’s eyelids pop open and he jolts upright.

Who is Caro?

I reach out to rub Milla’s hand in comfort, but she screams and jerks away, severing contact.

“Don’t touch her.” River rushes over to draw me back. “Not when she’s like this. It only makes the memories feel real.”

Memories, not just nightmares.

Her head thrashes from side to side as she gasps out, “Daddy, no. Please, no. I’ll be good. I swear I’ll be good.”

Sickness churns in my stomach. “She was beaten by Daddy Dearest, wasn’t she?” She’d once alluded to it, but now I know for sure.

River tilts his head sharply. “He used to beat the shit out of us.”

“And Caro?” I ask.

“Milla’s twin, killed by our father. Don’t ask either of us for more details. Just...don’t.”

She had a twin. A sister, loved and lost in the worst possible way. I can’t even... Hell. No wonder she hangs on to River so staunchly, determined to keep the guy alive, whatever the cost. Having lost Kat, I’d do anything to save the loved ones I have left. Things I wouldn’t have considered before.

I scrub a hand down my face. I’ve been the worst kind of hypocrite. Milla deserves far better than what I’ve dished to her.

“Is your dad still alive?”

“No.” River combs a hand through his hair. “I’m going to find out who did this to my sister, and I’m going to make sure the body, when I’m finished with it, is never found. If I’m needed, call me and I’ll return.”

“You have my word. But I expect you to call me if you find the culprit. I’ll help. Or I’ll be your alibi.”

* * *

Over the next handful of days, we’re treated to many more screaming episodes from Milla and all but one revolves around her father. The other is about some guy named Mace. She sobs over him as if he ripped out her heart and stomped on it with cleats.

I want Mace to occupy the same grave as her attacker.

I hate that she’s trapped in such a terrible past, but at least she’s on the mend.

Cole comes by at least once a day to speak with me. He’s locked up the recruits who weren’t in the gym when the alarm went off. He’s questioned them, but each passes a lie detector test. We have no clues, nothing to narrow the list of suspects. The mystery is driving me to the brink. Who did this to Milla, and why?