A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena. Страница 46

“Covered, covered, covered,” Ali says, her eyes glazed as she remembers the journal passage. “Look inside.”

Inside what? Myself? Well, I have!

“Our only defense—hell, our only real weapon—has been stripped from us.” Bronx bangs his head into his pillow. “We all suspect Tiffany is the culprit. Let’s find out what she did to us and fix it.”

“I’ll question her,” I announce. “I’m good at getting answers.” And it’s time.

Cole shakes his head. “My house, my interrogation.”

“Tiffany slashed Milla’s throat.” Frosty places his hand on my shoulder, squeezes. “Give her a chance.”

I still don’t turn to face him, even though I want to look into his eyes more than I want to take my next breath. His support is...well, it’s miraculous and wonderful and completely unexpected.

River strides into the room. “I second that.” His pale hair sticks out in spikes. Crimson splatters mar his cheeks and arms, his clothes are ripped and dirt-streaked, his boots caked with mud. “You haven’t seen my sister in action. You’re in for a treat.”

“It’s true.” Sometimes a girl has to toot her own horn. “When you’re good, you’re good. When you’re me, you’re better.” Toot, toot.

“Let her try.” Ali bats her lashes at Cole. “Please, Coley Poley.”

I snicker. Coley Poley?

After a moment of hesitation, Coley Poley gives a stiff nod. “Fine. Do it.”

Relief spears me. “I won’t let you down. You have my word.”

River spits out every bit of information he has on the girl. The more I know, the better prepared I’ll be.

“I’m going with you,” Frosty says. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to you.”

First he talks and jokes with me. Then he touches me of his own free will. Now he’s worried about me? Me?

Am I being played?

“Sometime today,” Bronx says.

“Right.” Blushing—again—I stride from the room, Frosty close to my heels.

* * *

Tiffany is locked in an eight-by-eight cage in the basement. A cross between a prison cell and a kennel for large dogs. How appropriate. She’s unarmed and by now, she’s malnourished and weak.

I scan her new living quarters. Dim and dark, though spacious. Very little furniture, only a table and a few chairs scattered about. There are other cages lined against the wall, but they’re currently unoccupied.

Tiffany’s cage is the only one with a toilet, which is out in the open. Cameras are mounted in every corner of the room, allowing us to watch her from the safety and comfort of the security room, where numerous monitors are located.

Noticing us, Tiffany scrambles to the back of her cage. Her hair, now bleached to a yellow-white, is matted, her eyes wild. One is brown, one is blue because of a contact. Some of her makeup has been washed away by sweat, revealing freckles. Blood is crusted underneath a gash in her chin.

“You,” she snarls at me. She’s frightened. She’s angry. And she blames me for her predicament.

My gaze remains on her as I say to Frosty, “Get her out and put her in a chair.” The key to any interrogation is confidence. The moment she realizes I have nothing to lose and she has everything to gain, she’ll settle.

To my surprise, Frosty obeys without hesitation and wrenches the girl from the cage.

“Gently,” I say. Kindness goes a long way in a situation like this. “Please... Saucy Frosty.”

Hearing my choice of nicknames, he flicks me a wry gaze. I shrug. It was worth a shot. He forces Tiffany to sit—and no, he still isn’t gentle. As I scoot a chair in front of her, he remains behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. When Tiffany attempts to stand, he shoves her back down.

“Normally,” I say, “I would beat you with a hammer before asking my questions. Why don’t we skip that part and get straight to the Q and A? I’ve mopped up enough blood for one day.”

She spits at me. “I’m not telling you shit.”

With the distance between us, the glob of grossness lands to the right of my feet. I hold out my hand. “Napkin,” I say to Frosty.

He tosses me his shirt.

Do not focus on his chest.

I wipe up the spit, and stand in front of Tiffany. She glares at me, even as she flinches back. I lean forward. She tries to push me, tries to kick me, but I slap her arm, bat her leg away and climb onto her lap, penning each of her limbs beneath my thighs.

I grip her by the jaw, forcing her to face me, and clean her eyes with Frosty’s spit-dampened shirt. A creepy move, and yet also gentle, hopefully confusing her.

“Such spirit. Such stupidity.” I pat her cheek before I return to my chair. “Did you know Anima once captured my brother?”

“I don’t ca—”

“I went to rescue him and got trapped myself. I was surrounded by agents, disarmed and threatened. I couldn’t fight, so I relied on bravado.” I laugh without humor. “For my efforts, I was forced to watch as my friend—the one I convinced to help me—was stabbed repeatedly in the chest.”

Tiffany pales. Frosty stiffens.

Ignore him. “Do you know who and what Anima is, Tiffany, daughter of Hannah Reynolds?” I state her address, one of the facts River gave me, letting her know I can easily turn my sights on her mother.

She pales. “Is it a cartoon?” Her tone is snarky, but she refuses to meet my eyes.

“Anima,” I say, “is a company responsible for the deaths of many of my friends. They captured and experimented on zombies for their own personal gain, and they didn’t spare the humans who got in their way. Male, female, young, old. It didn’t matter. What you did to me—injecting me with toxin—that’s something an Anima employee would do, but the company has been destroyed...which makes me wonder why you did it.”

“I don’t like you. Maybe that’s why I did it.” She realizes her mistake and scowls. “Not that I did anything.”

I smile at her, but it’s merely a cold baring of teeth. “You’ll be honest with me, or you’ll go back in the cage. I’ll be sure to turn off all the lights on my way out.”

“Bitch.” She tries to stand, but again, Frosty pushes her into the chair. “I’m not scared of you, and I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“You will be...but you didn’t let me finish. Do you really think I’d put you back in the cage alone? Oh, sweetheart, you don’t know me very well. My brother has a crate full of zombies just waiting for their next meal.”

This is true—because River always has a crate full of zombies somewhere.

She licks her dry, cracked lips. “I don’t know who Anima is, okay, and I didn’t do anything to you. You’ve made a mistake. Got the wrong girl.”

“Liar!” I bang my fists against the arms of my chairs. “I’ll give you one more chance, and then I stop being nice. Why did you cut my throat? What did you inject me with at the cemetery? Did you do something to the other slayers, something to negate their abilities? Tell me.”

She gulps. “I’ll tell you everything. But you have to give me something in return.”

She’s an opportunist. Got it. I smile slowly. “For starters, I’ll allow you to live.”

She shakes her head.

“And,” I add, “from this moment on, your responses will purchase your privileges. The lights...the food...a bed in your crate. A blanket. Water to bathe. Towels. Clean clothes.”

She glares at me but says, “I don’t know what was in the darts I used on you. I really don’t. They weren’t meant for a slayer.”

My stomach twists. “You’ll get to keep the lights on. Now. For whom were the darts meant?”

She presses her lips in a firm line.

Fine. “No dinner tonight. Would you like a bed?”

Her breath hitches. “Wait. I’d rather have dinner.”

“Sorry, but that opportunity has passed. Maybe you’ll earn your breakfast. Last chance to earn that bed.”

“Zombies,” she rushes out. “I was supposed to inject zombies.”

A lump grows in my throat. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she says with a stomp of her foot. “I was told what to do, never why.”