I laughed and turned back to my book.
We had been in Constance for months. The days passed by and it started to seem surreal that the Awakened had even happened. Everything felt so…normal. Sure, we were practicing our gun skills every day, and Ash was getting better at trying to take me down. But it felt normal.
The weather was beginning to turn; the sun was out longer, the cold seeming to fade. Winter was finally breaking, and the beginnings of spring were finally beginning to show. I felt more confident in our abilities to survive in Constance, away from any Awakened, during mild temperatures of summer instead of the biting cold of winter.
We were spending an afternoon taking the winter things down from the house, opening the windows and doors to let some spring air in. I was taking the big blankets from all over the house, folding them and piling them up to be put in the barn.
I was eating lunch with Ash when my mother came in, a bandana tied around her long blonde hair.
“Can you run to the barn and grab the bins in there?” she asked. “All the blankets should fit in those. We’re going to have to start planning for summer.” Her hand was held to her forehead while she stopped to think. She began muttering other suggestions to herself and I resisted the urge to laugh.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, taking my dishes to the sink. Ash started to stand up, but I waved him aside. My hand went automatically to the gun, hanging in the holster at my hip, and I felt a sense of relief and comfort at having it there. I ran my hands under the cold faucet real quick and then headed outside toward the barn.
I immediately halted mid-step when I heard it: the loud breathing, raspy, rough and absolutely terrifying. My hand flew to my gun, but I hesitated, unsure if I was really seeing what was in front of me.
It was an Awakened, on its own. He was probably mid-forties, maybe early fifties, dressed in a tattered business suit, not unlike the men I was used to seeing all the time back home. He was staring at me blankly, and I felt frozen in his stare, unsure if he was going to say something, or whether he was even aware of me standing in front of him.
I shook my head, pulling myself out of the hesitation, and yanked my gun out of my holster and shot him. The first shot hit him in the shoulder and dark blood came pouring out of the wound.
He looked down at it unfazed and back up at me, his eyes making contact with me. “That hurt, you know,” he said, his voice causing me to shiver with disgust. I aimed again and this time I was much closer, the bullet sailing straight through his cheek. Before he could react, I’d shot one last time, and he went crashing to the ground. I lowered my arm, shaking, and crossed over to the body. I pulled out the knife that I tried to keep with me at all times and stabbed him in the face. Blood spurted up at me, covering my hands. I looked down at the body, feeling like I was about to lose my breakfast.
“Zoey?”
I looked up and back at the house. Both Ash and my mother were standing there, looking horrified.
“Is that…” my mom asked, lowering her hand from where it was covering her mouth.
“Yes,” I answered, looking over my shoulder at the body on the ground. I was shaking uncontrollably, and my eyes met Ash’s for a moment in solidarity. “I need to get rid of the body.”
“I’ll get it,” my mom said, though she looked absolutely sick at the idea.
“It’s fine,” I said, sliding my gun back in the holster. My shaking fingers caused me to miss a few times, and I almost threw it on the ground in frustration.
“Zoey.” I looked up at her, and saw that she had calmed herself and now looked determined. “I’ll clean up the body. Go inside. Clean yourself up.”
I climbed up the steps of the porch and made my way to the front door. I found my way blocked by Ash. “Move,” I said, sharply.
“I was coming outside to help you,” he said, “with the bins, I mean. I can’t believe there’s an Awakened here.”
“Was here,” I said, a flash of anger bursting through my veins. He had seen the Awakened, had seen me hesitate, and he hadn’t even moved. He hadn’t even thought to help me. The rational part of my brain was telling me that I was overreacting, that I wasn’t thinking logically. “Move,” I repeated. When he stayed there, in front of me, I pushed past him and made my way into the house and into the kitchen, ready to get the hot and sticky blood off my hands.