To my astonishment, my grandparents were sleeping peacefully as promised when I returned home late Sunday morning. (There’d been no rabbit in the sky. I’d checked. And yeah, I now knew the cloud had to do with zombies rather than cars, but a girl couldn’t be too careful.) Cole had dropped me off with a curt “I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning for school. Seven-fifteen. Be ready.”
I’d told him not to bother, that I’d ride the bus. I had to set things straight with Justin sometime, and better earlier than later. The look Cole had next given me could have frozen the Pacific.
I’d stood my ground against him. I wasn’t going to jump when he said jump. I was more likely to give him the finger. He’d dumped me, insulted me, and let his dad grill me. I’d help him with the zombies, of course I would, and I wanted to train with him and learn how to be a better fighter. I wanted to make a difference in this new world, wanted to help people, but I wouldn’t follow him slavishly to do it.
He’d taken off without another word. I had a feeling he would be waiting outside my house tomorrow morning, despite my protests. Guess he wasn’t going to jump when I said jump, either.
I spent the next half hour walking the edge of my home, searching for some sign of the Blood Line that proved so powerful against the zombies. I found nothing, nor did I smell the aroma the zombies found so offensive.
By the time I finished, I ached a thousand times worse than when I’d started. With a sigh, I lumbered to my room and slid into bed to grab a quick power nap before I got ready for church.
Four “quick” hours later, high-pitched laughter woke me up. The neighbor kids must be playing outside, and my grandparents must have decided to stay in. I wriggled out of the warm cocoon I’d made for myself, showered as diligently as possible without wetting my stitches and dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and baggy sweatpants to hide each of my injuries. The clothes were plainly winter wear, and the heat of summer still reigned, but what else could I do?
I finally understood Mackenzie’s wardrobe choice.
My gaze caught on the journal still resting on my desk. At some point, I’d have to tell Cole about it. Plus, he might be able to decode it. I walked over, opened to the page I’d marked—and blinked with astonishment.
The page was no longer in code.
Baffled, I just kind of fell into my chair and read, Those abilities I mentioned? Some slayers have inklings of the future. Some can see the Blood Lines and recognize our sanctuaries. Some can destroy the zombies one by one, then two by two, after being bitten a single time. Something in their spirit infects the zombies and spreads from one to another like a contagious disease, with no more action on the slayer’s part.
Some can do none of that. Some can do all of that.
I have yielded completely. I can do all.
That’s how I know about the war that’s coming. That’s how I know that not a single slayer—or civilian—will survive unless something more is done.
That’s how I know what needs to be done.
I need to die.
The rest of the words were written in that same code as before. I banged my fist into my desk, my laptop shaking. Why, why, why? How, how, how? English, then coded, English, then coded again. Why had it changed? How had it changed?
What I knew: Cole and I saw glimpses of the future. I could see the Blood Lines. I wasn’t sure whether or not my spirit was poison for the zombies, and wasn’t sure I wanted to find out. Put it all together, and it was more than I’d ever before known—but it still wasn’t enough. How had I yielded to anything? How could I yield to more?
I rubbed my eyes, set the journal aside. I’d try to read it again tomorrow. Maybe another passage would open up to me, maybe not. Until then, I had to deal with my grandparents.
I had a feeling they’d do one of two things when they saw me:
Ground me from everything except breathing.
Ground me from everything including breathing.
I was only surprised they hadn’t burst into my bedroom already to demand answers.
I trudged my way to the kitchen. Nana stood at the counter putting together a sandwich.
Pretty as a buttercup in her yellow blouse, she offered me a soft grin. “Something must be in the air. Pops and I slept in, too, so we thought we’d go to church tonight instead.”
“I’ll go, too.”
“Great. Are you hungry?”
Okay, that had to be a trick question. If I said yes, she would then say, well, you’re never eating again! “Uh…yes?” I gave it a shot, anyway.
“Ham and Swiss all right?”
“Yes?” Again with the question in my tone. I gulped back my nervousness and said, “So about last night…”
The curtains were open behind her, morning light spilling into the area. Pots and pans hung above her, casting shadows over her cheeks. She tilted her head to the side and sighed. “We heard you come in. Ten minutes past curfew isn’t a huge, horrible deal, but I do hope you’ll call us next time if you’re going to be so much as a minute late. Pops worries.”
Thank you, Frosty! “Of course, yes,” I rushed out. “I’m sorry I didn’t this time. I lost track. I’m sorry,” I repeated.