“Like I’m one to judge another person’s sanity.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Okay, how about this? No, I don’t think you’re crazy.”
I chose to believe him. “Have you ever seen a witness? That’s what she called herself. Not a ghost, those don’t exist, and not an angel, those do, but a witness.” Like one of his slain friends, maybe.
“No.”
“Ever heard the term?”
“Outside of a legal trial, no.”
“Has anyone else?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Oh,” I said, my shoulders slumping.
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Ali. You can see zombies when not many others can. Seeing witnesses or whatever is probably no different than that.” He ruffled my hair, making me feel about three years old. “Now come on, we’ve got a lot to do.”
After tossing him the keys, I exited the Jeep and headed toward the house. Halfway there, he was at my side, twining our fingers and tugging me toward the barn in back.
“This way,” he said—and he refused to release me.
We were holding hands as if we were a couple.
The closer we got to the door, the louder I heard the grunts and groans coming from inside. I blinked, thinking it sounded like people were being tortured in there.
Turns out, yes, they were being tortured. Only, they were doing it to themselves. Throughout the barn I saw workout equipment, a training mat and even a boxing ring, as well as all the boys who’d been hanging around Cole that first day of school, plus a few that hadn’t.
Cole made the introductions. There was Lucas, who was gorgeous and black, and practically bench-pressing a bus. He had a house arrest anklet on, and yet, I was pretty sure I’d seen him at Reeve’s party.
Derek, also black, stood at the end of a stall, shooting a dummy dressed to look like a zombie. Bronx hammered away at a punching bag. Brent, a blond, held it steady. Collins, a boy with a shaved head and house arrest anklet of his own, and Haun (Spike), an Asian boy with dark hair and eyes, were sword fighting, and, judging by the sound of metal clanging against metal, with real swords.
A smorgasbord of hot, sweaty guys and warrior weapons. I’d stepped into every girl’s fantasy.
Frosty and Mackenzie were running the treadmills. Trina and Cruz (Turd), a Hispanic boy with brown hair and a scar running down the side of his cheek, were in the ring, boxing without gloves. Aka punching the crap out of each other.
As I stood there, taking everything in, I could make out a thousand different scents. Something floral from Mackenzie, something musky from Haun. Something fruity from Collins.
“You guys do this every day after school?” I asked, trying to hide my nervousness.
“Pretty much. Strength and stamina will save your life. Plus, we can take our weapons into the spirit realm, and they help us hobble the zombies for easier elimination.”
“So I’ll be learning how to use them.”
“Yes, but because of your injuries, you’re only doing spirit projection, the treadmill and target practice today. Once you heal, we’ll get you started with everything else.”
“Okay.”
“You ready?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The way he eyed me up and down made me feel like a bug under a microscope. He took in everything, missed nothing. “Step out of your body.”
It took me a moment to register what he’d said. “Just like that?” I snapped my fingers, and gazed around self-consciously. “Here, now?”
He gave me an unsympathetic nod. “Just like that. Here and now.”
For a long while, I tried, I swear I tried, but with no results. No matter how hard I attempted to push my spirit out of my body, the two remained connected.
“You’ve done it before,” Cole reminded me.
“Yeah, but I was under zombie duress.”
“How about this? Step out of your body or I’ll put you over my knee and spank you in front of everyone.”
I huffed and puffed and gasped out, “I’d like to see you try!”
He reached for me. With a squeal I slapped his hand and darted out of the way.
“Five,” he said, a steely glint in his eyes.
I tried for bravado. “What, you’re counting like you’re my mother?”
“Four.”
He was counting. Great. I took a moment to breathe in and out, slow and measured, my determination rising.
“Three.”
I closed my eyes, visualized the zombies from the cemetery, the ones who’d hovered over my dad. My determination became a burning fire in my chest. Faith. I just needed faith. I could do this.
“Two.”
I would do this. I would. Nothing could stop me.
As easy as breathing, I stepped out of my body.
One moment I was sweltering, the next I was bone-chillingly cold. My teeth chattered as I scanned the barn. I could see the glow of the Blood Lines, the smears over each of the windows. I could see each of the kids moving at a slower pace than I’d realized, sweat sliding down their temples, a bright light—energy?—softly radiating from their pores.