I waited for a second, listening to the thunder in my chest…waiting for the Calling inside me to guide the way.
But there was nothing but an empty echo, a beat that contained no words of wisdom or comfort. I gave a slow nod and stared at the curled crook of his finger around the trigger. “Okay,” I whispered. “Easy now, I’m putting the gun down.”
My fingers were slick as I knelt and placed the Sig on the asphalt. My Dad was in that gun. He was in everything that kept me alive, in the words inside my head…the warnings, the drive. He was in my veins, running parallel to the whisper of God.
The soldier moved fast, striding forward to kick the gun out of reach. “Hands! Do it now!”
Fingers splayed, still it did no good. His grip was cruel, clamping on my forearm, squeezing, wrenching until I hit the ground. The road burned, searing the skin on my cheek, and near my eye. His hands were everywhere, spearing into my pockets, gouging their way along my stomach, groping my chest. He didn’t know what he was doing—he had no fucking clue. I ticked off all the places he missed as he yanked my arm, rolling me over onto my back. My spine, my jacket, the inside of my mouth…all the perfect places to hide a razor, or a shiv.
Those things kept you alive. Those things evened the damn score. Dad taught me that.
But not with him. He went for the places designed to make me cringe, the places that should’ve made me cower…between my legs, fingers spearing, sliding the crease of my jeans. I lifted my head and stared into those eyes. The flicker of smugness was consumed by regret. His eyes weren’t just blood-shot…they were blood-filled.
Crimson drops seeped from the corners of his eyes as he leaned in close, sliding down the outside of his nose in a weeping trail. His eyes lifted from the torture of his fingers as he met my gaze. Dark brows furrowed. He stilled, breath trapped…just like he was trapped. He yanked his hand from my breast as though I were the one diseased and rotting. “What the fuck.”
His boots skimmed broken bits of asphalt as he stumbled out of reach.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Kenya murmured. “Brendan…Brendan. Look at me…” Kenya stepped close, reaching out.
But it was no use. He saw what he wanted to see…through a haze of blood. The muzzle rose as I pushed against the blistering road and climbed to my feet. There was no sense in lying, no sense in keeping secrets to myself. The Lost Boys were sick…just like everyone at the lab was sick.
Everyone, except for me.
“Brendan,” a deep voice called out behind him. “What the Hell is going on?”
“Miles,” the sneering wannabe muttered. “You gotta see this.”
The guy who emerged from behind the hick with a gun was older. Not as old as Dad. Still, there was a hardness—a battle-weariness I didn’t see in the guy with the rifle. His gaze skimmed Kenya, and then settled on me.
He wasn’t as sick…not like Mr. All-goddamn-hands here. His skin was weathered, cheeks and chin covered with the makings of a beard. Piercing blue eyes scanned me up and down. His eyes were blood-shot and red rimmed. But there was a darkness in the perfect blue, one that seemed to rise to the surface as he neared. “What do we have here?”
“She’s with me, Miles. We’re here—”
He wrenched his head toward her to snarl. “I know why you’re here.”
Worry filled Kenya’s gaze. She was off-balance, stumbling for a step, even though she stood perfectly still. “Miles…what’s going on?”
He never answered, only turned those haunted eyes back to me. A shiver raced along my spine. I knew who he was now…who stood before me.
The leader of the Lost Boys.
“You’re not sick,” he murmured, taking one step to the side. “Your eyes aren’t blood-shot, skin not jaundiced. Not…infected.”
Kenya flinched and took a step. “You’re not infected either, Miles.”
He came fully into view, lunging toward her. His grip was cruel, fingers gouging flesh to find bone. She whimpered, spine bowed as she fought his hold. But there was no fighting, not for Kenya, not anymore.
“Aren’t we?” Miles snarled. “Aren’t we?”
He took a step, dragging her by the arm as he headed for the compound. She never fought, only tried to keep up as he towed her inside. Fighting was useless. I lifted my head to the men and women who looked down, watching me.
A hard jab in my side made me wince. I glanced at the muzzle. I could take him, he’s sick…and I’m not. I could fight him—my fist curled, middle knuckle shifted forward—I could hit him in the throat, just like Dad had taught me. My heart hammered as Brendan motioned towards Kenya’s pack. “Pick it up and follow them.”
I stepped closer, kicking the side of the pack before kneeling. This wasn’t the welcome we were expecting—not by a long shot. I gripped the straps and lifted, glass clinked together as I heaved it higher. The breeze picked up, carrying the faint clip-clop of hooves. My jaw muscles bulged under the strain. “Not now…”
“Yes. Now.”
The jab in my side came once more, hard steel found my ribs. Pain stabbed deep, making me wince. Don’t show weakness…don’t give them the damn satisfaction. I gripped the pack as he bent and snagged my Sig from the ground. “I’ll want that back, just so you know.”
“Then move,” he snarled, shoving my shoulder.
I stumbled, dug in my heels and slowed my pace. The gate was thin, very thin…the hard thud behind the corrugated iron was followed with a sickening snarl. I could see them, flashes of brows, black, and white. But they weren’t the only beasts here…I scanned the lower level, and glanced left to what had once been the driveway to the underground parking garage.
How many of them were here? I scanned the exposed levels as I neared…thirty…fifty?
Too many…my heart clenched tight—too many to fight—too many to kill.
“Faster.”
The punch came at my back, shoving me forward. Shadows waited, but these weren’t the sweet, cold nothing of the train station—hunters waited in there. The flare of a lighter chased away the dark for a second, cold, killer eyes found mine as the male lit a cigarette and killed the light. Shadows moved, the scrape of a boot to my right, a sigh and a grunt to my left.
The pounding in my head was all I could hear.
Clip…clop…clip…clop. A shadow reared, too tall to be a man, rising up before me like a mammoth horse. The glint of an emerald shone before it was gone. Shadows rose as the soft nicker filled my head.
My steps stuttered, my insides clenched tight. I wrenched my gaze over my shoulder. Silver glinted in the bastard’s hand for a second before it was gone. My gun…I slowed my steps, waiting for the punch at my shoulder.
If I could just get to my gun.
A heavy breath sounded against my ear. I yanked my head left…finding nothing but shadows. He was here…tormenting…teasing.
Come…. a voice slithered through the air at my right. We’ve been waiting…