I look up at Trent, about to ask him to tell me the story of how he met up with Ryan and Kevin, even if it means I have to tell my own in return. I’m ready for that. I think I can do it. I at least want to try. But the look on his face freezes my breath in my throat.
“What is it?” I whisper, knowing whatever it is, it isn’t good.
Trent stares at me patiently, his weird, light eyes looking white in the firelight.
“We aren’t walking out of here in the morning,” he replies, his deep voice vibrating through my bones.
I swallow hard. “Why not?”
“Because they’re coming.”
My vision goes funny, fuzzy. I’m having trouble breathing. “No one is coming. No one knows we—“
“I can hear them,” he interrupts me, his voice hushed and calm. “They’re not even trying to hide themselves. They want us to know.”
“Why?” I whisper, my eyes glued on his. My ears straining to hear the evil that speaks only to him.
“Because,” he says, his voice dipping lower. I can hear it then, behind his words. Footsteps. Slow, unhurried. Patient. “They want us to run.”
I bite my lip until I taste blood, willing myself not to cry out. Not to jump up and run, to leave them both behind.
“Who?”
I hear the screech of metal over the pavement. It’s not far off. A blade being drug over the ground. A warning. A promise.
“You know who.”
I nod hard.
“The cannibals.”
Chapter Nineteen
Vashon Island
Ali stands at the edge of the water, separated from the rest of the crowd. They’re shouting with excitement because they think they’ve won. But she knows this enemy better than most. Not all of them were there at the start. Not all of them watched the evil grow, seeding from one man, one idea, to ten then twenty then a hundred. Thousands. Tonight, this victory, it’s only the beginning of a war and that cold realization helps her understand that the life they’ve lived for the last ten years has been on borrowed time. This was always going to happen. It would always come to this.
This was always how it was going to end.
“They’re on the run,” Jordan tells her, coming to stand behind her.
She shakes her head. “Tonight they are, but tomorrow…”
“I know.”
And he does. He was there with her at the start. He saw it all.
“Are you hiding?” he asks quietly.
Ali sighs. “I swore I never would again.”
“They’re going to come looking for you soon. Once they realize the prisoners are gone.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure about them?”
She chuckles darkly. “As sure as I am about anything.”
“Sam agrees with you.”
“That is remarkably comforting.”
“Taylor is going to side with you too. He doesn’t believe they were Colony spies. He thinks they were idiots, but not spies.”
“They’re just young,” she says, sounding sad and tired, “and desperate.”
Jordan wraps his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head of long, dark hair. She takes his hand in hers.
“I can remember being that desperate,” he mumbles.
“Me too. It’s part of why I let them go.”
“What was the other part?”
She smiles. “They knew Crenshaw.”
He chuckles behind her, shaking her body with the movement. “Oh, Persephone. You have such a soft spot.”
“You’re just jealous he never gave you a name.”
“I’m hurt he named you after a woman married to the king of Hell. What does that say about me?”
“It says you’re strong. Strong enough to endure.”
“Hmm,” he murmurs thoughtfully, not buying it.
“Do you think they made it?” she asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe, if they were lucky.”
“I lost sight of them once most of the ships were burning.”
“It’s a beautiful night for it.”
She grins. “For what exactly?”
When he speaks, she can hear the familiar sound of a smile in his voice. “For smiting your enemies.”
“You know what’s sad?”
“Soy milk.”
She rolls her eyes. “Jordan.”
“It’s not real milk, Ali. It’s imposter crap and I won’t drink it. I won’t drink a lie.”
“Jordan.”
“Tell me. What’s sadder than soy milk?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve stood in the dark with you watching the world burn.”
He pauses, going serious. “It’s not even the second time.”
“More like fifth.”
“Sixth, I think.”
She sighs heavily, turning to look up at him with watery eyes. “When will it end? When will Beth be safe?”
“I don’t know,” he says softly, shaking his head. He lifts his hand to press it against her cheek. To wipe a stray tear away. “Probably never. Not unless—“
“Unless?”
His eyes drift past her to the burning boats. To the fire on the water. To the shore on the other side swarming with zombies, Colonists and gangs. To the world they outnumber. A world they could easily overrun if only given the right incentive. The right reasons. The right time.
“Unless we end it.”
Watch out for the next book in the Survival Series, Tearing Down the Wall.
Prologue
The first time I saw her, I was dead.
I was rolling down the river with two coins for the Ferryman, heading out onto the infinite, black sea. Worst of all, I was going without a fight.
How she found me is still a mystery or a miracle, depending on your perspective. Any way you slice it, I’m lucky she was there, though showing gratitude for it wouldn’t come easy for a long time after. How she put up with me for as long as she did is pure miracle, no mystery about it. She’s as close to an angel as I’ll ever get. Whenever I think of her, I always remember the way she looked there by the river; long auburn hair, glistening hazel eyes and a T-shirt that read Zombies Hate Fast Food.
When she reached out and took my hand, it shattered my world. Her eyes and the warm press of her skin against mine changed everything. Suddenly I was gasping for breath, fighting for life, and as she lowered her face to within inches of mine, I felt my heart slam painfully in my chest. She parted her lips, making me believe she would kiss me goodbye. If that had been the last sensation I experienced in this world I would have died a lucky man. Instead, she whispered one word against my mouth. One word that would press air into my lungs and pull me back from the void.
“Breathe.”
Then she was gone.
Chapter One
I wake with a start. My eyes immediately find the black sparrow decals flying across the white paint of the wall beside my bed, calming my racing heart. I trace one with my fingers, smiling at the familiar feel of its edges. This is what I always do. This is how they tell me that I’m home.
I actually hate birds. They’re too quick and erratic with their sharp claws and beaks. They’re like flying, disease carrying knives. But more than anything I hate them because they remind me of the Dragon.