Shadows (Page 30)

That’s when it hit her. Wolf was going to kill her right there, in front of them. Her stomach tried to crawl into her chest. I can’t watch this. Repulsed, still furious, she looked away. I won’t give them the satisfac—

The blow was stunning, a ferocious, open-palmed smack that sent Alex’s head whipping to the right. There was a sharp stab of pain as her teeth clamped her tongue. Her mind hitched, and she tottered, her balance already precarious because her ankles were still hobbled together, and she nearly went down. She was saved only because the sickly guy, Brian, had enough bulk to steady her.

“Please.” Brian actually tried pulling away, as if worried that he might give the appearance of being helpful. “Just do what they want.”

“Like hell.” Her face felt like a bomb had gone off in her cheek. It was a wonder her jaw wasn’t broken. Panting, she pushed away and looked to see which of the Changed had blindsided her. To her complete lack of surprise, Slash was there and, judging from the loose set of her shoulders, more than happy to let go with another sucker punch.

“Listen to Brian, please.” It was the old lady, Ruby, at her other elbow. “Don’t fight them. Just do what they want.”

“No.” Head ringing, a warm brackish taste filling her mouth, Alex spat blood. “How can you just stand there?”

“Because it’s better than getting beat up.” To her left, a surlylooking woman with the hard edge of an ex-biker queen snorted. “If you’re smart, you’ll just be thankful they gave you a pass and shut the hell up.”

“Sharon’s right.” Ruby’s eyes were wild. “Just go along. You—” Whatever else Ruby had been about to say ended in an ulp as Slash slid her hand around the old woman’s twig of a neck and squeezed.

“What are you doing?” Alex cried. Ruby’s eyes bugged; her scrawny limbs thrashed in a spastic herky-jerky dance as her mouth flew open, but there was no sound, not even a squawk. “Stop!”

“Sweet Jesus.” It was a barrel-chested man, near the end of the line, whom she would later learn was Ruby’s husband, Ray. His face was ashen with horror. “For God’s sake, just cooperate and she’ll let her go!”

“All right.” When Slash only bared her teeth in a ferocious grin, Alex screamed, “All right, all right, you bitch, you win! I’ll look, okay? Just let her go!”

Still grinning, Slash held onto Ruby’s neck for another fraction of a second, then spread her fingers.

“Gunh!” Gagging, her face the color of a fresh bruise, Ruby tumbled to the snow, nearly pulling Alex down as well. Alex halfturned, moving on instinct to help the retching old woman to her feet, before she caught movement and looked up to see Slash closing in again.

“I’m not.” Straightening, Alex raised her bound wrists in a hasty surrender. “I’m not helping. Okay? See? I’m watching.”

“Atta girl,” the ex-biker queen muttered. Her name was Sharon, but Alex wouldn’t know that until an hour after Wolf gouged the little woman’s eyes from their sockets, sucking each from a finger like the soft chewy center of a naked Tootsie Pop.

“You’re learning,” Sharon said as Wolf closed in. “Go along to get along.”

Another thing Alex learned that very first day? Spider might like the corn knife. But Wolf liked his teeth.

And then they were five.

After breakfast, the Changed crammed the little woman’s drippy remains into those nylon duffels. Then they all moved out. Another few hours on the trail put them in at a rustic, though roomy, hunting cabin. Judging from the condition of the snow, Wolf ’s gang had been back and forth a few times. A quartet of car batteries, connected in a series by wires, nestled on the snowy porch and probably once provided enough juice to run lights. Either the batteries were drained, however, or the Changed didn’t care for or need light. Instead, Acne and Beretta carried in armloads of splits from a tarpaulin-covered woodpile wedged against a dilapidated shed. Soon two columns of gray wood smoke chugged from both a chimney and stove flue. The Changed bunked in the cabin while Alex and the others roomed in the old shed, a drafty place that reeked of ancient engine oil and dead mice. For warmth, they had a squat propane camp heater, and one another, although their ropes were removed, leaving them free to roam around the shed under Acne’s watchful eye.

They’d returned the backpack Jess had given her. Ruby said this was standard: “We always come with something, and whatever we have, we share.” There was something odd about the way Ruby said that, as if it was just assumed that anyone captured would have supplies. That actually didn’t make sense. People could be snatched at random, but Ruth had said always. But Alex’s arm was screaming by then, and she didn’t have the energy to ask any more questions.

She caught some luck. Inside the pack, Jess had squirreled a battered first-aid kit that looked as if it hadn’t seen daylight since the early Mesozoic era. The alcohol swabs were long dry. The gauze packs were still intact, however, and several foils of antiseptic goo were squishy enough that she thought they’d do the trick. No antibiotics to swallow, but maybe she wouldn’t need them. While the others squabbled over energy bars and MREs, she melted snow in an empty can and let the water boil then cool to where she wouldn’t scald herself.

The pain was ferocious, like something with talons and teeth gnawing her flesh to the bone. It was so bad her stomach somersaulted and then rolled on a tidal heave of nausea. She stopped what she was doing to hang her head between her knees. God. Her face and neck were filmed in a fine, greasy sweat. She gulped air, working not to pant. How had Tom not passed out? She was having a hard time with only hot water and gauze. Tom had withstood a superheated knife.

Oh, Tom. Her throat knotted. A wave of shame and grief swept through her. She managed to stopper the moan, but she felt the tears leaking down her cheeks. She thought of how hard she’d struggled to hang onto him: his face, his scent, the way he looked at her. How he made her feel. But I gave up. I should have fought harder, found a way out, but it was easier just to go along.

She wasn’t an idiot. She knew she was being illogical. Someone— something—had gotten to him. Tom was dead, and that was not her fault. She’d done the best she could. So why did she feel this crush of guilt, like she was the one to blame? Tom wouldn’t want that. The one sensible thing Jess had ever said was that Tom’s sacrifice—all he’d done and suffered through to keep her and Ellie alive—shouldn’t be for nothing. Tom would want her to go on with her life, not beat up on herself.