Alice in Zombieland - Showalter Gena - Страница 51

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All right, so we’d jumped from ominous to straight-up threatening. “You would get rid of me?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I wouldn’t, no.”

Clearly, others would. “Gotta say, so far I’m not liking the sound of my new team.” I hadn’t made a formal decision to rejoin the group, but with the words, I realized the decision had been made. Indisputably, I couldn’t do this on my own.

He cleaned up my newest set of wounds. “You’ll come to love them. They’re the ones who will guard your back.”

And I’d be responsible for guarding theirs. “So no one else can see the Blood Lines while in spirit form?”

“No one currently living, but a few years ago, there was a guy who could. He’s the one who led my dad and his friends.”

I thought about the journal I’d found. Maybe this former leader was the one who’d written it. “Did he like to write things in code?”

Cole blinked down at me, frowned. “Why would you ask something like that?”

“Uh, I’ll tell you later,” I said. “Maybe. If I ever trust you again.”

His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to press me for more, but in the end he merely nodded. “Fair enough. And because I know how much you love details, I’ll tell you—without being asked—that no one was ever able to figure out why he could do it when no one else could.”

“What happened to him?” I asked, then pursed my lips in irritation. Several times he’d mentioned my curious nature. I had to get control of my tongue.

“He died during an attack and that was that.” He finished cleaning my wounds and wrapped bandages around both of my wrists.

There were only two known cases of people with that ability, then. The journal had mentioned we should all wield all abilities, if only we would yield to the power inside of us. Maybe this guy and I were the only ones who had yielded.

“You were bitten repeatedly and deeply,” Cole said, “but the antidote finally neutralized the toxin. You’ll be tired for the next few days, not as strong or as fast, but you should recover completely.”

He said that as if there’d been a chance the antidote wouldn’t work, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Relief that I’d made it or dread that I could have died. “Have you— I mean, you’ve been bitten before, I’m sure.”

“More times than I can count. The longer the zombies are alive, for lack of a better word, the smarter they become. They learn how to circumvent our traps—though never the Blood Lines. They work together. They ambush. They track.”

That phrasing caught my attention. I had been tracked. Bridezilla and her Groom of Doom had appeared in the forest beyond my backyard many nights, then again at Reeve’s. Obviously, they’d singled me out.

“So, these Blood Lines…” I prompted, without asking.

“You want to know more about them?”

I nodded.

There was a sparkle in his eyes as he said, “They create an energy that causes objects to solidify in the spirit realm, preventing the zombies from ghosting through them. That energy also gives off a scent the zombies find offensive, which is why we launder our clothes in a diluted mix of the chemicals. Only thing it doesn’t make manifest is a human body.”

Fascinating. “I want some.”

“After I’ve taught you how to properly use it.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

Hard to argue with that, but oh, I wanted to. “Does your dad fight?” Well, dang. Another question.

“No. He developed an allergy to the antidote and has to hang back.”

Something in his tone had me thinking we’d all develop an allergy one day, but I wasn’t going to worry about that now. “So what happens next?”

The look Cole gave me was as comforting as a blanket woven from shards of broken glass. “You’ll go home and rest. You’ll decide on the lies you’re going to feed your grandparents. And as soon as you’re healed, your training will begin.”

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.

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