And then I would never recover from that. How could I?
Not when he was right, not when I was more than halfway to falling in love with him. And he had somehow managed to get me to admit that on the same night he was going to die!
The bastard.
But then the door opened again and the sound of struggling and scuffling filled the house. Page moaned in my lap and I forced myself to stay still, to keep her steady and as comfortable as she could be.
Finally figures stumbled into the living room, three tall ones and one that was….. not tall. It was hard to make out what the three Parker brothers were carrying, but whatever it was did not seem happy.
Finally, the clicking of a bullet being loaded into the chamber could be heard over everything else and the lumpy, wriggling thing went still- so not a Zombie. A flashlight turned on and then Harrison came in with a camping lantern on low filter. Hendrix and Vaughan lowered what now could be described as a body to the ground while Nelson kept his gun trained expertly on the head region.
Hendrix flicked up his flashlight to the boy’s face and Reagan and I let out mutual gasps of surprise.
“Let me go,” the young boy growled. His hands were shaking fists at his side, his face filthy and covered in dirt and grime. It was impossible to tell what color hair he had or even exactly what ethnicity he was. He had a thick southern drawl; I could tell that even from the few words he spoke. So obviously he was from around here; but there were a million more questions to be answered.
“Not a chance,” Hendrix replied. His voice was smooth steel, cutting but solid. “What were you doing sneaking around out there?”
“That’s none of your concern. But it had nothing to do with you. Now if you’ll kindly let me go, I’ll just be on my way and we can pretend we ain’t never met.”
I pressed my lips together at his spunk, but when he lunged forward and kicked Vaughan in the shin, my amusement quickly faded. Vaughan let out a string of curse words and then raised his own gun, locking and loading it with one swift move of his finger.
“You might not understand this little boy,” Hendrix walked forward until he loomed over the kid- clearly not afraid of a kick in the shins. “But you are in serious danger. Obviously, if you’re running around at night, you might be a bit delusional. But hear me. I am infinitely more dangerous than any Feeder you will find out there. It is better to answer my questions than ignite my anger. Are you capable of understanding that?”
“Listen here you sumabitch, I got things to do and you are keepin’ me from my task. I wasn’t after you or your people. I just need to grab somethin’ out of the barn and I’ll be on my merry way.”
Before anyone could respond, Page went through her fourth round of dry-heaving. Everything stopped so Reagan and I could tend to her needs. There wasn’t any point in trying to talk over her anyway, but I hated that this boy was witness to our weakness. I understood the necessity to pull him inside, out of the open and vulnerable spaces outside, but now it felt like he knew one of our most private secrets.
“What’s wrong with that one?” he asked with a lift of his defiant chin. “She sick?”
“You’re pretty smart, aren’t you,” Vaughan bit out sarcastically.
“She need medicine?” the boy pressed, his voice dropping low to a dangerous octave.
He couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve, but this little boy was wise way beyond his years. I recognized the hardness and experience lighting his expression. This boy was a survivor. And we were about to witness his survival techniques.
“Most sick people do,” Nelson answered slowly.
“I know where there’s medicine,” he declared confidently. “I know where there’s lots and lots of medicine. I just seen it the other day.”
“Really?” Harrison scoffed unbelieving. “You’re just like this little kid that creeps around in the dark, stealing things from barns and taking them back to his secret hide out where there’s medicine and food and pillows?”
Pillows? Harrison must be really tired tonight.
“Yeah, I’m that kid,” he argued. He stood up straight, not seeming to be afraid of the guns pointed at him at all. “But I wasn’t stealin’ nothin’. I came back for what’s mine. This ain’t your house. You can’t judge me for doing something wrong when you don’t live here. When you’ve stolen more than I ever have.”
He had a point. But that got me to thinking, “Is this your house?”
“Was my house,” he clarified adamantly. “But y’all can have it. Good luck with it. There’s a storage room full of food and stuff downstairs beyond the washer and dryer. Help yourselves to whatever you like- just as long as you let me go.”