Every other day(60)

Well, forgive me for having been too busy being eaten by zombies and trying to kill them dead to stop and think about drinking their blood to keep the parasite inside me plump and well fed.

Anyone ever tell you you’re cranky when you almost die?

There was a retort on the tip of my mental tongue, but I realized that Vaughn was giving me a very odd look, and I wondered if a bevy of emotions had passed over my face with Zev’s words.

The last thing I needed was for the vet to think I’d caught some kind of zombie-induced insanity. He’d be forced to report me for quarantine, and I’d spend the rest of the day unable to do a thing to save Zev.

“I know this probably seems really weird to you,” I told Vaughn, thinking understatement all the while, “but I’m okay. Nothing hurts. Nothing’s broken. And I’m about as sane as I get.”

I waited for Vaughn to ask me how my recovery was possible, but he didn’t. He just nodded. “I’d tell you to take it easy,” he said, “but based on the pile of bodies in the basement, I’m guessing that ‘easy’ isn’t really your style.”

There was a light note of censure in his voice—though I was pretty sure he disapproved more of my aversion to bed rest than to the fact that I’d dispatched a horde of zombies to the great beyond.

“What time is it?”

Giving voice to the question felt like showing my hand, but I wasn’t used to not knowing, and today, more than any other day, each minute, each second, was crucial.

Every second I lay here was another second that Chimera Biomedical had Zev—another second that they could be coming for me.

“You were out for just over an hour,” Vaughn said, “assuming Skylar’s timeline of the ‘you-know-what incident’ is somewhere close to the mark.”

My lips curved upward at the idea of Skylar referring to zombies as “you-know-whats,” but the second my brain registered the fact that I was smiling, a wave of nausea passed through my body, bringing with it a kind of bleak hopelessness I recognized as regret.

Skylar.

Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I liked her. She was brave and openhearted and insane—and now she knew. She knew what I was, or—more to the point—what I wasn’t.

I wasn’t normal.

I wasn’t human.

I was a liar.

I shouldn’t have cared what she thought about me. I should have been more worried about who she and the others might tell, but instead, all I could think about was the fact that they’d hate me now.

They’d have to.

“Hey.” Vaughn’s voice was soft as he chucked me under the chin. “None of that.”

“None of what?” I said, wiping all trace of emotion from my face.

“Don’t go working yourself up over nothing.”

“Nothing?” I was incredulous.

“You should rest.” With those words, Vaughn stood, and I followed his gaze to the doorway. Elliot was standing there, his face as unreadable as his brother’s. Beside him, Bethany had both arms crossed over her chest. Her mascara was smeared, her clothes torn, and I knew just by the way she was holding her chin that she wasn’t going to be giving in to tears again any time soon.

From somewhere behind them, Skylar pushed her way into the room. “You’re okay,” she said, her voice uncharacteristically low. “I was pretty sure you would be, but you never really know, and then when you wouldn’t wake up …”

I tried to say something, but the words stayed in my throat, unspoken, unsure.

“I am so, so sorry Kali. I swear, I didn’t mean for you to have to save me. I heard a noise downstairs, and Bethany was all ‘see yourself out,’ and so I did … via, you know, the basement. I thought I was supposed to be there. I had a feeling, but maybe it was a bad feeling, because the next thing I knew, there was a zombie. And then there were two. And then there were three.…”

“Skylar,” Elliot interjected. “Breathe.”

Obediently, she took a breath.

“So I climbed on top of the safe, because I knew I just had to wait. I knew you’d come back. I knew you’d … do something.” Skylar frowned. “But I didn’t know it would be like that. I didn’t know they’d hurt you. I didn’t!”

“Skylar.” This time, I was the one who interrupted her babbling. “I’m fine.” She didn’t look convinced, and I felt compelled to elaborate. “It didn’t even hurt.” Realizing how close I was treading to the edge, to speaking words I’d never said out loud, I looked down and made a thorough study of the back of my hands. “I can’t—when I’m like this, nothing hurts. I could take a bullet to the gut, and I wouldn’t even feel it.”