A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena (книги без регистрации TXT) 📗

During the chase, Milla mentioned “cemetery girl.” How would the girl who’d shot darts into her get inside the mansion without being a recruit? Is she a recruit, or are we chasing the wrong lead?

I trust my friends and no one else. I’ve left Milla’s side only long enough to shower and snack. And only while a guard is stationed at her bed.

Kat has visited me every day, but I’ve been miserable company.

“Do you care about her?” she asked just this morning. “Her life matters to you?”

“I don’t want her dead.” It is the truth, and yet, it isn’t the full truth. I’m not sure how I feel about Camilla anymore. “It’s hard to hang on to anger when you learn the nuts and bolts that make her tick.”

Kat stared at her feet, saying nothing, radiating guilt... Why?

“Her twin...Caro...is she a witness?” I asked.

“No. Caroline chose to leave the holding zone years ago and step into the Rest.”

So. Milla wouldn’t receive any comfort on that front. “What about her father?”

“He didn’t go up.”

“I’m happy to say Milla is going to make a full recovery,” Reeve announces, pulling me from my thoughts. “The drugs will leave her system in a day or two, and she’ll wake.”

I’m in the chair beside the bed, and Reeve is standing on the other side. Sweat is beaded on her brow, and her usually brown skin is chalk white.

“You don’t look one-hundred-percent convinced of what you’re telling me.”

“How I look has nothing to do with Camilla. I’m just not feeling well. The flu is going around.”

“Maybe you should go lie down. And not touch the patient. If she gets sick while she’s in this state...” I’ll be ticked.

“I’m wearing gloves. See?” She waves her latex-covered hands. “I just... I want to help her. I know she did some bad things, but after hearing her beg her father not to hurt her, after seeing her scars, I just want to make things better for her.”

“Yeah.” I know exactly what she means.

“We should—oh, crap.” Her eyes go wide as she clutches her stomach. She darts to the wastebasket and vomits breakfast.

Gloves can’t stop the spread of airborne germs. “Get out. Now.” I’m done being nice about it.

I’m pushing to my feet as Bronx rushes into the room. Anytime Reeve is in here, I can count on the fact that he’s in the hall. He’s always been protective of her, but because she’s treating Milla, he’s been taking it to the extreme. I get it, I do, but I’m suddenly irritated by it. Milla is practically in a coma. What harm could she really do?

“You okay, baby?” He looks as sick as Reeve as he winds his arms around her.

I— Damn. A heat wave washes over me, and I shift in the chair. Did someone screw with the thermostat? A moment later, I’m so dizzy I nearly topple to the floor. My stomach flips over, waves of acid eating at the lining.

“You caught it,” Reeve manages to say.

“We all have,” Bronx replies. “Cole and Ali have been hunched over a toilet for the past hour.”

“Out,” I say. “Get out, and take the vomit basket with you. We shouldn’t be in here, exposing Milla.” Though my strength is hemorrhaging at an alarming rate, I get the pair into the hall and shut the door, sealing Milla inside the room and our germs—hopefully—outside it.

A sharp sting accompanies the searing pressure on my neck and my eyelids pop open. I’m in a small room, surrounded by medical equipment. I’m lying on top of a gurney, sweating, panting and aching.

“Don’t move,” Ali says with a rasp I’ve never heard from her. “I’m just checking your progress.” She finishes peeling back the bandage and nods with satisfaction. “You’re healing nicely.”

I remember the slash of Bathroom Girl’s blade and cringe. “Frosty,” I say. The vibrations hurt my throat, but it’s a pain I welcome. It says, You’re alive. “He’s okay?”

“Yeah. He’s fine. He saved your life. Used dynamis—cool word, by the way. We all used it on you, actually.”

Yes. I remember that, too. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No. Only you.” She carefully slathers ointment over my wound. “Cole’s dad took my grandmother on vacation. We’re not exactly one-hundred-percent sure what’s going on, but we’re not taking any chances with her life.”

I frown. Not only is Ali’s voice jacked up, but she’s also pale and her cheeks hollow, as if she’s lost weight. Her hair is limp and tangled and in need of a good wash. “Something happened to you.”

“The rest of us have been stricken by some kind of flu, but we’re finally on the mend.”

“I think you left your sickbed a little too soon.”

“Well, I knew you’d be waking up and I wanted to talk to you.”

“About?” I ask.

“Do you remember that coded paper I once translated for you?”

“Yes.” I got it from Anima. Stole it, actually. At the time, I was doing everything they asked of me, while still working to take them down. I’d gone in to give a report of my progress—the higher-ups believed face-to-face meetings would scare me and keep me in line—and I’d seen a stack of papers covered in symbols. Judging by the notes made in the margin, the employees were trying to translate and failing.

I hid as many sheets as I could under my clothing, but I had no luck translating the code, either. Then Ali came along. She and Cole had answers in minutes. Apparently they had an entire book filled with the same code. A journal written by Ali’s however-many-greats grandfather, a slayer who’d seen into the far distant future.

“Well,” Ali says, “the journal has fifty-three blank pages—used to be a hundred, but every so often, new passages just appeared. We think we see only what we’re ready to see. Anyway. While you were recovering, a new passage appeared, and I think it applies to you.”

This could be good. Or this could be very, very bad. “What does it say?”

She closes her eyes and recites, “‘Two fires burn. The light and the dark. One purifies, one destroys and the two never coexist in harmony. One is truth, and one is lies, lies, the darkness lies. But it’s not too strong, never too strong, for light cannot be extinguished by dark, only covered, covered, covered, but dark can always be chased away by light. Look inside...look inside.’”

She opens her eyes. I wait for her to say more. She doesn’t.

“Well. That’s not cryptic at all.”

“Frosty told us about your nightmare. The red flames. Red must represent the dark, the destruction, while white— dynamis—represents light, the purification.”

Light cannot be extinguished by dark, only covered, covered, covered. “Why repeat different words?”

“Another excellent question.”

With no real answer apparently. “This is a lot to take in.” Especially now, when I’m so unsteady. “As fast as my mind is whirling, I’m almost afraid I’ll pop a vessel.”

She takes pity on me and says, “We’ll put this on the back burner for now and move on. Did you see who did this to you?”

“A girl. The one I saw in the cemetery. The one who went to the bathroom after bicycling. Gavin and Love will know who I’m talking about.” My stomach rumbles, and I use what little strength I possess to rub away the hunger pangs. “She has blue-black hair. It’s long, reaches her waist. Her skin is freckled and her face—”

“Yeah. I know who you’re talking about.” Ali adheres a new bandage to my neck. “Tiffany Reynolds.”

I arch a brow in question. “You can’t leave it at that. Tell me everything about her, everything that happened.”

“Okay, so, there’s no area outside this compound without a camera. Bronx checked our security feed and discovered no one had snuck in. We figured this had to be an inside job. We ruled out the kids who were underground with Gavin and Jaclyn. That left eight others. We kept those eight sequestered as we waited for you to recover.”