Night Resurrected (17 page)

one, trying to claw his way in.

“Remy,” he shouted over the loud

cries of the zombies, “open as many

alcohol pads as you can and stuff ’em

inside the whiskey bottle. And get me a

soft piece of cloth.”

One more. They had one more bomb,

maybe, and then he was fresh out of

ideas.

In the midst of the chaotically rocking

truck and the increasingly frenzied cries

of the zombies, someone yanked on

Wyatt’s arm. He spun from the window

to see Remy doubled over, hand at her

waist.

A faint orange glow burned through

and

behind

her

cupped

hands,

illuminating her shirt.

Christ.
Not again.

He dropped the waning torch on the

seat. The cab jolted hard and he crashed

into her as he stumbled to her side, but

by the time he got there, amazingly, she

had the crystal in her hands. He didn’t

waste time commenting how she’d

removed it or congratulating her for

having done so; he simply took it when

she shoved it at him. The stone was hot,

no doubt about it, and glowing like a

fire, but he held onto it. He couldn’t take

the time to look at it closely, but he saw

that it was no longer enclosed in its

cocoon of metal wiring. She must have

taken his advice.

Remy looked up at him, her eyes

wide and a little crazy, and said, “Let’s

show it to them. Maybe it’ll stop them.”

Wyatt shook his head. “No, it’s what

they’ve come for. It’ll just make ’em

crazier.” He handed her back the stone.

The glow had eased slightly, but it was

still hot.

“But didn’t Theo and Selena say the

crystals embedded in their brains are

orange? Maybe there’s a connection,”

she argued as Marck shouted from the

front, “I can’t hold them off! Do you

have another bomb?”

“Here,” Remy said, swooping down

to the floor, rising, then jamming the

whiskey bottle into Wyatt’s gut. “I put in

as many alcohol pads as I could. But if it

doesn’t work . . . what are we going to

do?”

Their eyes met and for a moment

everything around him stopped. Wyatt’s

chest felt tight. He caught himself just

before he reached for her, his hand

falling back to his side.

I won’t let anything happen to you.

He thought the words, told her with his

eyes. Then he turned away, his heart

pounding furiously, his insides in

turmoil. What
were
they going to do?

He hustled to the front, snatching up

the torch, which had gone out. Only a

few sparks were left clinging to the

denim, and the truck was rocking

violently again.

“How long till dawn?” he shouted to

Marck, trying to light the damn bomb as

he was being jolted from side to side.

“Remy, I need fire!”

“Too long,” Marck shouted back.

“Two hours.”

Remy was there, her arm jerking

sharply. Then a flare illuminated the

darkness and he snatched it from her as

the cab rose up on two side wheels,

sending

everything

falling.

Remy

grabbed him as they tumbled to one side

and he lost his grip on the bottle and the

small light as they all crashed to the

ground.

The truck hung there, suspended, for

a long, long time, but once he recovered

from the surprise, Marck moved fast,

and Wyatt right with him. They bolted

up, climbing over to the uppermost side

of the truck, and the propulsion of their

weight and movement brought it

slamming back to the ground, still

upright. The force jarred everyone, and

Dantès was freaking out in the back,

whining and barking and scrabbling at

the floor.

“That was fucking close,” Marck

said.

“I’ve got to show it to them,” Remy

said, grabbing at Wyatt’s arm as he

scrabbled for the whiskey bottle.

“Where’s that damn bomb?” Ian

shouted from the front.

“No fucking way,” Wyatt snarled at

her. “Don’t show it to them. We don’t

know what it’ll do.” He found the bottle

and grabbed it triumphantly, saying,

“Where’s the light?”

She had it for him seconds later, her

drawn, frightened face illuminated by the

golden light. Grabbing her arm, he

yanked her close to his face. “Don’t

show it to them. Don’t show it to anyone.

It’s all we’ve got, Remy.” He took the

light and turned away.

He didn’t have an answer. He

couldn’t promise her anything.

He just had to find a way out of here.

Wyatt lit the bomb, looking out at the

swarm of zombies. Even if this bastard

worked—which would be a miracle—it

wouldn’t do anything more than the

others. Hold ’em off for a minute and

then they’d be back.

At the right time, he flipped the bomb

just out the window and it exploded as it

fell into the soup of zombies. Glass

shattered and a brief surge of flames

roared. The zombies cried out, their

ruuuuuthhhhhhs
rumbling into high

surprised groans, and staggered back.

“That’s it,” he told Marck. “That’s

all we got. They’re gonna push us over.

What’s the plan? Think we can fight our

way through them when they do?”

“Gonna have to,” Ian said, his face as

grim as Wyatt felt.

The reprieve from the bomb ended,

and the zombies recovered sooner than

he hoped. And he was flat out of ideas.

Remy brushed past, bumping against

him as she pushed her way into the front

of the truck. He caught sight of a soft

glow just before she reached the

window, but it was too late.

She was already showing them the

crystal.

Holding

it

firmly,

the

illumination dancing over her face like a

candle flame, she lifted it well out of

reach of the suddenly undulating,

desperate crowd of zombies. Her face

was a study in concentration and hope,

along with despair.

“What the
hell
,” Marck whispered,

staring at her. “Where did you—”

“Remy, no!” Wyatt went to drag her

away from the window, but the zombies

had already seen the gem, held high

above them. Stunned, he released her.

The crystal the monsters sought was

alive, glowing orange. And when they

saw it burning above them, the zombies

had gone silent.

Chapter 8

R
emy held the crystal aloft, relief and

apprehension rushing through her. The

night was silent, the zombies were still.

Wyatt stood behind her, tension and fury

and wonder emanating from him. And

Ian . . . he must be feeling the same.

Then, as if by some silent signal, it

all changed.

The zombies surged back into

motion, crying and shoving each other in

renewed desperation. They were more

frenzied than before, if that was

possible, and now she could see the fury

and need in their orange eyes. The truck

rocked again, more violently now, for

all of the monsters had crowded to the

side where the crystal was.

“Son of a bitch,” Wyatt said from

between his teeth, his voice in her ear as

he pulled her away from the window. He

fairly shoved her into the rear of the

truck.

Remy’s short-lived relief evaporated

and now she could do nothing but stare

down at the glowing crystal. She held it

by one of its metal pieces, which kept it

from burning her fingers too badly.

“I’ll just give it to them,” she said,

suddenly very tired. “They can have it,

Wyatt. It’s not worth our lives, whatever

it is.”

“No,” he said, looming over her in

the darkness. It was just the two of them

back there; Ian was effectively blocked

into the front by Wyatt’s solid figure.

Remy could see him trying to fight off

the grasping hands behind Wyatt. “We’ll

find a way. You can’t give it up. Not

now.” He took her shoulders. “Ian didn’t

know?” He could hardly believe it.

She shook her head. “No.”

The truck shuddered violently and

rose again. It crashed to the ground

moments later, but the message was

clear.

“But it’s not worth dying for.” Remy

tried to push past him, but he grabbed

her arm. “We don’t even know what it

is.”

“It’s definitely something. They know

it. Look at them!”

“If I throw it at them, maybe they’ll

chase it and we can escape,” she said,

pushing against his solid chest as the

truck lurched again.

“Getting a little rough up here!” Ian

shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

“How far do you think you could

throw it?” Remy asked, looking up at

Wyatt.

“Not far en— Wait.” He stilled, and

she could see his mind working. “If we

had a decoy . . .”

She caught on immediately. “Yes!

But how? We could light a stick and

throw that . . . ?”

“No, that wouldn’t work,” he said

impatiently. “But maybe this would.” He

shoved past her as the truck tipped

again, and fumbled in the precious

plastic box.

“What are those?” she asked, looking

at the slender greenish sticks he brought

out.

But he ignored her, speaking rapidly.

“We need something plastic or glass.

Clear, and find my orange shir— No,

wait
. Find that small medicine bottle in

the first aid kit. The golden glass one.

Yes, that’ll be perfect. Then we won’t

need my—just empty it out, pour out

whatever’s in it. Quick, Remy.”

Wyatt moved to the front of the truck.

“Going to try something,” he said to Ian

as Remy scrabbled around, trying to find

the bottle that met his description. “You

know how to make a slingshot?”

There was a loud screeching noise as

one of the mirrors was torn off the truck.

“The fucking door’s gonna be next,”

said Ian, tearing a piece of cloth off his

shirt. “I can do a sling. Don’t have any

rubber.”

It took her forever, but at last Remy

found the small glass bottle. Its label

said merthiolate and it had some bright

red liquid in it. She dumped it out into a

wad of blankets, smelling the pungent

scent of the medicine.

The zombies surged and Remy felt

the door rattling as they pulled on it, then

shoved at the truck. It was like being on

a boat at rough sea, rocking and dipping

constantly.

Wyatt had taken the slender green

things and snapped one in half. “Damn,”

he muttered. He took a second one and

broke it too.

“What are you trying to do?” Remy

asked.

“These are glow-stick flares,” he

said shortly. “They’re supposed to glow

when you break them. They’re not

working. They must’ve gotten wet or are

too old.”

There were only three more left.

“Got your sling,” Ian said. “What’s

the plan?”

“There may not be any plan,” Wyatt

snapped, picking up a third flare. He

looked at it, closed his eyes as he jolted

from another lunge at the truck, and then

broke it. This time there was a faint

greenish

light,

but

it

went

out

immediately.

Remy’s palms were damp and she

was aware of the heavy, hot crystal in

her pocket. She’d wrapped it in thick

cloth to keep it from burning her, but she

feared she was going to have to bring it

back out again. She wasn’t about to

sacrifice their lives for the sake of a

stone. It just wasn’t worth it.

Another stick snapped, and this time

the glow stayed.
Yesss.
Satisfaction and

determination shone in Wyatt’s face as

he held out his hand. “Give me the

bottle.”

She handed it to him and he did

something she couldn’t see, taking part

of the flare and shoving it inside the