Dearly, Beloved (59 page)

At a loss for words, I decided that my only option was to hug her. She returned the gesture gratefully. “My biggest fear is that one day he’ll decay enough to tell me the truth—that he hates me for what I did to him. Like I said, I’m filled with regret. But sometimes I think of that day … and I realize that I was never braver, never more purposeful than I was when I followed him, and when I killed him so that he would live. And that’s what I want you to know, no matter where your life takes you, Nora … that you shouldn’t be afraid to fight, to break every rule, every law, dare every dare. Not as long as it’s for the ones you love.”

It was impossible to let her go after she reminded me of that. She indulged me, holding me, even singing to me at one point. I’d forgotten what it was like to be embraced and comforted by a woman. How cool and soft it was. My mother was once like that.

I’d lost so many people. I would fight like hell for the ones I had now. Whatever shape that fight took.

After my packing was finished, I wandered through my house in the dark, as I had a short four months ago. It was different now, crowded with cots and everyone’s things. It actually appeared lived-in.

I wanted to remember it this way. Forever.

Just as I was pondering the parlor, a cold hand brushed my arm. I turned around and saw it was Bram, and instantly moved to capture his neck. He hugged me back in the way I loved, the way that very nearly hurt. In one hand, he held a bouquet of wildflowers. “Sorry it took so long. I rode the rails, but had to walk partway. I figured if this is going to become a tradition, I should start bringing gifts.”

“What kept you? Did you find Coalhouse?”

Bram carried me to the sofa and set me down, before collapsing beside me and handing me the flowers. He was filthy; he was breathtaking. I set the flowers aside and brushed his windblown hair out of his face, giving him the time he needed to figure out what he wanted to say. “I found him. He wanted to go off on his own for a while.”

I felt my shoulders rise. “I’m sorry.”

Bram didn’t move. “He asked me to kill him.”

There was nothing I could say in response to that. The very idea made my blood run cold. I guided Bram’s head to my shoulder and let my cheek rest upon his brow.

“I would’ve done it. Coalhouse decided against it in the end, but I would’ve done it. I talked a good game when I was there, but now …”

“What?”

“I don’t even know.” I hated to hear Bram sound so lost, so exhausted. “Because I knew it was the right thing to do. That if he wanted to die, and couldn’t do it himself, one of his friends should …” He gave up.

“You’re right,” I tried. “I mean, maybe I don’t have any say, since I’m alive, but I think you’re right.”

Bram pulled back and looked into my eyes. “You always have a say.” He gestured at nothing. “It’s just hard to actually confront it. He was upset because he kept watching himself fail and make bad decisions, but … I’ve failed more than he
ever
has. Three times now I should’ve gone full-tilt and didn’t—and look what’s happened. I tried to play it careful when we came to fetch you, and the Laz hit New London. I didn’t tell you what Wolfe was doing, and Sam almost got killed. I didn’t go after the Changed—”

Shaking my head, I said, “There’s nothing wrong with being the voice of reason, Bram. You’re always there when we need you.”

“I just get so confused sometimes. About what to do, who to side with.” He kissed my forehead. “You’re the only thing I’m never confused about.”

“Believe me, I understand.” My free hand flattened on his chest and I studied my fingers, trying to find the words. “Meanwhile … the Punks have left the Border Zone.”

Bram went stiff. “What?”

“They’re abandoning it. Not saying why. Part of the army was left behind.” I told him everything—about the Punks, about Michael, about Marblanco. He told me about Allister Genetics, leading me once more to wonder what the hell that man was up to.

“God.” Bram shut his eyes. “What if something’s going on down there? What if the Punks are reacting to a resurgence of hosts, or something?”

“I don’t know,” I told him honestly. “It’s damn weird.”

Bram opened his eyes. “I told Laura I’d find her.” When I made a soft
go on
motion with my head, he continued thoughtfully, “I’ll admit, the last few months? I haven’t quite known what to do with myself. It’s like when I first became a zombie. I knew I had to move forward, but I wasn’t sure what to
do
. Everything was so new. I’ve kind of felt that way again lately, but now …”

“Idea?”

“Yeah. Both of us—we got used to zombies in a controlled environment. A place where mad zombies were put down, and the rest of us were all on the same page, with people around to guide us. The zombies in this city—they don’t have that. They don’t have anyone teaching them how to deal with their condition, with the dark thoughts … with the hunger. They’re in a place where people turn against them at the speed of a newscast. So we’ve had zombies lashing out, thinking in terms of
us
versus
them
.” He lifted a hand to my curls. “In a way, both Hagens and Mártira were right. We need to help each other. Like your dad helped me. I think that part has gotten lost in all the violence,
in all the vaccine work, in the move up north. In the loss of Z-Comp. We can’t just hand out meds and stitch people up. We have to lead.”

“How do we start?”

“I figure by reaching out to as many zombies as possible. Z-Comp vets, the members of the Changed that Hagens lied to. Set it up so we can defend each other. Especially if Company Z is in some kind of danger, and we’ve still got these masked people to worry about.” He looked into my eyes. “But to do that, I have to go find them. And Hagens. I could be on the road for a while.”

“ ‘A while’?” A hefty drive between us I could handle, but I didn’t like the sound of that. “How long is a while?”

“I don’t know.” He lowered his lids. “Depends on where Hagens has gone. I figure she’s our best connection to whoever has it out for Z-Comp.”

I sat forward. “Then you’re not going without me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.” He captured my tiny hand in both of his and kissed it fervently. “There’s no way Dr. Dearly would agree.”

“Bram …”

“Let me say it.” He rubbed his dry cheek on my knuckles, like a cat marking its owner. “I’m dead, Nora. I’m a Punk. I have no money and no station and no name—I have nothing to give you. So I can’t ask you to change your life for me, to give up anything for me. It’s not fair to you. I’m not going to be here very long. And I can’t just while away my days—I have to do
something
with the time I have left. The few extra years I shouldn’t’ve had. And now I don’t think that’s going to happen in a lab.”

“Do you love me?” I whispered.

Bram’s eyes softened and he slid the fingers of his right hand into my hair, holding my head still. Slowly, he dipped forward and kissed me, and I leaned into it, my eyes shutting. The kiss lasted for a beautiful instant, before his left hand slid down to my
forearm and encountered my bandage. He drew back to look at it, his eyes questioning.

“Proof for your argument. Some of the Changed bit me,” I had to confess. I felt strange about it—like I’d cheated on him, even though I knew he’d just been joking before.

His gaze lingered on the bandage, before he uttered a wolfish rumble—a noise so warm, and somehow possessive, that it made my head feel hot. He kissed me again, and his lips tumbled down my cheek, my neck, his hand daring to rise to my chest, his fingers hooking into the bodice of my dress to pull it down, to reveal more flesh for kissing.

And as he did that, he spoke.

“I love you, Nora. I will think you beautiful when I have no eyes left to see. I will remember your voice when my ears go. You can’t hold on to me forever, but I will hold on to you until I am nothing but dirt.”

I could feel tears flowing down my skin, down my neck. I pushed him back with sudden violence and started to unbutton his shirt as well. He looked both surprised and ecstatic. I kissed his collarbone, and he leaned down again, capturing my mouth. As his lips moved against mine, my fingers slid inside his shirt, and found a hole. Pulling back, I bent my head to look at his ice-white chest. He’d been newly shot. Parting his shirt, I found the wound, dry and small.

“Michael got me,” he said, voice throaty. “More work for Evola.”

The hole was a tiny new addition to the web of scars on his body, but unlike the others, I hated it. In spite of all I’d just said, the idea that Michael might’ve gotten his way sent a chill up my spine, and I found myself once more mentally questing after a safe place, somewhere,
anywhere
, we wouldn’t have to worry about such things, where we could live together in peace. An idea that was both cold and hot; passionately longed after, yet turned to out of fear, and hated for that reason.

And then understanding hit me.

It wasn’t safety that I craved. It was just the idea of Bram and me, against the world. Because he was never meant to be mine; I was never meant to be his. His being a zombie had nothing to do with this, but it actually made it all the sweeter. The relative seconds of time that he could offer me were more precious than any eternity, because we would have so few of them.

That was why I couldn’t hide. That was why I couldn’t, shouldn’t, would
never
let him go, or hesitate a single second longer than I had to. Like Dr. Chase said.

I lifted my head up, closer to his, parting my lips in invitation. He didn’t need further encouragement. He made up the distance between us and took the kiss I wanted to give him.

“Marry me,” I whispered when his lips left mine. “Tonight.”

“What?”
he asked, his eyes growing huge.

It took me a moment to process what I’d just said, and I giggled madly when I found that, yes, I’d meant it. “Marry me. I’m proposing! Do you want me to get down on one knee? I’ll do it.”

Bram just stared at me. “But … you threw that book away when I joked about the wedding part, and … I held off on telling you I loved you because I was afraid I’d freak you out!”

“Oh, I’m absolutely terrified!” I giggled again, a bit disturbed to find I couldn’t control it. “But I don’t know how long I have to
be
terrified, so … let’s just do it!”

“But that’s just the point! I won’t … be here,” Bram said. I heard the unspoken words in his sentence:
very long
. I heard them, and I ignored them.

“It’s not how
long
you’re with me,” I promised him. “It’s
how
you’re with me. You just said you couldn’t ask me to give up anything. You don’t. You never have. You give me more than you could ever take. So let’s just embrace the fact that we are two weird freaking people, and do it.”

Bram took my arms in his hands, as he had up near the gun cabinet a week ago, and looked at me, hard. Then he kissed me.
“I want to, at some point,” he said, before kissing me again. “I really, really want to. But …” Another kiss. “You’re seventeen. You can’t get married until you’re twenty-one.”

“Oh, come on! How do you know that?”

“It’s in the FAQ section in the back of the Bibles the Cathedral provides,” he explained, with another kiss. “Mass is incredibly boring, do you know
that
?”

“Okay, that whole voice of reason thing? I take it back. It’s really annoying.”

Bram laughed fully, the rich sound that I adored, and pulled me close. “Wow.”

I let him have a few minutes of quiet before saying, “Isley could do it. The ceremony, at any rate. We could sneak upstairs and get him. I mean, who cares about the legal part of it? On the news they keep talking like it wouldn’t even be legal for a zombie to get married anyway.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I just want the words. If we are separated, I just want to know you’re mine. Besides, married people don’t need chaperones, you know.” I almost laughed—the only way to solve my freedom issue was to do the most domestic thing allowable by law. My people
were
messed up.

Bram considered this, his nose against my ear. “Do you even own anything white, aside from your nightgowns?” He sounded embarrassed.

“I’ll go look,” I told him, smiling widely. But before I could pull away, he held me where I was and looked into my eyes.

“Marry me,” he said. “You ask me, I ask you.”

“Yes,” I told him. I liked that.

I’d always heard that girls grew up planning their weddings, but I’d honestly never given mine a single thought. Thus, when I
found the perfect thing to wear and it turned out to be a lace-trimmed white satin robe Aunt Gene had given me a few birthdays back, I was fine with it. I had no vision in my head to try and live up to.

For the first time, I truly missed my aunt. I sent up a little prayer for her, apologizing for not caring, for thinking some of the hateful things I had. I was about to do something incredibly rash, something that meant both everything and nothing, and it seemed like a good time to say sorry.

Careful not to wake Beryl, I dressed. I only had dark-colored shoes, so I just went without. I tied a white ribbon in my hair, and didn’t bother with any jewelry. Then, after retrieving a cardboard box from under the bed, I went upstairs.

Isley was difficult to wake up. I shook him and whispered fiercely, but it was only when I removed a gray kitten from his chest that he stirred. When I explained what I wanted to do, he sat up and looked at me as if I were talking to him through the bars of an insane asylum. “Are you crazy?”

“Yes. So far it’s working in my favor.”

“Your father must give his permission!”

“He’s not here. Besides, he’s dead. Can he even give permission?”

“You … you need witnesses … we’d need a license …”

I picked up two cats. “Blackie and Mimi have eyes, don’t they? Can’t you write one up? It doesn’t have to be
official
.”

“And rings!”

“No, we don’t,” I told him, irritated. “We don’t need
anything
. We just need you to say the magic words. I know you understand, Father.”