The Becoming: Ground Zero (18 page)

“Come on, Brandt, let’s check this place out,” Remy said, tugging at his ankle. He remained in the van, still looking in Cade’s bag. Remy rolled her eyes and jerked at his pants leg. “Come
on
. You look like you need some excitement in your life.”

That was enough to elicit a response from Brandt. “If there’s anything I
don’t
need, it’s more excitement in my life.” He shoved the bag off his lap, and Remy was happy to see he had a handgun in his fist. “And you could use a little less too.”

“Bullshit. The potential for excitement is what keeps me crawling out of bed in the mornings,” Remy said with a huge grin. She brandished her bolo knife and twirled it in her hand idly, stepping back to give Brandt room to exit the van. She really did love her bolo knife. It was once her grandmother’s; she used it while working in the cane fields outside New Orleans, helping with the harvests on Remy’s great-grandfather’s farm. Before then, it came from relatives who lived in the Philippines. It was a prized possession in Remy’s family, and it had served her well in her war against the infected, now that no one else in her family was able to use it.

Remy’s smile faded slightly, and she lowered the knife. Thinking about her family always caused her pain and anger and hatred. There was nothing she wouldn’t do to avenge them. Nothing would stop her from taking out as many infected as she could before they took her down. It was what she’d sworn to her mother she would do after she put a bullet in her head.

Lost in her thoughts, Remy wandered toward the building, but she was stopped by a hand on her elbow. She looked down at it silently for a second, her eyes focused on the fingernails. They were dirty and cracked and broken, signs of a hard worker. She blinked and let out a breath, and then she looked up the arm attached to the hand, slowly letting her gaze travel of its own free will to the arm’s owner. It was Brandt, and he gave Remy a small, gentle smile as he offered her a flashlight.

“No need to go in there without a light, is there?” he asked. There was something in his voice that made Remy think he was actually concerned about her. She didn’t know why anyone would worry for her, but there was definitely something there beneath his words.

Remy let a small smirk cross her face, raising an eyebrow and shrugging. “I don’t know, Brandt. Are you scared of the dark?” she teased. He rewarded her with a grin, and Remy took the flashlight from him, gesturing toward the door. “After you? Or would you like me to go first and run off the big scary monsters?”

“That’s a great idea!” Brandt agreed. He nodded and motioned to the door with a grand sweep of his hand. “I mean, I’m
much
more valuable than you, so it won’t be a great loss if the monsters hiding in the motel eat you instead of me.”

“Hey!” Remy protested. She made a face at him and swatted at his outstretched arm before she pushed past him, walking almost haughtily to the door to the sound of her friends’ laughter.

Despite her confidence, Remy still paused at the door, her hand on the door handle. She looked back at the van for a moment. Nausea swam in her stomach, and she swallowed, forcing the bile down once more as she gripped the handle tighter. The weight of her bolo knife was reassuring, but she didn’t know if it would be enough if something
did
jump out and try to gnaw on her head.

“Well, are you going in already, or do you want me to get Cade?” Brandt asked. Remy made another face, wrinkling her nose and sticking her tongue out at him. Her momentary lapse of confidence disappeared just like that. She lifted her knife and pulled the door open, peering around the edge of the door and shining her light inside.

The cheap motel’s small lobby was empty, save for paper littering the floor and a squirrel scavenging among the trash. Remy ignored the animal and eased inside, stepping onto the chipped tile and moving her light over the fixtures. She reflexively flipped one of the light switches to see if the power was on. She wasn’t sure why she bothered to check; she knew it would be off. Old habits die hard, she supposed.

Remy let go of the door and walked farther inside, moving her flashlight’s beam over the front desk and to the elevators stuck on the first floor with the doors wide open. Still, there was nothing in sight. Remy pushed the front door open, propping it there with a heavy trash can, and motioned to Brandt. “Come on in. I don’t see anything in the lobby that would find Brandt Evans particularly appetizing.”

Brandt snorted and followed Remy into the lobby. He turned on his own flashlight and stepped into the darkened interior. Remy made her way across the lobby to a set of large double doors that led, presumably, to a conference room, pausing outside of them for a moment. Her instincts argued against opening the door, but she didn’t know why. A dark, ominous feeling settled into her stomach on top of the nausea, making her feel like she was about to puke. She swallowed again and pushed one of the doors open just a crack. She shone her light inside for a moment before letting the door fall shut once more.

“What’s wrong?” Brandt asked, moving to stand at her side and reaching to touch her forearm. Remy shook her head and pressed her palm flat against the door before she took a step back from it.

“They’re all dead in there. Don’t go inside,” Remy warned, her voice hushed. She moved toward one of the hallways leading off the lobby, pausing to look down its dark depths. She let out a shaky breath as memories slammed to the forefront of her brain. The inside of her own house, the blood on the walls, the bodies on the floor, begging her mother, pleading to her …

“Remy?” Brandt questioned. It was enough to shake the young woman free from the memories haunting her. She shuddered and breathed out slowly before she looked to Brandt. She gave him a falsely perky smile and pushed her hair back from her face.

“I’m ready!” Remy said, heading quickly down the hallway. Brandt hissed for her to stop and slow down, but she ignored him, walking deeper into the building. “Where do we want to get rooms?” she asked as he caught up with her. “I’m rather partial to the really fancy suites in hotels myself, even though I could never afford—”

“Are you okay?” Brandt interrupted. He caught her by the forearm and gave it a squeeze.

“Why are people always asking me if I’m okay and grabbing me and shit?” Remy asked. She yanked her arm away and headed for the stairs, leaving him behind. “I’m fine, Brandt. There’s nothing wrong.”

“Could have had me fooled,” Brandt muttered.

Remy glared at him. “Shut up. Just shut the fuck up,” she snapped. Her anger and hurt overrode any sort of happy front she could manage to put up. “Don’t fucking …
talk
about shit like you know anything about me. You don’t know shit, Brandt. So shut the fuck up.”

Brandt put his hands up in the air defensively. That only served to irritate Remy further. She rolled her eyes and set off again. “Upstairs or stay on the first floor?” she asked, changing the subject quickly.

Remy felt Brandt’s eyes on her, and she stopped at the stairwell entrance. She leaned forward and rested her forehead against the cool metal, closing her eyes and trying to breathe steadily. Irrational tears sprang up in her eyes. Exhaustion hammered at her brain. Remy didn’t hear him walking toward her, but suddenly Brandt was at her side.

“I’m sorry,” Brandt said. His voice was soft and gentle and comforting, and he rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles.

Remy shook her head. “No, I am,” she said. “I’m the one who got bitchy and took it out on you when you didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

Brandt continued to rub Remy’s back, humming softly in response. “We all have our bad memories to cope with,” he said. Remy sensed that Brandt was talking about something from his own past as he continued. “All we can do is try to move on and avoid the things that hurt us. Even if it’s next to impossible to do.”

Remy shook her head and stepped away from him, grabbing the door’s handle. She didn’t meet his eyes as she whispered, “It’s not like that, Brandt. You’re not the one who had to kill your own mother.” She pulled the door open and stepped into the dark stairwell. Brandt followed her without another word.

The chance to spend a quiet evening in a motel without immediate problems to deal with was a temptation entirely too great to pass up. As a result, the members of the group had secured two rooms for themselves, barricading the doors leading to the hallways for safety, and traveling between the two rooms by way of the opened door between them.

It really was a perfect setup, in Cade’s opinion. Especially once they factored in the food and water collected in Clanton early that day—even the warm sodas. It was as close to a party as they would ever get, and Cade was enjoying herself immensely.

They spent several hours piled up on the beds in one of the rooms, sharing drinks and jokes and stories and laughter. It had been a long time since they’d had a good time, and it seemed like it’d been even longer since any of them had heard laughter—
real
laughter, not the forced kind people used when they felt the obligation to laugh. It was revitalizing, and it lifted the spirits of everyone present, Cade included.

It was almost midnight when Cade managed to escape the mini-party, retreating to the room Ethan had designated as the girls’ room. She felt gross and grimy, and she desperately needed to clean up. As she passed the bags of supplies so thoughtfully piled in the corner, Cade grabbed one with several bottles of water in it. There was no way she could get an
actual
bath, and a shower was out of the question—though the thought of a hot one nearly made her salivate. She could at least get a decent sink bath, though, and that was exactly what she planned to do. She poured water into the stoppered sink and used a washcloth to clean up as best she could.

Cade was just tugging her shirt back on when there was a tap at the bathroom door. She turned and raised an eyebrow before she pulled it open. Brandt stood in the open doorway, a slightly nervous look on his face.

“Hey. I was just coming to see if you were … okay,” Brandt said, shoving his hands in his pockets. The motion gave him an air of boyish awkwardness that Cade found a little charming. “You’ve been gone a while. Thought something was wrong.” Cade grinned slightly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” she said with a flippant wave of her hand. She scooped her hair up into a loose ponytail and lifted it off her neck. “I was just cleaning up. I felt a little gross after the past few days of fun we’ve had.”

Brandt chuckled softly and snuck a look at the bathroom. “Hey, do you need help with your hair?” he offered. “My sister Olivia used to get me to help with hers a lot when we were kids. I know it can’t be easy doing it yourself with all that hair you’ve got.”

Cade smiled and let go of her hair, letting it fall down around her shoulders. “You’d do that?” she asked, even as her brain zeroed in on the mention of Brandt’s sister, someone about whom the man didn’t talk very often, if at all. “Because I don’t think my hair has had a good wash in … God, ages. The thought of how long it’s been is kind of disgusting.”

Brandt moved out of the doorway toward the other room. Cade watched him curiously. “Yeah, give me just a second. Theo and Gray grabbed a few things back at Walmart that they figured you ladies would appreciate. I’ll go get them.”

Now Cade was definitely curious. Brandt came back moments later with a white plastic bag and set it on the end of the bed. He dug around inside, and then he pulled his hand out to hold up a gray bottle of surprisingly high-end shampoo. Cade barely suppressed a squeal of delight and hurried forward, snatching the bottle from him. “Oh my God, this is so perfect,” she said, reading the bottle. “Remind me to give Theo and Gray massive kisses next time I see them.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Brandt said, laughing and handing her the bottle of leave-in conditioner. “That might make me jealous or something.”

“Or something?” Cade repeated distractedly as she carried both bottles into the bathroom. She set them on the edge of the sink reverently, a satisfied smile on her face. Brandt followed her in and began rolling up his sleeves.

“Yeah. I might have to kill them,” Brandt joked. He smirked and tugged at the hem of her shirt. “You’re probably going to have to take this off. Unless, of course, you really want your shirt to get soaked through, and I know you don’t.”

Cade shrugged and promptly slid out of the shirt, tossing it to the floor and standing in front of him in her jeans and bra. “Nothing everyone in this group hasn’t seen before,” she commented. Her cheeks immediately flushed red as she realized how that sounded, but Brandt didn’t seem to feel the need to comment. His dark eyes appraised her; she could practically feel them moving over her skin as he looked her up and down.

Now was not the time to suddenly become modest, Cade reminded herself. Brandt ceased his staring. “Come on, lean back,” he said, stepping forward and grabbing the spare bottles of water left on the sink. He slid an arm under Cade to help support her as she obediently leaned over the sink, and he poured the water over her hair, pausing occasionally to work the water all the way through. She relaxed and closed her eyes.

“Are you still nervous about going into Atlanta?” Cade asked softly, feeling his fingers massage through her hair. The sound of the shampoo bottle popping open met her ears, and the scent of coconut wafted across her nose. Moments later, Brandt started lathering the shampoo into her hair.