The Wilds: The Wilds Book One (17 page)

Chapter 22

Becca laughed. “You’ve got to keep adding flour,” she said as I was trying to free my fingers from dough. She’d arrived before dinner and the next thing I knew, the two of us were elbow deep in flour, making some special biscuit recipe handed down in her family.

Becca’s laugh was warm and open, and sounded like she’d had plenty of practice. It made me feel even worse about throwing myself at Dax. Then I started thinking crazy thoughts, like maybe she knew how Dax was starting to affect me.

I had to it get out, woman to woman. It had to be said or I’d never get past this uncomfortable feeling. “Becca, remember how I showed up at Dax’s room?”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t—”

Dax had the unfortunate timing of walking in the backdoor at that precise moment. Well, wasn’t that just the special sauce to make this moment perfect?

He moved into the kitchen and was pouring himself a drink, barely more than five feet away from where we were making the biscuits at the table.

“Um, I didn’t know that… I didn’t mean to… I wouldn’t have…” I started tripping over words. It was tough to explain you wouldn’t have thrown yourself at a man when that exact man was close enough to hear, and more than likely listening.

Her eyes shot to his back and then to me. “I know. It’s all right,” she said, smiling.

I could see why he liked her. She was all smiley, bright and clean. The worst memory she had was of someone dying from natural causes in her arms. If I were a guy, I’d be all over her. Why would Dax want someone like me when he had her?

“Like this.” She pushed the dough this way and that, covering up the conversation we had been having as Dax made his way across the room.

When he passed by us, I saw her eyes go to him but he seemed oblivious. I might be inexperienced in romance but I knew love when I saw it. It was all there written on her face, and she had a particularly open one. It was a strange pairing, the two of them on different ends of the spectrum, but maybe that was why it worked. Dax needed someone like her to counteract how closed off he was.

While she was preoccupied with Dax, I glanced back out the window to where Bookie was fiddling with one of the bikes in the last of the day’s light. I hoped he was getting it fixed. If that bike were broken, we were done for. We were going to sneak out today for a run, but the damn thing hadn’t started and it was the only one available. There weren’t that many bikes to begin with.

“I noticed you and Bookie are getting along really well,” Becca said.

I hadn’t realized how obvious I was being, but luckily she’d misunderstood the interest. “Yeah, he’s nice.”

“I think he likes you.”

“You think?” I asked. Although I didn’t want to bring the subject up, guys weren’t into me. Hadn’t I just proven that again with Dax? “He seems like he’s nice to everyone.”

“I think he’s sweet on you,” she said.

I looked out at Bookie again just as he was looking up. He gave me a thumbs-up through the window and went back to work. A girl could do a lot worse than him. But the situation would be different with Bookie than what it might have been with Dax. With Bookie, it wouldn’t be two people using each other. It would be sweet and real and hard to walk away from in a month’s time.

Dax, on the other hand, wouldn’t get attached. There would be no hard feelings when I left. It was better that he was with someone like Becca, who would feel enough for the two of them. I didn’t have that kind of emotion available to give away, not right now.

I looked back up through the window, wanting to check on Bookie’s progress. He shot me a nod and a smile. We were back in business. He gathered up his tools and was rolling the bike toward the shed when Dax stepped in front of my view.

“Bec,” he said, and then nodded toward the door.

“Keep going, Dal. I’ll be right back,” she said, and patted my hand still working the dough.

He walked out the backdoor and she followed him. I heard the footsteps on the porch but they didn’t go that far.

I knew they were talking about me. It was just one of those gut instincts that never steered me wrong. Margo had told me once it was rude to eavesdrop. Margo, who I loved to death, was still stuck in hell. Margo didn’t have a bossy man named Dax trying to make her ID monsters for his own purposes. Screw polite. This was wartime.

I angled my ear toward the door but couldn’t make out anything. I was mighty thirsty, and that pitcher of tea was sitting right out on the counter by the door. No one could say anything about a girl getting a drink.

I grabbed a glass and made it over to the pitcher, ready to pour the minute someone came in. From my new location I could barely make out their voices, but I couldn’t go outside and pretend to not be listening so it would have to be good enough.

“Stop encouraging her and Bookie,” Dax said.

“What’s wrong with her having a relationship with Bookie?” Becca asked. “They’re the same age and it’s not like there’s a ton of people for them to meet.”

“It’s not a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Don’t press me about my business.”

“This isn’t your business. This is two people’s lives.”

“I’m not discussing this with you.” His voice was cold, even with her. Well that wasn’t very nice. I’d thought being his girlfriend would shed a little of the arctic chill.

“I know why you won’t talk about it. You told me you didn’t care, but I can see it—”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“Don’t you walk away from me,” she said, but I could hear her voice breaking and was glad I couldn’t see her.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“I used to pretend that you cared for me—as much as you were capable of caring for anyone. I could believe that before.”

“I never lied to you. I told you what this was.”

“That’s the thing, you did. You said you couldn’t care for anyone, that you weren’t built that way. But I see the way you look at her. I saw you in the barn.”

“I look at her like she’s an asset. That’s it.”

“You’re lying to both of us.”

I didn’t know what happened next, but they went quiet and I backed away from the door quickly. I dug my fingers into some dough, pretending I’d heard nothing when I spotted Dax through the window walking away from the house.

Becca walked in, and as she crossed the room, I could see the tears start rolling down her face. I hadn’t cried since I was a child and couldn’t imagine the pain that would make her do so. All thoughts of pretending I hadn’t heard a thing washed away with those tears.

“There’s nothing going on between the two of us,” I said as she grabbed her bag to leave. Where was she going?

Bag in hand, she turned to me. “There is. You just don’t understand it yet.”

I tried to grab her arm, anything to stop her. “No, Becca, I would never do that to you. He’s just using me.”

“I’m not blaming you. But I can’t be with him, not now.”

“But nothing is going on,” I said, trying to stop her as she seemed determined to leave. “He’s just using me,” I repeated at her back as she walked out the door.

Then I was standing in the house alone with nothing but the dough. How had that gone so wrong? I was the one getting used and I was still getting stuck making the dough for tonight? Maybe I should storm out too, but then there’d be no dinner rolls and I did like to dip them into the gravy. And hell, being used just didn’t seem like a big enough deal to leave.

Becca, on the other hand, seemed a bit more particular about her relationships. Goddamn, Dax really botched this one up good.

***

Dinner that night was almost worse than a session with Ms. Edith. Okay, maybe that was being a bit dramatic, but it wasn’t a lot of fun either. I sat in my seat next to Dax, which forced me to keep my head to the left or I’d have to look at him, and I didn’t want anything to do with him right now.

Whatever had gone down between Becca and him had turned out to be much larger than I had witnessed. I’d gotten word from Bookie fifteen minutes before dinner that she was leaving to go live outside the grounds. In fact, she was so eager to move in with some distant relatives that she was skipping dinner to pack. She’d fed him some bullshit that one of them was sick, because she must have found out by smoke signals or something. I certainly wasn’t believing it, and no one with half a brain would either.

Something more must have gone on with her and Dax. Didn’t he get it? There weren’t that many good people left in the world. Did he have to run her off? Who knew what would happen to her now, out there? He thought I couldn’t handle myself to the point that I wasn’t supposed to leave the premises, but he didn’t say a damn word about Becca?

Bookie sat across the table looking at me strangely because, well, Bookie was sensitive like that and knew I was upset. Fudge was quiet and so was Tiffy.

Lucy bounced in and sat in her
new
seat. “Where’s Becca? Thought she was coming to dinner?”

“No,” Dax said in a way that didn’t invite questions.

I didn’t think that tactic would work on Lucy, but she sat down in a surprisingly quiet manner.

When Tank, the last to arrive for dinner, showed up and asked where Becca was, Lucy answered, “Not coming,” and gave Tank the
shut up about it
eye.

We all started eating in silence and I realized that in the hurried conversation over Becca, I hadn’t confirmed whether Bookie had fixed the bike.

“I saw you working out there. Is the bike broken?” I asked Bookie, as if I had no idea of its state and that it wasn’t crucial to our plans.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I think I’ll have it back up and running in another day or so, though,” he said.

We were both now avoiding looking in Dax’s direction, but man, I could feel his eyes burning into me. Bookie started coughing. I didn’t know if it was Dax making him nervous or the bite of biscuit he’d just taken, because on top of everything else, I’d somehow ruined the rolls. Even Fudge’s intervention couldn’t save them, and there wasn’t enough gravy in the world that would fix them now. They broke apart like a dry brick and then continued to crumble.

Dax stood from the table and stopped behind my chair. “We’re going on a run tomorrow. Be ready at six a.m.”

“Fine.”

Chapter 23

I came down the stairs that morning, dressed in my work clothes and ready to see no evil. There would be no Dark Walkers today, just like there hadn’t been the last couple times, even though there were. Becca would be fine, no matter where she ended up, even if she wasn’t. I had one target, and I couldn’t lose sight of it because of distractions, no matter how worthy. I was letting too many emotions get in the way. I had to be cold, like Dax, at least for a while if I was going to get my friends out.

I walked out the front door with my tunnel vision set to straight ahead. If it wasn’t something that sat at the end of my tunnel, I wasn’t going to see it.

“Where’s your gloves?” Dax asked as he got on the bike and I was about to get on behind him.

I looked down at my hands and realized the gloves were still in my pocket. For the first time in more than a decade, I’d forgotten about the brand, something that had defined me for so long. I tugged the gloves out of my pocket and climbed onto the bike.

We skidded to a stop a few hours later in the thick of the forest and in front of a structure that was barely more than a shack. He chained the bike to a tree but then did something he’d never done before. He looked into one of the small windows first before we entered. I didn’t ask why. It wasn’t at the end of my tunnel.

Whatever he was looking for didn’t seem to disrupt our plans, and we went into the building, which consisted of a single dark room with only a couple of small windows for light. There wasn’t a bar, but a man walked around with a couple different bottles to the individual tables.

My eyes adjusted to the light, and I took a good look around. The place was packed with Dark Walkers. It was like a monster convention or some shit. My brain was screaming to beeline it to the door, but I forced myself to follow Dax over to a table in the corner.

The waiter came by with a couple of glasses and Dax pointed to the smaller bottle he carried. He served us and was gone.

Acting normal in there might have been the hardest thing I’d ever done. I maintained composure while I sipped my drink, glad for the burn of whiskey to help steady my nerves.

We’d only been there a few minutes when Dax looked at me, asking his silent question. I did a single shake of my head. He kept staring. He’d never asked me twice before. I shook my head again.

He threw back his drink and I forced myself to finish my own. We left. Dax didn’t say anything, but I feared he was starting to catch on to me. It wasn’t until we were halfway to home, and he stopped in the middle of nowhere, that I was near positive the jig was up.

He got off before I did, and I was left doing a mad grab for the handlebars while my foot searched out the kickstand before I got off too.

He walked a couple of steps away but then circled back to me. “You’ve been lying.”

He wasn’t asking. I knew he couldn’t prove it, but unfortunately, I wasn’t sure Dax’s personal justice system required proof. Now what? Lie until I died, or try reasoning? I knew this moment might come. I should’ve planned ahead, because the stare-down thing he was doing right now was jumbling my thoughts.

He took another step toward me, closing the already narrow space. “Do. Not. Lie. Again.”

Well, that didn’t help the brain jumble, but it did give me a more definitive idea of what not to say. “Why do you want them so much?” The stare-down continued along with silence. I didn’t think I was going to be able to pull off
deny till you die
, so I tried a different angle. “You might not like it but I’m saving you. Whatever they have that you want, let it go. You don’t realize what you’re getting involved in.”

“Yes. I do.” There was no wiggle room in that answer.

He couldn’t know. No one could. Not unless they had seen them like I had, felt the cold that came off them, smelled the sickly sweet scent of their skin. I took a few steps away from him, and mentally away from the things I hated to think about.

“Hearing the stories isn’t seeing and knowing.” I shook my head. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. You tell me how I’m acting like a character, that I’m clueless, that I don’t know what life is about. I know too much. I understand what might come from this.” He was the one that didn’t get it. He hadn’t been stuck with them for years and felt the evil that flowed from them, so thick it could suffocate you.

He also didn’t understand how badly he could be screwing up my own plans. I didn’t know what he wanted from the Dark Walkers, but if I started identifying them, I didn’t doubt every one of them would come crawling out of their dark corners looking for the person who was to blame. There would be no sneak attacks and well-thought-out plans to free my friends. I’d be on the run.

I couldn’t tell him that. If I did, I knew exactly who would be scrambling and left holding the bag. He didn’t care about my friends or what would happen if I couldn’t get to them.

He walked closer, following me to where I’d stepped away from the bike. “You want to lead your life on your terms but deign to tell me what I should do? You made a deal. Honor it.” He took a step away as if he wanted space but then thought better of it. “You need to decide. You’re either with me or you’re not. If you’re not, you’ll be treated accordingly,” he said, not yelling or screaming, but it was almost worse for the lack of it. This was cold Dax at his finest, or worst, depending on which side of the line you fell. If you were on his side, that ice-cold person in front of you was like a glacier buffering you from the fire. If you were on the wrong side, you were dead in the tundra.

“You better decide soon before I make my own determination,” he said. “If you were smart, when I said jump, you’d be doing backflips. I got you—a Plaguer—out of that place. No one even wants to get near you people and I gave you refuge.”

I knew he was mad, and he had the right to be. The only thing between us was a business arrangement and I’d reneged on the agreement. I’d been lying to him, but not because I wanted to. I had to.

And I’d been called a Plaguer in that way before, so often it was almost like saying
hey, girl
. I wouldn’t trade being a Plaguer in for being normal, ever. At least I knew what walked this Earth. With age, I’d realized knowledge was power. I knew keeping your eyes shut could lead you right off a cliff.

So why was it so hurtful when he used the term, and in that way? Why were my eyes burning like I was going to cry? I didn’t cry. I wasn’t like other people. I was tougher than them.

I didn’t say anything, just gave him my back as I tried to come to terms with the emotions roiling within. What was wrong with me?

“Dal?” He spoke my name in a tone heaped high with accusation, as if thinking I was ignoring him.

I opened my mouth to shoot back a nasty reply but came up blank. I couldn’t think of a single retaliation.

I heard his footsteps near me and I started walking away.

“I need the bushes,” I said before he could question me further.

He didn’t say anything and the footsteps behind me stopped.

I found a group of bushes far enough away from him to get some privacy and squatted behind them, but not to go to the bathroom. I reached up and wiped away a tear that managed to escape. Fucking asshole made me cry and I couldn’t even figure out why. So he’d called me a Plaguer in a way that implied that we might not be so popular. So what? It wasn’t like it hadn’t happened a thousand times before. I was going to act like a big sissy now?

It was ridiculous to get this upset. I moved over to a creek running about ten feet away, took my gloves off and splashed my face with water. I had to pull it together. It didn’t matter if he was mad and I couldn’t care what anyone thought of me. I pulled myself together and walked back toward him.

He cleared his throat and there was this strange awkwardness between us, as if he knew something was off.

He looked at me, his eyes narrowed like he was concentrating on figuring out a puzzle piece. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, with not a little bit of chutzpah thrown in for good measure. “Can you tell me what they have that is so important?” I asked, even knowing that there was nothing that would trump my friends’ lives.

He didn’t bother answering.

“I guess full disclosure only runs one way?” I said.

“You made an agreement with me and then lied. What disclosure?”