Until We End (15 page)

Again I saw myself lining her — Corrine — up in the sights of my nine-millimeter semi-automatic Glock 17. The way the gun's black matte finish shone in the sunlight. The sinew in my bones singing with the reverberation that the gun made when I pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot being fired echoing in the street. In my head.

When I closed my eyes, I imagined that I could feel the bullet piercing Corrine's flesh, like my hand was the one to push it in. The sound that her body made as it hit the pavement. Wet. Solid. The scream — God, that scream — from Briggs as he knelt over her body. He must have loved her.

No wonder he wanted me to die.

Tears burst from my eyes in a sob, violent and volatile, coming from that place deep down where I buried everything I couldn't handle thinking about. My ribs felt like they'd crack if I didn't stop. But the tears flowed beyond my control. I couldn't close my eyes without seeing Corrine's body, seeing Briggs' face twist as he told me he wanted to kill me, and deep down I had this horrible suspicion that maybe I deserved it.

I lay in the dirt and mourned. I mourned for Corrine; I mourned for my father. For Coby, who'd lost his childhood. For Lonnie. I mourned for myself. For the unfairness of it all. Dad spent years trying to prepare me for the apocalypse. He taught me how to shoot, pick locks and make sure Coby and I stayed fed. But he couldn't prepare for me this.

This wasn't supposed to be my life. Before the virus, I was a straight-A student on my way to a full-ride scholarship at the university of my choice. I had a home. A family who loved me. Now I had nothing.

I don't know when I fell asleep, but I did. Maybe my brain decided that it was all too much and put my body on hibernate for a little while. That was fine with me.

I woke to the rumble of a vehicle.

Instantly alert, I jerked the trap door closed and hooked the padlock in place, then crawled to the edge of the pine trees. It was dark, but the Humvee's headlights illuminated the nighttime gloom like a mini-sun. I closed my eyes and cursed a million different ways. The cans I'd dropped in the janitor's closet were still there, and Briggs wouldn't hesitate to give me away if Lu, Jackson or Brooks went down there. I was in deep.

Ducking behind a tree, I pulled out my Glock and watched as the brigade got out of their car. If they came this way, I'd be able to surprise them. I had no doubt what they'd do if they found out I broke into their stockpile. I'd shoot them if I had to. If I had no other choice.

But... maybe not Brooks.

Jackson and Lu walked up the stairs and into the warehouse. I released my breath and squinted, looking for Brooks, and spotted him. He stumbled out of the Humvee and braced a hand on its side.

Was he sick? I started moving forward, and then thought better of it. No, that couldn't be it. He wouldn't have been able to stand.

What was wrong with him? I bit my lip and watched from the shadows of the pines. He leaned heavily on the side of the car for a moment, then when he tried to take a step, he swayed and tipped a little too far to the side. Shit. He was drunk.

I tucked the Glock back into my jeans, jogged through the trees away from him and the trap door, and circled back around to walk up behind him. He turned as he heard me approach, and when he saw me, his trademark smirk snapped into place like he was flipping a switch.

But it was a little too slow. I saw his face before he spotted me — red nose, blotchy cheeks, bloodshot eyes. I bet I looked about the same way.

I wasn't the only one who'd been mourning.

“Hey sweetheart,” he said. His voice was raw and hoarse and cracked a little. The passport picture I'd seen of him flashed in my mind, golden brown and grinning. With his white hair — now even brighter than before — Brooks looked like a ghost of his former self.

I walked closer and caught his scent. He reeked of booze and cigarettes. Unbelievable.

“You
smoke?
You've survived this long and you're killing yourself?”

“Didn't know you cared,” he slurred.

I
don't
care,
I thought. But I knew that was a lie. “It's stupid, that's all.” I ran a quick bitch-check and decided I was being way too harsh. Deep breath. Calm down.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Brooks didn't answer. He stumbled across the dirt to the small set of stairs that led to the warehouse. He paused and seemed to consider them for a moment, then sank down on the bottom step instead of trying to climb them. In his state, they were probably about as challenging as Mount Everest.

I leaned against the Hummer and watched him, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at his hands. A blank look of shock had replaced his smirk.

When Brooks spoke, his voice was tight. “Smith used to say that if he died, he wanted his ashes to be spread on top of Elvis Presley's grave.” I cracked a bit of a smile before smothering it, horrified at myself. Then I saw a shadow of Brooks' smile come back and I felt better and realized that Lonnie would probably be glad he could still make people happy. “Smith said he was his soul mate.”

Brooks brought his head up and looked at me in that unwavering, unsettling way of his. When some people look at you, it's easy to tell their thoughts are a million different places. I never felt that way with Brooks. He looked at me, and I knew I had his attention.

He planted his hands on the step and pushed himself up, swaying as he walked toward me. He stopped a foot away. His stare burned like a physical touch, trailing down my body. I tried to catch and hold it, but couldn't. He was beautiful. Slightly crooked Romanesque nose, hard jaw, his skin a burnished bronze even in the darkness.

I was hyper-aware that I had my back up against the Humvee, and he was so close, and if he took just one more step then I'd be pressed against the car and he'd be pressed against me, and…

When Brooks touched me, I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was feather-light, his fingertips sliding across my cheeks to brush the hair out of my face. I shivered. He forced my chin up and locked his eyes with mine. His were milk chocolate and caramel. Mine, probably deer in the headlights.

Don't kiss me
, I thought.

Please kiss me
, I thought.

My heart was pounding so hard and fast I thought he had to hear it. He looked at me for what felt like forever. Then he let his hands fall away, took a step back, and walked inside without a word.

I braced a hand on the Humvee's hood and tried to catch my breath. It was stupid, so stupid, that I let him affect me like that. Especially then, knowing what I knew.

Briggs lied about taking me to the shelter. If I'd untied him, he would have killed me. Or at least he would've tried; I had no doubt about that. But the other stuff, Jackson and Lu wanting to lock me down there with him, that felt like the truth. And why wouldn't they? I had something they wanted. My food. They had me outnumbered.

And now that was Lonnie was gone, Brooks was the only one standing between me and being tied up in a janitor's closet. But I still didn't understand why he was helping me. Why he'd been protecting me from Jackson and Lu.

I closed my eyes and listened to my heartbeat slow from its frenzied pace. Brooks' words from earlier came back to me.

I understand, you know. About your brother. I get it.

He'd been at my house when I found that Coby was missing. He picked me up, and when I tried to run, he didn't let me. At the time, it seemed like there was something threatening about the way he brought me to the warehouse, but if he hadn't done that... I probably would've been captured by the government, or taken down by a gang like Romeo's.

Could it be possible that he'd done all this just because he understood? Because he genuinely wanted to help me?

Raindrops began to fall. Slowly at first, then harder, until the rain fell at a steady rhythm, soaking my clothes. I didn't want to go inside, but I didn't want to catch pneumonia either. My only comfort was that I hadn't seen anyone go into the cellar.

Lu and Jackson sat on a couple chairs in the common area of the warehouse, speaking in whispers. A few candles arranged on the coffee table flickered, making the shadows jump across their faces. They fell silent as soon as the door swung shut behind me. The rain was already coming down hard, beating on the metal roof of the warehouse with a sound like drums. I made a point of not looking at Lu and Jackson directly, but kept a close watch on them out of my peripheral vision as I walked to Brooks' room. They stared at me the whole way.

It took me a minute to find him after I pulled back the patchwork curtain. When I did, I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath to center myself.

Brooks was on the floor, shirt off, doing push-ups. Green candles glimmered on the dresser and floor around him, scenting the air with pine. It would have been painfully romantic under any other circumstance. A scene from one of my favorite romance novels. Except I knew that a few feet below us, Briggs was probably still screaming…

Brooks' bronze shoulder blades glistened with sweat, and I could just barely hear him whisper with every breath. It sounded like he was counting.

“...One-oh-one,” with his inhale, “one-oh-two,” exhale, “one-oh-three,” inhale.

No way he'd done over a hundred push-ups drunk.

His head snapped up. “Enjoying the view, sweetheart?”

Yes.
“No.”

He kept going, head up and staring at me, but stopped counting.

“Where's the birthmark on my back?”

“Bottom of your left rib cage,” I said.

Brooks smiled. “Caught you.”

Damn.

He stood, walked to the dresser, and then began rummaging through stacks of neatly folded black shirts. “Did you have a reason to be here other than looking at me?”

Focus.
“Yes,” I said.

I walked to the bed, determinedly
not
staring at him, and sat. When I looked up, he'd pulled a shirt on. A hysterical giggle wanted to rise in my throat. I folded my hands in my lap to keep from fidgeting and made my face smooth and calm, even though inside, I thought I might be losing it.

At any moment, Jackson or Lu could go to the cellar and find that I'd broken in. The thought made me almost delirious with adrenaline, my hands shaking even though I clasped them so tightly my knuckles went white.

The rain hadn't slowed. That much I could be thankful for. If Briggs was still down in the janitor's closet, screaming that eardrum-shattering scream... Well. At least no one could hear him.

Time to put everything out in the open. “I want to talk to you about the shelter,” I said. I couldn't let my hysteria show — if I did, Brooks would know something was seriously wrong and he'd get suspicious. I couldn't let that happen. No matter how much he might sympathize with me, Jackson and Lu were his brigade-family. I was a girl he'd known for four days.

Brooks paused for a moment. Then he grabbed a shirt from the dresser and wiped his face clean of sweat. His eyes weren't red anymore, and his cheeks were only flushed from the exertion of the push-ups. Now I knew why he'd been working out so hard this late at night. Burning off excess alcohol and emotion.

“Who told you about it?” he asked.

It felt like I was standing on the edge of a skyscraper, looking down. “Charlie.”

He dropped the shirt back onto the dresser, leaned his hip against it, and crossed his arms. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, we're going there tomorrow, right? But we've driven around the city a few times and I haven't seen it. I was wondering where it is.”

He shrugged. “It's an old high school in the middle of the city.”

I stared at him for another minute, expecting him to say something else. To give me an ultimatum or a Catch-22 or a threat. But it didn't come. “Is that all?”

“What else do you want? I told you earlier I'd take you there tomorrow. Not going inside, of course, but to see it. We can think up a strategy to get you in and your brother out.”

Was that the sound of the door opening? I snapped my head toward the curtain, listening hard, but all I heard was rain on the roof. I stood and walked to the patchwork curtain before inching it aside to look at the common area. Jackson and Lu were still sitting in their chairs, heads together, whispering.

I turned back to Brooks. His eyebrow cocked and head tilted. “It's nothing. Just thought I heard something.” I swung my arms, trying to look casual. I probably just looked like a crazy person. “I'm really tired. Can I have your bed again tonight?”

“Sure,” he said slowly. “You don't have any other questions? You're not going to grill me on a strategy or ask for a blueprint?”

“Nope,” I said. “Goodnight.” I went back to the bed and kicked off my boots, then crawled under the covers while he stood there, staring at me. After a minute, he shook his head and walked out.

I knew where the shelter was. Broad Central High, home of the Cavaliers, was the only high school anywhere near the center of the city. I used to go there for track meets, pre-TEOTWAWKI. We never competed against them — my school was private and they were public — but their track was the nicest in the city, so they rented it out to us sometimes.

All I had to do was wait the brigade out, make sure they were asleep, and run for it. I still had the key to my truck. I had my Glock, and enough ready-to-eat meals to last a while.

The gun's metal was heavy and solid as I pulled it out of my jeans and held it under the covers, listening over the rain for the sound of a door opening and closing, the sound that would mean someone was going to the cellar. If I heard it, that would mean confrontation. It wouldn't be pretty.

The curtains snap back, Lu and Jackson standing side by side, and I fire from under the covers — one, two. They fall, but Brooks was standing right behind them and blood is spreading from his navel and dripping onto the concrete. But I didn't shoot him! I wouldn't. I won't.