Monsters

“Hannah,” Jayden said.

“And maybe Jayden understands, but I don’t. I wish you had died.”

“Hannah!” Jayden snatched her wrist. “Stop this!”

“Let me go, let me—” The crack her palm made on Jayden’s cheek was brisk as a rifle shot. Seething, she wrenched free and screamed at Chris, “I wished we’d never met you! I wished you’d stayed dead! Why couldn’t you have died, why didn’t you die?”

“Hannah!” Ellie said. “Stop! Jayden, make her—”

“I don’t know, Hannah.” Every word was another twist of the knife, and Chris thought he deserved it all. What could he say? I was afraid? “I don’t know why I’m alive, and I’m sorry I didn’t die. You want me to leave and I will, first thing.”

“No,” Ellie began.

“Oh yes, of course.” Hannah started for him. “Leave now, leave us to deal with your mess—”

Jayden put himself between Chris and Hannah. “What are you doing?” When she looked like she was going to swing again, Jayden put up his hands to ward her off. “What are you?”

“What am I?” That stole the wind from her sails for a second. She turned him an incredulous look. “What do you mean? I’m who I always was. I’m trying to keep us alive.”

“Not this way,” Jayden said quietly. “Yours is not the only voice, Hannah. It can’t be.”

“If you won’t listen to me, listen to Jayden,” Chris said. “You need to get control of yourself. This is Ellie’s right, and I’m going to help her. If you really cared, if this was about her and not you, you’d see that.”

Hannah opened her mouth, but Jayden said, “Please, shut the hell up, Hannah.”

“Jayden.” Her face crumpled with shock. “You’re taking his side?”

“Chris was scared, and I would never hit you. Think about that. And, no, I’m taking Ellie’s side.” Showing her his back before she could reply, Jayden nodded at Chris.

He didn’t need any more permission and paid Hannah no more mind. Chris cupped Ellie’s hands. “Let me help you with Bella, okay? And tell Mina to lie down.”

Together, they eased the horse’s head to the snow. He waited, ignoring Hannah, who still fumed, but silently now, as Ellie tended to the dog and then bent to whisper into her mare’s ear and kiss the horse’s nose.

“Okay, this has a big kick, so be ready.” Standing behind the little girl, he positioned her hands on the .30-06, then held the rifle’s muzzle an inch from Bella’s ear. “I’ve got it. Pull the trigger when you’re ready.”

“Okay.” Ellie craned a look. “Thank you, Chris.”

Her face shimmered, and he thought it was a good thing he didn’t have to aim much, because he’d have to wipe his eyes. He had never felt more ashamed. This little girl was thanking him for getting her friend killed, and her horse, too. In a few more hours, he would also have to tell her about Alex and break her heart all over again. Jayden would hate him then, too.

But no more lies, Dad. You and I are done. And was this Jess now, this sigh that might be wind or spirit: That’s right, Chris. Let go of the hammer.

“I’m so sorry, Ellie,” he said.

“I know.” She looked back at her horse. “Love you, girl,” she said to Bella, and pulled the trigger.

88

“Oh, boy-o, it’s not that tough,” Finn said, as if he really didn’t care, like they were two buddies hanging out in the old man’s tent, having a couple of cold brews after a hard day. Wielding his parang, Finn carefully shaved skin from a raw rump roast, squared on a cutting board, that might have been beef with excellent marbling. In a saner world, that is. Because that smudge of blue ink? Odds were high it didn’t say USDA Select. “Just tell me: who’s the girl?”

“I . . . I d-don’t . . . uhhh.” Pete’s neck rocked as another sudden spasm bolted through his head. His jaws locked to corral a hiss. “Don’t . . . know.”

“Now why don’t I believe that?” Finn sliced a thick, two-inch steak, probably against the grain. “I may not be a mind reader, but I saw your face. Why won’t you give me a name?”

“Because I . . .” Another shuddering brain bomb. They’d been at this brutal game for the last five hours, ever since leaving the smoldering ruin of the lake house. Peter had read stories about people with brain aneurysms. The very few who survived said it was having nails pounded through their skulls. This was like that: intense pain, a pulse in the center of Peter’s head and right behind his eyes, like the winged thing was scooping out more real estate with its claws. Not as awful as the brain storm that seized him that day on the snow with Davey, though. So why not? Think, Peter; this is important.

And yet . . . he didn’t want Finn’s fingers completely out of his head. As much as the brain bomb hurt, Peter craved that electric red swoon more. When Finn sent Davey and his altered Changed after Simon and Penny, the rush had been so intense, so good, the moan of pleasure escaped before Peter could trap it. Every muscle ached to join in the hunt. The blood. Finn knew it, too: Like that, don’t you, boy-o? I can give and take, you know. Give . . . and take.

Finn was working himself and the Changed up to something, like predators ascending the food chain. First, Changed out for “training.” Now, larger teams, like today. Peter sensed there was one more prize Finn wanted, one more test to run, and then they would head for Rule.

“How many times do I have to say it?” Peter managed through clenched teeth. “I don’t know who she is. Why is it so important?”

“Oh, boy-o. You disappoint me.” Sighing, Finn used the parang to push stew-sized chunks onto an aluminum camp plate. The tent was warm, the air rich with copper musk. “All right, let’s take a break. Phew-wee.” Finn flicked mock sweat from his broad brow. “I’ve worked myself into a lather. How about we try something easier, all right?”

“Whatever.” Peter backhanded real sweat from his forehead. The cuffs around his wrists clinked. A guard had cinched them so tight there was blood where the steel had rubbed his skin raw. He swallowed, but with difficulty. The control collar not only chafed, but the chain looped through the metal D-ring was secured so high on the bars that Peter had no choice but to sit upright. Lucky for him, he hadn’t needed sleep in weeks, or he’d strangle on his own weight.

Through the wire mesh dividing this stainless-steel transport cage, he saw Penny cringing against Simon. At least they weren’t in restraints, and Finn had gotten his camp doc to wrap Simon’s sprain, so that was something.

“Tell you what,” Finn said, taking the filled plate and sidling close to Penny and Simon’s half of the cage. “Let’s talk about little Penny . . . well, not so little Penny.”

“What do you want to know?” Peter said, his tone flat. Simon’s eyes narrowed at Finn’s approach. Suddenly rapt, however, Penny straightened, nostrils flaring.

“I’m curious.” Finn moved the plate from side to side, smiling as Penny tracked it like a spectator at a tennis match. “Yes, smells good, doesn’t it, Penny? Want some?” Finn brought the plate to within arm’s reach. “Go ahead, dear. You know you want it. Take it.”

Don’t do it, Penny. A stupid thought. Illogical. Watching his sister’s face rearrange itself—raw animal hunger replacing fear and suspicion—hurt so much Peter would’ve taken a brain bomb instead.

“Whoa, easy now,” Finn chuckled as Penny’s hand darted to grab a meaty fistful. “Wouldn’t want you to choke, sweetheart. How many months is she, Peter?”

“Seven, more or less.” More, probably.

“Oh.” Finn’s bushy white eyebrows arched as he ticked off the months on his fingers and then mugged fake astonishment. “Well, we did wait until the last second, didn’t we?”

Penny had. He still remembered his shock when she told him: I thought I was late. He’d had to bite back the scream: You thought you were late for three months? But she was only sixteen. Too late, he discovered she’d already confided in a girlfriend and things had mushroomed from there, the rumor spreading through town. Which is probably how Finn found out in the first place. Weller, maybe, or Lang. Or given the depth of Finn’s hatred for Rule, the old man might’ve had a spy there all along.

“How did you get her to the lake house?” Finn asked, proffering the plate again. Penny’s cheeks were round as a chipmunk’s, but she still grabbed a double handful. “Must’ve been difficult.”

He tried to shake his head, but the collar brought him up short. “I took her on Friday, the day before . . . you know.”

“Ah, the day before the world went away. You were going to come back?”

“Sunday night.” The lake house was never meant as anything other than a place for Penny to hang for a single weekend while he scraped together the money and set up the appointment in Illinois. Messing up Penny’s life more by forcing her to go through with the pregnancy would do no one any good. Beg forgiveness later. “Didn’t quite make that.”

“When did you go back?”

“Thursday night.” It had taken that long to track down Simon and ride like hell.

“And she was still there? Poor girl must’ve been starving.”

“Not really.” When Finn leveled a look, he continued in a dead monotone, “She was with a . . . friend. Of mine.” He paused. “From college.”

“The father? That’s interesting. Does put a new spin on the female praying mantis.” Finn gestured at Simon, who hadn’t made a move for the food. “I’d have thought he—”

“Never in a million years. Not Simon. We’re family.”

“Why do you think she stayed at the house?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">