Plague
Page 3She wore a T-shirt and shorts. Sneakers. Unlaced, no socks. No one dressed well, not anymore. People wore whatever was halfway clean.
And no one traveled unarmed. Taylor had a large knife in a nice leather sheath.
She was not beautiful like Astrid. But not cold and remote and looking at him with defensive, accusing eyes, either. Looking at Taylor did not fill his brain to overflowing with memories of love and rage.
She was not the girl who had been the center of his life for all these months. Not the girl who had left him frustrated, humiliated, feeling like a fool. Feeling more alone than ever.
“Hey, Taylor. Bouncy bouncy Taylor. T’sup?”
“I saw the light,” Taylor said.
“Yeah. I am all about light,” Sam slurred.
She held out the bottle tentatively, not sure what she should do with it.
“Nah.” He waved it off. “I think I’ve had quite enough. Don’t you?” He spoke with extreme care, trying not to slur. Failing.
“Come sit with me, Taylor, Taylor, bouncy Taylor.”
She hesitated.
“Come on. I won’t bite. Good to talk with someone . . . normal.”
Taylor rewarded him with a brief smile. “I don’t know how normal I am.”
“More normal than some. I was just checking on Brittney,” Sam said. “You have a monster inside of you, Taylor? Do you have to be locked in a basement because inside you is some psycho with a whip arm? No? See? You are so normal, Taylor.”
Taylor sat beside him. Not too close. Friend close, conversation close.
Sam said nothing. Two different urges were battling in his head.
His body was saying go for it. And his mind. . . well, it was confused and not exactly in control.
He reached over and took Taylor’s hand. She did not pull her hand away.
He moved his hand up her arm. She stiffened a little and glanced around, making sure they weren’t seen. Or, maybe, hoping they were.
His hand reached her neck. He leaned toward her and pulled her to him.
He kissed her.
She kissed him back.
He kissed her harder. And she slid her hand under his shirt, fingers stroking his bare flesh.
Then he pulled away, fast.
“Sorry, I . . .” He hesitated, his wallowing brain arguing against a body that was suddenly aflame.
Sam stood up very suddenly and walked away.
Taylor laughed gaily at his back. “Come see me when you get tired of mooning over the ice princess, Sam.”
Chapter Two
72 HOURS, 4 MINUTES
IT WAS AMAZING what decent food could do for a starving girl’s looks.
Diana looked at herself in the big mirror. She was wearing clean panties and a clean bra. Skinny, very skinny. Her legs were knobby, with knees and feet looking weirdly big. She could count every rib. Her belly was concave. Her periods had stopped and her breasts were smaller than they’d been since she was twelve. Her collarbones looked like clothes hangers. Her face was almost unrecognizable. She looked like a heroin addict.
But her hair was starting to look better, darker. The rusty color and the brittleness that came from starvation, they were disappearing.
Her eyes were no longer dead, empty shadows sunk into her skull.
Now her eyes sparkled in the soft lamplight. She looked alive.
Her gums weren’t bleeding as much. They were pink, not red, not so swollen. Maybe her teeth wouldn’t fall out after all.
Starvation. It had driven her to eat human flesh. She was a cannibal.
Starvation had deprived her of her humanity.
“Not quite,” Diana said to her reflection. “Not quite.”
When she had seen that Caine would destroy the helicopter with Sanjit and his brothers and sisters she had sacrificed her own life. She had toppled from the cliff to force Caine to make the choice: save Diana or kill the children.
Surely that act of self-sacrifice balanced out the fact that she had bitten and chewed and swallowed a cooked chunk of Panda’s chest.
Please? Please, if there is a God watching, please see that I have redeemed myself.
But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. She had to do more. For as long as she lived she would have to do more.
Starting with Caine.
He had shown just a glimmer of humanity, saving her and letting his intended victims go free. It wasn’t much. But it was something. And if she could find a way to change him . . .
A sound. Very slight. Just a scrape of foot on rug.
“I know you’re there, Bug,” Diana said calmly, not looking back. Not giving the little creep the satisfaction. “What do you think Caine would do to you if I told him you were spying on me in my underwear?”
No answer from Bug.
“Aren’t you a little young to be a pervert?”
“Caine won’t kill me,” a disembodied voice said. “He needs me.”
Diana crossed to the California king–sized bed. She slipped on the robe she’d chosen from among the many in the closet. They belonged to the woman whose bedroom this had been. A famous actress with very expensive taste who was only one size bigger than Diana.