A Mad Zombie Party - Showalter Gena - Страница 66

“Yes,” I spit through clenched teeth. “If you help Frosty now.”

“I’m not a cruel woman. You have my word he’ll be on the mend by the time you return.”

Her word means nothing to me.

“If you fail me, Frosty will die—and your brother will be my next target.”

“Milla,” Frosty croaks. “Don’t. Please.”

I close my eyes, tears leaking through my lashes. I don’t have to fake it. So much rides on my ability to trick Rebecca and convince the other slayers I’m on the up-and-up. Two mountains I might not be able to climb.

But I have to try.

“Take me into the hall and tell me what you want me to do.”

* * *

Rebecca’s agents drop me three miles away from the mansion, not wanting to be noticed and followed by slayers. I have to run those miles. Every second counts. By the time I reach the mansion, the sun is at its pinnacle, its heat draining what little strength I have left.

The shirt I was given is drenched with sweat and plastered to my chest; I’m operating on nothing but fumes, desperation and determination.

One of the slayers must spot me on the monitors, because the wrought-iron gate whines open upon my approach.

There’s no trace of the battle along the long, winding driveway, no bodies or body parts littering the yard. As I step inside the foyer, my friends—are they my friends?—run from different areas of the house to greet me. They’re still armed, ready for combat, and I doubt they’ve had any sleep.

River yanks me into his arms, hugging me tight. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but Frosty isn’t.” I fight past a fresh wave of tears. “We were captured by agents. He’s badly injured, and he needs help.” I make sure to say only what Rebecca told me to say. If I deviate from her script, she’ll know.

There’s a tiny camera and mic attached to the small, heart-shaped locket she hung around my neck.

One misstep, and Frosty will suffer.

Cole eyes me suspiciously. “I made it through the undead masses as you were being hauled away. I gave chase and tracked the van several miles, but they managed to lose me. Where is he, and how did you get away?”

“Rebecca still has him, but I don’t know where she’s keeping him. I was blindfolded on the drive out.” I rub the tattoo on my wrist—the word Betrayal—and pray someone notices. “Rebecca set me free so that I could deliver a message. Give her Tiffany, and the war ends. Don’t, and she’ll kill us all.”

Curses ring out. Amid them, Cole barks, “Go to your rooms. All of you. Now.”

Several kids gape at him, but everyone obeys.

“You, too, Milla.” He stares at me hard. “I need some time to think.”

“Don’t take too long.” Please.

I hurry to my bedroom. How am I going to tell him what Rebecca really plans?

If I can’t...I’ll have to risk Frosty’s life by telling everyone the truth outright. A whimper escapes me.

Kat appears in front of me and crosses her arms over her chest. As a spirit, the camera can’t detect her and the mic can’t pick up her voice.

Thank God! Cole understood.

“Is Rebecca watching you?” she asks.

I give the barest nod.

“Is she planning an ambush?”

Another nod, and Kat disappears.

She reappears a few minutes later. An eternity. “Okay. Everyone’s gathered in the gym. Let’s see if we can figure this out.”

Yes. Let’s. I walk into the bathroom, grab a bottle of Advil and fish out two little pills. I toss them in my mouth, drink straight from the faucet.

“Headache?” Kat asks.

A shake of my head.

“Advil...medicine...drug! You’re supposed to drug everyone?”

I move away from the mirror and nod.

“To kill?”

A shake.

“To make everyone sick?”

A shake.

“Sleep?”

A nod.

I pace back and forth in front of my desk, ghosting my finger over my new cell phone.

“Is the phone significant?” she asks.

A nod.

“You’re supposed to call Rebecca?”

A nod.

“When? Why?”

I lie on the bed and close my eyes.

“When everyone is asleep?”

A nod. How do I tell her agents will be waiting nearby? I’m supposed to let them in so they can grab Ali and Tiffany, and most likely kill everyone else.

“I’ll be back.” Kat vanishes.

These slayers have no reason to trust me, but I really, really hope that they do. It’s the only way we’ll make it through this alive. The only way Frosty will make it.

Kat appears. “We’re trying to figure out a way to give Rebecca what she wants without actually giving her what she wants.”

I roll my eyes—yeah, I’d already figured that part out, thanks—and she sighs.

“Emma is searching for Frosty, but so far no luck.” She closes the distance, sits on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been good for him, you know. And I think he’s been good for you, too. Your eyes light up every time you look at him.”

He has been good for me.

“Do you love him?” she asks.

Do I?

I definitely chemistry him. He’s real, and he’s smart. He’s driven. He’s always willing to admit when he’s wrong, and he’s not afraid to apologize. I crave his kiss and his touch...his body pressing and rubbing against mine. I adore his smile, and his sense of humor. I love when he protects me, even though I’m capable of taking care of myself. I love the way he looks at me, as if I’m something special. I love his intensity and even his anger. He’s passionate about what he believes in.

I love that he’s guarded, and so few ever get to see the real him—I love it because I’m one of the blessed few. Just like he’s one of the blessed few to know the real me. I let him in, even though there were a thousand reasons not to.

So. Yes. I do, I realize. I love him with all my heart.

I want him to love me, too, even though he’s going to lose me.

A tear leaks from the corner of my eye.

Kat smiles at me. “Good,” she says, shocking me.

Good? She’s actually happy about this?

“Love always finds a way.” She stands. “We’re going to figure this out, don’t worry. We won’t let Frosty die.”

Thank you, I mouth.

She reaches out to pat my hand, but all I feel is a rush of warmth. “In about five minutes, Ali’s going to come in and ask if you’re up to cooking dinner for everyone. You’ll say yes, and you’ll let Rebecca watch you pour the sedative, or whatever it is, into a pitcher of sweet tea. Ali will carry the pitcher out of the kitchen to fill the cups at the dining table, but as soon as she’s out of range, she’ll exchange it for an untainted one. While you eat, everyone will discuss what to do about the situation. Nothing they say will be true. As soon as we’ve got a real plan worked out, I’ll let you know.”

Great. All I have to do now...is wait.

I’m given a couple bags of blood, my wounds stitched and bandaged without anesthesia—no need to waste it on me, I’m told. I hold my curses inside. These people are nothing more than walking lab coats, and they might actually enjoy my pain.

Screw ’em.

I’m cuffed to a gurney, the position pulling at the stitches. Screw the pain. I’m given my greatest wish: I’m left alone in the mirrored room.

Fighting a smile now, I give the cuffs a good tug. My shoulders scream in protest, but now I know what I wanted to know. The bedrail is solid.

I lift my knees and the sheet that drapes my lower body falls over my wrists. My next actions will be hidden from prying eyes. Perfect. With a few well-placed jabs, I can break my thumbs, contort my hands and slide free.

Easy.

In my dreams.

Before I can make the first jab, the door opens. A gleeful Ms. Smith strides inside. I scowl. She’s changed into a tailored dress suit—window dressing to hide the monster living inside—and while she looks like money, she smells like death. The scent of rot clings to her. Been hanging out with zombies a little too long, have we.