Page 22 of Ghosts of the Dead

10

AUTUMN

Ishould be hungry. My stomach’s empty, my limbs feel hollow, and there’s a numb sort of weakness crawling under my skin, but the ache in my chest drowns out everything else. It swells beneath my ribs like it wants to bruise my lungs from the inside out.

We spent hours searching this morning. Mars led the way, a step ahead, his eyes scanning every shadow with military precision. Jace took the left flank, moving tight to the terrain in full combat mode, and looking devastatingly competent while doing it. Caspian stuck close to me and stayed silent, but his gaze was sharper than I expected. More calculating.

None of us talked much. I kept my head down and eyes on the ground, trying to ignore the dread seeping into my thoughts while searching for something, anything, that would prove I’m not chasing ghosts.

All we found was a torn scrap of canvas caught on rusted fence wire. Brownish-gray fabric, the kind worn by soldiers. Well, or by men who wanted to be mistaken for them, according to Mars. Heavy-duty stitching, industrial, stained with earth and time. Faded shapes stamped around it, somesort of military emblems or something close, but they’re too smudged to make out.

We also found signs that someone had been there recently. There was disturbed earth around a long-cold fire pit, boot prints in the soft dirt near a creek, and a few crushed cigarette butts that weren’t too weathered. There’s no way to know if these traces belonged to the men who took Summer, or merely other survivors who were passing through. It could have been anyone. It’s not nearly enough to go on, but it’s all we have. Right now, it’s everything.

Now, I sit cross-legged near our fire pit at the front of the old shop’s hollowed-out shell, dust clinging to my boots and the frayed hems of my jeans, while Mars fusses over lunch like the soup had a vendetta against his ancestors. He hunches over a battered camp stove with one knee planted and one brow furrowed, poking a dented can with the grim determination most people reserve for disarming bombs.

“This was chicken once,” he mutters, examing the contents. “Probably.”

I should eat. No, Ineedto eat. But my thoughts won’t let me. I see that torn scrap that mocks me every time I close my eyes. The ragged evidence of someone I want to tear apart limb by limb for what they did to her. For how they’ve destroyed me. This is why I didn’t want to go back there. I didn’t want to relive the memories of failing the only person I ever truly cared about in this damn world. The only person who mattered.

“Still not hungry?” Jace asks. He sits across from me, leaning against a slab of broken concrete with his long legs stretched out and his pistol within reach. Even relaxed, there’s something magnetic about his controlled intensity.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying,” Mars says without glancing up from his stirring. “Your stomach’s louder than mine.”

“I just don’t feel like it.”

Mars doesn’t argue. He gives me a look, sighs, and keeps poking the soup like it’ll change its mind and decide to become more edible.

Jace, however, doesn’t let it go. “Autumn, you look like you haven’t eaten in a week.”

“That’s generous,” Mars adds. “I’d guess two, at least.”

Caspian, draped in shadow against the shop’s far wall, flicks his pale eyes toward us from his brooding spot. “We could always pour broth into your mouth while you sleep.”

Mars grins, and damn if that smile doesn’t make my pulse skip. “I’ll hold her down.”

Jace raises his brows, and I catch one corner of his mouth twitch. “I’ll do the spoon-feeding.”

Caspian deadpans, “I’ll keep watch in case she wakes up and murders you both.”

Jace gives him a solemn nod. “You’re a good man.”

I shake my head and try not to smile, but fail. It cracks through anyway. Summer was the only one who could make me smile since the dead rose.

Until now. Until these three insufferable, attractive assholes crashed into my life.

Mars brings the can over and lowers himself beside me with an exaggerated groan. He presses the warm metal into my hands and drops a spoon in my lap. “It’s cooled off enough now. Eat, or we really will do it.”

My limbs feel heavy, but I wrap my fingers around the can and take the spoon. “You guys are the worst.”

“You love it.” Mars playfully bumps his shoulder into mine, causing me to spill soup onto my jean shorts. The contact sends warmth shooting through me that has nothing to do with the temperature of the food.

“Hey, watch it, or this will only nourish the dirt instead of me.”

“Let her eat, Mars,” Jace says without looking up fromcleaning his pistol. There’s something protective in his tone that makes my stomach flutter.

Mars lifts both hands in mock surrender. “Hey, hey, alright, cool it.”

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