Page 5 of Ghosts of the Dead

“Like the planet?”

He raises an eyebrow and looks at me with something gleaming in his black eyes. His mouth opens like he wants to say something, but I steamroll right over him. “Well, Mars, I’m sorry for getting you trapped up here and in this whole mess.”

He dismisses it with a shake of his head. “No need to apologize, Autumn.” Then he grins wide. “Like the season.”

His joke soars past me, because a different kind of panic seizes my chest. “How…”

“I was tracking you. It’s my fault you’re in this mess. You only ran because of the mess we made trying decide what to do about the sniper. I should have taken my shot on him when I had the chance.”

“We?” I question, but he’s not looking at me anymore. His gaze is fixed on something in the distance. He raises his arm and waves again. Someone is out there, watching and waiting for him. For me, too, by the sound of it.

He had claimed not to know anything about Summer, but he was looking for me specifically. That doesn’t add up. What else is he hiding? Was anything he told me true?

My mind races through worst-case scenarios. I can’t be captured. Not like this. If I’m going to be taken, it’ll be by the same people who took Summer. At least then I’d find her and we’d be together again.

Mars continues making hand signals in the air. He’s distracted. Now or never.

I glance around, gauging the distance. If I take a running start, I can make it to the next rooftop. Maybe. It’s a risk, but it’s my only chance.

Seizing the moment, I slowly back away, then burst into a sprint. My boots slam against the rooftop with each step. The edge approaches at a rapid pace. With my breath held tight in my newly functional lungs, I leap.

The gap is wider than it appeared. My boots hit the far edge, but the landing is rough. Pain shoots up my wrist when I stumble forward into a roll, but I bite back a cry before pushing to my feet and hurrying toward the nearest door.

It’s locked. I curse and bolt for the fire escape instead. My legs burn and my lungs strain, but at least they work. I descend the metal stairs with haste, putting distance between myself and Mars, escaping the most immediate danger.

My options are limited. I force my quickening breaths toslow. There won’t be a dark-eyed guardian angel to save me if I lose control again.

At street level, I press against the brick wall. My chest heaves. My heart thunders against my ribs.

Then the moaning intensifies. Ahead of me and above me. My moment of reprieve evaporates.

The air reeks of rot. I’m not done running yet.

3

MARS

She’s fast for someone who can barely breathe.

I catch the tail end of her jump. Her boots scrape the far edge of the neighboring rooftop before she rolls and disappears from view. The landing looks brutal. Too brutal. I hear the sickening thud, see the way she catches herself one-handed. Her wrist buckles under the impact, but she doesn’t stop. She pushes through the pain and keeps running.

Dammit Autumn.

As impressed as I am with her stubborn independence, I’m frustrated as fuck that she hurt herself in the process.

I bolt after her. The rooftop shudders beneath my boots when I race across the cracked surface coated in grit and debris. Behind me, the door explodes off its hinges and skitters across the concrete. Moans pour through the air as the dead funnel out onto the roof. Even if Autumn hadn’t run, we’d be out of time anyway and I probably would have thrown her over there myself. I launch myself across the gap and hit the far roof hard. My knees scream from the impact, but I ignore it and rush toward the fire escape.

Dust and rust cascade from the corroded rails and the fire escape groans beneath my weight, trembling with everystep. I hit the alley below and scan left, then right. No sign of her. Only wind and the distant chorus of rotters. Then a shadow disappears around a corner.

“Shit.” I take off after her.

There’s no way to warn Jace or Caspian that we’re on the move. They’re both probably still out there waiting for my next signal. By the time they figure out she’s gone, it might be too late.

I round the corner at full speed and spot her. Purple hair whips around in the wind and her legs pump fast. Her right hand presses tight against her chest. She’s hurt. I can almost see the swelling from here, though the pain etched across her face gives it away first.

A rotter stumbles toward her from behind a charred dumpster. Its mouth hangs slack, skin peeling off in gray strips, black-stained teeth jagged and bared. Autumn fumbles at her pockets with her good hand, movements slow and clumsy, probably reaching for a weapon she doesn’t have.

She doesn’t see the threat advancing on her. She’s not ready. Time to be her guardian angel again.

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