Page 52 of Ghosts of the Dead

“I’m selfish,” I say, and pull back.

She tilts her head, catching my gaze. “Then why does it sound like you’re trying to protect me more than yourself?”

“Because I protect the things I care about.” My eyes flick to the darkness below and I fight back another shudder. “Even if I can’t always follow.”

Our eyes lock. Her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t look away, and that’s the moment I know, deep down in the marrow of my bones, I’ve already lost my heart to her.

The air comingout of the bunker is damp, cold, and thick with decay. I scrunch up my nose in disgust. Mars crouches low and peers into the dark. “What do you think is down there?”

“Only one way to find out,” Jace says before pushing past.

We lower ourselves through the narrow passage where the steps are cracked and missing in places. Jace is first, then Mars, then Autumn, and I hesitate last. Only when Autumn looks back at me with an outstretched hand do I grasp it and step in after her.

Old pipework lines the walls, and we have to duck to avoid hitting our heads. Well, except for Autumn. She’s the perfect height.

The darkness presses in around us. The familiar panic creeps up my spine with memories of other dark places threatening to surface until Jace pulls out his flashlight. The beam cuts through the darkness, and I hurry to do the same, mentally berating myself for not thinking about this sooner. Mars follows suit, and the three beams of light make the descent more bearable.

When we reach the bottom, Jace sweeps his light across the walls until he finds what he’s looking for. “There,” he says before flicking a switch.

Light floods the entire underground bunker. The relief that washes over me is so powerful, I almost sag against the wall. Electric lights. Thank fuck.

The space opens into a rectangular chamber. The walls are made of concrete, and the floor is covered in a patchwork of discarded blankets, moldy sleeping bags, and plastic jugs that hold more dust than air, except for a few containing a yellow mystery substance I’d rather not identify.

Mars kneels by a corner and sifts through debris. Jace moves to the back wall. Autumn remains frozen in the middle after dropping her hand from mine. Her eyes scan everything, and her breathing shallows. I can see the way her hazel eyes take in every detail, searching for any sign of her sister. I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing.

Broken cots line the walls in stacks up to the ceiling. Oldbedding is strewn across the space as though whoever occupied it was in a hurry to leave. There are marks on the far wall that look like scratches, and a peculiar board creaks beneath my boot, despite all the others being sealed well.

I kneel beside the loose floorboard and wedge my knife underneath. The plank creaks when it lifts. There’s nothing there until I turn over the plank in my hand and see the rough carvings on the other side. There are dozens of them. Names, numbers, crude tallies for something I don’t think I want to know. One is scratched so deep that it splinters the wood:Purple hair—traded to G.L.

My stomach drops.

Before I can process what it means, Autumn gasps from where she’s peering over my shoulder. Her lips part, but she doesn’t speak. She kneels beside me and starts tracing the letters, over and over again with trembling fingers.

A delicate melody fills the air with soft, haunting notes I recognize. It’s the same tune Autumn was humming. The same one we hummed together in harmony.

My head snaps up to see Mars holding a tiny music box, its lid open, the mechanism playing that achingly familiar song. Dark rust lines streak along the side. I look over at Autumn right as the color drains from her face. Her eyes widen in recognition, and her hand flies to her mouth.

“That’s Summer’s.” Her voice breaks. “She never went anywhere without it. It was the only thing she had left from before the foster homes.”

I move before I think. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and pull her into me. She sinks into it without hesitation and buries her face against my chest, her smaller frame trembling against mine.

“We’re on the right track.” Her words come out muffled against my shirt, but clear enough. Her voice cracks again. “She was here.”

I tighten my hold and rest my chin on top of her head,and stroke her tangled purple hair. When I meet the fierce gazes of Mars and Jace over her head, we make a silent agreement that whoever took her sister is going to regret it in all the most painful ways humanity has never known.

“We’re getting closer,” I tell her.

A wet gurgle echoes from the far corner of the bunker, followed by the scrape of dragging feet, and we all freeze. A rotter emerges from behind a stack of broken cots. Its movements are slow, and its clothes hang in tatters around its rotting body. It’s been down here for a while. The skin is gray and peeling, and the eyes are milky white.

I unwrap my arms, push Autumn behind me, and draw my knife in one fluid motion. The rotter stumbles forward with its arms reaching out and its jaw hanging slack. Moving quickly, I drive my blade up through its chin and into its brain. It drops in an instant.

“Wait,” Mars says when he crouches beside the corpse. “Look at this.”

He points to the rotter’s jacket. Despite being torn and stained, the stitching is unmistakable. It’s heavy-duty and tactical with reinforced seams. The same pattern we found on that scrap of fabric.

“Same stitching,” Jace says, thinking the same thing I am. “One of the guys who took Summer, became a rotter. What do you think happened?”

I look down at Autumn. The grief in her gaze is gone, replaced by something harder. Hotter. A razor-edged resolve that scares even me, because I know where that kind of fire leads.

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