Page 56 of Ghosts of the Dead

That’s not good enough for me. “Let me check.”

I take her wrist and undo the wrap the rest of the way. The bruising is yellowing now, fading but still tender. Her skin is impossibly soft under my calloused fingers. Softer than anything has a right to be in this harsh world. I rest her hand in mine, marveling at how small and delicate it feels despite everything she’s capable of.

She still watches me like I’ve grown two heads. “Jace, you don’t have to.”

“I do,” I whisper. Because it’s the only thing I can do. I can’t find her sister, can’t stop her from hurting, and I can’t even fix the damn car that could speed up the search and rescue. But I can do this. Patch up the wounds of others while my own bleed freely. I can take care of her wrist, so that’s what I’m going to do.

She remains still while I rewrap her wrist. Her skin iswarm beneath my fingers, despite the chill in the air. I wonder if she’s warm enough in that tank top that barely covers her. I suppose I’m next in line to give her a piece of my clothing. She probably wouldn’t want anything of mine, though. But hell, I’m too much of an asshole to show I care. Can’t sully that reputation I’ve worked so hard to maintain.

I let my thumbs trace over her knuckles while I secure the bandage, savoring the contact more than I should. Her hands are smaller than mine, feminine and graceful, but I’ve seen what they’re capable of. Throwing molotovs, fighting rotters, and rigging explosions whenever she damn well pleases. She can cause destruction from nothing. Her hands should be torn up by now.

“Thank you,” she says.

I don’t answer. When I finish the wrap, I let my hands linger on hers for a second too long, reluctant to break the connection.

Then, so soft it nearly blends into the wind, she says, “I don’t care if you break the whole damn car. Just don’t break yourself.”

The words hit me like a sucker punch to the ribs. I almost laugh, then I almost look away to avoid the emotion building in my chest, but I smile instead. Because of course it’s her. Of course, she’d be the one to say something like that, at the worst possible moment, and somehow the best.

She sees the smile, and for the first time since her world shattered, she smiles back.

I’m so fucked. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

20

AUTUMN

It’s strange watching someone else break when I feel like I already have.

Jace’s hands were bleeding from where he gripped the crowbar too tight. The car’s windows lay shattered like shards of fallen ice. At least he still feels something. I’m not sure I do.

Once the anger subsided, and I realized I was at a dead end, all the fight drained from my body. I wish I could scream and grab the crowbar from Jace and take a whack at the car myself, but my breakdown at the docks took that from me. The only thing I can do now is walk around, play with this knife, and think about every mistake I’ve ever made.

I walk the edges of the camp in slow, silent loops. Luna follows at my heels as my new shadow. The perimeter is nothing more than cracked pavement, sections of fence I never noticed before that are rusted and falling apart, and a line of fire-blackened trees that look like they’re still trying to grow.

My boots crunch over leaves. The knife Caspian gave me rests against my palm. I turn it over and over with myfingers, expecting the movement to ground me. It doesn’t. Luna’s ears twitch at the sound of metal against metal nearby, but she stays close, matching my pace.

I circle back around and sit behind what’s left of the car after Jace’s outburst. The metal’s dented and caved in, and glass glitters beneath the tires like salt crushed into the dirt. I curl my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them. Luna settles down beside me with her warm body pressing against my leg, and I think.

About Summer, all the names carved into the loose floorboard, the music box, the many rotters that have failed to eat me, the guy whose face got eaten.

None of it helps. In fact, the thinking only makes things worse.

My wrist aches, my knees are still sore from hitting the ground, and my chest is empty.

Jace leans against a large mangled cinderblock about fifteen feet from the fire, but he still stares into the flames like they’re the ghosts that haunt him. For all I know, they probably are.

Caspian stirs something in a metal tin, working to get whatever rations we have to taste like actual food.

Mars sits across from them, flipping a knife between his fingers. He looks like he’s pretending to be calm, but the small tremor in his foot betrays him.

I see them, but they don’t see me. Maybe they do, though. Maybe they just don’t know what to say anymore.

They don’t make a big deal out of it when I go back to them and slide into a spot near the fire, but not too close. Enough to feel the warmth, even though the chill stays lodged in my bones. Luna follows again and settles herself right in front of me before lying down close enough that she forces me to wrap my arms around her. Her fur is warm against my chest, and for a moment, the emptiness doesn’t feel quite so vast.

No one says anything at first until Mars shifts and glances over. “Hey. You want something warm? Cas made this…thing. It’s brown and vaguely edible.”

I shake my head and rest my chin on top of Luna’s head. “I’m fine.”

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