Page 151 of War

I level a look at her. “Naw …”

The corner of her mouth curves into a sardonic smile. “I don’t judge you, you know,” she says, sitting down next to me.

I chew on my lower lip. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” I say.

She takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. “You convinced that beast to save—” Her voice breaks. Zara nods to her nephew. “War’s killedeveryoneI loved—except for one person, and that was only because you got through to him. So no, I don’t blame you for screwing the monster, though I’m sorry you’re the one forced to do the deed. I’d sooner saw his balls off, myself.”

I give Mamoon another desperate look, sure that between me and Zara we’re corrupting the poor boy’s ears.

“He saw his parents killed, he’s walked by executions, and now dead men are standing guard outside his tent,” Zara says. “A little sex talk is the least of my worries.”

Fair point.

“I made War a promise not to get in his way, and as much as I hate it, I intend to uphold that promise,” my friend continues. “So have your way with him and don’t think I’m going to cast my judgment on you or walk away from our friendship. I owe you a debt I canneverrepay. And who knows, maybe you’ll end up saving someone else’s little boy because of your … relationship.”

I give her a tight smile.

“Just don’t avoid me,” she finishes. “I missed your company.”

“Okay,” I say softly.

And that’s the end of the sex talk—at least for now.

For the next couple hours, Zara and I talk about everything and nothing. I could’ve sat with her and chatted the entire day away, but eventually my friend drags me and Mamoon out of the tent, towards a group of women gathered several tents down.

Mamoon keeps giving the zombies around us wide-eyed looks as Zara leads him on.

“They won’t hurt you,” I say. “They’re here to protect us.”

That’s a bit of a lie—they’re here to protect me and no one else—but I won’t let them hurt Mamoon, so it’s nearly the truth. And luckily, my words seem to take the edge off of the toddler’s fear.

The loose circle of women sits under a canvas shelter someone’s erected. They sit and chat while they mend clothes, weave baskets, and do other odd jobs that don’t require much concentration.

When they catch sight of our group, I see one woman slosh a cup of tea she’s drinking. Another gasps.

“What’s this?” another women demands of Zara. She doesn’t bother looking at me.

“War’s wife decided to join our group,” my friend replies, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

The women grow quiet, each of them eyeing me, some curiously, others unkindly. One gives me a small smile. I recognize a face here and there from when I lived in this quarter of camp, but no one acts as though I was ever like them.

“Of course you’re both welcome,” one woman says a little stiffly. Her face warms when she sees Mamoon. “David is playing soccer with Omar if you’d like to join.” She points behind her, towards the end of the tents, where two small boys are kicking a weathered ball around.

Mamoon glances up at his aunt, and when she gives a nod of her head, the little boy goes running off towards his new friends.

Zara keeps her eyes on him for several seconds after that, her face pinched with worry. There’s always something to worry about here—the soldiers’ cruelty, the numerous weapons scattered about camp, the sheer size of our tented city. A child could get swallowed up whole.

“Would either of you like some tea?” one of the women asks.

Zara blinks, moving her attention to the woman. “No thank you.”

“I’m good too,” I say.

I shoo my undead guards away as the group makes room for us in the circle. After a tense few minutes, conversation returns to normal.

“… I saw Itay go into her tent last night.”

Some tittering laughter.

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