Page 45 of Zinnia and the Zombie
“A literal key?”
“No.” His eyes met hers, grave and troubled. “I believe they meant me. Or someone like me.”
She gave him a horrified stare. “Do you think they tracked you here?”
“Not exactly. But the Ithyians may have offered me for sale. The Grorn wouldn’t give up just because I wasn’t on the ship anymore.” He lowered the binoculars, his expression grim.“They won’t stop, my Zinnia. Not until they have what they came for.”
“Which is you.” It wasn’t a question.
He nodded once, the golden skin of his jaw tight with tension.
She turned back towards the edge, watching the Grorn continue their examination of the crash site. Her mind raced through options, none of them good. They couldn’t run—the Grorn would simply track them. They couldn’t hide indefinitely. And a direct confrontation was suicide against creatures so physically powerful.
Below them, the Grorn leader had completed his examination of the wreckage. He conferred briefly with his remaining companions, then pointed in their direction.
“They’ve found our trail,” Jaxx said, pulling her away from the edge. “We have perhaps fifteen minutes before they reach us.”
Panic fluttered in her chest, but she forced it down. “What do we do?”
For a long moment, he was silent, his gaze distant as he considered their options. Then he gave her a grim look.
“We stop running,” he said quietly. “And we face them.”
“How? There are still two of them, and that leader seems to know exactly where the traps are.”
“Because we were only guessing where they would go.” A faint smile touched his lips. “But now we know exactly where they are going.”
“Here. They’re coming straight for us.”
He nodded. “And we will be ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Jaxx led Zinnia down the stairs, quickly running though their options. The weight of her hand in his was an anchor to what mattered most. He had failed to protect his crew—he would not fail her.
“We don’t long,” he said as they reached their apartment. “Now that they’re on my trail, they won’t hesitate.”
“But they can be killed.”
“Yes.” He watched as she deftly secured a knife to her belt. “Though not easily in a direct confrontation. Their religious fervor renders them nearly impervious to pain. They believe death in service to their prophecy guarantees salvation.”
“That’s not exactly encouraging.”
He allowed himself a grim smile. “No. But their zealotry makes them predictable. They will pursue me with single-minded determination.”
She paused, looking up at him. “Do you have a plan?”
“Yes.” He crossed to the window, studying the plaza below. “I need to control the confrontation. There’s no time to prepare more traps, and they’ve proven adept at avoiding them.”
“So what do we do?”
He turned to face her, his decision made. “I’ll return to stasis.”
“What?” Her face paled. “No. There has to be another way.”
“The Grorn want me as an object, not a combatant. If I appear as they expect—a statue, a relic—their guard will lower. They’ll approach to inspect their prize, and I’ll have the element of surprise.”
She shook her head, eyes wide with fear. “But what if you can’t come back? What if you get trapped again?”
