Page 17 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
“Seven days,” Nia repeats. She looks at Emma and Callum. They don’t nod or answer her, but she seems to read something from their faces all the same. “We’ve room enough for you. Come on.”
“Wait,” Emma says as Nia steps away. “Guns. We shouldn’t allow any weapons at all, but you can’t have those.”
A chill wracks my spine.
We don’t talk about the guns. No one ever does.
They’re not for the zombies. What would the use be? The sound of a single gunshot would only attract the rest of the horde. And there isn’t enough ammo in the Citadel to supply every hunter with enough to clear out a population that way, not if they want their own security to remain at its current level.
No. Every hunter is given one gun when leaving the Citadel on a job. That gun contains one bullet. And when we return, we give it back. We give back one gun containing one bullet.
The guns are our last resort.
Dane recovers fastest. Autumn is the only one who looks confused. Seems as though they teach them differently in the orphanages.
“We can’t,” he says.
“You will,” Nia replies. “They’ll be kept safe and returned to you before you get on your train. I promise you that.”
Mistrust floods me, along with uncertainty as to whether or not I’ve done the right thing. It isn’t just that she is a survivor and that I can never and will never know what she’s done to keep herself alive.
It is that I do not knowwhyshe knows about the guns. Why do any of them know that? They didn’t seem to know about hunters, about the Citadel.
Nia meets my gaze over any of the others. I’m the one who has to take this leap of faith because there might only be three of them, but the hairs on the back of my neck are prickling like there are teeth at my throat.
They could kill us without a second thought.
I don’t know where the thought comes from. I don’t know what has it dropping like a stone into my gut. It just arrives, and I am certain it’s true.
I reach back to the pocket underneath my pack. When I tug the zip, the gun drops into my hand. It is heavy with the weight of all it represents, searingly cold against my skin, and I hold it out toward Emma without setting my eyes on it.
I never let go of my bat.
“Here.”
She eyes me warily before she takes it and keeps looking at me even once it’s in her hands. Now or never. If she’s to use it, she has one chance. One shot.
If she knows about the guns, she knows that, too.
“Thank you,” Nia says.
Fury roils in Dane’s eyes. Blake doesn’t even try to hide it. I shake my head. Truth is, we need these people who’ve survived here far more than they need us. I think they’ve lied about the zombies, and I’m certain they know more than they’re letting on about the Citadel, and I know the only way we survive this week is to cooperate right now.
I’m ready for more than mere survival. I’m ready for a better life. Hope is a dangerous thing, and that’s why I’m being pragmatic about my choices.
I think.
Otto surrenders his gun next, just as reluctant as me, as does Rae. Autumn hands hers over easily. She doesn’t understand the weight of it. She’s never been trapped, considered the last possible moment she could take it out and save herself.
Savepartof herself.
I squint up at the church. The sun is bright today, as though overcompensating for yesterday’s gloom, and I think of the broken, burst-open graves.
Maybe guns don’t matter in this town anyway.
“This is a bad fucking idea,” Blake says and slaps his gun into Callum’s hand. Dane is last. He glares the entire time but doesn’t say a word.
“Good. Thank you,” Nia says once they’ve gathered them all. “Come on. We’re going up to the church.”
