Page 36 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
Never mind what will happen when they discover the people here. If we could find them, they won’t be able to hide from everyone else.
I follow Mason down the slope, a strange numbness spreading through my limbs. Focusing on keeping my steps steady, on not slipping on all the blood, occupies enough of my mind that when I catch up to him at the bottom of the street, I can breathe a tiny bit easier.
We will see what we can do for Otto’s body when we return to the church tonight. And my feelings about all of it are already buried deep. I’ll open that mausoleum when I return to the Citadel or, more likely, on my own deathbed.
“You’re upset,” Mason says, studying my face when I fall into step alongside him. Dirt has been dragged over the cobblestones. The zombies came from somewhere further out.
“I am.”
“Because he’s your friend?”
I look at Mason, confused. “Yeah. As much as anyone can be.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hard to make friends with a job like this. Hard to make friends in the Citadel at all.” I bite back the other words that trip over themselves on my tongue, desperate to be spoken aloud. It’s hard because it’s meant to be. Because to be friends is to be vulnerable, to trust another person, and outside of the way I trust the team to have my back physically when we’re on a job like this, I don’t trust any of them at all.
Except Otto, maybe. Maybe I should have sought him out at the Citadel. Maybe we could have been friends.
“Oh,” Mason says. “I thought you two might be more than that.”
“Like, we fucked?”
He shrugs, but the sharp flick of his eyes tells me I have the right answer. Fucking doesn’t have to be vulnerable, and I can’tever afford it to be. The fact that I only have sex with men already singles me out as a target, and I have the luxury of not hiding it because the fact that I come out and hunt affords me some degree of privilege. Still, it doesn’t stop reactions like Autumn’s—I won’t be procreating, so in the Citadel’s eyes, I’m useless.
Hunting makes me less useless. The entire thing gives me a headache.
“We never did,” I say. “It’s not… Men being with men, women being with women—whatever, really; if you’re not going to have kids, then it’s not acceptable.”
“Narrow-minded of them.”
“They’re thinking of survival, not comfort.”
“Still.” When I look at Mason again, his eyes burn. “They should not hurt you because of it.”
It’s not something I know how to make him understand. “It is what it is,” I say instead.
We find no other zombies that day, though I don’t know how focused we are on looking. Even my attention wanders, though Mason seems to be alert enough, and so is Dane. Autumn is no use at all, despite her quick movements earlier. Fear has her in its claws and I’m not certain when it will let go.
When the sun begins to sink, Mason directs us all up back toward the church. Dane makes a half-hearted protest but trots along obediently when Mason simply ignores him.
My steps only slow when we step into the graveyard. My stomach churns and acid rises in my throat. I can’t go in there. Ican’t.
Rae stops on my other side. “We have to do it,” she says.
Autumn stops with her and stares ahead, but I think she doesn’t see anything at all.
Maybe the zombie digging its teeth in. That’s all I see, playing on a loop in my mind. That and the ragged wound, blood oozing over too-pale skin.
“Yeah,” I say, voice hoarse. I still don’t move.
Mason looks back. He’s reached the church door, but his eyes unerringly seek out mine. I straighten my back. Yeah. Yeah, I can do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Dane and Blake have stopped, too. I’m surprised by how shaken they seem, but maybe I shouldn’t be. Not that I think they care about Otto. Just… this job is strange. Everything about it is strange. We all let our guards down, even if we didn’t mean to.
“Come on,” Dane says roughly when I reach them. “Let’s get this done.”
