Page 40 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
“I know.” Nia rolls her lips together, then shakes her head. “And I can’t really explain. I just want to assure you that Otto is safe and healed. He won’t turn. He can’t.”
“You can’t explain, or you won’t?” I ask.
Nia’s dark eyes meet mine. “Does it matter?”
I suppose not. Makes our job going back much more difficult, of course. It’s one thing to lie and say we came across no one here—if the Citadel sent us to clear the place out, then they intend to send people here at some point. It’s another entirely to lie about there being a potential cure.
“Otto is still resting,” Nia says. “I know you want to get back out there, but yesterday took a lot out of our people, too. We can get you set up this afternoon.”
I look at Rae. She nods. We can’t do anything else. Sure, we could try to head out on our own, but we have a few days here yet, and it’s much more dangerous to be on bad terms with all those who live here.
“All right,” Rae says. “We’ll wait.”
Nia nods and withdraws, and I go to clean myself up. The shadows under my eyes are caverns now. I stifle a yawn and pull a ratty T-shirt over my head. There’s a tear just below the collar and I tug at it irritably before I tuck the hem into my trousers. Better not to give the zombies anything to grab onto.
That all done, I grab a protein bar from my bag and head towards the entrance of the church. I won’t go into town without the others, but I need the fresh air, and something is drawing me out into the graveyard anyway.
Stones crunch beneath my boots as I step onto the path. The graves look the same as they have since we got here, all broken and covered in dirt, and I tear the bar’s wrapper open as I carefully walk between them.
It tastes like cardboard, but I take another bite, pleased to have something in my empty stomach. I pause by that same grave I did the first day. Hoar. I don’t want to ask Nia about the name.
Maybe Mason will tell me. I have plenty of questions to ask him anyway.
Protein bar eaten, I stuff the wrapper in my pocket and rest my bat on my right shoulder. When I turn my head, I spot Blake—alone—heading for the church. He stops when he sees me, expression darkening with a scowl.
“Where’s Dane?” I ask. Unusual to see one without the other, especially outside like this. Blake’s the one person I expect Dane to keep safe.
Blake comes stomping over, grip on his knife tight. I don’t retreat and he gets fully into my space, boots brushing mine.
“Wouldn’t you like to know, you fucking fairy.”
I square my shoulders, tightening my grip on my bat. “What thefuck?”
“You think I don’t know what you’re up to?” He reaches out and shoves me, hand firm on the centre of my chest. I sway back but square my shoulders, not giving him as much space as he wants. “Trying to fuck Dane when it’s obvious you’re already fucking Otto.”
“Otto? We’re not—”
“You’re trying to, what? Turn them against the rest of us?”
I growl and take a step forward, satisfied when Blake has to step back or risk me bashing into him. “I don’twantDane. He can go fuck himself, for all I care. And Otto’s straight. I’m just glad he’s alive.”
“He’s a fucking zombie, is what he is.”
“And you’re a narrow-minded little fuck,” I growl. I let my bat fall from my shoulder, readying my grip.
“You’re going to get us all killed.”
“You—”
He punches me. I’m honestly not expecting it, so I don’t see it coming at all. My head snaps to one side, pain exploding along my cheekbone.
I taste blood.
Someone shouts. Hands are on me, pulling me back in the breath before I launch myself at Blake, and Dane’s holding him back, too, so the person holding me can only be—
I turn my head and meet Mason’s eyes. They burn with a righteous fury that warms me down to my toes.
“Come on,” he says to me, voice clipped. The look he turns on Blake when Blake begins to protest is pure venom. Blake jerks back, almost burrowing into Dane’s arms. “We need to get that cleaned up.”
