Page 62 of Such a Feral Little Lamb
A bag sits next to it. Not one of ours, but to my eyes, it’s Citadel-issued.
Mason swears. I shake my head. “He wouldn’t—”
He wouldn’t give up his weapon voluntarily. None of us would. It’s one of a number of rules, but it’s up there as the most important of them.
“There’s no one in here,” Mason says quietly. “We should go in.”
I don’t want to. I trust Mason’s telling me the truth, I do, but I have the distinct feeling we’re being watched. I sense a thousand eyes on my skin, and I don’t like that at all.
Mason places a hand on the centre of my back. He doesn’t push, just rests it there, and with my next breath, I have enough courage to walk inside.
He’s right. There’s nothing here. No one. Hesitant footsteps take me to Otto’s war hammer, and I lift it with a faint grunt.
Fuck, it’s heavy. Clean, too, so he didn’t kill anything or anyone with it while he was out here.
Mason crosses the room and opens another door at the back. He ducks inside, then out again, still frowning.
“Who could have done this?” I ask, eyeing the bag. Something in the back of my mind is screaming at me not to open it. “We both know it can’t be zombies.”
“I know.”
“Mason, who? You know this town. You know these people. You have to have some idea—”
“I don’t know!”
Frustration propels him to pace the floor in front of me. I look at the bag again, then shake my head and put Otto’s war hammer back down before I crouch.
“If a survivor had come here, we would know. The zombies wouldn’t—They can’t—” He growls, shaking his head, then comes to a sudden stop. “You’re certain they wouldn’t both leave?”
“No! Otto wanted to go back. We talked about it yesterday.”
“You’re sure?”
“Mason, please!” I’ve partly unzipped the bag, but my hands still, gaze jerking up to him. There’s a note of fear in my voice and when his head snaps up, I know he hears it. “What do you think is going on?”
“I honestly don’t know.” He sighs and approaches me slowly, but I move my gaze back down to the bag. “I don’t know. I worry whoever this is, they’re going to take you next.”
My heart leaps into my throat, but I shake my head all the same. “We won’t let—”
I choke on the words as I finally get the bag open and reveal the horrors inside. I fall back, hitting the ground hard, and Mason reaches for me but freezes partway, mouth twisted in fear.
“That—” My stomach rolls, the world twisting sideways. “Mason,please, tell me that’s not—”
He jerks the zip on the bag shut again. I know what I saw.
Otto’s head.
Otto’sheadis in that bag and I—
I stumble to my feet and make it to the corner before I throw up the little I’ve eaten today. Sweat rolls down my spine, fear making me shake all over.
“Isaac…” Mason approaches slowly, and I let out a ragged sob when his hand falls gently between my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“He’s—Who would do that?” Zombies wouldn’t do that. They can’t. And as far as I saw, I don’t think zombies were involved at all.
“I really don’t know,” Mason says, and it sounds honest. He sounds scared, too, which I’ve not heard from him yet. “We would know if there were survivors here. And the zombies couldn’t have done it.”
“Couldn’t?” I lift my head and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. “I don’t understand.”
