Page 49 of Worth the Ruin
Now she’s closed herself off from me almost entirely. She answers questions when asked, nods in acknowledgment or greeting, but our days of talking or joking or playingWhat Do You Miss?are over. I even tried leaving books for her again, but after the third resounding thud, letting me know in no uncertain terms that she’d tried her level best to throw the damn thingsback at methroughthe wall, I stopped trying for the safety of the poor books.
“Melody, come on,” I all but beg about a month after Jonah’s accident, jogging to catch up to her near the greenhouse. I’d given her time, but I can’t just give up. This thing between us is too real, too important, to just let it go without a fight.
So, I’ll fucking fight.
She stops, shoulders tensing. She takes a deep breath, seeming to steel herself before turning to face me. Is it getting harder for her to keep this up? Or is that just more wishful thinking?
She turns and I try not to let the disappointment show: there isn’t a hint of anything but cool indifference on her beautiful face. It feels like a punch right to my gut. She hikes a brow in question, though she doesn’t look at me directly. She never does anymore. I exhale roughly and run a hand through my hair. This is useless. She isn’t ready to let me fight for her, for us. Maybe she never will be. I don’t like the cold pit that forms in my stomach at the thought. I push it away, refusing to look at it. I know she felt the same. I fuckingknowit. It wasn’t just physical in that hallway, it was so much more than that. She couldn’t have forgotten it so quickly, so she’s forcing herself to act like she has.
That’s what I’m telling myself anyway. Maybe I’m just a pathetic, love sick puppy who can’t take a hint, but I’m not giving up, not yet.
But for now, instead of saying what Iwantto say, I just remind her about our upcoming trip. A few hours north of FOS, there was a small community out on what was essentially an island in the middle of a huge lake. It had been entirely cut off from the rest of the world right at the beginning of the end, the two bridges that stretched across the water on the south and north ends blown up by some over-zealous residents thinking they could save everyone on the island if they kept everyone elseout. They’d even gone so far as to sink cars and other hunks of metal along the shoreline to keep boats from crossing over. It was a good plan, in theory, but they didn’t realize that half of them on the island had already been infected. We knew so little in those early days, everyone was just grasping at straws and making rash, desperate decisions that they thought meant survival. It was fucking chaos. It’s honestly a miracle any of us survived.
My guys have been working on repairing the bridge on the south side of the island for a few months now, and they’ve finally got it stable enough to cross on foot. Eventually, we’ll get it to where vehicles can make the trek, but for now its foot traffic only. I gave the order that no one goes across until I come personally. I don’t like watching from the sidelines with this kind of thing, especially if there are potentially new people to bring into Haven—or fight. Flashes of the ambush where Melody had nearly been killed flicker through my mind and I clench my fists at my sides.
Either way, I want to be there in person to clear the island, so we’re taking a large team to do a massive sweep of the entire thing.
“Pack for a couple of weeks, just to be safe,” I say and she nods. Neither of us move. She swallows hard and finally—finally—shifts her gaze to meet mine directly. There’s a flash of something there. Pain? Longing? Regret?
“Is that all?” she asks quietly.
“Melody, I…” I search her eyes, trying to find something that tells me she still wants me, wants this. I shake my head. “Yeah, that’s all.”
She nods and walks away.
CHAPTER TWENTY
MELODY
Life at FOShas gone from pretty good, verging on great, to complete shit. I hate how things are now, but I can’t let go of my anger, can’t just get over the fact that Jonah had almost died and I hadn’t been there, and it was Traeger’s fault. Jonah had tried his best to sway me before I left The Cove, telling me that I was essentially a giant idiot, but I refused to give in.
He was right: I got scared and now I’m using Jonah’s accident as an excuse. I’m still scared, but I…fuck, I don’t knowhowto let go of this fear and anger and uncertainty, even if I wanted to. I feel like I’m tangled in barbed wire with no hope of escape now. The more I struggle, the more ensnared I become, the more pain lashes through me from all directions.
I force all thoughts of Traeger and our relationship—or lack thereof, I guess—away and focus on the task at hand. We’re about to embark into uncharted waters, so to speak. No one has been on this little island in almost a decade as far as we can tell, and we could be walking into an entire community full of Bloodies—or survivors who like their privacy and might not appreciate visitors.
I tell myself that if the latter is true, then they would have done something to our guys when they were working on the bridge, right? So I’m assuming it’s the former. Not necessarily a better option, but a somewhat easier one to deal with in a sense. Hordes of Bloodies can overrun you quick, sure, but at least they can’t think and plan and coordinate attacks. I’d take the mindless zombies over calculating humans any day.
I have complete faith in the construction and engineering teams, but I still hold my breath as we cross the bridge, glancing over the edge to the water below. You could survive the fall, if you didn’t land on a submerged car or something, but it wouldn’t feel good.
“Half expected the whole damn thing to collapse, not gonna lie,” Wynn says when we’re back on solid ground on the island.
I grin at him. “Same though.”
We all take a second to be still and scan the area in front of us, listening for anything. Bloodies, shouts, gunshots—anything. But if there’s anything out there waiting, they’re keeping it quiet.
One of the guys on the construction team used to live in this area and tells us that the island is mostly just houses—some absolutely huge ones—but it also had a convenience and bait store, a small medical clinic, and two little restaurants. The silver lining to the entire island being infected almost from the very start is that all of those houses and businesses are most likely still very ripe with supplies for the taking. Well, silver lining for us, anyway. Guess from the islander’s perspective there isn’t really shit to be happy about.
The plan is to split into five six-person teams and go house-by-house, making our way from one end of the island to the other. Once we clear everything, we’ll work on going through and inventorying supplies. We’ll be out on the island for a week, at least, so my pack is a bit heavier than usual to include extra clothes, gear, and provisions. Once we get the initial area clearedand find some working vehicles, the group staying back to guard the bridge will bring over the rest of our bags and drive them to wherever we decide to camp for the night. For the most part, our day will be spent on foot though. It’ll avoid unnecessary noise, plus hopping in and out every few feet like kids Trick-or-Teating seems more annoying than just huffing it to me. Guess Traeger agrees.
Thankfully, the rain had stopped on the drive here so we aren’t getting drenched right now, but the ground is completely soaked and muddy from the weeks’ worth of storms that had hit this area.
“Alright, you know your jobs. Be safe and vigilant,” Traeger says before we all split off into our assigned teams. I tell myself not to notice how good he looks in his tactical gear, the tight black long-sleeve thermal molding to his chest and arms, the weapons strapped all over him giving him a lethal and sexy vibe that I’m inwardly drooling over. Just because I’m not letting myself try anything again doesn’t mean I went blind and can’t see how attractive he is. Too fucking attractive.
He shifts his gaze to mine and holds there for too long before he says, “Let’s move out.”
I swallow hard and adjust the straps on my pack just to give me something to do with my hands. It’s getting harder and harder to ignore him, to ignore the things that I still want, despite still being so fucking angry.
Of course, I’m on his team. I don’t bother putting up a fuss about it. Part of me is even happy about it. That part needs to shut the fuck up.
