Page 28 of The Dead Don't Talk
Amo stomping off in the opposite direction makes those knots grow tighter, especially when I note that his shoulders are up near his ears in a defensive posture that I don’t fucking like.
I shouldn’t care that he’s mad.
But he keeps taking my words at face value instead of hearing me out and—
None of it matters.
He can be frustrated with me. Heshould be. It’s better for him to be than to keep up the façade that this will go farther than it has already.
It’s just a fuck. If I’d known he was a total virgin, I wouldn’t have taken his sweet ass.
I certainly would not have asked Wilson to join in.
It was all a mistake.
“I’ll walk you back.”
The weight of the packs doubled across my shoulders feels like they get heavier as I walk past him. His heavy gaze on me doesn’t help.
“I can get back on my own, Moros,” he mutters from close behind, the thickness of his words slithering down my spine.
“I know,” I growl back, my jaw clenched.
And I do know. I fucking taught him how to survive out here with nothing but a knife and his wit.
So why do I keep wasting daylight?
The silence that falls between us is thick. I work my neck one way, crane it the other, but nothing seems to alleviate the tension riding down my back.
We’re nearly halfway back when he huffs so loud, it makes me spin around, hand poised on my holstered blade.
“Just give me one of them,” he demands, his hand out and fingers fluttering. But I can’t focus on either as the sight beyond his head registers. “I can’t watch you—”
“Smoke.”
Whatever words he’s about to say next are lost as I toss a pack in his direction and fucking run.
Chapter 11
What a hole you’ve dug yourself
Wilson
The wind shifts, carryingwith it the sharp scent of damp earth.
Tainted soil.
Contaminated water and endangered animals.
It’s full of minerals and dense.
My hackles have been up since dawn broke but the roaring horde of decomposed I was trailing didn’t.
They collect near the base of my house as I watch from a distance, screaming their disdain and clawing at one another in hunger. Peeling flesh and hanging muscle coated in various debris over their forms, each one more disgusting than the next.
It’s repulsive.
And yet my stomach rumbles with its anger at having missed another meal. Clenches with another arrow stomped to pieces on the ground. Rolls over at the disappearing light that’s rapidly being overcome by a wash ofred.
