After the Ending (38 page)

“Do you mind!” I yelped. I grasped my head and shook it
wildly in a futile attempt to block her meddling.

“Oh, sorry, hon. Didn’t know you could feel that.” At
least she had the decency to sound slightly embarrassed. “However, I wonder
what this part does…it’s sort of pulsing…hmmm…”

Along with another nudge in my mind, my body instantly
heated and blood collected in several specific areas. “Chris!” I squealed,
horrified.

Laughing raucously, she let go of my shoulders. “I
thought it might be that. You should probably go find someone to help take care
of your
new
problem
.”

“That wasn’t even a little bit okay!” I huffed, stalking
from the room.

I seriously considered ambushing Jason and getting it
over with, but even in my unnaturally aroused state, I was just too exhausted.
I’d spent the entire fourteen-hour journey mind-hopping from animal to animal,
scouting out potential dangers. We’d avoided three small bands of Crazies using
the critters’ information. At the moment, I just wanted to wash up and fall
asleep.

Only Holly and Mr. Grayson, hunched over a map together,
were in the enormous tasting room when I walked in. I gathered some clean
underwear, socks, sweatpants, and a t-shirt from my pack, along with my
toothbrush and toothpaste, and wandered across marble entryway to the ladies’
restroom. I could hear water running in the men’s room next door and figured
Jason was still in there.

In the bathroom, I took the closest possible thing to a
shower using only the sink, hand soap, and about a thousand paper towels. When
I was satisfactorily clean and wearing sweats and t-shirt, I emerged from the
bathroom. Jason, lounging against the wall beside the door, reached out to snag
my arm.

Pulling me to him, he lowered his lips to mine for a
deep, slow kiss. As his fingers journeyed beneath my t-shirt to tease the
freshly cleaned skin at my hips, I sighed and broke our kiss, resting my head
against his chest. He smelled like soap, and underneath that, like Jason.

He smoothed down my shirt’s hem and wrapped his arms
around me, making me feel like nothing could hurt me. “You’re tired.”

I nodded. “Understatement of the century.”

Jason chuckled and said, “Come on, I have a surprise for
you.”

“A surprise?” I asked, eagerly peering up at him. My
sudden anticipation fizzled as I looked into his glittering eyes, and just for
a moment, saw Zoe staring back at me. They were so different in so many ways,
but their irises—a mixture of blue, teal, and green, like shallow water in the
tropics—were nearly identical.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, seeing my grin wither.

“I’m starting to freak out about Zo…I haven’t heard from
her for, like…four days.”

Pinching one of my damp curls, Jason held out the vibrant
auburn spiral. “I love your hair. Always have. It’s bright, like you.” Though
his words were flattering, I had no idea where he was going with them. “You and
my sister…you balance each other out. She’s serious and pessimistic. But
you…you see the glass half full. Use that. She’s strong. She’s fine…she has to
be. Okay?”

I closed my eyes and nodded, holding back the worried
tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.
Zoe’s strong. She’s a fighter.
She’s okay…she has to be.

With our fingers intertwined, we headed back into the
tasting room, to a corner where tables were arranged oddly on their sides.
Combined with the walls, they created an isolated, tent-sized alcove with a
narrow opening near the wall.

“Jason!” I exclaimed, laughing. “You built a fort!”

He watched me timidly, possibly a first for him. “I
thought we could sleep here…together,” he said softly, and all his shyness
disappeared. “I don’t want to share you…not with anyone. Not in any way.”
Oh. Wow.

It was my turn to play bashful as I took in two sleeping
bags laid out side-by-side within the makeshift walls. “Can they be, you know,
joined?” I asked, gazing up at him through my lashes.

A slow smile spread across his face. “They already are.”

Looking closer, I could see that the sleeping bags
weren’t just next to each other, but were zipped together. Narrowing my eyes, I
said, “A little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

Jason’s smile widened into a wicked grin, and he led me
by the hand into our little haven. Watching me closely, he slipped into the
forest green sleeping bags. I followed, and once we were both lying down, he
wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me closer against him.

“I want you…and I
will
have you,” he whispered as
his fingers trailed up and down my arm, giving me goose bumps. “Is
that
presumptuous?”

I shook my head, smiling against his faded blue t-shirt.

And
I
will have you.
It was my last thought
before falling asleep.

Zoe

It was practically a miracle that we arrived at Sarah’s
without a hitch. While the rest of us waited down the road under the skeletal
branches of an Elm tree, Sanchez and Harper did a sweep of the house and
grounds. Standing beside the van, Biggs and I gawked at the picture-perfect
plantation home before us. It was ivory with black shutters, and a porch
wrapped around both the first and second stories. Due to its grandeur, I half
expected to see Rhett Butler walk out between the Ionic columns and greet us in
the circular drive.

“Holy shit,” I breathed, feeling completely inadequate in
jeans and a Fort Knox sweatshirt.

“I know, right?” Sarah said as she strolled up behind
Biggs and me. Crossing her arms, she stood in the space between us.

“I didn’t know there were plantations in Missouri,” I
said.

“Well…,” Sarah said, drawing out the word. “It’s not
exactly
old
, per se, but it
is
original. Daddy designed it and
had it built for my mom for their tenth anniversary.”

My eyebrows shot up with surprise. “Wow, that’s a…nice
gift.”

Biggs whistled, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw
him shake his head. “I know you said your parents were well-off, but I didn’t
realize you meant capital R-I-C-H.”

“Same thing.” Sarah shrugged, and I could tell she was
starting to get self-conscious. “Good for us, right? We probably have everything
we need in this place.”

Sanchez and Harper finally exited through the front door,
giving us a thumbs-up—the house was empty of both Crazies and rotting corpses,
and we could proceed inside.

Biggs and Sarah moved Dave’s truck up to the house while
I followed in the van. As I drove through the gate and up the extended
driveway, I had a better view of the grounds. They were sprawling, with
hundreds of live oaks spreading over the hills beyond the house. It was obvious
that the lawn and flower beds had once been perfectly manicured, but they had
been neglected for weeks—the plants were withered, and the grass was overgrown.

After unloading the vehicles, we made our way through the
giant, black double doors and into the house. The foyer was bright and expansive,
like Jay’s house in
The Great Gatsby
. Tiles of ivory marble with gray
and black swirls stretched to pristine white walls, where hand-painted,
smoke-gray vines twisted ornately above white wainscoting. Long, black runners
climbed mahogany staircases that were flanked by intricate, wrought iron
banisters—the twin staircases gently wound up opposite walls to meet at a
landing directly above the main hall. Part of me expected the Von Trapp family
to march out onto the landing. Pastoral paintings of rolling hills and golden
plains hung on the walls leading to the second floor, and there were wilted
palms on either side of the bottom steps. I could see a grand piano beside a
fireplace in a sitting room to the right, and black leather couches and a wall
of old-looking books—all different colors and sizes—in the room to the left. At
least four mahogany doors were visible upstairs, presumably leading to
bedrooms.

Although the house was practically a piece of art itself,
it was the paintings that held my attention. I took a step toward the nearest
piece, barely able to contain my excitement. The landscape resembled Thomas
Cole’s,
The Fountain of
Vaucluse
, with its
jutting mountain tops and a winding river that raged through a canyon, but
something was different—the clouds seemed unfinished, and there was too little
shading.

“Oh my God,” I whispered, my mouth gaping.
It’s an
earlier version…it’s an
original
Thomas Cole.

“What’s wrong Baby Girl?” Harper asked absently as he
carried some of the medical equipment for Jake into the library.

“Nothing,” I said, knowing Harper wouldn’t share my
astonishment. I peeled my eyes away from the painting and approached him,
promising myself I would examine
all
of the artwork later. “What can I
do to help?”

Harper reassured me he didn’t need any help, so wanting
to keep my mind off Jake’s recovery as much as possible, I busied myself with
listless tasks.

After taking inventory of the food in the kitchen and the
enormous pantries, I added our reserves to the count. I checked one of the
bathrooms for running water and found that the plumbing, like the electricity,
wasn’t working. I hoped we’d remedy that once Biggs hooked up our generator to
the well pump like he planned. I noticed little things, like the thick layer of
dust that covered the shelves and furniture, and the stale smell in the air,
leading me to believe the place hadn’t been inhabited for months.
Where are
you, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?

As I rummaged through various cupboards and drawers
throughout the first floor, I heard Sarah’s voice coming from the room with the
piano. Following the sound, I called ahead,
“Sarah, do you have candles?
Where…” I trailed off as I realized she was bickering with Biggs.

“No one’s gonna get us,” Sarah said in exasperation as
they entered the foyer. “The place hasn’t been ransacked or anything. Clearly
no one knows this house is even here.”

“This is a city, Sarah, foothills or not. There
are
Crazies
around, I guarantee it. Do you want to take a chance that Clara followed us
somehow and will try to kill us in our sleep?” Biggs asked, sounding genuinely
concerned.

Sarah blanched. “No need to be so severe, Babe.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not assuming
anything
anymore.
I’m teaching you how to use a gun too. You see that psycho bitch, you shoot her
until you know she’s dead,” he ordered and walked away.

Sarah looked at me with alarm. “He’s losing his mind,”
she mouthed. I smiled as she walked closer and grabbed my bag. “Come on, I
picked out a special room for you,” she said. “Since we don’t know how long
we’ll be here, you’ll need your own space. Trust me. This house brings out the
crazy in people.” She looked back at me with an apologetic smile before leading
me up the left staircase.

I followed her to one of the doors visible from the
bottom floor and stopped short as she looked over her shoulder, her face
suddenly aglow with excitement. “This was actually my favorite room growing
up,” she said, dropping my bag and opening the door to peek inside. She
hesitated like she was expecting someone to jump out. Noticing my confusion,
she smiled. “I can’t stop thinking about Clara now. Sorry.” She flung the door
open, and I dragged my duffel bag and backpack into the room.

Compared to any bedroom I’d ever lived in, it was
humungous and fit for an aristocrat. A huge, four-post bed was backed against
the left wall, an antique writing desk was situated in the far right corner,
and a plush, camel-colored fainting couch sat in front of drawn, brocade drapes.

“Why do you like this room so much?” I asked. “It’s
amazing,
but what about
your
bedroom?”

“Yeah, well, I was grounded a lot, so I got tired of my
room.” She waved the idea away and grabbed a handful of the drapes. As she
yanked them open, I was awed by what she revealed.

“The best view in all of St. Louis…at least I think so.”
She gestured to the giant picture window overlooking what I thought was a pond
at first, but from my vantage point, I could see was actually a silvery lake
extending between the hills. “My own little paradise growing up,” she
explained.

“It’s beautiful.” The sun was sinking into the horizon—a
golden sphere seeming to set the withered forest ablaze.

“Yeah, I know. I used to whine all the time about wanting
this to be my room, but Mom said she spent too much money decorating mine to
give in.”

“Decorating?” I pictured pink and purple princess
wallpaper and ballerina figurines cluttering her shelves. “Decorating how,
exactly?”

Sarah smiled at me and shrieked with glee. “Come see!”
she said, running out of the room and down the hall.

I dashed after her, laughing as I tried to keep up and
fearing I’d get lost if I didn’t. “Wow, that’s enthusiasm,” I muttered.

Pausing outside a door, Sarah turned to me. Her face was
serious, and her finger poked my breastbone. “You have to promise you won’t
judge me, Zoe. I went through a princess…fairy…phase…thing and my mom never let
me live it down.”

I tried to control the smile threatening to spread across
my face as I promised, “Scout’s honor.” I was barely able to contain my
anticipation.

“Alright,” she said and threw open the door, revealing
her fairy forest hideaway.

A mural covered the walls—mossy tree trunks reached from
floor to ceiling, ferns sprouting at their bases and leafy branches stretching
overhead. The canopy bed was pink and white with feathers hanging from the bed
posts. Pixie clothes made from feathers, twigs, and flower petals hung between
the trees on the walls, and a round mirror framed with metal twigs took
residence by the desk. Silk ivy weaved around the doors and windows, and the
closet was like another world—a layer of tulle separated it from the living
space, and I could only imagine what I might find inside.

“Wow,” was all I could think to say.

Sarah turned to me slowly, barely able to contain her
building gaiety. “I know!” she squealed. Grabbing my hands, she started jumping
up and down, screeching and giggling. I couldn’t help but join her.

“Why are we so excited?” I asked breathlessly as we
hopped in place.

After a moment, Sarah dragged me over to the bed and
pulled me up onto it. “Come on, Zoe, you know you want to,” she said.

I rolled my eyes, unsure why I was indulging her, but I
couldn’t resist. We bounced up and down, squealing like twelve-year-olds. When
we finally fell back on the mattress, winded and elated, it felt like we were
best friends who’d just been asked to the prom by the cutest boys in school.

Our ridiculousness made me think of Dani, and I wished
she
was with me. She would’ve praised me for my silliness and then chided me for
not letting go more frequently. I wondered how she was doing. I wanted to tell
her about Jake and Clara, about Dave…but I hadn’t been able to before we’d
left.
She’s probably freaking out…wondering if I’m dead.

“What are you thinking about?” Sarah asked, interrupting
my thoughts.

Chest still heaving from the exertion, I rolled onto my
side to face her. “I was just missing my computer.”

“Once we hook up the generators, you can use the one in
the study,” she offered. “If it works, I mean.”

A relieved, grateful smile stretched across my face.
“That would be great.”

“Well,” Sarah said, sitting up on her knees and
straightening her bubblegum pink Fort Knox t-shirt. “I know it’s moronic, but
thanks for humoring me in a frolic. It’s sort of nice to be home, even if it’s
under such shitty circumstances.”

The clearing of a throat startled us, and we both looked
at the doorway. Biggs walked in, an exaggerated expression of horror on his
face. “Are you expecting me to sleep in this room?” he asked fearfully.

Sarah grinned. “Yep.”

“Right. I figured as much.” Biggs plastered a counterfeit
smile on his face as he looked at me with a “please kill me now” expression.
“Harper asked about you, Zoe. I think Jake might be—”

Before Biggs could finish speaking, I was up and out of
the room. I ran down the hall and stairs, careful not to stumble down the
staircase, and flung myself into the library.

“Is he awake?” I panted, hurrying over to the bed
situated in the corner between two walls of books. Jake lay there, still
bandaged and motionless.

Harper eyed me curiously, appraising my appearance. “What
were you doing?”

“Nothing,” I said, smoothing my clothes self-consciously.
“Why?”

“Your hair is all crazy and…stuff.”

“Oh, whatever, H. Did he wake up?” I looked back at
Jake’s body.
It doesn’t look like he’s moved at all.

“He was moaning a minute ago, but he hasn’t moved at all.
I upped his morphine dose, but I need you to tell me if he needs more.”

“Is moaning bad or good?” I asked, walking around the
bed. I placed my hand on Jake’s bandaged arm, opening my mind to him and
waiting for one of his brief moments of semi-consciousness.

“I think it’s a good thing, Baby Girl.”

Jake’s mind roused momentarily. I could feel his
confusion and fear, but his panic and misery were almost nonexistent.

“He’s okay for now,” I reassured Harper. “I think
you
need
to take a breather, though. I’ll stay with him. It’ll make me feel better
anyway.”

Harper nodded, but before leaving, he winked. “Fix your locks,
Croft. I don’t want you scaring him back into unconsciousness if he wakes up.”

Rolling my eyes, I snatched a throw pillow off the
nearest couch and tossed it at Harper just as the door closed behind him.
Finding a mirror in the library wasn’t difficult—they were everywhere
throughout the house, making all the rooms appear larger than they already
were. I studied my reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall behind the couch
and snorted.
Horrendous
.

Pulling my hair out of its braid, I combed my fingers
through it before gathering it into a ponytail. I could see the muscles on my
arms flex as my hands worked and was pleasantly surprised to know my training
was paying off. I wasn’t a badass by a longshot, but I was different, stronger,
better—what I needed to be if I would continue to survive.

I remembered the Zoe who’d worked at the art gallery—the
prim and proper, reserved professional who’d sold artwork, curated shows, and
struggled as a starving artist. She would shake hands and smile demurely when
all she wanted was to tell clients they had horrible taste in art.

And then I remembered the Zoe who’d worked at Earl’s. The
flirty, cocky, mysterious woman who would bat her eyelashes if it meant she’d
get a better tip or skimp on putting alcohol in a drink if a customer was being
an asshole.