Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) (35 page)

Still staring at the imaginary army of Grim across the river, waiting, watching, daring … I’m afraid to say I find no peace in myself.

“Who’s to say this is my happily-ever-after?” I ask, though I wonder if I’m asking her, or myself. “With all of eternity spread out before us, who says we ever get one?”

It must be nearly nightfall when John returns to the river, Gunner at his side. “Winter. It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything … never seen anything so … so …”

“Green?” I offer helpfully.

“Come with me,” says John. I notice even Gunner is wearing an unexpected smile … or at least I think it’s a smile; with Gunner it’s impossible to tell. “I want to show it to you.”

Is he serious? “John, you know I—”

“We’ll get as close as possible,” he insists, knowing.

I shrug. “Jasmine, you done staring at the sky?”

“No, dear. I think I’ll rest here. I have at least a few more years of dreams left in me, so I have plenty to keep me company.” She smiles with both rows of teeth, her papery face wrinkling in the effort.

“Good dreams, I hope. Keep this for protection,” I say, setting the Lock’s Eye in her palm.

“Of course.” She brings it up to her face, inspecting it.

John and I head into the thicket, Gunner following us. He doesn’t even have his crossbow with him, I notice. Is this place really the paradise they’ve hoped it to be, for Gunner to not even bother being armed? Maybe the people who already occupy it are creepy and militaristic, insisting on taking their weapons away, only to turn on them and bake them into fertilizer for their humungous plants. I humorously suggest this to John.

“Not really,” he says, enjoying my dark possibility. “In fact, they’re pretty tame. They figure the moat keeps out the Crypters. That is, the Undead that aren’t … like you.” He isn’t sure how else to word it. To be honest, neither would I. “It’s repelling away the Crypters without them even realizing they’re being repelled away from anything. Hiding in plain sight, I think he called it.”

“He?”

“Their leader of sorts. His name is Ray. He was told the same story about Garden that we were, growing up.” When I meet John’s eyes, confused, he explains it to me. “He was tired of searching for Garden … if it even exists. So he stopped searching and created his own.”

“So … this
isn’t
Garden?” I’m dumbfounded.

John shrugs. “Who’s to say whether it really is or not? You could call it
our
Garden.”

Strange enough, I actually believe that story a lot more than I would the alternative: that we, in our most desperate moment, happened so conveniently upon the legendary Garden that would save us all from the endless despair that is the rest of the planet.

“And his name … is Ray,” I repeat. Really, though, what was I expecting? King Gardenonia, Emperor Of All That Is Green And Thriving?

Through the bramble and the deadwood, which I learn is exactly what it seems to be—another keep-the-hell-out for the Crypter-type baddies, John tells me all about the people in the village, and the fact that there are not very many. Nineteen women, seventeen men, and a number of children among them. They even have milk for babies, not the powder substitute we’ve relied on. Others in their village also came from the wilderness and joined, like us. There’s something about rescuing one another from the wasted world that brings people to peace; no longer afraid for their lives, no longer aching the days and nights long. I have to sneer a bit when I hear that, because it sounds an awful lot like Grim’s dream.

“They know about you and Jasmine,” he finishes just before we arrive at the edge of the crater.

I lift a brow. “And?”

“He would like to meet you. Both of you. But not just yet.” John’s face wrinkles, his lips turning pouty as he purses them in thought. “Even though he’s being really, uh, nice to us, I think he’s also being just as cautious. I would be too, if I were him. What he’s built here is so …” He searches for the word.

“Green,” I offer helpfully, again.

That gets me the smile I wanted to see from John. “I think we’ve established how
green
you think it is.”

“So, we’ll meet him later.” I nod. “That sounds fine. You can let him know that Jasmine and I will … be happy to keep watch. Maybe someday I’ll be fortunate enough to hear that a piece of your Garden has died,” I point out, tasting the bitterness on my tongue. “Then Jasmine and I can … you know, built a cottage and move right in. Hey, then we’ll be neighbors.”

John studies my face. I don’t know what’s suddenly come over me. I should be happy we’ve found a place for them. I should be relieved that Garden is something real, something tangible, something more than a fantasy. Instead, I’m out here in the death and decay, sulking.

“Winter …”

“I know.” I look at Gunner. “Sorry, guys. I’m sorry. I’m really happy for you.”

Gunner says: “I get it.” He rubs a spot on his cheek. “I get it. You’re here but you’re not welcome. Appreciated but not welcome. I doubt any of us have even properly thanked you.” Gunner’s dark eyes meet mine, his jaw firm. “Let it mean as much or as little as you want, but thank you. Without you, I might be dead.” He takes a breath, then says: “Without you, I
would
be dead.”

I wonder if I’ll ever see an emotion from Gunner’s smooth-as-slate, young and untelling face that isn’t just …
totally
Gunner
. Not caring, I put my arms around him and pat his back. “Thanks.” His whole body turns rigid at my hug. I let go and step back. “If you recall a large spider, I believe without you, I wouldn’t be in a kind place either.”

Gunner nods, I think appreciatively, then turns to John. “Gotta discuss supplies with the Chief.” After a shy secondary sort of nod at me, he swings over the ridge and is gone.

John’s arms are around me in an instant. He kisses me deep and I let him. Then another feeling consumes me at once, and it may just be the opposite of sulkiness. We fall to the rough, unkind ground, and we’re losing clothes. His breathing turns jagged and he say something in my ear that makes me laugh. I return his words with a kiss that I place on his ear, and then many more kisses follow that are placed on many other parts of our bodies.

A lot of time goes by. The nearly-indistinguishable shadows shift from one side of the trees to the other. We are wrapped up in each other’s clothes, and the sky is opened up above us, our only witness.

“I could get used to this,” I decide. “This really isn’t so bad. Maybe I could even come to—” He interrupts me with a deep kiss. I was going to say I could come to love all of this, but I think he knew already.

When he pulls away, he says, “There’s only one other thing we need to get used to.”

“What’s that?”

“Big flies.” He chuckles. “Apparently, the large spiders we dealt with at Trenton were here too—maybe even came from here—but they never endangered the people. They help stimulate the growth of the plants, actually. Big beetles are here too, big ones. Bees to cross-pollinate.” John leans against a tree, looking proud of himself. “I learned a lot in just a few hours. Do you know what cross-pollinate means?”

I hide a smile. “No,” I tell him innocently. “Explain what it is, John.” Sometimes, John is just too easy to play with. Really, I just love watching his face work, watching him think of his next words, watching him excited about things he’s discovered.

Watching them live in that bowl of green down there.

Watching the Humans from afar …

Watching; it’s all I’ll be doing, now.

John talks to me about the bugs and the plants and the flowers and the grass. He tells me while we stare into the colors, laying along the ridge in each other’s arms. He watches in awe for a moment, observing the sun as it sets, but all I see is grey and grey and grey. I so wish I could marvel at it with him.

He kisses me goodnight, then returns to the crater.

We have many days like this.

Every midday, Jasmine and I are visited by a few of the Humans. John’s always among them. We get regular reports of things that are developing, which is kinda nice, I guess. Tina apparently is a good cook, though she never tried cooking anything in Trenton. Ash and Nelson have both learned a great deal about farming and tending to the produce. The sisters Lena and Margie are terrified of the bugs—rightfully so, after our incident in Trenton. Gill keeps to himself, but John suspects it’s more out of shame for his recent actions than anything else; when he joins them for meals, he does so reluctantly and says very little.

The Chief and Megan share a room with two of the Garden natives. John secretly confides in me that Megan cries sometimes at night; she feels guilty about her parents and doesn’t know if they’re alive. Upon hearing that, I feel an awful stab of regret myself. After all, her parents have not really had a proper moment with her since the Lock’s Eye issue. Apparently Megan also had a friend or two she’d made in the last few months, and the fact that none of the other Humans’ whereabouts are known is rather unsettling, considering all the awful possibilities. Nelson had a friend too, who is now lost to the wilderness. Ash was not so lucky; among the Living, she had a significant other who, regrettably, was one of the ones Grim took. No one knew why she would cry out in her sleep, until now; the image of her lover turned Undead is a recurring nightmare for her. Twice, her own screams have woken the baby, who sleeps next door with Gill.

Three days since we’ve arrived, Megan shows up to join Jasmine on the riverbed. The twins have come along too, and the three of them complain to Jazz about how Ray and the Garden people won’t let her bring Winter a flower. “They have hundreds and I only wanted to bring you
one
. He’s being a meanie and won’t let me.”

“Don’t worry, Megan.” Jasmine pinches her cheek, which inspires a snort of annoyance. “You oughtn’t pluck a pretty thing in this world. There’s so few of them left, and the world could use a little more
pretty
.”

The twins have been competing against one another in knife-throwing. A target was set up against the wall of the crater, and Rake almost consistently won over his sister, who kept accusing him of cheating. Once, Gunner had strolled by, invited a knife to his slippery fingers, and let it go in a flash. Bullseye. Then both the twins were scowling and had a new so-called cheater to accuse.

One evening when the Humans are all in Garden, Jasmine discovers she is able to walk again, though her every left step is a bit sideways. She accompanies me to the brink of the crater and we watch the evening routine of the Humans. Having finished a meal, some tend to laundry while others scatter to the cottages and tents. Jasmine and I speculate for fun what they are all doing, their little curious activities. The fun in our conversation soon draws flat, and I find myself staring at the life in the crater, feeling far more apart from it than I ever have.

“I still haven’t met this Ray guy,” I point out, rolling my eyes. “Not that I expected him to show us any certain hospitality, considering we can’t step foot in all that.”

“He will come when the time is right.”

I smirk, resting my chin on my hands. “It’ll never be right, Jasmine.”

“Don’t you find it poetic,” she says wistfully, “that Garden is founded in the deep of a crater? It makes me think on the dinosaurs … of the supposed meteor that took them all out, inspiring thousands of years of winter. This crater, it is evidence of a world ended. And what is our history, but just a series of worlds ending?” She smiles into the side of my face; I know she’s trying to cheer me up, annoyingly intuitive as she is to my thoughts. “The cleverer of us realize there is no
true
end, not even in death. Every world’s end is another’s beginning.”

“Jasmine?”

“Yes, my rabbit?”

“When Gill’s wife was giving birth, he injured his leg and I got it all over me. The blood. From his leg.” I’m staring off into Garden, not minding Jasmine’s face as I spill. “I ate the blood.”

There is no response for a moment. Then, gently, she asks, “Why?”

I shrug. Burying my face in my hands, I say, “I just had to tell someone.” My words are muffled. “I just had to.”

“Do you feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you do it?”

I look at her finally. I’m surprised to see her expression is one of sympathy. As if I ought to expect anything else from kind, patient Jasmine.

“I did it because I—” Suddenly, I’m smirking at her. “You know damn well why I did it.”

Jasmine returns my smile. “How did the sun look?”

“Bright,” I admit.

“Was it worth it?”

I look down at the Humans. I’m thinking about the burning of the sun as it rises, as it sets. I’m thinking of the Burning Army, somewhere out there in the world. Then, I’m thinking of
real
rainbows, stretching across the sky. I think of the blazing blue clear of a midsummer day, and the clouds that are surely in the sky. Real, honest clouds.

I understand why the Deathless exist. I understand what my mother craved and what she was
selling
to me. After all I’ve felt, I realize how desperately tempting blood can be. And it’s so easy to forget the temptation. It’s easy to convince myself that it’s a choice, that I had a choice that day in the hospital, that I could’ve chosen
not
to bring a finger to my mouth. And I realize the existence beyond the pale, secretive sky that always waits, the world I keep pretending to ignore, pretending to forget. And when my fake-heart is beating so fast that I’m convinced this is all a dream … And when my lungs fill with air that isn’t there and I’m screaming to release the emotions I
know
I can feel … And when my lips are kissed by blood, only then do I remember what it’s like to be almost alive.