The Becoming: Ground Zero (29 page)

Ethan wordlessly passed Remy the music player, and she finally got a glimpse of the device’s screen. “Simple Man,” she read out loud as she fingered the edge of the player, tracing her nail along the metal casing. “Lynyrd Skynyrd?”

“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed.

Remy smiled. “I didn’t even know you liked them.”

“I like almost everything that’s at least a little bit listenable,” Ethan replied. Remy smiled again and scooted closer to him, blatantly cuddling against his side. She stuck the earbud she still held into her right ear, resting her head against Ethan’s so they could both listen. “I didn’t know you liked them either,” he commented.

Remy shrugged. “I’m a lot like you. I’ll listen to pretty much everything.” She ran her fingers absently along the hem of her jacket and added, “My dad—my birth dad—he was a musician. Used to play guitar. I remember he was amazing at it.” Ethan gave Remy a sad look, and she found his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. He died a long time ago, when I was eight,” she assured him. “And everyone else is gone too. I’m coming to terms with their deaths. Hell, I’ll join them sooner or later anyway. Most likely sooner.”

Ethan leaned back to look Remy in the face. “What makes you say that?” he asked, his eyes scanning her features.

Remy shrugged and averted her eyes as she said, “I don’t know. I just have this feeling, right here,” she touched her stomach, “that I’m not going to live to see the end of the week.”

“Yes, you will,” Ethan said immediately with a firm shake of his head. “You’re one of the toughest people I know. You’ll make it through Atlanta fine.”

“Just because I’m tough doesn’t mean Atlanta isn’t tougher,” Remy said. “I don’t think I’m going to live to see Luckie Street.”

“If you think that, then why are you going?” Ethan asked.

Remy shrugged again and ducked her head. “Because I need to. I’ve already explained that to you.”

Ethan sighed and leaned his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes. He stayed silent for two songs, so long that Remy wondered if he’d fallen asleep. When he finally spoke again, his voice was strained, as if he struggled to hold back a strong surge of emotion. “I swear to you now, Remy Angellette, I will
not
allow you to die in Atlanta. I won’t let anything touch you. Not as long as I’m breathing long enough to stop it.”

Remy smiled at Ethan’s words. “Aw, Eth, that’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she joked with a little laugh. The laugh caught in her throat as Ethan lifted his head from the sofa, the expression in his eyes hard and serious.

“I mean it. I’m not kidding, Remy,” he said. His voice was just as serious as his eyes.

Remy drew in a slow breath and closed her eyes momentarily before she leaned her head back against Ethan’s. “Let’s not think about it right now,” she suggested. “Let’s just enjoy the music and relax and just … be.”

Ethan let out an exasperated breath and ran a hand through his shaggy blond hair. “I don’t
want
to just relax, Remy,” he said. “We need to talk about this. I want to know what the fuck is going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

Remy looked at Ethan and pulled the earbud out of her ear, dropping it between them. “Do we really? I don’t think we do.” She sat up straight and started to work her hair out of the braid Cade had put in it. “Why can’t we just enjoy our fucking free time? It’s probably the last chance we’ll have to do it.”

“Remy, please,” Ethan said. Remy closed her eyes slowly at the heavy pleading in his voice. She almost didn’t know what to say. “I lost Nikola. I never got the chance to talk to her about any of this shit. I never knew what she thought about Atlanta.”

“She was a teenager, Ethan,” Remy said patiently, sliding a few inches away from him. “Nobody ever knows what’s going on in their minds.”

“Yeah, well.” Ethan sighed and slid an arm around Remy’s waist, tugging gently at her body. “Come here.”

“What for?”

“I just want you to sit here with me, Remy,” Ethan said. His fingers rubbed slowly at her ribs. “I want your company.” He offered her the earbud she’d dropped. “Music?”

Remy stared at Ethan as if he’d lost his mind. Perhaps Nikola’s death had unhinged him more than the rest of them realized; she wondered if he was really not thinking that clearly anymore. He seemed so flighty and easily distracted and, quite frankly, absolutely depressed; she didn’t see how he’d manage to make any serious decisions. This sort of attitude could get them all killed. It was the same careless attitude for which Ethan had often admonished Remy herself.

Remy touched the back of Ethan’s neck, running her fingers lightly over the bones of his spine as she watched him closely. “Are you okay?” Remy asked, twisting to face him on the couch, sitting sideways with one foot on the floor and the other tucked underneath her.

Ethan hesitated, looking down at his lap. And then he seemed to just crumble. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. “Oh hell,” he said, his voice muffled. He started to rock back and forth. “Oh fuck, I’m not,” he admitted softly.

Remy swallowed hard. Ethan looked seconds away from a total breakdown, and her heart hurt for him. She quickly wrapped her arms around him and held him close, resting her head against his back and rubbing her hands soothingly over his sides and chest. “Shh, Eth, it’s okay,” Remy murmured. “Shit’s hard, I know. This whole mess is just … it’s all gotten so fucked up.”

Ethan let out a slow, shuddery breath. “How did everything get so fucking turned around, Remy? We were all fine and perfectly happy. And then
she
showed up, and everything is just … wrong now.”

“It’s because she showed up,” Remy said simply. She closed her eyes and added softly, “Is there anything I can do for you to at least see you happy again? Anything at all?”

Ethan was silent for a moment before he spoke. His voice vibrated into Remy’s ears through his back. “Yeah. You can live.”

Brandt decided to go after Cade once a neutral thirty minutes had passed. He’d thought maybe she needed some quiet and privacy, but the house made him nervous, despite the uncommon comforts it offered. He didn’t want to leave the woman alone in it any longer than necessary. He picked up both their rifles from the coffee table—it was a testament to Cade’s anger that the Israeli woman had left her beloved rifle on the table an entire floor below her—and slung hers over his shoulder by the strap.

“I’ll see you guys in the morning,” Brandt said to Theo and Avi. Gray was nowhere to be seen; Brandt vaguely remembered the young man saying he was going to go keep watch on the roof. Only moderately comforted by Gray’s presence on the roof, Brandt mounted the stairs slowly. He didn’t understand why he felt he was in the middle of a battlefield, but his heart raced as he reached the top of the stairs and looked around. He was concerned about what he’d find as he searched for the room Cade had staked out.

The hallway was dark—they’d quickly decided to leave off whatever lights weren’t necessary—and Brandt could make out a faint line of light coming from underneath a door. He moved in that direction, pausing just outside of it. He dropped his rifle to his side—he had no idea why he’d raised it as if expecting danger—and hesitated before tapping his knuckles on the wooden door.

“Who is it?” Cade called out. Her voice sounded weary to Brandt’s ears. He frowned in concern and stepped closer to the door.

“It’s just me. Can I come in?”

A rustle and a couple of thuds on the other side of the door greeted his request, and Brandt stepped back as Cade pulled the door open. She was framed by the soft yellow light from the lone lamp she’d turned on, and she’d stripped down to her jeans and the white tank top she always wore under her shirts. She was, unusually, barefoot. “Hey,” she greeted, motioning for Brandt to enter. “You need something?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Brandt said lamely as he stepped inside. She’d claimed what appeared to be a very tastefully decorated master bedroom. Brandt was impressed. It was obvious the man who’d lived there had a decent amount of money. Brandt took Cade’s rifle off his shoulder and set it carefully on the table by the bed before he turned to look at her. She moved back across the room to the connected bathroom without looking back at him in return.

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just … I don’t know.” Cade let out a heavy sigh that echoed off the bathroom’s tiles. “Stressed, I guess.” The sound of running water accompanied her words, and Brandt hesitated before going to the bathroom door. Cade stood at the sink, water running over the flannel shirt she held under the faucet; she rubbed the fabric against itself in an attempt to scrub off the dried dirt and mud.

“I thought we didn’t have any water pressure,” Brandt said, leaning against the doorframe and watching her for a moment.

“I think you were right about the air in the pipes,” Cade replied. “I turned the sink on full blast for a while, and water started to come out like it’s supposed to. Nothing I’d be willing to drink, but it’ll do for cleaning up with. Maybe even a shower later.”

Brandt gave Cade a smile and crossed his arms, watching as she washed her shirt in the sink, the water running darkly into the basin. “You’re going to have a problem if we have to move suddenly,” he warned her. “Especially if your clothes are all wet.”

Cade laughed and shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just steal some of yours,” she joked, giving Brandt a smile and motioning to her shoulder bag. It sat on the counter nearby, a few damp spots still showing on the canvas. “I’ve got a couple of other shirts in my bag anyway. I always keep a couple of extras in it just in case.”

Silence fell between them as Cade continued to clean her shirt. She finally wrung it out and shook it loose before draping it over the shower curtain rod. Brandt watched the movement of the lean muscles in her arms as she stretched to hang the shirt over the bar, and he sighed softly.

“Do you think we would have ever met if the Michaluk Virus hadn’t broken out?” Brandt asked suddenly, shifting his eyes from her arms to her face. Cade glanced at him before returning her attention to her bag. Her dark hair blocked his view of half her face, and his fingers itched with the need to push it out of the way.

“I doubt it,” Cade said, speaking into the bag as she rummaged inside it. “I mean, I was in Memphis and you were in Atlanta. I doubt I’d have left Memphis if I didn’t have to, you know?”

Brandt let out a soft breath. “True,” he agreed, giving her a small smile. “That’s at least the one little thing I have to thank it for, I suppose. Though it’s probably the
only
good thing to ever come of it.”

Cade nodded and looked up at him for a few moments. Brandt stared back at her, trying to decide if he should do what his gut demanded and step forward to take her in his arms. But then she turned her eyes away and spoke again, casually. “So what’s the plan for tomorrow? Or did you and Ethan ever agree on one?”

And just like that, the moment between them was broken.

Brandt cleared his throat. “We’re going whatever way I say we’re going,” he said confidently. “I think I managed to convince him to let me handle this part of the trip. I know this area better than he does.”

“Do you think we’ll get there soon?”

“Maybe. Probably late tomorrow or the day after,” Brandt said, moving back into the bedroom. He picked his rifle back up and sat on the bench at the end of the bed, resting the rifle across his thighs. “Assuming we don’t run into any trouble, anyway,” he added.

Cade followed Brandt into the room and flopped onto the bed, sprawling out with a heavy sigh. “And if we do?”

“Then we send up a prayer and pull the trigger,” Brandt said simply. Cade let out a soft sound, and Brandt twisted around to look at her. His eyebrows went up as he saw her lying on her back, her feet braced flat on the bed, both hands covering her face. Her elbows jutted into the air. She looked like she was upset about something. Brandt frowned and tugged gently at her ankle. “Hey, hey are you okay?” he asked, keeping his voice low as he sat up straighter and watched her closely.

“Yeah,” Cade said, her voice hushed. “Yeah. No. I don’t know.” She fell silent, and Brandt continued to hold her ankle in his hand, loosely, feeling the small bones underneath her skin. He rubbed his thumb over the knot on the outside of her ankle, tracing circles over the soft skin. “I feel like shit,” Cade admitted, sliding her legs to lie flat and limp on the bed. “Like absolute, total shit.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Brandt offered. He shifted to his knees on the small padded bench, watching her in concern. “I’m willing to listen, if you want to talk about it. You know I will.”

“I know,” Cade said quietly. She didn’t lower her hands from her face, and Brandt frowned, crawling up onto the bed, making his way on his hands and knees to kneel beside her instead. He gently touched one of her elbows, running his fingers along her skin again, down to her shoulder.

“Talk to me,” Brandt requested, massaging her shoulder. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Why?” Cade asked. She shook her head and dug her fingers into her thick hair, twisting the strands at the crown of her head around her fingers.