The Becoming: Revelations (2 page)

That was all it took for the tears to stream down her face. Remy bit her bottom lip, but the pain from her teeth did nothing to quell the sobs that clawed up from the empty hole Ethan’s death had left inside her.

The next thing she knew, Remy was in Brandt’s arms with her face pressed against his chest as painful, gut-wrenching sobs she’d fought for a month to restrain broke free. She grieved for all her lost friends, for Nikola and Avi and Theo and especially Ethan. But she also cried for the four survivors, the ones left behind to cope with the losses they’d sustained in such rapid succession and the difficulties they now faced in surviving without the man to whom they’d looked as their figurehead for the past year.

“Why did he have to
do
that?” Remy managed. “Why did he have to play the motherfucking martyr? Couldn’t he see that we need him? That
I
need him?”

“Of course, Remy,” Brandt said. He rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles. “Of course he could see that. Of course he knew we needed him. That’s why he did what he did. He cared enough—he
loved
all of us enough—to give up his own life so we’d have a chance at ours.” Remy looked at him again. The dark, haunted expression was back in his eyes. “If he hadn’t done that, the infected would have circled the building and swarmed us when we came out the front doors. And then we
all
would have died. Ethan would never have found that acceptable.”

Remy let out a shaky breath and lay against Brandt, her eyes closed, listening to his heartbeat and his steady breathing. It was the closest she’d ever felt to him, like being comforted by an older brother she’d never had. The thought made the bitterness inside her subside, made a fleeting smile brush against her lips. Brandt ran his fingers over her hair and kissed the center of her forehead. Then he dug a tissue from his pocket and pressed it into her hand.

“Thanks,” Remy murmured, wiping at her eyes. She squeezed them shut and fought to gain control of herself. It felt like everything inside her was displaced, like her stomach was squished into the middle of her back and her heart was down by her liver. “God, what is
wrong
with me?” she asked. “I’m not acting like me at all.” She gave Brandt a tight smile that barely masked the tears still threatening. “Fuck. I’m okay, I promise.”

Brandt rubbed Remy’s back again and looked across the yard with a vacant expression. “You lost someone you love,” he said. “I can’t imagine how hard that is. I haven’t dealt with that in a long time.” He glanced to the window behind them. “I hope I never do, either.”

Remy pulled away from him and glanced at the window. “Speaking of which, how’s Cade today? Any improvement?”

Brandt brightened. “I think her fever finally broke,” he said with enthusiasm. “She’s noticeably cooler than she was yesterday.”

Remy gave Brandt a happy smile as relief coursed through her. They’d been crazy with worry over Cade; Brandt had almost gone insane with the stress he’d experienced over the woman’s briefly worsened condition.

The infection—thankfully not one of the Michaluk variety—brought on by the gunshot wound to Cade’s side had raged through her body for three weeks, and they’d fought a desperate war against it. They’d pumped Cade full of what few antibiotics they had, given the woman as many fluids as they could work down her throat, constantly bathed her with cool cloths as her fever skyrocketed and her body sweated and shivered. They hadn’t been sure they’d treated the infection properly, but they’d taken what Gray knew and run with it. They’d clearly done
something
right, because Cade’s fever breaking was a very good sign.

“Got scary for a bit there, didn’t it?” Brandt asked. His voice was thick with an emotion Remy recognized immediately.

“You love her, don’t you?” she murmured. With the way he constantly glanced at the window, it was clear where he wanted to be—and it was
not
on the roof with Remy. Not that she blamed him.

Brandt didn’t look surprised by Remy’s question. He shifted his eyes to hers and nodded. “Yeah, of course,” he said, as if it were obvious.

Remy traced a circle over the knee of her jeans, picking threads out of a hole in the fabric. She dabbed the tissue at her eyes again. “Would you marry her? If you could?”

Brandt looked at the shingles, considering Remy’s question. “I think if it were an option, I would,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it is. Hell knows the world’s so bad off, the chances of finding a priest in this cesspool are slim to none.”

“Oh, you’re a traditionalist,” Remy mused. She patted him on the arm and smiled. “You know what I think? In this world, you don’t
need
a priest to be married in the eyes of God, so long as you’re both faithful. I think in circumstances like these, God would understand if you just
said
you were married.”

Brandt looked at the night sky. “I don’t know. Maybe I want something more than just us saying, ‘Oh hey, we’re married.’” He made a few overly dramatic hand gestures, and Remy laughed. “I can’t explain it. Besides, I don’t even have a ring for her.”

“I don’t think Cade cares about all that,” Remy admonished him. “She’s never struck me as being into the whole flowers and romance and rings and churches thing.” She clapped her hands. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll talk to Gray. He’s still—”

“No, don’t do that,” Brandt protested. Remy swatted his arm to stop him.

“Shush, man,” she ordered. “I’ll talk to Gray. He’s still got his family’s Bible. He might not be ordained, but I don’t think that matters. Next time you and Gray go on supply, you can hunt down a couple of wedding bands. I bet Gray would marry you guys sometime after you got back. When you’re ready for that, of course.”

Brandt hesitated. The dark look in his eyes had been replaced by a hopeful expression. “You think it’s a good idea?” he asked. “I mean, is it something Cade would even be interested in?”

“Don’t worry about it so much,” Remy said. “Take your time with it, okay? Talk to her about it when she wakes up, see what she thinks.”

Brandt nodded, raking his hands through his hair and staring into the darkness. As he reclined back to gaze at the stars above their heads, Remy saw a little of the something Cade likely saw in the man: the softness in his eyes, the way his hair fell in his face, even the dreamy quality about the way he looked at the sky. This was a man who, despite his military background and what Remy called his general “badassery,” was a dreamer through and through—and obviously a romantic. If Cade were smart, Remy thought, she’d dig her claws into this man and hang on to him for dear life, because she’d never find another one like him. Remy wasn’t certain men like Brandt even
existed
anymore.

Remy glanced at the window again and cleared her throat to get Brandt’s attention. He shifted his eyes to her and raised an eyebrow. “I think I’m actually getting tired,” she said. “Do you mind …?” She motioned vaguely to the rooftop around them.

“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Brandt said. “You don’t even have to ask. Go get some rest, Rem.”

Remy smiled at the nickname and stood, her boots scraping on the shingles as she gained her feet. “Thanks. I’ll come get you as soon as I wake up.” She climbed a few steps up the roof’s slope before pausing behind him and dropping a kiss on top of his head. It was impulsive, but it felt like the right thing to do. Then, without another word, she crawled up to the window and slipped through it into the darkness beyond.

“I need to get out of here.”

Ethan’s breath fogged the frigid pane of glass in front of him. He stared from the eighteenth floor, over the darkened city of Atlanta. It looked strangely alien, so large and yet so quiet. The infected weren’t visible from his vantage point as the sun dropped below the horizon and threw the city into terrifying darkness. If it weren’t for the lack of streetlights and traffic lights, he’d have thought the city looked almost normal.

Ethan had been at the Westin in downtown Atlanta for roughly a month; he couldn’t be sure exactly how long, because he had no idea what date he’d met his fate in the city. He worked in approximates now: approximately how long he’d been there, approximately how long the search for Brandt had been going on, approximately how long he had left to live. They were approximates he hated. But right now, the approximate he wanted to narrow down was approximately how much longer he’d have to wait until he was allowed to go anywhere.

“You’re more than welcome to go anywhere in the hotel you want to,” Alicia Day said. “Nothing is stopping you.”

Ethan slammed his fist against the window. “I mean out
there,
” he said. “Not in the fucking
hotel
.” He forced his hand away from the glass and clenched his fists at his sides, struggling to control himself. “I should be helping search for Brandt.”

The scuff of boots on carpet met his ears, and pale, slender arms looped around his waist. Alicia’s reflection hovered, ghostlike, in the glass over his right shoulder. She studied his face as she rubbed her hands slowly over his sides. Despite the anger still rattling through his veins, no matter how much he fought it, Ethan was pulled helplessly toward relaxation. Alicia just had that effect on him, similar to the effect Remy always had. Thank God for that, because he angered so much more easily now …

“You still don’t remember where you and Brandt planned to take the others after Atlanta?” Alicia asked. Her hands traced over his ribs, almost distracting him from his anger. Almost. He swallowed and shook his head slowly.

The Michaluk virus had done a number on his brain, eradicating random portions of his memory, much to his frustration. Alicia had gotten to him quickly enough to prevent the virus’s worst effects, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about the memory loss—a symptom she’d admittedly never seen before. It drove him insane. There were things he was supposed to know, but every time he tried to drag those things from the depths of his mind, they eluded him.

Ethan must have tensed again, because Alicia’s arms tightened around him, and her translucent reflection shook its head. “Calm down. Breathe. Don’t force it. It’ll come to you eventually. Pushing it will only make it harder for you to remember.”

“I need to be
out
there,” Ethan said again. His anger slid away from him. He thumped the glass with his fist, though not as violently as before. “I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of feeling like I’m
trapped
. I need to find my friends. I need to help them.”

“I know, but Ethan … you can’t leave yet,” Alicia said. “There’s the problem with adjusting your meds. And your wounds aren’t fully healed. You still move too slowly, and that’s a fast way to die out there. I’m not willing to risk you, not just yet.”

Ethan closed his eyes and sagged against her, digging his blunt fingernails into his palms. A surge of guilt ran through him. All she wanted was to keep him safe, to keep him from getting killed. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t think of it that way. You’re right. Of course.”

“You’re not the only person who’s wanted to jump the gun and run while still dealing with the aftereffects of getting infected,” Alicia admitted. She gave Ethan another squeeze and took a half-step back. She still stood so close that Ethan felt the warmth of her body near his. “Speaking of which, it’s about time we changed your bandages. I want to see how your wounds are healing.”

Ethan sighed, giving in to the inevitable. He
hated
having his bandages changed. The tape went out of its way to hurt as much as possible when peeling away from his skin. Despite his reluctance, however, Ethan went to the plush king-sized bed, sinking down onto the end of it and leaning forward obediently. He eased his white wife-beater off, wincing as the medical tape pulled harshly at his torn skin. Then he rested his arms against his thighs, exposing his back for Alicia’s perusal.

The redhead moved the camping lantern from the dresser to the table by the bed and retrieved the first-aid supplies before she climbed onto the bed beside him. She kicked her boots off and sat on her knees behind him, smoothing her hands gently over his back; Ethan suppressed a shiver—barely—as her fingers ghosted along his skin. She slipped a fingernail beneath the edge of the tape and peeled it up. An ache immediately coursed through Ethan’s veins, pulsing through his wounds. He sucked in a breath and dug his nails into the knees of his pants, closing his eyes and relaxing as much as the pain allowed.

“Talk to me,” Alicia requested. She pulled away the first strip of tape, folded it on itself, and set it on the bed.

“What am I supposed to talk about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” She stripped the next piece of tape off, and Ethan flinched as it pulled at the wound nearest it. “Tell me about your friends. Which ones are you closest to?”

Ethan bit his lip as the tape ripped away from his skin. Alicia set it and a square of gauze on the bed. Ethan frowned as he noticed specks of blood on it. “I don’t know anymore,” he admitted. “It used to be Cade, but I’m not sure how close we are anymore. Over the months before Avi showed up, we’d started to drift apart, I think because I was spending more time with Remy.”

“And Remy was your … girlfriend?” Alicia asked. She started on the next square of gauze. Ethan tried to not cringe at the question. Instead, he studied the carpet intently and gripped his knees tighter.

“Honestly? I have no idea what we were,” Ethan said. “Things got heated with us only in the last three months. Even then, it started by accident. We didn’t plan any of the shit.”