Night Resurrected (10 page)

more, then quieted.

Remy bolted into a seated position

and looked over. Her crystal, still faintly

glowing inside its cocoon of silver, sat

on the ground next to her.

Fifty miles away, Texas

Settlement of Glenway

C
at Callaghan slipped from bed and

automatically grabbed the fireplace

poker she kept leaning against the wall.

Weapon in hand, just in case, she

padded out of the bedroom to the front

window. She hadn’t slept, and it was

probably just as well. She’d only have

nightmares if she did.

In the distance she could hear the

mournful, spine-tingling moans:
Ruuu-

uuuthhhh ruuuthhhh.

It wasn’t an unusual sound; she’d

lived her entire twenty-five years

hearing it many nights. Not every night,

no. And not always this nearby. But

often.

Just like the howling of wolves or

crying of wildcats, the sound portended

danger. Everyone stayed in at night,

blockaded in homes that were fenced in

or raised off the ground.

Now she could see an occasional

orange glow—the eyes of the zombies—

flickering in the darkness. Until six

months ago she’d never seen anything

more than that glitter of orange starlight,

close to the ground, jolting through the

darkness with each labored step of the

monsters.

Until six months ago she’d never

even seen what they actually looked like

—the horrible manifestation of decaying

human. The memory flared in her mind

before she could stop it: the empty,

orange eyes, haunted behind the glow.

The sagging, green-gray flesh, the shine

of white bone beneath. The putrid smell

of death. The sickening feel of skin and

bone giving way beneath the thrust of her

fireplace poker. A quiet sob caught her

by surprise and she pressed her palms

hard into her eyes, as if to erase the

images. But they were indelible.

Oh, God, Rick.

Cat drew in a deep breath then let it

out slowly. Squeezed her eyes closed to

hold back the tears. Tightened her grip

on the poker.
Rick, I’m so sorry.

The soft scuff of a bare foot on wood

turned her attention from the window.

“Are you all right, honey?”

She couldn’t manage a smile. But she

kept her voice steady. “Not really, Dad,

but I will be. Eventually.”

Surely he noticed the poker in her

hand, but he said nothing. Instead, he

came to stand next to her at the window,

wrapping his arm around her shoulders,

hugging her close. She closed her eyes

and allowed her head to rest against him.

Dad was a rock. Thank God she had

him.

Thank God he’d taken her away from

the memories. It was impossible to walk

by every day and see the very place Rick

had died, to have to put on a strong face

in front of everyone else in their small

village. To know that if she’d been a

few moments earlier, if she’d been fast

enough, brave enough, things might have

been different.

Her new home, Glenway, was a nice

enough little settlement, and her sister

Yvonne and her husband Pete had been

welcoming. And when Yvonne’s friend

Ana and her father had decided to stay in

Envy, they’d offered Dad the use of their

home. It seemed fitting: a father and

daughter had lived here, and now

another father and daughter would take

their place.

“No one should have to go through

what you did,” her dad said now. “I’m

sorry, Catie. I wish I had been there.”

She shook her head against him,

closing her eyes against the tears that

welled there. “I’m glad you weren’t. It

was awful, Dad.” She swallowed hard,

forcing the bile back down to her

stomach. “Poor Rick.”

Her voice caught and Dad hugged her

tight. “He seemed like a good man,” he

said. “Too young. What a terrible way to

have his life cut short.”

Cat sniffled, the tears coming faster

now. Rick had been a good man. She’d

only known him for a month, but they’d

had a connection.
Sometimes you just

know
, he said to her when she made an

offhand joke about it. His eyes had been

serious, and her insides fluttered at the

expression there. Maybe he’d been right

. . . but where did that leave her now?

Dad handed her a handkerchief and

she wiped her nose and eyes, drawing

away so she didn’t dribble on him.

“Thanks,” she said, wadding up the cloth

in her hand.

Ruuuuuuuuthhhhhh . . .

Her father shifted, his attention

focusing on the dark world outside. “Do

their moans sound different to you?

Maybe I’m getting hard of hearing in my

old age, but . . .”

Cat’s breath caught. She’d been

thinking the same thing. “Yes. They do

sound different. I noticed it, too, and

Yvonne said the same thing. In the last

week it’s . . . changed. More urgent, it

seems. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t

sleep.” She forced herself to chuckle,

but it came out sounding more like a

strangled sob.

“Aw, honey,” Dad said, and hugged

her. Pressing a kiss on the top of her

head, he stroked her hair. “If I could take

the memory, the experience, away from

you, I would.”

Cat pulled away and looked up at

him. “You’ve got your own horrors and

memories.”

He smiled, but it was sad. “That’s

why it wouldn’t be so difficult to take on

yours too. You were fresh and innocent.

And now . . .”

“It’s part of the world, Dad. I’m not a

fragile flower. I’ll get over it.” In light

of everything Dad had been through,

watching her boyfriend being attacked

by a zombie was only the tip of the

iceberg.

“Did you love him?” he asked after a

long minute.

Cat drew in a deep breath and closed

her eyes. She wondered if he’d been

waiting six months to ask her that. “I

don’t know. I might have. Maybe.

Probably.”

They stood there for a moment, father

and daughter, staring into darkness,

listening as the eerie, moaning sounds

filled the night.

“I think I’ll try and sleep now,” Cat

said, squeezing her dad around the

waist, then pulling away. “Good night.”

He turned to follow her out of the

room, then she heard him stop. “That’s

strange.”

Cat turned and saw that he was

looking toward the doorway that led to

George’s workroom. A faint orange

glow filtered through the crack at the

bottom.

He started toward it, and she

instinctively grabbed his arm. “Dad,”

she said.

“It’s all right.” He gently but firmly

pulled away.

Cat followed him, poker in hand. She

hadn’t been into George’s workroom

except briefly, on the first day they’d

arrived in Glenway. She knew he was a

sort of chemist or scientist, and that he’d

been growing penicillin for medical

purposes, supplying it to a man who was

a real doctor, over in Envy. But since

she hadn’t been in there since, and as far

as she knew Dad hadn’t either, neither of

them could have left a light on.

He reached for the door and she

realized she was bracing herself,

holding her breath.

But when the door opened at his

push, wafting gently into the workroom,

all was silent and still. Whatever she’d

been expecting didn’t come to pass.

Dad, spry and quick for his age, held

her back so he could lead the way into

the workroom. Cat was right on his

heels, poker ready to lash out at the first

sign of any movement or danger.

The orange glow was hardly more

than that, even now that they were in the

room. Dad headed for it and Cat looked

over his shoulder to see a small pile of

dirt and stones, apparently forgotten on

the floor. But some of them were no

ordinary rocks.

They seemed to be alive with an

orange glow, flaming from deep inside.

Chapter 5

W
yatt sat in the dark rig, waiting.

Dantès had recovered from frenzied

canine panic over his mistress and her

damned burning crystal. He lay next to

Wyatt, snoring and then twitching as he

chased some imaginary rodent. The dog

was bleeding again from the deepest of

his wounds, likely from trying to leap

from the truck window to get to his

distressed mistress.

Whatever the fuck was wrong with

the woman? Hadn’t she learned her

lesson the last time the damned stone

tried to fry her? She’d probably have a

scar from the burn. Hell, she could

already have one from the last time this

happened, come to think of it. It wasn’t

as if he was looking at her damned belly.

Hell no.

Guilt stabbed at him.

His head pounded and he let it clunk

audibly back against the wall, closing

his eyes. Sleek and pale in the

moonlight, that soft, warm skin. Delicate

and tender. Probably fried to a crisp

now.

Wyatt squeezed his eyes tighter. Not

something he wanted to think about.

Nope.

They didn’t have any burn ointment to

put on it. Bummer for her.

It was a long time before he heard the

creak of her coming in. The rig jolted as

she pulled herself up, and then he heard

another creak as the door closed.

Dantès lifted his head, immediately

awake, and his tail thumped against the

floor, but he didn’t get up. Wyatt thought

he heard Remy mutter something that

sounded suspiciously like “traitor.”

He watched her as she made her way

carefully in the darkness, obviously

assuming he was asleep. Which he

wished he were. Or anywhere else but

here. Or dead.

Preferably dead.

Desolation washed over him, dull

and

gray.
Goddammit.

It

wasn’t

supposed to happen this way. He always

expected he’d check out early. He knew

he’d die young, in his prime. He’d be the

one to go. Not his goddamn family.

Not when he put his ass on the line,

day after day in Iraq, and then on the fire

squad.

Not them.
Him.

Oh, God, why? Why not me? Why

the hell did You do this to me?

“Wyatt?”

He must have made a noise or

something, dammit. Now she knew he

was awake. Now she was going to want

to talk.

“Find somewhere else to put that

damned stone,” he snapped, then

dropped his head back against the wall

again.

She didn’t respond, but he could hear

her picking her way around in the truck.

The air stirred as she came closer. He

felt Dantès shift and move when she

knelt to pet him, then heard the soft

sounds of her scratching behind his

triangular ears. Wyatt’s eyes remained

stubbornly closed, and he realized he

could smell her too. She was that close.

Not the scent of singed or burned flesh—

God knew he’d smelled that enough in

his life. But the soft, woman essence that

clung to a female: unique and yet

familiar.

“You gave it back.” Her voice was

low and husky. And closer than he

realized.

He made a sound of disgust, eyes still

shut, head still tipped back. “I’m not a

damned thief.”

“Thank you.”

If he hoped that was the end of it, he

was wrong. He heard her settle on the

floor, Dantès between them, and just as

he was about to slip back into his bleak,

dark thoughts, she said, “My grandfather

gave me the crystal. When he was on his

deathbed.”

Wyatt’s eyes snapped open, but

otherwise he didn’t move.

“He told me to protect it with my life.

That it was the key, and that someday I’d

know what to do with it. Unfortunately,

he didn’t see fit to give me any further