Twisted World: A Broken World Novel (29 page)

“We will.” I pulled her close and she rested her head on my chest.

The back room at Dragon’s was dark and reeked of death, and my guards were still coughing their heads off, but right now, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

T
he city seemed darker
than usual, which made no sense considering the full moon was shining its soft rays on the street in front of me. Then again, maybe it had to do with the long shadows that seemed to stretch toward me from every nook and cranny I passed, reaching out like they were trying to pull me into their black depths.

I walked faster, the sound of my heels clicking against the street not doing anything to calm my pounding heart. I was still shaken from the evening. First, knowing that they’d sent a zombie in hopes of finishing off Donaghy, then seeing Jackson and realizing he’d had a hand in it. The creature in the ring had been the final straw. It moved faster than any zombie we’d ever seen, regardless of the strain, and it had purpose. Like he’d been told his only reason for existing was to rip Donaghy’s throat out. He wasn’t human, but he wasn’t one of the dead either.

Arms wrapped around me from behind, catching me totally off guard and ripping me right out of my heels. My scream echoed through the still night and I kicked my leg back, but before my foot could make contact, my attacker threw me to the ground. My body slammed into the concrete. The force of the impact vibrated through my bones and knocked the wind out of me. The throb that moved through me was immobilizing, and the scream I tried to let out was nothing more than a strangled gasp.

I tried to move. Tried to drag myself away from the footsteps that came up behind me. I managed to make it halfway to my hands and knees, pulling myself forward as pebbles dug into my palms and legs. I only gained inches, though, and then the man was on me again. He grabbed me by the arms and flipped me over so violently that the back of my skull banged against the ground, causing a bright, white light to flash across my vision. Blackness followed, closing in on me from all sides. I struggled against it, trying to fight back, but found myself being pulled into an abyss so dark and deep that I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to escape.

No!

I blinked and forced myself to stay conscious. I could feel it as my brain clawed itself from the abyss, and when my eyes finally focused, I found my attacker leaning over me. He was nothing but bright eyes and lips in a sea of black, and I was so disoriented that it took longer than it should for me to realize why. He was wearing a mask.

“Don’t move,” he said, his mouth seeming to float above his body.

“Stop.” My voice trembled so much that I wasn’t even sure the word I tried to mutter was actually a word.

I batted at him, but the man above me only laughed as his hands ran up my thighs. The knife strapped to my leg was pulled off and tossed aside. When it clanked against the pavement, getting lost in the darkness, I wanted to scream.

I did scream when the man pushed my skirt up around my waist, but it did nothing to help my situation. He pushed my dress higher and I howled and kicked and batted at him, my arms and legs flailing uselessly as I tried to fight him off. I didn’t make any progress. His weight was heavy on my stomach when he leaned forward, his knees digging into my arms and making it impossible for me to get any movement at all. Warm air brushed my chest when my dress went even higher.

“Just hold still and it will all be over faster,” he said, his bright eyes and mouth hovering over me.

Every move he made seemed to be in slow motion, and the thoughts in my head weren’t much faster or clearer, but one thing did stick out:
This man doesn’t stink.

I forced my eyes to stay open even though they wanted to close. The man moved back, and I focused on his hands. His palms were flat against my stomach, and as starkly white as my own skin was. Clean. No dirt caked under his nails.

Why is he so clean?

He sat back, the weight of his body pressing against my knees as he worked to undo his pants. “You brought this on yourself.”

The epiphany that slammed into me with those words was so sharp it felt like a knife cutting into my brain.

Someone sent him here to punish me. Maybe even kill me…

Someone from the government.

Jackson
.

That thought had just crashed into me when another face came into view, hovering over my attacker’s shoulder. This one wasn’t as clean, but it was familiar. Gray eyes flashed like violent storm clouds just before my attacker was ripped off me.

I inhaled, filling my lungs until they felt like they would burst as I pulled my dress down. To my right, the scuffle was loud and violent, knocking over trashcans that rattled against the sidewalk and spilled their foul-smelling contents all over the ground. I rolled to my side, my head still pounding and the world around me spinning faster than the two men wrestling each other on the ground. Flashes of black and gray swirled together, highlighted by the moon, and I squeezed my eyes shut when a wave of nausea rolled through me.

When I opened my eyes again, the gray man was standing. His shoulders heaved as he stared down at the other man, now nothing more than a tangle of black on the pavement.

I pushed myself up, barely clinging to consciousness but knowing that I needed to talk to this man before he once again disappeared. “You saved me.”

The gray man turned away from the body in front of him and knelt at my side. His eyes, now calm and full of concern, moved over me before he nodded once. “You alright?”

“I—I think so.” I touched the back of my head, which throbbed, and felt a bump. No blood, though. That was good. “Who are you?”

“Just an old friend,” he said, once again looking me over. “You sure you ain’t hurt?”

A painful twinge squeezed my insides. Dad used to say
ain’t
. God, if only I could stop seeing him in everything that happened. Donaghy’s scar and the way Glitter puckered her lips, not to mention this man’s eyes. Now he was starting to sound like Dad, too. Maybe I was losing my mind.

“I’ll be okay,” I said, getting to my feet and pulling my skirt down the rest of the way. My hands trembled when I grabbed my shoes and put them on, but I refused to think about what had almost happened or the fact that Jackson was responsible for this. I was okay.

The gray man stood too, and a second later he let out a low chuckle. “You’re just like your mamma. She was tough as nails, too.”

“You knew my mom?” I wasn’t sure if he was referring to Hadley Lucas or Vivian James, though.

“Long time ago.”

The gray man glanced over his shoulder, then grabbed my elbow. He started walking, leading me forward. I didn’t ask where he was taking me. Probably because I knew. Home. He wasn’t going to hurt me. The opposite, really. He wanted me to be safe.

We reached shantytown, our footsteps joining the moans, coughs, and snores of the people who lived here. Neither one of us spoke, but I looked his way every few seconds, trying to memorize his face and store it away for later. Trying to figure out how this man fit into my life.

The only discernable change in his mood was when we came to the shrine of Angus. Two people, coughing so much they were barely able to stay upright, were kneeling in front of the little statue. Their lips moved in silent prayer, their hands folded in front of them as they asked for salvation or forgiveness or something else, only they knew for sure.

The gray man slowed for a split second, his eyes on them. Then he shook his head and kept walking.

When we finally reached my building, he stopped and looked up. “Can’t go in.”

He let go of my arm and took a step back, and I found my legs steadier than I’d thought they would be. My head was pounding, though, and I had a suspicion it would be a couple days before the ache went away.

“Can you tell me who you are?” I asked, when it hit me that he was about to walk away and I had no idea when I would see him again.

He turned his gaze on me, and the eyes that stared back were sharp and familiar, but my fuzzy brain refused to allow me to make the connection. It was there. The answer was so close that I could almost reach out and grab it, but no matter how hard I tried to bring it into focus, I couldn’t seem to catch it.

“Watch out for yourself,” he said instead of answering my question. “Tell the others to watch their backs, too. They got it out for the whole lot of you. Pretty soon, they’re gonna get tired of tryin’ to make it look like an accident and just get rid of you.”

“Who?”

He took a step back. “The CDC.”

The CDC?

Dad.

“Is my dad there?” I asked, stumbling after the gray man as he turned and headed down the street. “I just want to know if he’s alive!”

My voice echoed down the dark street, but the gray man kept walking, not even looking back at me. I stood in the middle of the road on wobbly legs, watching as he disappeared into the darkness. Totally unable to run after him with my head pounding the way it was.

When he was gone, I dragged myself inside, but it took a few minutes for my head to clear enough to hit the button for the elevator. The thing groaned and I held my breath, waiting to see if it was going to work. After what seemed like forever, the lobby went silent and the door slid open. One of these days, this thing was going to break for good. I was just glad it wasn’t today. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to drag myself up the stairs with the way my head was throbbing.

Mom was up and sitting on the couch when I got in, and she jumped to her feet the second she saw me. “Meg? What happened?”

“It’s no big deal,” I said as I headed past her into the kitchen.

My head wouldn’t stop pounding and my bottom lip wasn’t much better. It was going to be fat tomorrow for sure. Under the kitchen lights, I was able to see all the cuts and scratches on my arms and legs from my struggle. I got lucky once again.

Mom stopped at my side when I turned on the faucet. I needed a shower, but it was late and I was exhausted, so the water from the sink and a washcloth would have to do.

“What happened?” Mom asked, her voice calmer this time.

When I turned, she took the wet cloth out of my hand and pressed it to my throbbing lip. I winced, but she didn’t blink. That’s when it hit me: She was back. The mom I’d grown up with. Her brown eyes were bright and alert, assessing my injuries with the same cool exterior she’d always shown when I was a kid.

“I was jumped.” I kept my eyes away from hers so she wouldn’t know that the man had wanted more than just credits from me.

“Did he get what he wanted?” The way she winced told me that she could see right through me.

“No.” I exhaled. “Someone saved me.”

“You got lucky.” The breath she let out was full of relief, and I stole a glance at her face. She was still looking me over like she was making sure I was in one piece.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to reassure her.

Mom nodded and allowed me to take the cloth from her hand. I used it to clean the dirt off my arms and legs while she leaned against the counter with her arms crossed. In this light, I was once again struck by how much weight she’d lost. She was bony now, her breasts almost looking clownish on her thin frame. I’d always known they were fake, but I hadn’t thought about why she had them done until now. She used to be a stripper before. That must have been why.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I said when I turned to rinse the washcloth. “Something about you before the virus hit. Or maybe something about you and Dad that I’ve never heard before. Something happy.”

Mom’s gaze moved toward the floor and she grinned for a second before saying, “Your uncle was a bully when I first met him. He didn’t like me, and he didn’t want your dad and me to be together, but it happened anyway.” When I turned to face her, the cool cloth still pressed against my throbbing skull, Mom’s smile was wider. “There were times when I thought Angus hated me. He loved to get under my skin, and I know he had moments when he resented me for taking Axl’s attention. But the day he was bitten—the day we found out he was immune—he sacrificed himself to save me.”

Her smile grew bigger and I joined in. I’d thought she was going to tell me something about Dad, but it had turned out to be about Angus instead. It was strange, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but it was nice too.

“I stopped drinking the water in the bedroom,” Mom said, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Why’s that?” I was only partially paying attention, still lost in my own musings about the past and how much things had changed in recent weeks.

“I had another dream about Angus, and he told me to start boiling the water. He said the filters weren’t safe. I’ve felt better since then. More with it.”

I stood up straighter. Could it have been that simple? There had been times, especially over the last week, when it had seemed like Mom’s paranoia was about more than just losing Dad. There were even moments when I’d wondered if someone was drugging her. She’d been so out of it. What if someone
had
slipped her drugs?

Pretty soon they’re gonna get tired of tryin’ to make it look like an accident and just get rid of you.
The gray man’s warning rang in my ears.

What if
they
were trying to get rid of Mom slowly? Make her look nuts so that when she disappeared, people would just assume that she’d finally lost it. At this point, I wasn’t willing to discard any theory.