XOM-B (32 page)

When he’s gone, Luscious says, “You need to relax.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your view of the world is so sterile, so simplified and rigid—”

“Rigid?” This is hardly a word I would use to describe myself. Inquisitive. Curious. Even passionate. But
rigid
?

She holds her palms up. “Rigid is the wrong word. Fixed.”

“Same thing.”

She sighs. “Your understanding of the law. Of the Council. It’s lopsided. Mohr might have wanted you to discover history and an understanding of it for yourself, but your view of the Council was never up for debate. Their strident views on slavery and freedom are great, but our post-Grind civilization is hardly free of oppression, tragedy or vile acts. You’ve seen it for yourself. In a world where the Lowers and everyone living there can be obliterated—
slaughtered
—for the
greater good,
you’re still worried about the implication that you were a little bossy to Harry. If you’re really free, Freeman, you can say whatever you want.”

The light filtering in through the windows strikes the side of Luscious’s head, giving her eyes a gleam, her hair a shine and highlighting her high cheeks and the lips that fit her name. I’ve heard her words, but they’ve been dulled by her beauty. In fact, I completely miss the next two sentences, hearing only the fiery tone of her voice and noticing how it seems to match her hair.

“Try it,” she says.

“What?” I reply, snapping out of my trancelike state.

“Try it.”

“Try … what?”

“Tell me what to do,” she says. “Boss me around. I’ll do whatever you ask. Clean the room. Organize the books. Tell me what you want me to do and see if anything bad happens. You’ve already done it a few times.”

“When you were about to be eaten, maybe,” I say.

“No difference.” Her hands go to her hips. “So? What should I do?”

I look back toward the window. Toward the city outside that, for all we know, could house an army of zombies, just waiting for the signal to attack.

“Worrying about Heap isn’t going to help anyone,” she says, pulling my attention back to her.

“We should be preparing,” I say.

“For what?”

After a moment, I shrug. I have no idea what to expect, or what to do about it.

“Look,” she says. “Right now, Heap is in charge.”

My eyes scrunch together. “I guess…”

“You
guess
? He left us here, without telling us where he was going or what he was really doing.”

She’s right about that, and I try not to reveal my discomfort with that situation or the fact that she seems to know Heap was not simply having a look around.

“But here’s the thing,
you’re
our leader. You’re smarter, stronger and have more …
everything
than the rest of us. We’re all here because of
you,
not him. But to really lead, you need to take charge, and taking charge means telling people what to do. Giving orders.”

While this doesn’t sit well, it makes sense. And Luscious certainly has a choice to listen or not. Nothing bad would happen if she didn’t do what I asked.

“Go on,” she prods. “Make a request. Hell, make a demand if you want.”

Well, this is easy. “Kiss me.” I realize I’ve said it like a question. When she doesn’t budge, I say, “Right now. Kiss me.” Still nothing. Thinking she’s trying to make me actually give her an order, I very seriously add, “Do it n—”

Her fist connects with the side of my head, sprawling me sideways into a bookshelf that collapses under my weight. An avalanche of bound paper and inky information tumbles down, pummeling my body. But even the heaviest volume doesn’t sting as much as Luscious’s punch. In part because she has a really hard punch, but also because I’ve managed to make her angry.

The books slide away as I sit up, holding my jaw. It’s sore, but not really damaged. I find Luscious sitting on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the bookshelf. Her knees are drawn up, held in place by her arms, one tightly clutched to the other. The floor holds her gaze.

Somehow, she looks more hurt than I am.

I inch closer on my hands and knees. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

She shakes her head. “You did exactly what I told you to.”

I realize then that I wouldn’t really have been commanding her because she’d asked me to. If anything, she was telling
me
what to do. But I don’t think that was the point. And it certainly wasn’t the intended result.

Her eyes look up while her head remains downcast. “I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saying whatever you want without taking the history and experiences of the receiving person into account isn’t right.” Her head comes up now.

“I’m very sorry,” I say, feeling horrible. “Did I forget something about you? Did I—”

“You don’t need to apologize for something you didn’t know,” she says.

“If you tell me about it, I can—”

“Shut up,” she says. “Just shut up.”

I’m not sure what “shut up” means, but I think she’s telling me to stop talking. Before I can decide whether or not I’ll comply, she reaches out and wraps her hand behind my head. With a handful of hair, she pulls me toward her.

Her lips find mine.

The pain in my jaw fades.

The conversation and all its awkwardness becomes a distant memory.

The transfer of feelings beyond simple words begins anew, creating a sense of exhilaration that locks me in place. Not Luscious, though. She’s kissing
me
this time and the flow of what I think is love is coming in my direction. While it’s in direct contrast to the punch I just received, it quickly erases my concerns and replaces them with something else.

The emotions come on so fast and strong that I pull back.

“What’s happening?” I ask. “I don’t feel right. I’m heating up.”

She grins wickedly, wraps her legs around my back and pulls me back down. The moment her lips touch mine again, my concerns become vapor, intangible and fading.

I find my mind and body lost in some kind of bliss. I feel her body—all of it—in new ways. My hands move as though guided by some magnetic force, pulled to her body, squeezing, sliding, pushing. Without remembering how it happened, I find my clothes missing. As are Luscious’s.

In that flicker of lucidity, I ask, “What is this? What’s happening?”

To my surprise, and, I must admit, delight, she replies, “I don’t know.”

And then, once again, we’re lost.

And connected, but only to each other.

The world beyond ceases to exist.

Time passes unnoticed.

And then, in a flash, reality slams back into focus.

Luscious, unclothed, sits atop me, straddling my waist. There are books beneath me, pushing hard into my back.

A gentle tapping turns my head toward the door.

“Everything okay in there?” Harry asks. “I thought I heard shouting.”

“Fine,” I say, pushing myself up. For some reason, I don’t want Harry to spot us like this, mostly because I’m not sure how it will be perceived. I have no idea what we just did. “Just give us a minute.”

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it down. I’ve been watching the street and haven’t seen anything, but there is really no need to advertise our whereabouts.” Harry’s footsteps move away from the door.

“Okay,” I say. “You’re right.” While the seriousness of our situation returns to the forefront of my thoughts, it fails to remove the grin from my lips.

Luscious rolls off me and we quickly dress. Without a word shared between us, we turn our backs to each other. For some reason I feel suddenly embarrassed by my naked state. A minute ago, I wasn’t even aware of it, but now … I manage to squeeze back into the tight black leather outfit made from dead cows in under thirty seconds. I turn around in time to see Luscious zip up the front of her leathers, concealing her body once again.

For a moment, we just stare at each other.

I reach out a hand.

She takes it.

We smile and I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her in a tight hug that she returns. I bury my face in her hair for a moment, breathing in her smell, and then turn to the side resting my head on her shoulder. After a moment, I open my eyes—

—and freeze. My whole body tenses.

“What is it?” Luscious whispers, no doubt detecting my sudden tension.

“The window,” I say.

We separate so that she can turn toward the window. She gasps.

A man is standing in the street, looking up at us.

But he’s not a man. Not anymore. He’s a zombie.

The rags that cover his body, all torn and tattered, are hard to distinguish from his skin, which hangs in a similar state. The man has been shredded and peeled. He’s hunched forward and I note that one of his legs is actually a bit shorter than the other. Clumps of hair dot his head, but the gleam of his skull is equally abundant.

I prefer them in hordes,
I decide. Standing alone like this, all of the man’s ghastly details stand out in stark detail. Impossible to ignore. Even harder not to pity.

I glance from the man to the window we’re standing in front of. The
open
window. Whatever drew Harry to the door may have also drawn this man to our window.

I’m about to verbally chastise our recklessness when Luscious whispers, “He’s alone.”

“But for how long?” I ask.

“Maybe we could run out there and—”

The undead man waves a three-fingered hand at us like we’re old friends.

“Shit,” Luscious says, slinking back. The man’s very normal behavior seems to frighten her even more than their typical gnashing hunger.

“Hello,” the man says, sounding quite friendly.

There’s no sense in hiding from the man. He knows we’re here. I lean down toward the open window. “Um, hello.”

“What were you just doing?” he asks, pointing up at me. “Just a moment ago.”

I look back at Luscious just to make sure I’m not the only one who is absolutely confused. When I turn back to the street, the zombie stands waiting, patiently. “Hugging.”

The man’s lone eyebrow furrows. “Huh.” And then, “For what purpose?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” I say, embarrassed once again, though I’m not sure I should feel anything but loathing for the non-man standing outside the window intent on having a conversation. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Freeman!” Luscious grumbles.

I shrug, unsure of what else to do or say.

“Oh, right,” the undead man says. “I have your large armored friend. If you would like to see him again, in one piece, you will come with me.”

Could
this
be the enemy we’ve traveled so far to confront? Not only is he clearly not one of the Masters, he’s also undead, at least in the physical appearance. But maybe that’s intentional? He could move about, among the horde and never be seen as anything special, as a target. But still, I expected something more … powerful. While the man is hideous to behold, he would not be difficult to destroy.

But I can’t destroy him. That would do nothing to help Liberty and the people still fighting for survival, not to mention Heap, if he’s really been captured. This
could
be a trick, but I’m not willing to risk Heap’s life, even if he would prefer it. My only option is compliance.

When I don’t reply, the man glowers at me and says, “Now.” He then points a half-finger toward the room where Harry is waiting. “And bring the bookworm.”

40.

When I exit the small library, Harry shakes his copy of
Lord of the Flies
over his head. “Do
not
read this book. A dreadful story.” He looks up when I don’t reply, sees my face and lowers the book. “What’s wrong?”

“We have a visitor,” I say, looking at the window.

Harry rushes to the window, peeking over the sill. “Egad.” He turns back. “What should we do?”

“He claims to have Heap,” I tell him. “And he might have answers. Or even know how to stop the undead attacks. We’ll do whatever he asks us to.”

“For now,” Luscious adds.

I give Luscious a serious look. “We
can’t
kill him.”

“We can cripple him,” she says.

Harry peeks out the window. “He’s halfway there already.”

“
Only
if he threatens us,” I tell them. “Understood?”

Harry nods while Luscious offers a sarcastic salute. “See, you’re already getting the hang of telling people what to do.”

We head down to the first floor and slowly open the door, weapons raised, ready for an ambush. The lucid dead man is still standing in the street, waiting patiently. His dead eyes follow us down the stairs to the sidewalk.

“Put the weapons down,” the man says.

I hesitate. Giving up these weapons could be a death sentence.

“Put them down or your friend will be destroyed.” The undead man raises a finger. “And while we’re on the subject, should you attempt to harm either me or my automatons, your friend will be destroyed. Should I detect any transmissions, your friend will be destroyed. Anything short of complete compliance and—”

“My friend will be destroyed,” I finish for him. “I understand.”

The zombie squints at me, appears ready to say something, but then clamps his mouth closed, causing one of his lips to come loose and dangle. A slug clinging to a ledge. “Follow me,” he finally says, the slug flailing. He turns his back to us and walks toward the center of town, limping severely.

“We can’t leave the guns,” Luscious says quietly as the man continues on his way.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with the young lady,” Harry says. “We will be defenseless.”

I make a fist and lift it up. “Not entirely. And Heap would do it for me. And I think, for either of you.” I look them both in the eyes. “We’re friends. The four of us. We can’t just let him die. Plus … if
Heap,
fully armed, was captured, how long will the three of us last? Keeping our weapons might feel safer, but there isn’t time to find another solution. We need to go. Now. Not just for Heap. But for everyone that is left. There is no other choice … there is no other
correct
choice.”