and I heard her laugh. Whispering, taunting, cajoling.
I thought I’d gotten her out of my head, that I’d burned through the blood I’d taken from her.
I was wrong. And what would Graves think of this, if he could see it?
What would Dad think, if he was still alive and not just zombie dust? Or Gran?
Time snapped, stinging, like a hard elastic band against flinching skin. I had the two plastic-and-paper grocery bags in my free hand. Threw them in the backseat as Ash cowered.
Like he was afraid of me. Hunched down, his entire body the picture of submission.
“Get in!” I yelled, the shotgun held loosely. Nobody in the parking lot. The rain began to slant down in earnest, dark drops on the dusty ground merging. It didn’t cut the smell of blood. My entire body shook, jitters racing through me.
Ash scrambled into the car. I swept the parking lot again, shotgun held ready. Lightning sizzled overhead, photoflash-searing the entire scene into my head. I dropped into the driver’s seat, braced the shotgun. Sparked the car and laid rubber out of the parking lot.
Some shopping trip.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The windows were all down, rain lashing through and thunder booming. Water smacked the side of my face, a welcome coolness. I kept us on the road, trying not to bend the steering wheel. Ash had slithered over into the front passenger seat and whimpered, crouching in the bucket seat and staring at me.
I didn’t have the heart to tell him to sit down and shut up. He shook and shivered every time thunder boomed. Spring storms are like that—they sneak up on a body. Gran said they hid on the ridges, and the only way to tell one was coming was to have a war wound or an old broken bone.
Gran would have been horrified at what I’d just done. Not so much the busting up a couple of grown men, though that was plenty bad.
No, it was the bloodhunger. If she was still alive to see me sucking blood, or even just wanting to suck blood, what would she think? She’d be disgusted, just like Graves. And angry.
I didn’t do it, though. I didn’t!
My conscience wasn’t having any of it. You wanted to. You know you did. I blinked furiously, the water in my eyes was making everything blur.
Ash let out a yelp. I jerked the wheel, and we drifted out of the oncoming lane. There wasn’t another car on the road for miles, and my entire body was shaking with the hunger’s aftermath. Like little armored rabbits were running around under my skin. My veins throbbed dryly, and my eyes were smarting. A hot trickle slid down my left cheek.
I wished I could stop to roll all the windows up. Ash twitched. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and the next glare of lightning made him flinch again.
“It’s all right.” I had to work to make myself heard above the rain-noise. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”
Except it kind of is. What the hell, stealing a two-bit piece of candy? But I couldn’t be too mad at him. He wasn’t even in his right mind. And I’ve dealt with guys like Piggy Eyes Lyle all over the country. It was a point of pride with me, knowing just how to slide out of Situations. Except I hadn’t slid out of this one. I’d acted just like a punk kid, and—
But I am a punk kid, something inside me whined. I never asked for this!
I kept checking the rearview mirror. No headlights, no sign of pursuit. If they had cameras at the supermarket we were probably hosed. We’d have to run anyway, ditch this car in the first city and grab another one. I’d done the planning, especially to get us liquid resources. But all that wood I’d chopped was going to be useless.
Don’t worry about the firewood, for fuck’s sake. Worry about something useful.
Like, how was I going to explain this to Graves? That was going to be all sorts of fun in a handbasket. I heaved in a breath, two, and more hot trickles slid out of my eyes.
Cold rain smacking my face through my still-open window did a sucky-ass job of covering up the fact that I was sobbing. Great gulping heaves, tearing through me like a crowd of hobnailed boots against a street, beating out cadence.
Did I kill him? Lyle’s head had been twisted so strangely. But I’d heard his pulse, faint and thready. Maybe he’d be okay.