on the shoot-to-kill list. I can’t go back.”
“Well, then, what are you going to do?” I ask, wondering if he can hear the hope in my voice. If he can’t go back, maybe he’ll run. I want to run with him. And never come back. And be with him forever.
He sighs and splashes water over the pale bald patch above his ear. “After I get you safely to the lab, I’ll try to survive on my own. Try to make it to Wyoming.”
Mention of the lab makes my hope turn hard and cold, makes the soft flesh in the creases of my elbows hurt. I fold my arms, pressing on the fading bruises. “I don’t want to be the lab’s guinea pig. Let me come with you. We’ll survive together,” I plead, my voice quiet with desperation. “I’m good with a gun. I’ll learn to keep up. I’ll help you survive, become your ally.”
Bowen shakes his head. “Too dangerous,” he says, wiping his knife on the edge of the dusty dresser, leaving a glob of shaving cream and hair.
I grit my teeth and glare at my tattoo, hating it more than I’ve hated anything in my life. It is a representation of everything Bowen hates and fears. Which means me.
“I don’t think I’m going to turn into a beast, though,” I say, still staring at my hand. “And if I start to feel signs of it, I’ll leave. I swear. Please. Don’t take me to the lab. Take me with you.” I look up from my tattoo and stare at his reflection in the mirror as he slips the knife into a black sheath attached to his belt.
“It’s not too dangerous for me. It’s dangerous for you. What if I can’t protect you?” He won’t look at me. He turns and climbs onto the bed, knees bent, back pressed against the headboard. He picks up his gun and balances it on his knees. I climb onto the other side of the bed and curl up on my side, my arm beneath my head, my back to him, and stare out the broken window.
“I’m willing to take that risk,” I murmur. “Because I don’t want to leave you, Dreyden. I’d rather take my chances on the outside. With you.”
He shifts, the mattress sagging beneath his weight, making me roll into him. When he speaks, his mouth is right above my ear. “I shot my mother in the head. It took me two tries to kill her,” he whispers.
I turn and look up into his dead, cold eyes. His jaw muscles pulse.
“Why?” I ask, appalled.
“The raiders caught her. For two days I tried to get her free. For two nights, she screamed for someone to kill her. So on the third morning, when the sun rose, I finally got up the nerve.” Darkness haunts his eyes. “It’s not safe out there, Fo. I don’t want to have to kill you, too. Life in the lab will be a lot more pleasant. Trust me. And you never know. Maybe one day they’ll find a cure.”
He climbs off the bed and I close my eyes, trying to forget the horror of his words, his hopeless eyes.
Chapter 24
I dream of grass and honey and flowers. Sunshine warms my skin and rose petals brush my lips, a feathery touch that makes me stir. I open my eyes, and Bowen’s finger pauses against my lower lip. Slowly, he pulls his hand from my mouth. I stare into his grass-green eyes and wait for my heart to burst.
“You were talking in your sleep,” he whispers. “Something about honey.” He is curled on his side facing me, our knees touching, our faces mere inches apart. I look at his lips and remember how they felt against mine—smooth as honey and just as sweet. They curve into a warm, lazy smile. “Fo.”
“What?” I look into his eyes again.
“You were staring at my mouth.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and cover my face with my hands, and Bowen laughs.
“I have a surprise for you,” he says, touching my cheek with cool fingers that smell like soap and bring heat to my skin. I open my eyes and stare at him. His hair is slightly damp, as if he’s just had a shower and he smells like shampoo. “Come here.”
I follow him into the bathroom and see nothing but a couple of dusty, sun-bleached suitcases that used to be some shade of purple and several empty water bottles. He points to the tub.