Vial Things (Resurrectionist #1) - Leah Clifford Page 0,90

it makes breathing an actual chore. The hole’s deep—not six foot, but close. I look at the two shovels, the giant mound of loose earth. I’m already exhausted and we haven’t even started yet. “That’s a lot of dirt to move,” I say.

Jamison doesn’t ask for my help when he upends the wheelbarrow. “It’s not getting filled in until night. Too damned hot.” The body slips half out of the tarp on the way down, lands bent over itself, like his father stopped mid-somersault on one side of the makeshift grave.

“We need to spread this over him,” Jamison says, pointing, and I notice the bag of lye leaned up against the weathered boards of the barn. “Saw it on a movie. It turns the bones to mush.”

“Yeah, okay,” I manage.

“So...” He fades off, and then raises an eyebrow.

“What?”

He runs his arm over the beaded sweat on his forehead, his eyes squinted against the sunlight. “You didn’t help me push him down here. The least you can do is make sure he’s got an even coating of that stuff on him.” He hefts up the bag. “Go ahead and jump down and I’ll pass it to you.”

Not a damned chance. I’m not getting in that hole. “Jamison—”

“Are you in this or not?” he snarls and I take an involuntary step back.

I think of Allie in the cellar. The chains on her wrists. I think of him drawing syringes of blood, her arms covered in bruises that would heal if he gave them time. I’m starting to think my imagination isn’t twisted enough for what he’ll really do. I can’t help them if he doesn’t trust me. I swallow hard. “I said I was in, didn’t I?”

I lower my legs over the edge and slide into the hole. More than the body, the tarp, the lye Jamison’s passing down to me, it’s the cold that unsettles me. The air swirling around my ankles is least twenty-five degrees colder. It makes me think of the cellar again and Allie. I just want to get this over with and get to her.

I set the bag down and reach for my knife. The plastic slices open. “All of it?” I ask, glancing up.

Jamison’s silhouetted in the sunlight. His gun is out. It’s pointed at my chest.

“Your problem,” he says quietly. “Is that you want to save everyone.” I hold up a hand, the knife dropping onto the cold dirt below my duct-taped sneakers. “We were going to be gods, remember?”

“We are,” I say. “You and me.” Words babble out of me. “I’m on your side. You don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t want to.” His face is pinched, the gun trembling in his hands. “You said Allie was strong, right?”

“Yeah,” I whisper. I’m not even sure it’s loud enough to hear.

“Then I’m more like her than you thought,” he says. “I do what has to be done. I’m a survivor.” In his hands, the gun steadies. “At any cost.”

He fires.

Allie

I don’t know how much time passes before I hear footsteps cross the floor again. The door unlocks and when the light clinks on I wince against the sudden brightness. There’s only one shadow at the top of the stairs. From the movements alone, the stiff set to his shoulders, the cocky carefree way he clomps down, I know it’s Jamison. Where’s Ploy? I think frantically.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Talia calls. “Seriously, do not make me pee on this floor.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve had a busy afternoon.” Jameson holds two bowls balanced on top of each other as he slips the key into his pocket. He moves one bowl into each hand. “Are you hungry?” he asks as if nothing’s wrong. As if we haven’t been locked up in some dingy cellar in the dark for hours.

“No.” I hold the cuffs out in front of me. “I could use a Band-Aid.”

His eyes flick to my wrists. “What the fu—”

For the first time, there’s light to see what damage my escape attempts have done. Blood crusts the manacles, the skin of my hands, my mouth. The scabs on my wrists are wide and raw where they’d tried to heal and were ripped open again. They’re already starting to scar. Seeing them makes it hurt that much more. He shuffles forward and sets the bowls down. I clutch my hands to my chest protectively.

When he reaches for me, I let him unfurl my arm. It’s not like resisting is going to get me anywhere. His fingers