Dead Of Winter (The Beautiful Dead Book 2) (31 page)

I hear an amused snort from John. Yes, I know, he’s been comforted all his life by a similar tale of Garden. From his parents, no less, every night and every day.

“Well …” I give her a nice, uplifting smile. “Let’s see if we can turn that bedtime story into a reality.” When I see the beam in her eye, I know I’ve said the right thing.

Soon, we’ve packed up and we’re traveling again. The Livings say we are nearing midday, the sun high up in the sky and bending into its long descent to the west. As our direction of travel is generally east, I wonder if it’ll soon appear to the Humans like the sun is setting our old city on fire, burning the heavens in its path.

The rest of the day passes with no resistance and, thankfully, without encounters from any sort of creature, living or dead … or half-dead. The Humans bundle up and set out spots among a ridge of stones and dirt at the edge of a “forest” to sleep for the night. Notice, “forest” in quotes. That is, a sparse spreading of dead, leafless tree-things. I wonder if Garden will allow me the gracious pleasure of removing those quotes forever.

John and I settle on the other side of the rock, out of the view of the others. Even as the wilderness grows dark for the Living, I see perfectly through the nothing. John’s leaning into me, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling deeply in that beautiful way chests tend to when a person is alive.

With John pressed so close to my body, a rush of excitement courses through me. I know we can’t really …
do
anything out here, not with an audience. But now that John and I have given ourselves to one another, now that certain things have been done and I’ve seen all of him and he’s seen all of me, it’s all I can think about when I hold him close. I’ve never felt this, even in my First Life. With a stab of sadness, I realize I’ll never know what it could really feel like alive. I guess that’s just a secret I’m never meant to know. Somehow, with John holding me, with the memory of that night in Trenton resting on my face like a lover’s kiss, bringing me to smile, it surely feels like I haven’t missed out on a thing.

John’s heartbeat beats on; I pretend for a night that it’s mine. I stare into the endless grey and return to my dream of a life together in another world. I don’t close my eyes.

When the cold air of morning touches John, he grips me tighter, and I feel his heart beating somewhere against my hip. There’s a wretched, blue-white mist that’s settled over everything in the night, hugging the woods. John’s embrace is several times stronger than that mist, and it makes me forget the gloom of our situation.

His eyes open finally, gently. John lifts his head and those brown muddy eyes find mine. I’m surprised that, when he comes to, he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he says: “Morning.”

I smile. “Morning.”

He shivers, sitting up and taking in a lungful of mist. The others aren’t awake yet, though I doubt the Chief ever slept; I could hear him grunting and shifting around all night. After a moment, I spot Gunner in the distance, likely scouting the area. His crossbow hangs over his shoulder, just within view. The mist tries to conceal him, but that dark hair of his pierces everything. It reminds me of Helena’s hair, which makes me a touch guilty.

Guilty because I wasn’t around to stop Grim from taking them all. I can’t imagine Helena as one of them, mindlessly following Grim, blazing and furious and dead in the eyes. Is it my fault? Should I have reasoned with him more in After’s Hold when I had the chance?

I could’ve taken his eye. I should’ve stayed and tried harder, even with Megan there. I should’ve tackled him to the floor and clawed into his face.

The thought makes me shudder, so I discard it and peer down at John who still hasn’t let go. “You okay?”

He shivers again. “Wish I’d brought a thicker coat.” He snuggles up next to me, presses into my side. “You’re surprisingly warm.”

I suppress a smile. “I have no explanation for that.”

He’s likely the reason any part of me is warm at all. The irony is, he’s probably feeling his own warmth and nothing more. I’m suddenly thankful that his tight grip on me hasn’t unintentionally pulled any of my limbs off. Twice during the night, I was pretty sure John might roll over, still clinging, and take my whole left arm with him. That’s all I need; the horror of John waking up cuddling an arm all by itself.

“Shouldn’t have more than another day or two until we’re there,” I point out. “Maybe sooner. Garden ought to have warmer amenities than the wilderness. Maybe there is a whole city.”

“Maybe.” He runs a hand along my arm, as if studying it. “Your skin’s so smooth.”

He’s making it very difficult to resist my sudden and very prickly urge to abandon all care for our present company and whereabouts and just tear off his clothes, dive into his face, and listen to a heart race. “Thanks.”

“Unexpected,” he grunts.

“I guess that’s Marigold’s magic.” I try to smile, but find myself suddenly quite self-conscious as his fingers dance up and down my arm—which he still clutches.

“She’s only responsible for so much. You’re a person no matter. We’re all made from pieces. I’m a piece of my mother, a piece of my father. How’s it any different?”

John’s come a long way in his perception of the dead.

“Thanks,” I make myself say. “Your fingers tickle.”

The tiniest hint of a smile breaks his face beautifully. “I thought your kind couldn’t feel.”

“I feel.”

He’s still running his fingertips. “You feel,” he agrees.

I peer over at Megan, who’s relocated to a spot under a tree, and find her eyes cracked open. When she realizes she’s been caught, she shuts her eyes quickly. I smile.

An hour later, everyone’s awake and has had a small morning bite. When they begin to gather up their things, the Chief asks me how much farther we have. I tell him I estimate another day or so. His face shows something less than enthusiasm. Gill gives me nothing but darts for eyes, squeezing his daughter so tight I wonder if the poor little thing’s able to breathe at all.

I watch Megan as she bundles up her coat and slings a satchel over her shoulder, and that’s when my eyes drop to the spot in which she was sleeping. There’s a small tuft of grass there. Incredible, considering our environment.

“You found yourself a bed there,” I remark, nodding.

Megan scrunches her face up, confused. Then she follows my eyes and sees the grass herself. “Oh.” She blinks at it, surprised. “I didn’t notice.”

“Wait.” The exclamation comes from John, who’s rushed up. “You didn’t …
notice
it? Or was it not there before you fell asleep?” Megan is confused, not following.

I remember a weed poking out from the cobblestone right outside of Collin’s hospital in Trenton. It hadn’t struck me as odd until now. “Megan …”

“Try to remember,” John urges her. “Was this here before? Or do you think it’s at all possible that … maybe you might’ve …” He waves his hands in an effort to finish the sentence.

Megan stares at the spot of grass like we’re all crazy. “It’s just some grass,” she says, shaking her head. She’s pushing away our suggestions, denying it. Doesn’t matter that we haven’t spotted a single blade of grass since we left Trenton, not until now. And for the grass to be in the exact spot in which Megan slept for the night …

“Why don’t you try concentrating on it?” suggests Robin, her eyebrows lifted curiously. Even her twin Rake is leaning in, curious, an eagerness playing in his icy eyes.

Megan surveys all of us for a moment, realizing she has gotten everyone’s attention. With a little shrug, she gives into the suggestion, crouching down next to the grass. Slowly, gently, she runs her hand along the surface of the tiny green whiskers, weak little things they are. Nothing happens. She moves her hand away and leans forward, as if daring to kiss them next.

That’s when the grass responds. The little blades bend slightly toward her, swaying as if by a magnet.

“Megan!” the tall woman, Ash, exclaims. She slaps a hand to her mouth.

Now even Megan shows surprise in her face. I can’t tell if it’s just my imagination, but her eye even seems to shimmer as she lets her hand graze over the grass once more, watching in fascination as the little green things sway at her touch.

She looks up at me, excitement in her eyes, even the green one. “Winter!”

I can’t hide the smile that beams on my face. I bite my lip, overcome with watching the joy revive Megan’s spirit in this tiny, unexpected instant.

Moments later, all of our things have been gathered and we leave the green patch of life behind, advancing through the sparse woods. There isn’t a single thing we pass that Megan doesn’t graze with her hands now, curious if anything will happen, if any tiny stem of life will burst forth, if any little frond or leaf or tiny hidden vine will emerge from the gloom, eager to greet her fingertips.

“She always had it in her,” John mutters.

“Question is, what else is she unknowingly hiding in that eye of hers?” The joy of the discovery carries us on and on, our spirits lifted, hope renewed.

I wish I could say the same for the Chief. The joy of the moment is lost on him. His eyes are growing dark and his temperament is nothing short of irritable. The baby starts to cry and Gill fumbles in his bag to produce something for his daughter to eat, ends up spilling half a bottle of milk on the ground. We stop for a moment while he, with the help of the old man Nelson and the sisters, gathers everything back up.

“How much longer,” demands the Chief while we wait, his tone unfriendly and dry. It doesn’t sound like a question.

“I can’t be sure,” I confess to him, fearing his reaction. “To be fair, I was
flown
there in a matter of hours. Our speed on foot is considerably slower, so—”

“And you
saw
this so-called Garden?”

Not exactly. “There are …
very
big flowers. It is unlike anything I’ve … anything that I’ve … seen.” The words come out in a jumble, as the Chief’s harshness suddenly begins to fill me with doubt. Could the Shee-lady have deceived me? What if there
isn’t
a place with more of those big, purple-petaled flowers? What if we’re chasing a non-existent dream, wandering off to our doom?

I’m responsible for their lives. The realization dawns on me like a sickness. If any of them die, it’s on me.

Suddenly Gunner’s lifted his crossbow, and the whole group shifts to witness what’s caught his attention. When I turn, I see a figure approaching us from the distance. It’s an older woman draped from head to toe in green linens. The gentle breeze plays in them, and then I realize—

“Gunner, lower your weapon! That’s Jasmine!”

The others recognize her too, exchanging gasps, even a cheer from one of the women. Of all the Undead, Jasmine has always been one of the most respected. They nearly regard her as another one of them; a Human. The sight of her gives my insides such a lift, I could melt into a puddle right now. I think deep down, I was afraid I’d be the last remaining Undead on the whole planet that wasn’t taken by Grim’s fire-dancing necromancy.

“Jasmine!” I cry out as she approaches. I race up to her startled figure and embrace her. “I can’t believe it! We all thought we lost you at After’s Hold!”

“Yes,” she agrees mildly. “I thought so, too.”

I pull away. She seems so downcast. “What’s wrong, Jasmine? Are you hurt?”

“No, no,” she insists, her eyes heavy and clouded. “I have been wandering … a very long way,” she admits, her eyes surveying the others. “Hello.”

Gunner gives a nod for a greeting. The Chief grunts, along with a number of the Humans, some of whom smile, others nodding. John says, “I’d hoped you had made it out of that city.”

Almost ignoring him, Jasmine’s eyes find mine again. “Where are you all heading?”

“Garden,” I tell her, overcome. “Somewhere where your skill and wisdom will come in handy.” I laugh again, overjoyed. “You’re going to join us! It’s just another day or two east, maybe even closer than that. We’ll need all the help we can get, especially if we’re found by Grim and his army again.”

“Oh.” She smiles gently, though it doesn’t touch her hazy eyes. “No, we don’t have to worry about them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Winter.” She lays a hand gently on my face. Strange, how she isn’t calling me “rabbit” as usual. “Oh, Winter.”

I’m staring into her glassy eyes, and my own joyous smile crumbles away when I slowly realize it isn’t Jasmine whose eyes I’m staring into.

“Please,” her mouth says. “Stop running. Please. Your friends will die. John will die.
I’m
the one you belong with, not him. And I can bring happiness to the whole world. Every last Living and every last Dead.”

I thrust Jasmine’s hand off my face and back away. Gunner’s lifted his crossbow again, reading my instinct. John’s come up to my side protectively; he knows what’s happening too.

“Grim,” I say, addressing Jasmine’s eyes, staring deep into them. “You’ve destroyed our home. You’ve—”

“I’m making us a
new
home,” Jasmine insists, her jaw hanging slackly between her sentences, her eyes miles, miles, miles away. Grim uses her mouth and says, “Let go of the Humans, they serve you nothing but pain. Soon, the whole world will be our home, Winter, my love. This entire ruined planet … Every beautiful dead inch of it.”