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Zombie looks at her. Glowering. “Who. The fuck. Are you?”
Her smile expands. “My name is Constance. Constance Pierce. I’m sorry. I know we’ve never met, but it feels like I know you. You’re practically all Marika talks about.”
He stares at her for a second. “Marika,” he echoes.
“That would be me,” I tell him.
Now staring at me. “You never told me your name was Marika.”
“You never asked.”
“I never . . . ??
?? He hiccups a humorless laugh and shakes his head. Then, without another word, he drops into the pit. I rush to the edge, thinking he’s lost his mind, gone Dorothy, that Teacup’s death was the final, tiny straw that broke his back. Why else would he jump in there? Then I see him grab his rifle, sling it over his shoulder, and crawl back to the edge. We lock our fingers around each other’s wrists and I pull him out.
“Where’re the others?” he demands.
“Others?” That loaded word.
“Survivors. Are they in the caves?”
I shake my head. “There are no other survivors, Zombie.”
“Just Marika and me,” Constance chirps. Why does she have to be so goddamned cheerful?
Zombie ignores her. “Dumbo’s been shot,” he informs me. “I left him in Urbana. Let’s go.”
He brushes past me and strides toward the road without looking back. Constance is watching me.
“My! Isn’t he a cutie?”
I tell her to fuck off.
31
I FALL IN next to him. Constance trails several yards behind—out of normal human earshot, but Constance isn’t a normal human. Zombie walks with shoulders hunched, head thrust forward, eyes darting up, down, side to side. The road stretches before us, cutting across rolling farmland that will never be farmland again.
“What Teacup did was her choice,” I say. “Not your fault, Zombie.”
A sharp shake of his head, then: “Why didn’t you come back?”
Deep breath. Time to lie again. “Too risky.”
“Yeah. Well. It’s all about the risk, isn’t it?” Then: “Poundcake is dead.”
“Impossible.” I saw the surveillance tape. I counted the people in the safe house. If Poundcake’s dead, who’s the extra person?
“Impossible? Really?” he says. “How do you figure?”
“What happened?”
He waves his hand at me like he’s brushing away a gnat. “Had a little trouble after you left. Long story. Short story: Walker found us. Vosch found us. A Silencer found us. Then Cake blew himself up.” His eyes close briefly, snap open again. “We rode out the rest of the winter in the dead Silencer’s safe house. We have four days left, which is why Bo and I decided to come for you.” He swallows. “Why I decided.”
“Four days left till what?”
He glances at me, and the smile that crawls across his face is frightening. “The end of the world.”
32
