Page 90 of My Undead Love Life

My heart was still racing. “Mad, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, flare.” He used his name for me, and the tight part of my chest loosened at the sound. “I’m okay. The fucker only got my backpack.”

His backpack lay half-shredded near the door, straps torn, supplies spilling out. The sight made me sick because that could have been his back.

“Thank God,” I breathed. I crawled toward him without thinking and pressed my hands to his chest, then his shoulders, and his arms.

“Spencer—”

“Let me check.”

His golden eyes softened, and he let me. “Okay.”

My hands moved over him quickly, searching for blood, torn fabric, anything wrong. His coat was ripped in one place near his side, but the layers beneath were intact. I didn’t feel the warmth of blood or any puncture wounds.

Relief whooshed through me so hard I almost collapsed.

Mad caught my wrist gently. “I’m okay, flare.”

I nodded, but my throat was too tight to answer. My gaze slid across the van and snagged on the back of it. All of my grief flooded back so fast I couldn’t breathe. Hot tears pricked my eyes, and the van around me blurred.

“No way…” I whispered.

“What is it?” Oxi asked, panic tinging his voice.

I crawled closer, and scratched into the metal paneling on the inside wall were words.

Words of encouragement.

My fingers trembled as I reached out and brushed them over the uneven lines. The grooves caught against my gloves. Some letters were deeper than others, rushed in places, but still easy to read.

“What does it say?” Luck asked.

I swallowed, but my voice still shook as I read it aloud. “If you’re reading this, you’ve made it farther than most. Watch out for the snow leopards. If you’ve lost someone…I’m sorry. Don’t let it end you. Keep moving. There’s still something worth finding.”

The van went silent.

My heart pounded so hard it hurt because I knew those words and that handwriting. “Keith,” I breathed.

Mad shifted slightly. “Spencer…”

“It’s him,” I croaked. “It has to be. He used to do this all the time. He left notes for people. Warnings. Words of encouragement.”

Memories crashed through me of Keith scratching arrows into trees when we cleared new paths, leaving jokes on supply cabinets at the Oasis because he said people needed to smile more, and carving careful messages into safe house walls when we passed through them.

Water two blocks east.

Horde trapped inside the pharmacy basement.

You’re tired, but you’re alive. Keep going.

He had always believed somebody might pass by after us and need help.

Oxi frowned, studying the scratches. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “I know him. This is exactly something he would write.”

Luck glanced at the message, then back at me. “Or someone like him.”