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Like he didn’t want us asking questions.
She could have been someone he’d intended to take in, but his desire to kill got the best of him, and as he was doing what he does, she may have gotten away.
But the thing is, I can’t see him as the serial killer type. Sure, he totally killed people before the apocalypse, but he’s such a chill guy that I can’t see him doing it now.
Then again, perhaps Jeffrey Dahmer was the same. I wish I could go back to the Keep and look up various serial killers and how they interacted with the people around them, but that’s simply not an option. Cole needs answers now.
And besides, the last thing Britney needs is to have me around.
I miss her every day, and not just the good moments we had. Her annoyed glare was as adorable as it was unnerving.
I think about what my mom would have thought about her. Probably that she was too young. I would have thought the same, but in this new world, a ten-year age gap isn’t all that much.
But there’s no point in thinking about her. What could have been is gone, and right now, I have to focus on Hunter and why the fuck he’s killing people.
If only he were more unlikable, but he’s not a dick in the slightest. The fucker has night terrors, for crying out loud.
Which is admittedly fucking weird. We’ve never talked about his screams or the things he shouts, but hearing them sends chills up my spine.
After taking down a few dozen ragers, we head back to the safe house we’ve been holed up in and crack some beers.
For a moment, it’s almost like the world never crashed, and we’re just two men having cold ones. But life will never be that simple again.
Something is off about Hunter. It’s like he’s hyper focused when we’re supposed to be unwinding. I don’t like the look he’s giving me, which can only be described as cold apprehension.
There’s no way he could know what I’m up to, but he knows something.
Maybe he’s just itching to murder somebody, but I doubt that. We know where enough guys are holed up. If he’d wanted to kill someone, he could have. Instead, he spent his time looking for someone named Fiona.
Finally, after a long pull of beer, he says, “Why the hell are we out here?”
“Looking for survivors,” I reply with a casual shrug. “You know that.”
“That’s not the whole picture, and you know it.” He licks his lips, his eyes looking dangerous. “What aren’t you telling me?”
He’s suspicious, which makes sense. I appear out of nowhere as his wingman, and it’s finally occurred to him that something isn’t right.
Which is fine. I’ve prepared for this.
“We, ah, might have to close the Keep. It’s bad, but I’m sure you know that.”
“Then why are we here instead of someplace that might actually matter? There’s no way chicks are hiding so close to the dumps.”
“Because if we’re closing the Keep, every part matters. Besides, we found that one chick.”
The scowl on his face tells me he doesn’t trust me.
“Look, you’re welcome to go back to the Keep and ask Cole all the questions you want, but I’d just as soon stay here. Britney has it in her to castrate me after what I did to her father, and I like myself intact.”
“I don’t want to hurt you, Alistair.”
Oh…shit…
I furrow my brow in mock confusion.
He continues with, “But you’re not leaving me much choice.”
Alarmed, I look across the room at my sword, but as I go to retrieve it, I grow dizzy and fall back into my seat.
