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37
Harlow
Kimber leaned against the stall wall next to where the door would slide open, and I sat on the floor braiding my hair as we waited.
“You’re sure he’s going to come?” she asked, not for the first time.
“I am pretty sure. He said he would.”
She scowled and shook her head. “I don’t trust him.”
“You know that I don’t either. But I also don’t see a better chance to get out of here.”
“I can overpower Wyatt and run up and kidnap you from the house,” Kimber said, as if she was some kind of superhero instead of a malnourished teenager.
“Even if you could overpower Wyatt, you know the moment you touched him, they would set the domestic zombies after you. And those are ridiculously fast,” I reminded her. “You would be zombie food before you even made it to the house.”
“Yeah, they definitely would feed me to the zombies,” she agreed wryly. “You know, before all the end of the world shit, when I was just a normal angsty tween growing up in Portland, I always thought it would be cool to die by zombie. Boy, was I proven wrong.”
“I always thought it would be cool to die of old age on a big comfy bed, surrounded by my loved ones,” I said.
“Yeah. That way does sound a lot nicer.”
“But I would settle for anything other than starvation or zombies at this –”
“Shhh,” Kimber silenced me. “I hear something.”
I stood up and listened for the sound of footsteps approaching, and I saw the warm glow of a lantern coming down the corridor.
I glanced over at Kimber and whispered, “Ready?” She nodded, but it didn’t matter if she was ready or not. The door was sliding open, and we’d have to act now.
Waylon held the lantern up near his head, illuminating his happy grin. “Good evening, Harlow.”
“I wasn’t sure if you would really come tonight,” I said, and the relief in my voice was genuine.
“I told you I would, and I’m a man of my word,” he pledged.
I hadn’t made any move toward him, and he remained in the corridor. If he didn’t step inside, it would be much harder for Kimber to get a jump on him, but I couldn’t make it conspicuous that I was drawing him into a trap.
“You still don’t trust me, do you?” Waylon asked.
“I find it hard to trust anyone anymore.” I toyed with the long sleeves of my shirt and took a step backward, moving away from him.
“That is likely why you’ve survived for so long,” he said thoughtfully. “But I am more than willing to do what it takes to earn your trust.”
Finally, he stepped forward, closing the gap between us, and entering the horse stall. He didn’t bother to look around, and he was so focused on me, he must’ve forgotten that Kimber even existed.
He was taller than her, and probably stronger if his biceps were any indication, but she was stealthy and slid into the shadow behind him. Before he noticed her, she jumped onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck.
Waylon cried out in surprise and dropped the kerosene lantern. Kimber grabbed onto the keys dangling around his neck and tore them off right before he bit her arm. She released him and dropped to the ground, and I rushed over to her.
“What the hell, Harlow?” Waylon shouted in dismay, and he pulled his gun from the waistband of his pants.
I was crouched on the floor beside Kimber, and he pointed the weapon right at us.
“I don’t want to die!” I yelled at him, and my voice cracked. “Please! I never wanted to hurt you, but I can’t stay here. Your family will kill me, and I don’t want to die.”
“I can protect you! That’s why I marked you,” he insisted. “I was moving you into the house! You could’ve been safe and happy here, Harlow. I would’ve seen to it.”
