Page 2 of Worshiping Faith

Shit.

Theylivewith us now. All of them.

Every last one has a room in the old brass wing, doors away from mine.

A flicker of movement catches my eye. I glance up.

Trip.

Standing near the edge of the yard, arms crossed, gaze steady. Watching me.

I look away.

They talked about me. Decided something. Made plans. Like it was up to them.

Like I don’t get a fucking say.

Fuck that.

I keep my gaze down as I near the administrative building. The gravel here is darker in patches. The gore is gone, scrubbed away by rain and bleach, but the blood hassoakedinto this place. Intous.

Most of the buildings are quiet now.Too quiet.

Dax made it clear which ones were communal, and no one’s challenged him. Not yet. Not openly, at least.

Quince and a few of the other guards, ones I still haven’t put names to, hadn’t looked pleased about taking orders from a con.

Too bad.

My boots click against the dingy floors as I step inside. The scent of bleach clings to the walls, sharp and acrid, but it doesn’t quite win. The stench of rot still lingers underneath, clinging like a stain.

Or maybe that’s just in my head. Maybe it’s burned so deep into my memory that I’ll always smell it.

I push forward, heading for the file room.

The first day comes back to me. Warden Sinclair at his desk, his rudeness with the paper files. But today? I’m grateful for it. Even if that bastard would have never given me access to the full records.

The prison’s internal database is useless. It’s been down since the world went to shit, and I doubt anyone’s bringing it back online.

It doesn’t matter.

Because while our outbreak was contained to the island, themonsterswho created the virus weren’t satisfied with just one test site.

Several high-security prisons on the mainland, facilities where the forgotten and unwanted were locked away, were also infected. The experiments ran deep.

I hope the people who started this suffered before they died.

And if they didn’t?

I hope Dax and I get off this island one day, so I can kill them myself.

“What’s up, Doc?” Zachs’ voice yanks me from my thoughts.

Of course it’s him. I exhale sharply, already bracing for whatever bullshit he’s about to throw at me. He’s the last person I want to deal with right now.

I don’t want to talk aboutanyof this withanyof them.

Least of allhim.