Page 92

Kasey

There are more ghosts than people now.

Avoid people. They’re worse to be haunted by.

Damn it, they’ve moved their food again .

After dumping the rest of the nearly empty food barrel in with the farm animals, I was supposed to be securing another bag of jerky by now, but instead...

I stare at the cleared spot beside Akira, where Reapers had moved their food pile to last time.

It’s in the center of their camp, but honestly, at this time of night, ninety-five percent of them are asleep, and I can usually walk right in.

Their “watch” on the forest usually consists of two or three sleepy-as-hell dudes sitting against a tree and trying not to doze off, and their watch on Bristlebrook is even more pathetic.

Meaning nonexistent.

But they’ve moved the pile, and damn it, I can’t see where they put it.

They better not have rigged it up a tree again, because that was just a disaster for everyone involved.

I look up, but the stretching boughs are empty, groaning ominously in the wind.

The clouds are rolling past thick and black, and it reminds me of That Day—how they blocked out the sky. How unnatural it felt.

How it smelled like fire and death.

The night suddenly seems full of shadows, and goosebumps race over my arms.

Scowling, I back up from the Reapers’ camp, twirling my knife between my fingers. Whatever. It’s not like we need food anymore, I guess. My gut churns. Ethel was sitting up today, so at least she’s not going to die on me, too.

Not today, anyway. But it’s only a matter of time.

First my dad, then my mom. Most of my friends. Even my dog ran in front of a car mid-playdate when I was five.

I’m cursed as shit.

From now on, I’m only making sturdy friends.

Hurrying back toward home, I tuck my knife into my pocket, then adjust the pistol in my belt. Jayk would flip if he knew I took it from the supply, but I’m not stupid. I’m not coming out here unarmed.

I’m a decent shot now, too.

Something prickles over my hair, and I jump, then slap down the twig catching in it, my heart hammering.

Ugh. Stupid.

It’s the forest, Kasey, the hell do you expect?

But the forest is creepy as hell without any moonlight, and the swaying bushes are making me flinch. Everything is creaking and crunchy—except the quiet around the sounds is too deep for them to be anything but a horror flick’s back-track.

Something snaps deep in the woods, and I freeze, eyeing the shadows.

It’s followed by a thick, dragging gasp.

It comes from a dark tree, with long, drooping branches that slither over the ground—a weeping willow.

I back up.

Nah, I’m out.

I don’t fuck with the spooky shit.

“... it was good. I’m glad we got to do this. It’s better this way. Nicer, you know? Gosh, they’re sweet as peaches, ain’t they?”

My head snaps around.

Oh, come on . Bull shit this is the one night their watch has actually decided to do more than scratch their balls every five minutes.

I don’t know what exactly a Reaper would do if they found me, but best case, I get dragged back to Jayk, and I get my ass handed to me on a fucking platter.

The answering voice is even closer. “Sweeter. We should’ve done it sooner. Imagine if we’d come years ago.”

There’s a thoughtful quiet as they stomp through the forest to my left.

Exactly where I need to go. Whoopie for me.

I throw a look at the shadowed willow, where I’m ninety percent sure the Grudge is waiting for me.

It whispers at me through the dark.

“Might’ve saved a lot of people if we had.”

Damn it, ghost bitch it is.

Before the Reapers can round the massive boulder and see me, I skid over the underbrush and slip in between the crying, whispering branches. I back up toward the trunk as they enclose me like a curtain.

The back of my boot hits something.

And the next thick, dragging gasp comes from right beside me.

My scream traps in my throat as I stagger backward, tripping against the trunk, and I come down hard and clawing for purchase.

Beside me, a white, ghostly face jackknifes up. Its lips are blue, and long, thin fingers clutch at its throat. Its mouth is devouringly open.

Fear melts every brain cell I have as I scramble back, fumbling for my knife. My pistol. I don’t fucking care what, just so long as I kill the motherbleeping ghoul ghost that’s going to fucking end me and my cursed freaking life .

“He . . . help .”

My shaking hands stop on my belt, and I look up.

Do ghosts speak? Aside from, you know, like kill-die-kill kind of stuff?

There are long, jean-clad legs underneath mine, and a bulging pack against the trunk—complete with a rolled-up swag—and I frown.

Pretty sure ghosts don’t need to have packs. Or stuff to sleep in.

On account of being dead.

Boots crunch by our tree, the Reapers chattering, and the ghost tries to drag in another breath. Its head turns toward the passing men, and I leap forward, turning it back and shaking my head, gesturing for quiet.

It shakes its head back, its eyes just as desperate—and I should really stop thinking of it as an it , because with all my incredible powers of deduction, I’m becoming more and more sure that it’s just a boy. A teenager. One maybe only a little older than me.

His hand catches my wrist, and his fingers are surprisingly strong.

I catch flashes of color—their clothes, glimpses of their faces. Then the boots walk past us, deeper into the woods.

“ Help ,” he says again, this time more clearly, and I snort, staring wide-eyed at his face.

“Yeah, no shit you need help.”

But there’s no help here.

There’s only me. And I’m way too cursed to help the nearly dead.

He shakes his head again. “Help... them . Hel?—”

God damn it.

I grab his pack, ripping open the zipper. “Dude, take a hint. Preserve your oxygen. Do you have an inhaler or something in here?”

I pull out clothes. Maps. A compass. Rations. Why does he have like three freaking books in here?

No inhaler.

Oh, sure, bring books. Why would he bring something practical? Like maybe some life-saving medicine !

Idiot.

He slumps back into the dirt, and I glance at his face—it’s all haunted hollows. Deep, dark hair, and sallow eyes, and skin I can almost see through. He doesn’t have a single weapon on him.

He looks . . . fragile.

Not sturdy at all .

“Who the hell left you outside alone?” I mutter, but panic is making me frantic, and I dig deeper into his bag.

My fingers hit a container, and it rattles as I drag it out. I can barely make out the jumbled words on the label, and I have no idea what they’d mean anyway, but it looks vaguely medical. I hold it up.

“This? Will this help?”

The boy closes his eyes, shaking his head. “Only . . . for emergencies. You need . . . to stop. They . . . they need help .”

Only for?—

“My man, I hate to break it to you, but this is an emergency !” I hiss, opening the container.

As if in defiance of me threatening him with medicine, his breathing steadies a little.

It still sounds like he’s breathing through a sieve.

I shove two pills into his mouth and hope it’s not too much or too little, then unscrew my water and jam it into his face.

“I’ll force it down your throat, I swear to all the undead I thought you were.”

The boy’s gaze flickers to me in the first spark of irritation—or life—that I’ve seen from him, and he takes the water and sips it, swallowing the pills.

He hands me back the bottle. “Not fast-acting.” He drags in another breath and shudders. “Enough. We need to go.”

His wrists are delicate, smaller than mine, and his hand shakes as he grasps his pack, pulling it toward him.

“You sound like a boat that won’t start. How about you chill the hell out here for a bit? I can get help.” I eye him.

This kid wouldn’t die before I got Beau out here, would he?

And yeah, he might be around my age, maybe even older, but out here, he’s not .

Ethel, Ida, and I were living out in the forest and around the towns nearby for two years before we hooked up with Madison.

I know how to start a fire out of dry wood and wishes.

I can carve up a fish or a rabbit without ever nicking the stomach.

I know which way north is by how the moss grows on a tree.

Out here, it’s dog years, and I’m racking them up.

This kid looks cold. His jacket is made for school excursions—it’s not lined or waterproof or anything.

He’s in jeans and crappy, showy boots that have zero grip.

His black hair is falling over his haunted face, he’s so slender that his whole fragile body jangles with every breath, and damn it, his lips are still blue.

He’s softer than me. Hell, he’s prettier than me.

He shouldn’t be out here.

He lookslike a sad ending to a book.

I freaking hate sad endings.

But he’s already tugging his pack on. “They’re... going to attack. We need...” He coughs into his elbow, then drags another breath through his nose as he pulls himself up. “We need to warn them.”

That gets my attention.

“The Reapers? How the hell do you know that? Did you hear something?”

Alarm spears me. Shit, I know we have people on watch, but like, five to one of them is Team Reaper after today. They’re not expecting a fight.

But my ghost just stands, giving me only a brief look as he makes to go. “Not them.”

I jump to my feet and grab his arm. “Don’t just storm out there, idiot! You need to tell me what’s?—”

Somewhere behind us, there’s the beginning of a sharp, male cry... and it cuts off just a second later.

My heart stalls, and a pulse flutters under my fingertips.

I look at him. His eyes meet mine, dark enough to swallow the night, and I realize we’re about the same size.

Don’t do it, I silently warn my ghost before he can disappear. I can take you.

My curse isn’t getting you today.

But he slips out of my grip like a wraith, trying to make a run out of the willow’s creepy ass branches. I grab the back of his pack with both hands and yank him back hard, throwing him against the trunk.