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CHAPTER 39

Reed

I watch Noah from a distance, my heart clenching tight in my chest as he sits there talking to the siblings—Molly and Jake—I’ve come to realize. The weight of his sadness sits heavy, suffocating the air between us. He doesn’t realize I’m here, just a few feet away. I thought hiding from him would be more difficult than this, but Noah is oblivious to his surroundings.

Every time his fingers fidget, his shoulder tensing when someone brings up a topic about being alone, he’s quick to change the subject. It makes me want to go to him. To step forward and say that I’m here, that everything is okay. I want to pull him out of the darkness that he’s sinking into. But I can’t. Even against the desperate fight waging inside my head.

Noah needed space; he needed to find his friends on his own. That doesn’t mean I willingly let him go like he thought. He barely made it five feet out of the cabin before I was following him.

My hands curl into fists as I watch Noah sit next to Jake. I have no right, but jealousy burns slow and sharp in my chest. It coils itself around my ribs as they sit next to each other. Noah’s too close, closer than I like. Why couldn’t he just sit across from him like he was five minutes ago before he started showing Molly some weird cheerleading moves?

I try to tell myself it’s nothing and that I have no reason to feel this way. But it doesn’t stick. All I can focus on is the way Jake leans closer to Noah. Too fucking close.

I step forward, my fingers twitching at my side, the restless energy burning a hole in my body. Why doesn’t Noah lean away? I could just simply walk over there and sit down. I’ll join the conversation, reminding Noah that he’s still mine, because he is still mine.

Noah stands up, his gaze shifting to the woods before taking off.

“Hey, I uh haven’t seen you around here,” someone said beside me. Ignoring the question, I move past the fire towards the woods.

The trees close in around me, branches hitting me as I move through. Why is he going this far out? Noah doesn’t have his mallet; he has nothing. And if a zombie comes out of nowhere, he’ll have nothing to defend himself with.

Anger spikes in my veins. How is he being so stupid?

I don’t stop following him until he comes across a small riverbank. Stopping near a tree, I hide most of my body behind it, waiting to see what his plans are. The river moves slowly and quietly. Only the pale touch of the moon leaves enough light that I can see the shadows, as well as the tension in his back. Noah hunches over the riverbank; I already know what he’s doing—he’s too deep into his own mind. He’s lost in thought that’s clawing at him, breaking that little spirit he has.

I want to go to him, to drag his body into mine, to remind him that he’s not alone. I’ve been here the entire time, watching and waiting. I don’t even remember why I’m hiding anymore. He doesn’t need those people—I’m his guy.

It’s then I see it. Off in the distance, the dull gleam of ruined flesh, the slow jerky movements.

My pulse hammers, my gaze bouncing between Noah and the dead thing.

He has nothing to fight with, no weapons, absolutely nothing to defend himself with. I roll my neck, letting out a shaky breath. I’ve stayed away for a reason, one I can think of. So when my feet move before I can stop them, I ignore the ping of guilt of letting him walk off in the first place. Branches beneath my feet crack, twigs catching on my boots. The rush of outing myself gives me enough adrenaline that when I tighten my grip around my knife's handle, I throw the blade at the zombie's head, embedding it in his forehead. The zombie crumples to the ground, unmoving.

My gaze stays on the corpse, waiting for the thing to move. Only it doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t; the knife is rooted into the dead man's head. He’s not going to come back, not again.

Suddenly the world feels too small, the air being sucked out, leaving my heart pounding in my ears. My hands curl into fists, my breath sharp and ragged, but none of it matters.

I feel his eyes on me. There’s no undoing this now. I’ve outed myself, and it’s too late to hide now. My body goes cold, a creeping dread that wraps around my ribs. I wasn’t supposed to let him see me, not yet. And now there’s no hiding, no pretending I’m not here. My throat locks up as I lift my gaze to his.

“Oh, you son of a bitch.”