After the Ending (16 page)

“You’re a piece of shit, Taylor,” Vaughn said in an even,
scathing tone. He raised his left arm, aiming a pistol at my attacker.

Taylor scoffed, but he looked nervous. With wide eyes and
a wavering voice, he spoke. “
Whatcha
gonna do with
that gun, Jake?”
Jake. Jake Vaughn.
Suddenly, Taylor seemed more sure of
himself. “I don’t think you have it in ya to kill someone.” He took a step
forward.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Jake said as he
glanced in my direction. There was recognition in his eyes I didn’t understand.

“I should’ve known we couldn’t get rid of you that
easily,” Taylor spat. “You’ve been causing problems since you got here.” In the
blink of an eye, he pulled out his own handgun and trained it on Jake. I
screamed in warning.

Before Taylor could pull the trigger, Jake put a bullet
in the left side of my tormentor’s chest. Taylor fell to the ground, and blood
seeped from the bullet hole. I hoped he’d been hit in the heart.

Jake didn’t move, studying the dying man crumpled in
front of me like he was waiting for him to get up. The dog at my side barked
just as I heard new footsteps coming up behind me.

“Well, well. I thought you were dead.” Jones’s voice was
eerily calm as he approached his fallen comrade.

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” Jake said dryly.
His eyes veered over to me, assessing my wounds from a distance in the dim
light.

My body shook violently as I sat on the ground, clinging
to the Husky. Jones’s presence erased any relief Taylor’s death had brought me.

“What did you do to my man?” The Captain asked as he bent
down and felt for Taylor’s pulse. He stood up immediately. “You son of a
bitch.” His voice was eerily calm. “You killed him. Did you kill Bennington
too? It’s like you’re
trying
to piss me off.”

“That’s what I tend to do when people are trying to kill
me,” Jake said dryly.

Advancing on Jake, Jones drew out his sidearm. In the
seconds of chaos that followed, gunshots cracked as they briefly exchanged
fire. I covered my ears and was about to run away when I looked back at Jake.

“Shit,” he hissed, crouching on the ground and holding
his arm against his abdomen. His face was twisted with pain, his breathing was
ragged, and his sleeve was saturated with blood—Jones had shot him in the
shoulder.

But Jones was down too. “Fuck!” he shouted, clutching his
kneecap. Before Jones could lift his gun to fire at Jake again, the dog lunged.
It tore viciously at Jones’s arm, then clamped its sharp teeth onto his injured
knee. The gun fell from Jones’s hand, and I shoved it out of his reach.

“
Aaah
!” Jones cried out in
pain. The Captain’s torturous screams harmonized with the dog’s angry snarls,
composing a gruesome ballad that reverberated through the woods. Leaning
against a tree, I covered my ears with my shaking hands.
Please stop,
I
begged.

As if by request, the world seemed to slow to a crawling
speed.

“Cooper!” Jake yelled, calling the dog off his assault on
Jones. As the Husky trotted over to his approaching owner, Jones remained on
the ground, writhing in pain. His clothes were ripped and bloodied from the
dog’s teeth, but that didn’t stop him from rolling over and reaching for
Taylor’s gun.

Before I could scream another warning, a bullet hit Jones
between the eyes, and he collapsed. I easily swallowed the bile rising in my
throat as I realized my tormentors were dead. Jake had killed them.

I looked up to find Jake leaning his good shoulder
against a tree. As he repositioned his wounded arm, he flinched, his face
pinching with pain. I hobbled over to him, my ankle throbbing with each step.
When I reached him, I pulled off my long-sleeve shirt, not caring that I was
left wearing only a tank top, and pressed the wadded up fabric against his
bleeding shoulder.

“Oh my God,” I said, visually searching his body for more
wounds. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” he said coldly and pushed me and my
blood-soaked shirt away. Before we broke contact, I mentally glimpsed a
dark-haired woman, bloody in his arms.

Date: December 22, 6:25 PM

From: Zoe Cartwright

To: Danielle O’Connor

Subject: I’ve had better days...

D,

Have I told you recently that I hate Cece? Well, I do. Who
the hell does she think she is? She thinks she can get away with all this
bullshit, does she? Well, I think this is a perfect excuse for Jason to get rid
of her. Seriously, he has no reason to hold back now. She’s obviously a
nutcase.

Speaking of crazy bastards…you know how I mentioned Jones
wanted something last night? Well, my encounter with him was less than ideal.
Our conversation started with an interrogation and ended with me running away.
Hindsight is a bitch. I really wish I would’ve handled the whole thing
differently. I won’t bother you with the morbid details. Basically, Dave’s a
douche and told Jones my secret. So of course Jones used it to try to threaten
me into submission. He swore he wouldn’t tell everyone about my strange power
if I kept my mouth shut and didn’t cause any problems for him. He was just as
sadistic and insane as I originally thought he was, hence the running away.

Taylor (the other really creepy guy) found me in the woods
shortly after I fled from Jones and attacked me. He hit me a couple times, but
I’m fine so don’t worry. Jones and Taylor, on the other hand, definitely aren’t
fine…they’re dead. No, it wasn’t me who killed them. A man named Jake Vaughn
showed up and helped me. I don’t know anything about him other than everyone
thought he was dead, and he saved my life. I haven’t seen him since. Regardless,
I’m really happy Jones and Taylor are dead and NEVER coming back. You can’t
imagine how horrible they were.

Although those two assholes were crazy, there are some women
here who seem okay. I’ve only briefly met them, but they are nice
enough...Clara, Stacey, Tanya, and Summer. I’m pretty sure Summer’s unwell, as
in sick and mentally shattered—I can feel it when she’s around me.

Anyway, now that the psychopaths have been disposed of,
everyone is settling into their new rooms in the barracks. I’m currently
“rehabilitating” in my new “sleeping quarters” (we’re being very official). I
have my own room, bed, and even a pleasant view of absolutely nothing. Well,
that’s a lie, there’s a dead dogwood tree outside my window, but that’s about
it. This base is pretty desolate as far as any scenery goes. But I’m anxious
and moody, so now I’m just finding things to complain about. Not a surprise. In
all honesty, I feel cooped up and about ready to scream. I haven’t been out of
my room at all today—Harper’s forcing me to rest for a day.

I’m not sure how long we’ll stay here, but I’ll let you know
as soon as I hear anything. I’ll check in with you tomorrow.

Zoe

Dani

Date: December 22, 11:30 PM

From: Danielle O’Connor

To: Zoe Cartwright

Subject: I’m SO Sorry

Zo,

What happened to you last night is insane…and horrible. And
so bad that I can’t think of any words that adequately describe my feelings.
Part of me wishes I could bring those two shitheads back to life just so we
could kill them again. I can’t believe they attacked you...are you sure you’re
okay? I’m glad that Jake guy was there. You might not have made it otherwise.
Crap, just thinking about that makes me want to cry. And scream. And torture
those dead guys. Dave is the cause of all this, and I’m thinking that, in place
of those two douchebags, I might beat the crap out of him once we’re all
together.

I wish I had the magical power to teleport to you. That
would fix so many of the problems we’re both having right now. We could look
out for each other, and I really just need to get away from all of the crap
going on over here. You see, the whole Cece thing has escalated. A lot. I know
you’ll be pissed at what I’m about to do. I’m so sorry, Zo.

Earlier this evening, I found a note from the evil bitch.
She warned me that I needed to leave the group. She said she (and her harem of
idiots) will kill Jason and Chris if I don’t leave tonight. I just lost Cam,
and though I know it’s not the same thing, I can’t handle losing Jason too. Or
Chris. Or anybody else. Plus there’s the chance that all of this drama will
calm down if I’m gone, and my friends will still be able to benefit from the
“safety in numbers” deal. So, I have to leave.

When you get this, can you send an email to Jason explaining
why I left? As soon as I have a chance, I’ll contact you. I love you, Zo.

Dani

“I’m done, Chris. Do you want to use my comp?” I asked after
I’d signed out of the incriminating email account.

From her reclined position on the bed, Chris nodded and
held her hands out to accept the silver laptop. I quickly handed it over.

Purposely fiddling with my fingers, I said, “I’m going to
Jason’s room for a bit. There’s some stuff I want to talk to him about.” I put
on a good show, making sure to sound a little breathy and anxious.

“
Mmhmm
,” Chris mumbled with a
small smile, her eyes already glued to the glowing screen. “Have a nice time.”

I rushed out of the room, Jack at my heels, confident
that my performance had worked. As far as Chris was concerned, I should be
spending the entire night in the arms of our womanizing leader. She wouldn’t be
concerned when I didn’t return.

My next stop really was Jason’s room but not for either
my stated or implied reasons. I tapped quietly on his door, two rooms down from
mine.
Make it quick, or this won’t work.

The door opened partially, exposing Jason’s
expressionless face. Upon seeing me, he cleared the way to the room and
motioned for me to enter. He was shirtless, and seeing his muscular torso
paralyzed my tongue.
I shook my head, finding it difficult to form the
words I’d planned to say.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You won’t come in?”

“No. I just came to say goodnight.”
To say goodbye.

“Oh, I thought…never mind.”
You thought what? That I wanted to fight more? That I wanted you to
finish what you almost started this morning?

“I guess all the crying wore me out,” I explained. “But…I
wanted you to know that I’m not mad at you.”
I wanted to tell you I’m
leaving, and that I can’t stand the idea of being away from you.

“Oh, good,” he said, sounding genuinely relieved. His
eyes softened as he looked at me, and I felt an overwhelming urge to do
something completely stupid.

Taking a step forward, I stood on tiptoes and brushed my
lips against his cheek. His rough stubble felt heavenly against my sensitive
skin. “Good night,” I whispered mere inches from his ear. My fingertips were
pressed lightly against his bare chest.
I can’t lose you.
Before Jason
had the chance to react, I stepped back and pulled the door shut between us.

Like stalking cats, Jack and I ghosted down the rest of
the hallway. Ky’s family home was quite large, equipped with two sets of stairs
connecting the first and second floors. I headed for the narrow set at the rear
of the house, conveniently leading me to the mudroom and backdoor.

Earlier that day—shortly after finding Cece’s heinous
note—I had gathered all of my essential belongings into my backpack and stowed
it in the mudroom closet. With everyone focused on dinner and consuming the
excess wine we’d brought from Gold Hill, it had been easy to complete the task
unnoticed.

The closet door creaked faintly when I opened it to
retrieve my pack. I paused, hoping desperately that nobody had heard. Only the
muffled sounds of drunken laughter permeated the door separating the small room
from the rest of the house.

I resumed my movements, covering my body with suitable
outerwear before quietly hoisting the pack onto my shoulders. Without a
backward glance, Jack and I slipped out the door into the unconventional safety
of a moonless winter night.

We made our way slowly up a rolling hillside behind the
house, me being especially careful not to twist my ankle in a hole or trip over
anything. It was a long shot, considering the tall grasses masking the ground.
After about twenty minutes, my eyes adjusted to the darkness and my
surroundings grew clearer. I finally felt comfortable with my decision to not
use a flashlight.

“Can you smell the horses, Jack?” I whispered to my
cautious dog. I knew they had to be close; we’d passed a stable and expansive
pastures on our way to Ky’s house that afternoon.

Halting, Jack raised his glinting black eyes to mine and
sniffed the air.
I felt like he really
was
searching for the
scent of horses.

On a hunch, I whispered, “Where are they? Take me to the
horses, Jack.”

Jack instantly surged forward and trotted through the
tall grass, slowing only when he realized I’d fallen behind. He took a path
slightly more to the right than I would have, making me question my decision to
use him as a guide.

Suddenly, the faint stench of hay and manure wafted
around me, and a long, gray-brown building came into view.
The stable!

“Good job, Jack!” I whispered. Trusting my dog had been
the right decision after all.

Picking up my pace, I headed for the stable. Jack bounded
around me with uncontrollable excitement. By the time we reached the door, he’d
stopped to pee twice; apparently the excitement had been too much.

Once we were safely inside, I relented on my flashlight
ban. There were only a few tiny windows letting in the glow from the stars, and
I needed light to find the necessary equipment. Unfortunately, as I began
exploring the building’s interior, I immediately noticed that an essential
element of my getaway plan was missing: horses.

Before I could investigate further, I was interrupted by
a loud bang. “Shit!” I yelped, nearly jumping out of my boots.
Is someone
here? Did I screw myself by using the damn flashlight?
Still, I didn’t have
the nerve to extinguish the little light.

BANG! Instead of running away and hiding, I slowly moved
toward the far end of the long building, where the sound seemed to originate.
I
wish Jason was here.

BANG! Jack rushed forward, scratching at one of the large
sliding corral doors.

BANG! The German Shepherd whined, and his scratching
became more enthusiastic, punctuated by brief moments of digging.
He wants
me to open it? What the hell is on the other side?

“Jack? What—”

BANG! My dog barked loudly, over and over again.

“Okay, but if I get mauled, it’s your fault,” I told him.

He backed away from the door, lying gracefully on the
cement floor.

BANG! Grumbling, I held the end of the flashlight in my
mouth and grasped the enormous metal door’s handle with both hands. With heavy
screeches and groans, it slowly slid open, and a huge Paint horse burst through
the space. I stumbled back several steps and dropped my flashlight.  
Well,
that solves the horse problem,
I thought as I bent to retrieve my sole
source of light.

The majestic horse ceased its anxious prancing and turned
to face me. I couldn’t believe that Jack was just lounging on the floor,
oblivious to the potential danger posed by the larger animal. As the horse
hesitantly approached me, I understood why. Every element of its body language
screamed,
Help me; I’ll help you.
The sense of mutual need was so strong
that I could feel it in my bones; it seemed to echo in my thoughts.

The horse nudged my shoulder with its silken nose and
raised its head to study me in the darkness.

“Hello, beautiful,” I said, tentatively reaching out my
free hand and stroking its neck. In the flashlight’s minimal light, I could
tell very little about the horse’s appearance, only that its coat was composed
of light and dark splotches and that its legs were caked in mud. I resolved to
get it cleaned up at the first opportunity.

“I have to get away. Will you come with me?” I asked the
horse, staring into its unwavering gaze.

Taking an easy step forward, it rested the side of its
face against mine. It definitely didn’t mind me, and leaving it behind would
mean it would die a slow death of starvation. There was only one option—the
horse was coming with me.

With a renewed purpose, I searched the storage room near
the middle of the stable for the items I needed. Luckily, everything was neatly
organized and had been kept in good shape.

After an hour of packing and saddling, my small company
of woman, horse, and dog was ready to ride off into the night. I started us
slowly, allowing the horse and myself to grow accustomed to each other, but my
urgent need to flee soon overwhelmed the steady walk. By the time we reached
Highway 1 and were following the coastline, my new companion and faithful dog
were cantering at a matched pace along the gravel shoulder.

My consciousness seemed to fade in and out of awareness
as the night flew by to the beat of hooves and the chorus of wind. I let the
animals take charge, only caring that we stuck to the highway that would
eventually lead us home. We took occasional walking breaks and a few brief
stops, but for the most part, we moved constantly through the chilly night.

When the sun finally peeked over the hills to the east, I
decided it was time to for a well-earned rest. Aside from the exhaustion of all
involved, we needed to get off the road in case some of my former group members
came after me. Or worse, in case there were Crazies out on a road trip.

My body swayed to the steady, slow rhythm of the horse’s
movements. We passed a sign declaring, “Manchester, POP. 462,” and I knew
exactly where to stop for the day. My crazy aunt, Janet O’Connor, owned a ranch
less than a mile south of town.
Will she be there? Will she be alive?

But the health status of my extended family didn’t
surpass my new group’s need for a suitable rest stop. I dismounted and led the
final quarter mile to Aunt Janet’s property on foot. The poor horse had carried
me an unbelievable distance and deserved a cooldown before stopping.

By the time we reached the house, my insides were knotted
with anxiety. I’d never been overly fond of my aunt; her animosity toward her
younger sister—my deceased mother—had driven a wedge between us. She’d always
sneered at the decisions my mother had made—the decisions that had led to my
birth and my mother’s death.

My mother, Ceara O’Connor, had been a wild child. She ran
away with an unknown American boy when she was seventeen, found herself
pregnant and alone at eighteen, and died in childbirth at nineteen. Only Grams
and her unwavering love had saved me from the intermittent bursts of guilt and
depression that plagued my childhood. Aunt Janet, on the other hand, had taken
those opportunities to remind me of her opinion of my mother—that she’d been
reckless and selfish, and that I was better off without her. I’d never believed
my aunt, and had grown to resent her.

Regardless, the idea of finding one of my family members
dead was almost more than I could handle. But I had to check, just in case.
Leading the horse to the empty pasture, I sucked in deep breaths and steadied
my nerves.
If she’s dead, she’s dead, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
But if she’s alive and needs help…I’ll never forgive myself for abandoning
her.

The sweaty horse heaved relieved breaths at the removal
of her tack. I hauled everything into the barn, and after neatly arranging it
all, set out for the house with my dog.
I really don’t want to do this.

As soon as I opened the back door, the stench from inside
waylaid me like a freight train, carrying death and sadness as its cargo. I
searched the house’s interior quickly and found my aunt in her bathroom, her
corpse barely recognizable with its gray mottled tones and misshapen parts.
She
must have passed early on
, I thought numbly.

“Let’s go, Jack,” I said trying not to gag. He followed
as I rushed from the house, gasping for the fresh, frigid morning air.

I returned to the barn in a daze, found some oats, and
brought them out to reward my new equine companion.
Aunt Janet’s dead. What
about Grams? No! Stop it!
I needed a distraction.

“What’s your name, Pretty Girl?” I asked the horse as she
ambled closer, eager for the treat I offered. I thought back on all she’d done
for me, providing a means of escape from a desperate situation. Without
hesitation she’d taken me away, flying through the night like Pegasus.