Hemlock 03: Willowgrove (28 page)

Kyle opened the folder.

It was all there. The making of an epidemic.

Research notes. Genealogy charts and paths of infection. Maps with a scattering of places in the Mediterranean and Europe circled in red. Videos of a man and woman in separate cells. Resignation letters from doctors condemning the work they were doing and internal memos about the legality of the tests they were conducting.

Neither of us spoke; we just stared at the screen, trying to wrap our heads around the enormity of what we were seeing.

They had let it out.

Lupine syndrome had been in the shadows forever. A virus that had been present in a handful of places, one whose spread had been tightly controlled by the people infected. Somehow, CutterBrown had found it. They had been arrogant enough to believe they could manipulate the virus and revolutionize the history of medicine; instead, they had accidentally unleashed LS on the world.

CutterBrown hadn’t just been trying to cure LS at Van
Horne; they had been trying to correct the mistake they had made.

A wave of cold swept through me. Everyone who had ever been infected, anyone who had ever died after an attack—CBP was responsible for all of them.

I looked at Kyle. If it hadn’t been for CutterBrown, he and Serena would never have been infected and Amy would still be alive. If it hadn’t been for CutterBrown, Stephen would never have met Sinclair and Ben might not have turned into a monster. No Trackers for Jason to join and no camps. The entire world would be different.

“This is what Sinclair and Zenith wanted. This is why they needed Stephen.” My voice was hoarse. It was an effort to speak. “They thought there might be answers in the original research studies. They had Natalie Goodwin and the other researchers, but they still needed the original data.”

“Thornhill is nothing compared to this.” Kyle flexed his hands. “Sinclair and Zenith will tear the world apart to get their hands on this disc, and CutterBrown would probably kill us if they knew we had it. It doesn’t matter how far we run: sooner or later, someone is going to catch up to us.”

I pushed myself to my feet and stared down at him. The answer seemed at once both simple and terrifying. “Then we don’t run. We fight back.”

A
FLOORBOARD CREAKED, BUT I DIDN’T TURN, NOT EVEN
as Kyle came up behind me and placed his hands on my shoulders, a light touch that helped anchor me.

“You promised you would get a few hours of sleep.”

“I promised I would try,” I corrected as I stared down at the street through a gap in the curtains. Shadows moved below. Not Trackers—at least not all of them. The smash-and-grabbers were out in force.

What had started as a clash between the Trackers and the RfW had turned into a free-for-all, and it seemed like every thug and lowlife in Hemlock was hell-bent on sacking the town.

“It feels like the end of the world.” I wasn’t just talking about what was happening outside.

“It’s not.” Kyle slid his hands down my arms. “The sun will be up soon. Things will be better then.”

I wanted to believe him, but I had a horrible feeling that all sunrise would bring was a clearer look at the damage.

“Come back to bed.” Kyle threaded his fingers through
mine and gently tugged me away from the window.

I glanced at the couch as we crossed the living room. Kyle had insisted I get some sleep, but he had stayed out here. It was the closest spot to the apartment door and had the only view of Elm Street. It was a defensive position, a spot he could protect me from if the trouble reached our building.

I followed him down the hall and into my room.

The space had seemed strange and a little alien after I had gotten back from Thornhill—almost as though it had belonged to some other girl. It felt that way now. Like the events and betrayals of the past few hours had changed me and I no longer fit.

I sat on the edge of the bed. Kyle leaned down to brush a light kiss across my lips. “I’ll be right down the hall,” he promised.

I caught his hand as he turned to leave. Even back here, at the far end of the apartment, I could hear the sounds of destruction from outside. “Wait.” I shivered; I had ditched my jeans before crawling into bed earlier, and I was suddenly conscious of the fact that all I was wearing was an oversized T-shirt. “Stay with me?” If someone was really determined to break into the apartment, it wouldn’t matter what room Kyle was in, and I didn’t want to be alone.

He hesitated, his desire to stay warring with the need to feel he was doing all he could to keep me safe. I felt something inside of me crack at the idea that he might say no.

It was like the night after I had almost died in the woods: I didn’t want to close my eyes—not if I was alone.

It was weak and stupid and I hated it, but it was the truth.

Kyle cupped my cheek with his hand. “I’ll be right back,” he said, lightly tracing the edge of my jaw with the pad of his thumb before turning and heading down the hall.

A knot in my chest loosened.

I slipped under the sheets and scooted toward the wall, making room for him.

Kyle came back and set something on the nightstand. “I didn’t want to leave the DVDs out of our sight,” he explained, kicking off his sneakers. The mattress dipped under his weight as he stretched out beside me.

I shifted closer and rested my head on his chest. The werewolf-quick beat of his heart was comforting. It was strong and fast and true. It was Kyle. Everything he was.

He slipped an arm around me. “You know nothing you said is final, right? All that stuff you said about fighting.” His fingers traced light, comforting patterns over my shoulder and collarbone, making me shiver when his touch grazed skin. “You can still walk away. You’re not a werewolf: it’s not your fight.”

“Of course it is.” I raised myself up on my elbow. “It involves you and Serena. That makes it my fight. Besides, after what we saw on those discs, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I just walked away. People need to know how the epidemic started and what’s been happening since.”

Kyle stared up at me with an intensity that made me blush. “You’re incredible. You know that, right?”

I bit my lip. “Good way or bad way?”

In answer, he pulled me down for a kiss that sent sparks racing along my skin and made things inside of me tighten and tremble.

Sirens sounded from somewhere outside, but when Kyle kissed me, it seemed possible to forget—just for a second—how completely messed up the world had become and how scared I was.

It made me want more. More than I knew how to ask for.

I needed to forget. To lose myself. It was the only way I would make it through the night.

Somehow, we switched places so that my back was to the mattress while Kyle’s body covered mine. His shirt had disappeared; I couldn’t recall either of us breaking apart long enough to remove it. I slid my hands over his chest and along his ribs before gently running my fingertips over the scars on his back.

Kyle moved my hand away, but I shook my head.

Those scars were part of him. They had changed everything, and at the same time, they changed nothing.

They didn’t change how I felt.

Outside, the city was tearing itself apart. Suddenly, all I wanted was one good thing to hold on to. Something the horror of the past few days—the past few months—couldn’t touch.

I wanted him.

“Kyle?” Warmth flooded my cheeks.

He pulled back so he could study my face. “What is it?”

“I . . .” I swallowed. I wished my life were a movie or one of those glossy TV shows where people always just seemed
to know it was time to take things to the next level without awkward pauses and even more awkward words.

“Do you want to stop?”

“No!” The word was a hoarse shout that made me blush harder. I let out a shaky breath. “I want the exact opposite of stopping.”

Kyle sat up and stared down at me as though I had randomly started speaking Russian.

Words tripped out of my mouth and over one another. “I mean . . . that is . . . unless you don’t want to.”

“Mac . . . I . . .” He shook his head.

A surprisingly sharp pang pierced my chest at the realization that Kyle really didn’t want this. “It’s okay,” I said, voice strained as I fought to save face. I tried to tell myself that it was no big deal—so what if the world outside was ending and who cared if Kyle had done this before with someone else—but it was. It was a big deal.

Don’t cry
, I thought. If I cried, the humiliation of this moment would be utterly complete.

“Mac . . .”

I shook my head and turned my face to the side. I couldn’t look at him.

Gently but firmly, Kyle placed two fingers against my cheek and turned my face back to him. “I want to—
believe me, I do
—but I don’t have anything with me. I left my wallet at Jason’s.”

I stared up at him dumbly, not sure what his wallet—or Jason—had to do with anything.

“I don’t have a condom,” he said, and even in the
darkness, it was impossible to miss the embarrassment on his face.

“Oh!”
For a second, I sagged against the mattress in relief and then I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stumbled to the closet. Kyle and I had agreed to take things slowly after we got back, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about the possibility that something might happen. It didn’t mean part of me—a big part—hadn’t wanted something to happen.

I stood on tiptoe and fumbled for the small box I had stashed under a pile of old sweaters on my closet shelf. A second later, I turned, foil packet in hand. I held it out awkwardly. “I sort of made a trip to the drugstore. Just . . . y’know . . . in case.”

Kyle stood and crossed the room. His jeans hung just a little too low on his hips and the closer he got, the harder it was to think.

His hand closed over mine. “And this is what you want?” He searched my face, looking for any sign of hesitation. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. This won’t be our only chance. I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll be okay.”

It was a promise we both knew he couldn’t possibly make or keep.

“I want this. I want you.” I had never felt more certain of anything in my life.

Slowly, with frequent stops to kiss and clumsily remove bits of clothing, we made our way back to the bed.

Kyle had done this before and I hadn’t, but that didn’t matter.

Each touch and every kiss was a promise that we belonged to each other. No matter what happened—tomorrow, next week, next year—we would face it together.

I had been brought up to believe that caring about people was a weakness, but loving Kyle didn’t make me weak.

It made me strong.

“Not to sound totally shallow, but I always kinda thought it would be bigger.” Amy crouched down and traced the letters in the granite. She was wearing a long white T-shirt over black leggings. A blue scarf was wrapped around her throat. It was the only spot of color in this washed-out land.

Everything else was gray.

The sky. The tombstones. Even the grass and the trees.

She pressed her palm flat to the stone, covering up her last name. “So now you know everything. The Walsh family legacy.” She glanced at me over her shoulder. “How mad at me are you?”

Her tone was light, but worry clouded her eyes as she chewed on her lower lip. The scarf around her neck changed color, red bleeding through the blue.

I let out a slow breath. I was angry—angry at her for keeping so many secrets and at myself for not noticing how much was wrong—but what good would it do to admit that now? “I just wish you had told me what was going on.”

“Me too,” she admitted, pushing herself up and turning. “Even though I don’t think it would have changed anything—not in the long run. I was always headed here.”

“You don’t believe in fate,” I reminded her. She never had.

“No”—Amy tugged at the scarf and her fingertips came back stained red—“I don’t. But I do believe in karma and my dad racked up one hell of a cosmic debt.” As she spoke, everything around us changed. The grass became a stretch of rocky shore and the tombstones were replaced by an expanse of water so calm and still that it looked like a plate of glass.

I had been here in a dream once before. At Thornhill. The night I had almost died.

You weren’t supposed to feel pain in dreams, but the scar on my shoulder ached.

I picked up a flat stone and skipped it across the water. It bounced three times and then slipped beneath the surface, all without making a single ripple. “You didn’t do anything wrong. The universe didn’t punish you to get back at your father. That’s not how it works.”

“Maybe,” said Amy, “but that’s how it feels. Like I was part of some sort of check and balance. Stephen, too. If it hadn’t been for what CBP did, he never would have gotten infected. He wouldn’t have gotten infected and he wouldn’t have been taken in by Sinclair. In a way, my father lost both of us to the disease he helped unleash.”

She began walking along the water’s edge and I fell into step beside her.

“So now that you know everything,” she said, “what are you going to do?”

“What do you want me to do?” I had already made up my mind—Kyle and I had made the decision together—but I still wanted to know. “You must have had a plan when you
addressed that envelope to me and gave me the USB key. What did you think would happen?”

“Honestly?” The corners of her mouth lifted in a sad, bitter smile. “I thought Trey and I would ride off into the sunset and I’d be sending you postcards from Latin America as I tried to forget . . . everything. And I guess I sort of hoped you would be strong enough to do the things I couldn’t.” She paused and turned over a pebble with the edge of her shoe. “I couldn’t hurt my dad. I saw what was on that hard drive and I knew how wrong it all was, but I still couldn’t do anything to hurt him. And I wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Stephen. Not directly. I knew that Sinclair woman was using him and that what he was doing was wrong, but I couldn’t make him see that. He wanted so badly for there to be a cure. For there to be hope.”

She glanced up at the sky and waited so long before speaking again that I wondered if she was going to speak at all. “I still care about my father. Is that wrong?”