Lost World (27 page)

“So Vivian knew?”

“He had to have told her. Don’t you think he would have told her?”

Jon sighs, and his body finally relaxes. “No, I don’t think he told her. I don’t know if he would have told her even if we hadn’t disappeared, but there’s no way he’s told her now. He wouldn’t do that to her.”

Jon’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

“I still hate that I did it. I feel like a stranger in my own body. I’m not Hadley Lucas anymore. She seems like such a ridiculous person when I look back on who she was. That isn’t me.”

“We’re all different now, Hadley.”

I exhale, then say, “Did I ever tell you my real name?” I know I didn’t, but I ask anyway. I never opened up to Jon before.

“No,” he says, brushing the hair off my forehead.

“Virginia. I went by Ginny.” Jon runs his hand down my head, and I lean back until my forehead is touching his cheek. “Will you call me Ginny?”

“You don’t want to be Hadley anymore?”

“No.”

“I’ll call you Ginny.” His lips brush against my hair, and I close my eyes.

“I’m tired.”

“Then go to sleep, Ginny. I’ll stay up. Keep an eye on things.”

I nod and scoot closer to him. His arms tighten around me, and when I exhale, I feel like I’m blowing Hadley Lucas away. She isn’t me and I don’t want to keep her around. I don’t want people to recognize me anymore.

“Thank you, Jon,” I whisper just as I start to drift off.

19

WHEN I WAKE UP THE SUN shining in through the front window is blinding, and I’m twisted up in the blankets. Jon’s pressed right up against me and his shallow breathing fills the room. The fire is low, but thanks to Jon, I’m warm and cozy. I’m not sure I shivered once at all last night.

But of course, I have to pee.

I wiggle out from under the blankets and stumble to my feet. My eyes refuse to open all the way, thanks to the rays shining in from around the china cabinet. It’s a good thing we shoved it in front of the window or the room would be brighter than the surface of the sun.

It’s so bright my eyes are barely cracked. I have to hold my arms out in front of me, but I still make a detour at the window, foring my eyes open the rest of the way. Outside, everything is covered in a blanket of snow. It’s all white and soft and undisturbed, and with the snow covering everything like this, the world looks pure and clean and perfect.

It’s misleading.

My bladder pulses painfully, so I turn away from the snow-covered world and I head back to the bathroom. We may not be able to flush, but we’ve still been using the toilet. Which means the stench of urine hits me from five feet away. I hold my breath and head in. This world is no place for the weak-hearted.

Once I’ve relieved myself and escaped the stench of the bathroom, I head into the master bedroom to have a look around. I’m curious about these people. The bikes in the front yard, the family pictures. The unpaid bills. They seemed like they were so normal. Average. I wonder where they are now. Where they died and if they all stumbled out of here together. If they’re traveling in a horde as a zombie family.

If they still recognize one another.

A wedding picture sits on the dresser, and I stop in front of it. Studying the smiling couple. She’s wearing a strapless gown and a rhinestone tiara, he has on a gray tux. They’re attractive and happy, and it’s clear by the joy on their faces that they’re looking forward to the future. That they never imagined they’d struggle over money issues or succumb to a killer virus. Or turn into flesh-eating monsters.

When I look up from the picture, I’m met with my own reflection. My face is thin and there are dark rings under my eyes. I don’t look like Hadley Lucas the movie star anymore. Really, the only thing that might give me away is the strawberry blonde hair. It won’t be around forever, though. The room is dark, but even in the dim light, my brown roots are visible. I could just cut the red out and walk away and never think about Hadley Lucas again. I could be Ginny. The girl from Ohio who lost her family to the virus. She never went to Vegas. Never got taken by a group of madmen. Was never violated. She could be a sweet girl who found love after the infection. Who is scared, but happy to start a family with a caring man.

She could go to sleep at night and not have nightmares.

I turn away from the mirror and head toward the bathroom. They should have a pair of scissors in one of the drawers.

Jon is awake when I walk into the living. When he looks up, his eyes get huge, making my stomach twist so hard I’m afraid it’s going to burst. I stop dead in my tracks and wring my hands together nervously. Does he hate it? It’s hard to tell because he isn’t blinking. He’s just…staring.

He gets to his feet but doesn’t walk toward me. “What did you do?”

“It started out as a trim. You know, like Parv’s. But I went a little overboard. Next thing I knew I was cutting it all off.” I self-consciously run my hand over my head, and the short hair tickles my palm. “Do you hate it?”

Maybe this was a dumb idea. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he finds it repulsive?

I’m surprised at how much the thought scares me.

He lets out a deep breath as he walks toward me, then touches a tender spot on my head. “I wish you had let me help. You’re bleeding in a couple spots.”

“You don’t think I look hideous?” I ask, looking up at him with wide eyes.

He shakes his head and runs his hand over my head again. “I think you’re going to be cold.”

I laugh and he does too. He holds his arms out, and I practically fall against his chest. When he wraps his arms around me, it feels nice. Like maybe we can be the couple in that picture. Smiling, looking toward the future with hopefulness.

The car we get from the house is a lot roomier than the truck was. Jon and I sit in the front while Gretchen stretches out in the back. We have blankets and food in the trunk, plus some extra clothes we took from the bedrooms. We even threw in a couple snow shovels and flares in case we have car trouble. Thinking ahead. That’s what will keep us alive.

There’s at least a foot of snow on the ground, and it doesn’t hit me how rough that’s going to be on us until Jon pulls out of the barn. It’s going to be slow going with the roads not plowed. Then there’s the wind. It’s still blowing, pushing snow across our path and creating drifts so large they could swallow a small child.

“How far do we have to go?” I ask.

Jon’s hands tighten on the steering wheel as he pulls onto the snow-covered street. “We have ten miles or so to go. At this rate it will take us all day.”

The wind whips across the road, moving the whole car with it.

“Great,” I mumble.

Gretchen leans forward, sticking her head over the seat. “Don’t you think it’s weird that we haven’t seen a single zombie walking around since we left that town? I mean, we haven’t even seen tracks. You think it’s because of the snow? Like it froze them or something.”

“It would make sense,” I say. “Remember how icy the ones that tried to attack us were?”

Jon nods but doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Yeah. Maybe the cold will slow them down. That will make the winter a hell of a lot more tolerable.”

I snort. “Yeah. Then we’ll only have to worry about freezing to death, not about being ripped apart by the walking dead.”

“Maybe they won’t thaw out in the spring?” Gretchen says hopefully.

“That would be too much to hope for,” I say, rolling my eyes. “But if they do, we can always move up to Alaska.”

Jon’s eyes move my way for a split second before going back to the road. “Are you serious?”

“No, not really,” I say, then let out a laugh. “Then again, living in perpetual winter might be better than living in zombie world.”

Gretchen’s face scrunches up like she’s trying to think something through. “Weren’t you in that movie?”

“Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Ginny was never in the movies.”

“You’re really sticking with that?” she asks, her face scrunching up even more.

“Yup.”

Gretchen throws herself back against the seat. “I don’t see why. If people recognize you, they may be more willing to help you.”

My stomach twists when I think about how wrong she is. “The few times I’ve been recognized by people, helping me wasn’t really on their list of priorities.”

Jon’s hands tighten on the wheel, and I know it has nothing to do with the wind or snow or the icy road under our tires. I put my hand on his knee, and he shoots me a timid smile. As much as I don’t want it to, I know this thing will always hang over our heads. I can make Gretchen call me Ginny and tell everyone we meet that’s who I am, but it doesn’t erase Hadley Lucas from existence. I wish it did, but it’s impossible.

We lapse into silence as the car cuts its way through the white, powdery snow. My hand is still on Jon’s leg and I have no intention of moving it. Having him with me feels so much better than it did a few days ago. So much more reassuring than it would even if Axl were here. I still feel like a moron for what I did, but Jon’s right. Axl would never tell Vivian, and even if I were given the chance to talk to her about it, I don’t think she’d even be that upset. She would understand, or try to anyway.

Our progress is slower than I thought it would be. Thanks to the wind, the snow is so deep in places it seems more like three feet than one. Jon doesn’t relax for a second, and I’m pretty sure by the time we get there his shoulders will be so full of knots he won’t be able to sleep tonight.

We hit some ice buried under the snow, and the tires whirl under us, causing the car to fishtail. I have a strange thought that the car is trying to make a snow angel, the way its back end slides back and forth. Jon swears and grips the wheel tighter, trying to turn into the tailspin like you’re supposed to when you hit ice. I don’t even know if he realizes he’s supposed to do that or if it’s just instinct. He’s always lived in Nevada. No snow there.

“Shit,” he mutters.

Gretchen whines behind me and I grab the edge of my seat like it will somehow keep me safe if we end up in the ditch. The car veers left, right toward an especially large snowdrift. Jon jerks the wheel hard to the right, but it has the opposite effect, and the car slides closer to the drift. When we slam into it, snow flies up around us. The car comes to a stop and Gretchen yelps, but the impact wasn’t hard enough to hurt any of us. Not that I can say the same for the car. I can’t even see out Jon’s window. It’s totally covered in snow.

“Shit,” Jon says again.

I swallow and pry my hands off the seat. My fingers ache from gripping it so hard. “Try to pull out.”

It’s pointless and I know it. The car is tilted toward the driver’s side like the tires are stuck in the ditch. It’s impossible to know how deep it is thanks to the snow, but it doesn’t look good from where I’m sitting. Which is at least a foot higher than Jon.

He nods and presses down on the gas. The tires spin and the car lurches about an inch forward, but that’s it. We’re stuck.