Night Betrayed (9 page)

But there could be other benefits to hanging around here in Yellow Mountain tonight. A quick scan around the makeshift arena told him that Selena was gone from there as well, and his interest sharpened.

Out to hunt zombies again? Sneaking off into the coming night while everyone else was occupied? Crafty woman. Crazy, crafty woman.

While part of him could understand the exhilaration of doing dangerous things, the biggest part knew she must be crazy.

Theo tried to extricate himself from Jen and stood.

When the young woman looked up at him and made as if to rise, he gave her a little “stay-put” gesture with his hand. “Be right back,” he said, leaning down to whisper so as not to interrupt the story.

“The princess walked on”—Vonnie’s voice followed Theo as he walked off—“past the bright-colored cottages where the famous mice lived and soon came to a new part of the land. It was called the Magic Kingdom. And there she would ride on a flying elephant. And she would meet another princess—a mermaid with red hair.”

Theo paused to look back over his shoulder, comprehension dawning. That was why the story had seemed so familiar. The princess was visiting Disney World.

As the story continued, Theo carefully picked his way through the seated people. It reminded him of the outdoor rock concerts he’d attended when he was no longer a poor college student, where half of the audience spread out on the grassy hills beyond the stage and arena. They’d lay out blankets and drink beer and the sweet smell of pot would weave in and out of Coldplay or Kings of Leon and the summer breezes.

He scanned the fringes of the crowd, looking for a standing silhouette that was edging off into the growing darkness. The cluster of little houses around the McDonald’s—some of them had been trailers, or a gas station, and a couple seemed to have been constructed from remnants of buildings—was enclosed by a wall built of old cars, pieces of billboard or rooftop, and other large remains from the devastation.

Theo focused his attention on the wall, looking for the crazy woman, the Death Lady, who apparently was trying to get herself killed by leaving safety when the day ended. The gangas would be out, with their glowing orange eyes and murderous claws, as soon as the sun slept.

Vonnie’s story had become absorbed by the distance and the rustle of a breeze through trees and bushes so that it was little more than a rising and falling murmur.

When he thought about the monsters beyond the walls, waiting for someone like Selena to walk into their hands, he wished he’d brought the makings for a bottle bomb. But the knapsack he’d left Envy with was long gone, and he hadn’t had the time or resources to think about replacing it.

Idiot.

Theo walked more quickly, feeling an unusual urgency he didn’t understand. Where had she gone?

“Looking for the john again?”

He stopped and fairly spun around. “Selena,” he said. Her hair gleamed, rich and thick and dark. He wondered if it was as soft as it looked. He wondered when she slept, being up all night and with her patients all day . . . and how she would look, tousled freshly from sleep.

“It’s over there,” she said, pointing . . . in the direction from which she appeared to have come. “The Tendys’ house, with the blue shutters.” Next to the overgrown McDonald’s parking lot.

“I wasn’t—” He stopped and reengaged his brain. “Where are you going?”

Well, damn. That came out wrong too.

And when her full lips pursed, he realized she thought so too. “I think I’m old enough not to need looking after,” she replied.

The slanted-eye glance that accompanied the low hitch to her voice was almost flirtatious and he smiled back.

She looked up at him for a moment, her lips half curved. She had a wide mouth that looked as if it would be amazing to kiss—full and mobile and dark red.

Speaking of red . . . “Your toes,” he said, yanking his eyes away from her mouth. “They’re . . . painted. Red.” Gee-sus, Theo. Engage your brain. Could you sound any more ridiculous?

“I didn’t think guys noticed things like that,” she said, still smiling a little. It was written all over her face: fascination, contemplation . . . tinged with a little bit of horror.

He hoped the fascination would win out over the horror—whatever it was—because he realized he was definitely wanting to kiss her. “Well, they’re bright red. Kind of hard to miss. Where did you get nail polish?” he asked.

The fascination, contemplation, and horror dissolved into confusion and surprise. “Nail polish?”

It just dawned on Theo: no one had had nail polish for fifty years, at least the kind you bought from the drugstore in a little bottle. Maybe they called it something different. “Nail paint?”

Her brows had drawn together, and now they eased. “I know what nail polish is. I just haven’t heard anyone use that term . . . in a long time.”

Yeah . . . forget the nail polish then. So where were we? “What were you saying about needing to be looked after?” he asked with a grin. Then he stepped closer and reached to touch the swath of hair brushing the front of her shoulder.

Fascination was back in her eyes, and he took advantage, sliding his hand around to the back of her shoulder and drawing her closer. Remembering her ganga slashes, he was careful in his movements.

The corners of her eyes crinkled a bit. “I don’t think I—ah.”

He’d covered her mouth with his, and caught the little huff of surprise just as their lips met. As kisses went, it was an easy one, a tentative Am-I-really-doing-this sort of kiss. And when she tasted good, really good, of heat and sweetness and wine, he stepped in closer for another, deeper sample.

Now, both of her shoulders were under his gentle hands, her hair, silky and warm, trapped beneath his fingers, her mouth parting just enough so their lips fit together. She made a soft little noise against his lips, a little mmm, which sent a surprise flash of response shuttling through his body. Whoa.

He sunk into her a bit deeper, taking more—still a gentleman, but one now with serious intent.

And then, she pulled gently away. Her hand had ended up on his chest, and he liked the feel of that solid warmth there, leeching through his thin T-shirt. That was, in fact, about the only thing he was aware of—besides the throbbing of his well-kissed lips and other very attentive parts of his body that were demanding more of the same.

“Well,” she said, a little breathless. “Not bad for a guy who was dead three days ago.” And she smiled, a free, sexy smile that did almost the same thing to his insides as red-painted toenails and ankle bracelets.

“At least you didn’t say it was ‘nice,’ ” Theo said, remembering Sage’s reaction the first time he’d worked up the nerve to kiss her. That had been the first warning that it was going to be bad.

Selena smoothed her hand over his shirt as if to straighten away a wrinkle, and all thoughts of Sage scattered as his skin leapt and prickled beneath her touch. Sage who?

“Nice?” Selena replied. “That’s not the word that comes to mind.” Her eyes narrowed as her smile became a little flat. That tinge of horror was back in her face. “You’re a damn good kisser—for a youngster,” she said, and before he could reengage his brain from where it had gone to mush, she turned away.

He could have gone after her, but he was still a little shaken by how much that kiss had . . . well, shaken him. And not only that. He’d only taken a single step when, suddenly, there was Jen, coming from around the corner of one of the houses.

Talk about a youngster.

Selena made herself move with casual slowness even though her knees were weak and her mind was reeling.

It was the wine. She told herself it had to be the wine, the half a bottle she’d drunk with dinner, that had made one simple kiss go right to her head. Holy cats. She’d practically drooled all over him. Thank God, it was getting dark so no one—let alone Theo—would see the embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

Of course, she could explain that too. Didn’t everyone get flushed from drinking red wine?

But the wobble in her knees and the fluttering in her belly as she walked away from him . . . not so easy to explain away. Definitely not so easy to disregard the heat that had swarmed her as she leaned into that solid, young—so young—so hard and muscular . . . body.

What the hell was he doing, kissing a woman old enough to be his mother?

Then the rush of embarrassment got worse when she realized exactly what must have happened. Why, he’d felt compelled to kiss her. The kid probably figured he owed her.

It was a pity kiss!

Oh God, oh God. I need a drink. Her face was burning and her stomach tight with shame. She felt ill.

Selena looked around for Frank—he’d probably know where she could find another glass of wine. Or even something stronger.

She was no better than Jen. No . . . worse. Jen was only six years older than Sam, and hopefully she hadn’t kissed either of them . . . and Theo had to be at least twenty years younger than Selena.

Oh no! she wailed inside her head.

She’d seen how cozy Theo had been with the young woman, all cuddled up there on the blankets. Oh my God, I am such a busted idiot.

As if he’d look twice at Selena when he had slim, young, gorgeous Jennifer hanging on him.

Could she feel any worse? Any more embarrassed? Yeah, she could. If anyone else had seen her throwing herself at a young man. What if Sam hears about it? Oh, geeeez!

Was there a chance that no one had seen them? A decent chance, she thought, focusing on that problem instead of what she was going to say and how she was going to act the next time she saw Theo. Oh God.

They’d been away from the audience, and a few clumps of bushes squatted between them and the little grassy area where everyone was sitting. It was growing dark, there were more shadows, and no one was probably paying any attention to them because Vonnie had them in the palm of her hand with her story. And the angle at which they’d been standing to one of the houses would also have blocked a direct view.

Selena felt a little bit easier once she realized that. Sure, it was going to be horrible to see Theo tomorrow, but she could get through that. She’d had a lot worse things to handle in her lifetime.

And aside from that, now that he was feeling well, there was no reason for him to stay around Yellow Mountain anyway. He’d be leaving soon. Maybe even tomorrow.

Hopefully tomorrow.

Ah, there was Frank, walking along more quickly than a ninety-three-year-old man had the right to. He always came to the storytelling nights, but rarely sat and listened for more than fifteen minutes at a time. There were too many other things to do, he said—torches to light when it got dark, the pig to roast and clean up, the fire to keep going, and so on. And he was one of the few—probably the only person—who left Yellow Mountain’s walls when it was all over. Hell, he’d say, when it’s my time to go, it’s my goddamn time.

“Frank,” she said, moving toward him. “Got anything to drink?”

He paused in his energetic stride. “Does a dog shit in the damned grass?” he said gruffly. “ ’Course I’ve got some beer.” He peered at her with his sharp eyes, glinting clearly in the lowering light. “You look like you could use one.” He started off, then turned and said, “Are you coming? I ain’t got all damned night. Gotta get those damn torches lit ’round there so no one falls and breaks a goddamned leg. People don’t think around here, leave every damn thing to me.”

Hiding a smile, Selena followed him off. As she did so, she glanced back toward where she’d left Theo standing. He was still there, not looking after her, thank goodness. But that was because Jen was there, standing very close, right up against him, looking up into his face.

As Jen reached up to touch his cheek and Theo bent his head toward hers, Selena turned away.

Well, thank goodness that’s settled. They make a much better picture than the two of us did.

And that little squiggle of jealousy grinding into her belly? Well, she just would have to ignore that.

Just then, a loud shout echoed through the air. Filled with terror and shock, a woman’s voice broke into the lull of story time. “She’s gone! I can’t find her anywhere!”

A little prickle ran over the back of Selena’s shoulders as she heard the rumble of responses from others in bits and pieces: “Are you sure?” “Maybe she’s in the yard.” “Or the barn.” “Maybe she fell asleep.”

“No, no. I’ve looked everywhere!” The stress in Myra Tendy’s voice became hysteria. “She was talking about the river today. She wanted to go swimming.”

The prickling down her spine became stronger and Selena automatically looked toward the protective walls. Her fingers touched the thumb-sized crystal that hung low on its cord beneath her tunic shirt. If the little Tendy girl— What was her name? Hannah? . . . If she somehow sneaked out of the walls, this was going to be bad.

Her heart pounding, her palms dampening, Selena moved closer to the north side of the wall. She was aware that the audience had broken up and people were forming search groups. Maybe the zombies weren’t out yet tonight, hadn’t come close enough to see or smell the little girl. Maybe she wouldn’t have to deal with it.

Maybe she’d be lucky this time.

So far, Selena hadn’t heard any of their guttural moans, their desperate calls of ruuuu-uuthhh or arreeyyyy-aaaane. She peered through the glass window of an old truck that had been used as a monstrous brick in the protective wall. The glass was dirty and crusted with mildew, but Selena scratched it away and looked into the dingy night beyond the settlement.

The orange, glowing eyes of the zombies were bright enough that she’d be able to see them even through the dirt, if they were out there. The river was on the south side, the far side from where she was. But Selena knew that the gangas would come from the northwest, from the direction of the ocean.

All the while, behind her, she heard the shouts, the calm voices of the organizers, the freaked-out voice of Myra Tendy being calmed.

And she hoped that she wouldn’t have to go out there tonight and risk exposure.

This was the core of her life: the delicate balancing of hatred and disgust for the flesh-eating, mutilating zombies, with the knowledge that every one of them who died a violent death, without her help, were never truly free.