Night Resurrected (24 page)

garden snakes.

It was the element of surprise

working in her favor when, after she

climbed several steps ahead of Wyatt,

she turned and flung the reptile into his

face. Probably not what he was

expecting.

That was more than six months ago,

and it was how she made her escape

from the people who wanted to keep her

in Envy—Elliott, Wyatt, Quent, and the

others. She hadn’t seen any of them again

until Wyatt found her under Seattle’s

truck.

Now Remy looked at her current

companion as he climbed out of the

Humvee. “Have to leave the truck here,

and hidden,” Ian said.

It was true. If they approached the

gates in a vehicle, they would be

presumed Strangers or bounty hunters.

She helped him pull the steel door of an

old garage closed behind the truck and

then they swung up their packs.

“I think,” she said as they started

toward the city, Dantès padding along at

her side, “it would have been faster, as

well as more comfortable, riding a

horse.”

Ian glanced at her. “Duly noted.”

She rolled her eyes and looked away.

The sooner she ditched him, the better.

Since Ian learned she didn’t have the

crystal any longer, he’d been quiet and

distant—more so than usual. He’d also

kept a very close watch on her. They

hadn’t talked other than necessary for the

last day and a half of travel, but to

ensure she didn’t run off in the night, he

made sure they slept close together.

Body heat notwithstanding, it actually

allowed her to rest more deeply—

knowing he was listening for danger

(zombies, wild animals, Lacey) too.

Despite being enclosed in his arms,

she had a nightmare about Seattle that

first night, likely because of her capture

by Lacey and Goldwyn. It was the first

one she’d had in months. But Remy was

able to pull herself out of it and fight

back to consciousness using some of the

techniques Selena had taught her. If

she’d wakened Ian, he gave no

indication . . . but his arms had remained

close around her.

The walls of Envy loomed above as

they approached. The enclosure was

twenty feet tall and built of remnants

from a long-gone twenty-first century

civilization: billboards, pieces of cars,

airplane hangar walls, large piles of

rubble, massive segments of buildings or

vehicles. The purpose of the barrier, or

so Remy had been told while she was in

the infirmary under Elliott Drake’s care,

was not to keep people out or in, but to

offer protection from the zombies and

other predators.

Thus, although there was a watch at

the entrance, the large gates—made from

two massive garage doors—were kept

open from sunrise to sunset. Entering and

exiting Envy wasn’t like being given

access to a medieval castle. No one was

denied, no one was retained.

But she suspected that didn’t mean

there was a lack of communication about

who was entering or exiting.

She, Dantès, and Ian walked past the

guard on duty as he waved and smiled at

them. A few yards farther inside they

found themselves in the wide, bustling

streetfront previously known as the Las

Vegas Strip. Tall buildings, structures

unfamiliar to her, rose on either side. If

it weren’t for the expanse of the street,

she might have felt boxed-in. A Statue of

Liberty stood at the base of the street as

if to welcome newcomers, just as the

original statue had done in Manhattan

more than two hundred years ago.

There were two intact buildings on

either side of the wide street, and neatly

kept flowers, trees, shrubbery, and even

streetlights paraded between them.

Except for the lack of motorized

vehicles, the area looked almost

identical to the pictures Remy had seen

of pre-Change civilization. Beyond the

two

flanking

buildings

were

the

remnants of other, smaller structures:

some maintained and others in utter

disrepair. And at the top or north end of

the street, rose the tall, metal skeletons

of buildings that didn’t survive the

Change. Beyond them and in the

perimeter of the main thoroughfare were

more ruins, the rest of the wall, and, to

the north and beyond: the Pacific Ocean.

It was months ago she’d been here

last, but Envy felt different this time.

There was an air of excitement or

expectancy in the people moving about.

“Wonder what’s going on,” she said,

looking up at Ian, who shrugged.

“Looks

like

some

sort

of

celebration,” he replied in a tone that

indicated his disinterest.

“Well, look who the fucking zombies

dragged in.”

Remy and Ian turned at the same time.

The woman standing there was lean and

athletic, with short, blue-black hair that

flung about in choppy waves around her

jaw. She was beautiful, with her

almond-shaped eyes and rich, mahogany

skin, but she also had a no-nonsense air

about her and fairly bristled with sass.

“Ian Marck,” the woman continued.

“I’d say you were a sight for my sore

damn eyes, but that’d be a fucking lie.”

“Well, well, Zoë,” Ian said, the hint

of a sneer in his voice. “You’re looking

well. I see that captivity suits you,

locked up behind these walls. Remind

me to ask Quent how he does it.”

“He acts like a fucking human instead

of a murderous asshole, that’s how,” Zoë

replied. “Maybe you ought to take

lessons.” But her sharp eyes had

transferred to Remy and then Dantès. “I

remember this big-ass guy,” she said,

crouching to pet him. “He hung out here

for a while with Wyatt. I’ll have to

introduce him to Fang. There aren’t any

other dogs big enough to play with him

without getting their asses kicked,” she

said, standing up to look at Remy again.

“That is, assuming you’re gonna fucking

stay this time.”

Remy nodded, feeling Zoë’s attention

linger on her face. The bruises had

faded, but they were still a little

yellowish, and the nasty cut by her

eyebrow was still red and swollen. She

wanted to ask about Wyatt—although

surely he wouldn’t be here yet. But from

the time she’d spent at Yellow

Mountain, she knew he had some way of

being in contact with the people here.

She needed to find out where he was.

She had to get that damned crystal back,

and she’d murder Wyatt in the process if

she had to. She’d
trusted
him, dammit.

But she had to do it without Ian

knowing.

“Yes. I . . .” She looked around,

again noticing all the activity. “What’s

going on here?”

“This shit?” Zoë looked utterly

disgusted. “Hella big-ass party, more

noise and food and people than should

ever be in one fucking place, you ask

me. Survivors Day is what they call it.

Been wasting an assload of time getting

ready for it. Fricking pig roast, ice

creams, something called—what the

hell, rhino ears or—”

“Elephant ears, luv,” said a clipped

voice. “They’re called elephant ears.

And they’re delicious.”

Remy looked up at the handsome

blond man who’d appeared from

nowhere. His hand settled proprietarily

on Zoë’s shoulder and he was looking at

Ian with unadulterated dislike. “Ian

Marck. To what do we owe the

pleasure?”

The words were polite enough. Even

his accent—which sounded like the

people in all those Harry Potter DVDs—

made it sound pleasing and almost

formal. But the expression on his face

and the inflection in his tone belied

anything related to sincerity.

“Just passing through,” Ian replied.

“Don’t get in my way, Fielding, I won’t

get in yours.”

“It’s Quent. I don’t use my father’s

name.”

“There you go—we have something

in common. I don’t use mine either.”

Without another word, or even a glance

at Remy, Ian walked off.

“Remington Truth,” said Quent,

thankfully pitching his voice low. “The

last I heard, you were with Theo and

Wyatt in Yellow Mountain. Then you

took off.”

“You traveling with that asshole?”

Zoë demanded, glaring after Ian.

“Because if you are, we’ve got some

serious talking ahead of us. Asshole

didn’t decorate your face like that, did

he?” Her lips were flat with disgust as

she looked pointedly at Remy’s face.

Glad to be extricated from Ian’s

presence—although she was by no

means confident it would be permanent

—Remy replied, “No, he didn’t. And we

met up because we happened to be

traveling in the same direction. Two is

safer than one, even with Dantès along.”

“Where’s Wyatt?” Quent asked. “He

went after you, didn’t he? He find you?”

Probably better not let on she was

ready to kill the man. Play it cool, lure

them in . . . “Yes. We got separated

during a zombie attack. I was hoping

he’d be coming here.”

“I haven’t heard from him recently.”

“I . . . was hoping to speak with the

woman named Ana.” Remy looked from

Quent to Zoë. “I understand you know

her?”

“Zoë! There you are!”

“Shit.”
Zoë’s face went pale under

her dusky skin.

Remy turned to see two women

coming toward them, purpose in their

steps. One of them looked familiar—she

had amazing red-gold curls that shined

like a flame in the bright sun. Remy

remembered her: she’d been with Wyatt

and his friends when they found her in

Redlo. Her name was Sage. Her

companion had darker, auburn hair and

clear green eyes. “Flo’s been waiting for

you for an hour!” she said.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so outta here.” Zoë

would have bolted away but Quent had

her by the arm and hauled her back. “Let

go of me, genius.” The sass was gone,

replaced by desperation. “I’ll make it

worth your while.
Really
worth it.” Her

voice and eyes had gone smoky—but

still with a hint of panic—and she fairly

melted into him. “Please?”

Quent merely chuckled, keeping a

firm hold on her arm. “It’s not going to

kill you to get a little primped up for

tonight,” he said. “You’re already

glowing,” he added, the corners of his

eyes crinkling as he patted her belly,

“but if you let Flo have her way, you’ll

be even more stunning than usual. And

then
you can make it worth my while.”

“I am
not
letting that dominatrix put

any of that face paint shit on me,” Zoë

said. “And she’s not making me wear

anything with a skirt.”

“But Zoë,” said Sage, giving Remy a

curious glance. “Your grandmother is

being celebrated tonight. You should

honor her and what she did by putting on

something special.”

“I promise, it will be painless,” said

the other woman. “Flo is a genius!”

“She’s a bloody damned sadist,”

muttered Zoë, still trying to weasel out

of Quent’s grip.

Chuckling, the second woman turned

to Remy. “Hello. I’m Jade. Elliott’s

wife. You look familiar . . .”

“Hi . . . yes, I’m Remy. Elliott . . . um

. . . helped me a few months ago. When

my leg got all cut up. Zoë brought me

here to him.”

“She’s the one who threw an assload

of snake at Wyatt,” Zoë put in. “I don’t

know which pissed him off more—when

she shot at him or threw the damn snake

in his face.” Her panic receded as her

eyes gleamed with relish. “Wish I’d

been there to see that.”

Remy felt her cheeks warm. “Yes, I

guess I did piss him off a little.”
Guess

we’re even now.

“Well, that’s not hard to do, frankly,