Vial Things (A Resurrectionist Novel Book 1) (22 page)

“What if it doesn’t work?”

“Keep that vial handy,” I tell her. “Either way.”

“There’s something else,” she says. She adjusts to dig into her pocket and holds out her hand. “These were in the bathroom medicine cabinet. It’s all I could find.”

I stare down at the tablets in her palm. Inside me, grief battles with fear. “Talia,” I say. “I don’t think we’re going to make it through the night alive.”

“Me either,” she says.

I
t feels like drowning. I can’t get my breath so I hold it. As Jamison comes down the stairs, I concentrate on the ground I lay on, the pain in my wrists, Ploy’s whispers last night as he kissed me.
I want to stay with you.
Anything to keep me still, but the air goes quick. When I finally give in and gasp, my mouth is full of thick froth and I choke hard.

At the sound, Jamison’s footsteps speed up. My eyes are closed. I don’t dare move, except a quick, steady twitch to my fingertips.

“Son of a bitch!” he yells. He drops to his knees beside me.
No, damn it
, I think frantically.
Talia. Check Talia.
He rips my head to the side, trying to swipe my mouth clear. His fingers taste like mud. One of his nails is jagged and gouges the inside of my cheek. He shakes his hand off, the bubbled goo splattering against the floor. I give a weak gag as my mouth fills up again, open my eyelids to let him see my eyes rolled back in my head.

He grabs for my wrist, going for a pulse, but they’re both wrapped thick with the gauze he used to bandage them earlier, the white stained where my blood soaked through.

“No,” he mumbles. “No, this isn’t happening.”

He drops my arm. My knuckles smack against the hard packed earth as he stands. I don’t react. He’s not moving to Talia. He has to check her.

He has to get closer.

I draw a rattling breath at the exact wrong moment. It jerks his attention to me.

“You stupid—” Before he finishes, his boot smashes into my ribs. I grunt, curling onto my side.

Don’t help me.
The thought’s frantic as he swings his foot back to strike again. I can take it. Pain, damage. If he smashes my skull in, death. But if Talia blows this she won’t get another chance.

As his kick slams into my ribs again, I hear a crack. I knew this might be a one way ticket. That he might push too far. I wonder if Talia’s realizing that now, when it’s too late. She has to wait. There’ll be a perfect moment. She’ll know when to act. I can only hope it comes soon.

I’m not sure how long I can keep from screaming.

R
otten, earth, cold.

My thoughts come in single words as I drift into a confused consciousness. And then one word breaks free. Stronger than the others. Pounding with my heartbeat.

Breathe.

Air gushes into my lungs as I gasp, desperate, clawing myself up into a sitting position. The walls crumble, raining down damp slimy dirt that peppers my hair and sprinkles into the shallow puddle under me.

Moonlight illuminates the grave I’m in, the dead body of Jamison’s father stinking at my curled feet. When I press my hand down to adjust my position, it sinks into the soft ground. I wrap my arms around myself, shivering despite the heat and humidity. My chest aches.

Because he shot me. I remember Jamison holding the gun, the pop, the slam of my hip against the bottom of the pit as I landed hard. A hazy memory surfaces of staring up and I know this isn’t the first time I’ve woken. I must have passed out again. Wincing, I drag my feet closer. The muscles are sore and stiff. I have no way of knowing how long I’ve been in here other than the starred sky above me.

Allie. I have to get to Allie.

Struggling, I shift my feet underneath me and fight to stand. My knees wobble, barely supporting me. I poke my head up, sure I’ll find Jamison just out of vision on the lip of the grave, waiting to pick me off again with a head shot. The yard is empty. I shudder a sigh of relief.

I hadn’t told him Allie gave me blood. I’d been angry with him, wanted to make sure he cared more about me being alive than discovering her secrets. It saved my life. Or rather, she had, again. She obviously kept my secret or Jamison would have cut me open, taken my organs. I’d have wound up buried in this hole.

Jamison said he wasn’t going to fill it in until dark, when it was cooler. I wonder how much time I have. I can’t count on much.

My body aches, exhausted, but I have no choice. I have to move.

The grassed edge of the pit is even with my collarbones. I jump and dig my elbows in, my feet scrambling for purchase. There’s no way this will work. I don’t have the strength to pull myself out. Giving up, I lean against the mud wall and catch my breath. The smell of death clenches my throat tight. It’s strong enough to make my eyes water.

The body’s mostly wrapped in the tarp, bent over on itself, one arm oozing in the moonlight. I nudge it under the plastic.
You can do this
, I think. I back up as far as I can lengthwise and get in a two stride start before I launch onto the spine, use it to propel me out of the hole. My ankle almost gives way as the skin sloughs off his back. My waist hits the edge. Fingers digging into the grass, I kick, frantic to free myself. Finally, I roll onto the lawn, chest heaving. For a full minute, I can only lay there.

I drag my knees under me and push up until I’m hunched uneasily against the side of the barn. My hands are filthy. I wipe them off on my pants, but it doesn’t help. I won’t think about the liquid I was laying in. The ground was wet. It could have been rainwater.

I creep along the side of the barn and look out onto the graveled driveway. Past Talia’s SUV, there’s a single light burning in the house in what I know is Jamison’s room. The shades are drawn. It’ll give me a little cover.

I stare at the SUV. Something tickles in the back of my mind. Last night, healing the baby.

Gun
, I think suddenly. There’s a gun in the glove box. Allie had taken knives for us, but she’d left the other weapons in there. Had Talia brought it into her apartment last night? My head’s muddled. I can’t remember. The only way to know for sure will be to check.

The risk of being discovered has me hesitating. I forget if there’s a chime when the door opens, but the dash lights will definitely come on. If Jamison picks that moment to look out the window, I’m caught.
But
, I think,
you’ll be caught with a gun which is a lot better than you’re doing right now.

With one last look at the glowing window, I start my trek to the SUV. I don’t run. I’m not sure what’s going to happen later, but if the last time Allie brought me back is any gauge, I need to save my energy. There’s a new hole through my shirt, small enough to go unnoticed among the others if it wasn’t for the bloodied gore stiffening the fabric. It’s nearly over my heart. Cautious, I bend my arm and run my fingers across my shoulder blade searching for the exit wound. When I find it, it’s nickel-sized, scarred, the skin there sore. I’m not sure if there’s a line where damage would be too much to heal or if it only takes more time. I wonder if shrapnel in my heart would get stuck if the wound healed around it. What if there’s a bullet fragment in there now, headed for a lung or into my brain? I push the thoughts away. As long as I’m standing, all that matters is getting to Allie.

I might be too late. When I get to the cellar, there’s a chance I’ll only find Talia.

I get to the SUV and duck into a crouch. With trembling fingers, I test the door handle, sure I’ll find it locked, but it lifts easily, the door rocking open. My eyes squint against the light. I cram my finger onto the button, make the electrical system think the door is closed and it blinks off again. I crawl into the driver’s side and quietly pull the door near shut. There’s no movement from the house, but that doesn’t mean anything. I have to hurry.

Leaning over the center console, I open the glove box. My sigh of relief burns my lungs. I reach, grab the gun and pop the chamber out.

It’s empty.

Of course it would be empty. I drop back against the seat. Everything just got so much more complicated.

We’ve fought before, Jamison and I, screwing around wrestling when we were younger. Back then I stood a chance. Now, I’m skinnier from my time at the Boxcar Camp. Weakened. But what am I supposed to do? If I wait, he’ll eventually come out to fill that hole and find me gone. I don’t know what he’s done to Allie. I don’t know if she’s okay.

The gun’s useless. I toss it onto the floor and grab the knife with the longest blade out of the glove box. I clip the sheath to my belt loop. Two deep breaths later, I’m out of the car.

Now that I’m closer to the house, I feel exposed. I get out of the gravel, heading to the grass and following the yard around. It keeps my steps quiet. The tree with the old rope swing gives me shadows to creep into. The movement feels good. The last of the stiffness fades from my hip where I landed.

When I make it to the porch, I dart by each of the windows. They look in on an unused dining room but without the gun, I can’t get caught. I’m silent as I open the door, close it behind me. The house is dark, quiet except for the buzzing of a few straggling flies.

There’s dim light streaming into the kitchen from the hall. I wait, knowing it’s coming from the cellar and that Jamison will be closing the door in a second, locking it behind him. My plan starts to form. I’ll hide just to the right of the cellar door. When he comes up… I draw the knife into my hand. My palms are sweaty.
You can do this
, I tell myself.
You have to do this.

But the light doesn’t go out. The door doesn’t close.

Something’s off. A fluttering starts in my stomach.
She already got him
, I think. They killed him and don’t have the combinations to the locks.
But why is the door unlocked?
a small voice whispers. I can’t imagine him being forgetful. Not with so much on the line. Maybe he knows Allie gave me the blood. Maybe it’s a trap.

As I creep closer though, I hear a hard thump. I’m steps into the kitchen when I hear Talia scream Allie’s name and I think for a second they did overpower Jamison somehow until she cries, “Stop! Can’t you see she’s dying?”

Dying. Allie’s dying.

It takes everything in me not to bolt for the door.
She’ll heal
, I think. Unless he’s taking her organs out of her. Talia said dying, not dead. I edge around the kitchen and take a quick glance into the hall before striding across to the cellar.

My feet move, swift and silent, carry me down each step. I can’t see all of Jamison, but his foot swings back and forth, in and out of the frame of view the stairwell gives me. And then one of his kicks spirals the body. Allie’s head slams against the ground hard enough to bounce. Blood pours from her nose. It mixes with the white foam that drizzles from between her lips.

The poison
, I think instantly, but I’d checked her for the vial. She hadn’t had one. Had I missed it? Had Jamison? If she drank it, there’s no amount of healing that would help her, no boost from my blood that would save her.

I forget I’m supposed to be sneaking. I forget how much I need the element of surprise. There’s only her, dying. Maybe dead.

Jamison rears his leg to kick her again, aiming for her face and I don’t think, just launch myself from the fifth step up. He doesn’t turn in time to see me before I crash into him. I hear him screaming and then realize it’s me, my wrist bent back as he avoids the knife I’m driving down. I’m going to kill him. Gouge the terrified look out of his eyes.

And he is terrified. I’m covered in rot and grave dirt and blood and up until half a second ago he thought I was dead.

Jamison stumbles under my weight and as we hit the ground I roll us, end up on top. Spots cloud my vision as I struggle to breathe, stay conscious. My strength fades fast. He squeezes my wrist until my fingers lose hold of the knife. We’re tangled, punches slamming and knuckles grinding on dirt and when he reaches for the knife I do the only thing I can and kick it away. It clatters across the floor into the corner.

“You bastard,” Jamison grunts in my ear. He’s got an arm latched around my head, hugging it to his chest. His fist pounds my side. “Why couldn’t you stay dead?”

Instead of resisting, I grab his forearm and yank hard toward me. He’s not expecting the move. It throws him off balance and I get a few good punches to his kidneys. “Sorry about that,” I growl. “I know you hate surprises.” The words are stupid, distractions. I’m not here for some cliché fight.

I’m here to kill my best friend.

His fist cocks and then slams into my nose. I hear a crunch, feel the wet slip of blood down my nostrils, over my upper lip. My vision tunnels. Jamison struggles to his feet.

“Ploy!”

The voice snaps me back. Allie. My eyes search her out, find her with one cheek swollen and blood splattered, struggling against the chain to get closer to me. She’s alive. “Push him!” she screams, holding up her arms.

I throw my weight forward. My shoulder hits Jamison just above the knees. As he tumbles backward, she wraps the slack in the chain around his neck and squeezes the two strands of links together. Jamison’s hands go to his throat, fingers scrambling for purchase. His legs kick, frantic. I slide around him and grab the chain below Allie’s hands. Twist. His face darkens, goes purple.

Talia’s at my shoulder. She paws at me and at first I think she’s trying to free him. But her palm is under his chin, tipping his head up. She lowers a small glass tube to his lips. “Now!” she yells.

Allie slides her hands under mine, rips them away. The makeshift garrote loosens. As Jamison sucks in Talia tips the tube. He sputters, coughing a spray of mist. Talia leans and it catches her in the shoulder. “Hold him!” she yells, swiping frantically at the few spots the liquid came in contact with her skin. “Ploy! Tighter!”

He’s slithering out of my grip. Exhausted, I do the only thing I can and throw myself over him, use my body weight to pin him to the floor. Allie’s draped across his legs.

“You’re dead!” Jamison yells. “You’re all dead! I’ll...” The hate drifts out of his words. The last leave his lips slurred and quiet. “What’s?”

I climb off him and sit up. Jamison’s blinking slowly. His eyes aren’t focused.

He’s dying. I know this. It’s wrong, but I can’t help the sadness I feel. As I watch his throat convulse, I’m fourteen again, peddling my rusted bike behind him, fighting to keep up. I’m twelve, picking myself up out of the dirt and there’s no air.
Told you I could punch harder
, he says. Now, it’s his mouth that opens and closes like a fish thrown onto land. His chest rises and falls, one, twice, and then simply doesn’t anymore.

His eyes are open.

“He told me he killed you.” Allie launches herself at me and clutches on. The chains around her wrists rattle, her body blocking the view of him long enough to sever the hold. Her hands are on the back of my neck, my head, desperate and tight. It’s a long moment before I think to hold her. She should hate me for the things I’ve done to her. Jamison said she would, and he was right at the apartment. “He said he took everything out. I thought...” she murmurs but the words are lost as she pulls away to look at me. Her hands cup my face. “Ploy,” she whispers. Her eyes hopscotch across mine. “You’re alive.”

I don’t answer. Even with him dead, my skin crawls. He’s staring at me.
It's over
, I think dully.
He's dead.

It's finally over.

A breath shudders out of me and Allie’s expression shifts from relief to concern. “What happened to you? What did he do?” Her eyes fix on my chest, the hole in my shirt and come up questioning.