Page 112 of Death Valley

“I had to,” I say simply, forcing myself to stand firm though every instinct screams to run.

Because it’s her and it’s not her.

“I couldn’t leave you out here,” I add. “Not without knowing.”

A pained smile crosses her face, revealing those too-sharp teeth. “Always the protector. Always trying to fix what’s broken. You haven’t changed, Aubrey.”

I take a tentative step forward, then another. Lainey doesn’t move, watching me with those luminous blue eyes, allowing me to approach. When I’m close enough to touch her, I reach out a trembling hand, hesitating just short of her skin.

“Can I…?”

Will you bite me?

Maybe I won’t mind.

She nods, still holding that sad smile.

I let my fingers brush her cheek, half-expecting it to feel alien, wrong. But it’s just skin—cold, yes, colder than it should be, but still unmistakably human.

My sister’s face under my palm.

“What happened to you?” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. “The journal, it didn’t explain everything. How are you still…you? The others, I’ve seen others, our crew, they changed completely. They lost themselves. But not you.”

Lainey steps back, my hand falling away from her face. She moves to a flat stone that serves as a natural seat, gesturing for me to join her. I do, keeping a small distance between us, unable to completely silence the warning bells still ringing in my head.

“I’m not still me,” she says quietly. “Not anymore. Not entirely. The hunger is always there, Aubrey. Always clawing at me, demanding to be fed. Sometimes it wins. Sometimes I lose myself to it completely.” She looks down at her hands, those elongated nails glinting in the flashlight beam. “It’s a special kind of hunger. I can eat things. Birds. Rats. Rabbits. I can eat things to fill the stomach but it doesn’t fill the hunger. It doesn’t stop the craving for what I really want. But I can control it better than the others. At least some of the time.”

“Because of our blood,” I say, understanding dawning. “Because we’re descended from Josephine McAlister.”

She nods, surprise flickering across her features. “You know about that?”

“I was paid a visit by Nathaniel,” I explain. “I read your journal, just now. And then of course there’s Jensen.”

“Jensen,” she repeats, a complex emotion passing across her face. “Jensen McGraw. The cowboy. He’s alive? He survived?”

“Yes. He’s here with me. I hired him to find you but we got separated by a cave-in.” I glance toward the passage I emerged from, wondering where he is now, if he’s safe. “Lainey, what happened three years ago? The journal entries stopped so suddenly. All it said was that you were changing, that Adam was changing too.”

A shudder runs through her at Adam’s name, a visceral reaction that speaks volumes. “Adam was never who you thought he was,” she says, her voice hardening. “Who I thought he was, at first. He was controlling, manipulative. When I started researching our family history, discovering the connection to the McAlisters, to these mountains, he tried to stop me. Said I was obsessed, crazy.”

“Like Mom,” I say softly.

“Like Mom,” she agrees, a flash of pain crossing her features. “No one likes to be told they’re crazy. But I ignored him. He was merely a blip in a lifetime of need. And when that didn’t work, he changed tactics. Decided to come with me to the mountains. I thought he was finally supporting me, but really he just wanted to control where I went, what I found.”

She stands, pacing the small space with that strange, too-fluid grace. “We hired Jensen as a guide. He was…kind enough. Understanding. Didn’t treat me like I was crazy when I talked about the family connection, the dreams I’d been having. Instead, he seemed to understand it and that was rare.” A ghost of a smile touches her cracked lips. “I liked him.”

The admission stirs something complicated in my chest—jealousy, perhaps, or possessiveness. I push it aside, focusing on her story. “Then what happened?”

“We found the entrance to the caves. Jensen warned us not to go in too deep, but I was determined. Adam insisted on coming with me, despite Jensen’s warnings.” Her face darkens with the memory. “We’d been exploring for hours when we firstencountered them. The hungry ones. We tried to run, but there were too many, the passages too confusing.”

She stops pacing, arms wrapping around herself as if cold. “Adam was bitten first. I saw it happen—saw the change start immediately, the hunger take hold. But instead of attacking the creatures, he turned on me. On his own girlfriend.” Her voice breaks slightly. “Guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. He had been turning on me for a while by then. He bit my shoulder, my neck. I thought I was going to die.”

I think of Red, Hank, and Cole. “But you didn’t change like they did,” I say. “Not completely. You didn’t lose yourself.”

“No. The McAlister blood…it makes us different. The transformation is slower, less complete. I can fight it, control it—sometimes. Not always.” She looks at me directly, those unnaturally blue eyes locking with mine. “Mom could control it too, I think. That’s what her episodes were—the hunger trying to take over. The drugs they gave her didn’t cure anything, just numbed her enough to keep the hunger dormant. They never really listened to her, they just tried to shut her up. No one took her seriously enough. They never do, do they?”

The revelation hits me like a physical blow. All those years watching our mother deteriorate, believing it was schizophrenia, psychosis—when actually, she was fighting this genetic curse.

“Why didn’t she tell us?” I ask, the old hurt resurfacing.

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