Page 3 of Uncontrolled

Playing with the barbell piercing in my eyebrow, I fight against the thoughts in my head. She wants me here. She’s told me a dozen times.

Except I’m still on that couch. She’s got me at arm’s length. If she brings me closer, I’ll protect her from whatever monsters play havoc with her brain between dusk and dawn, and from the real ones if they ever come. Until then, I’m still serving my original purpose to her—a sacrifice to any hunter that breaks into the apartment to steal her.

You’ll never be more than a guard dog to her. A burden, mooching scraps when you can. She’ll wise up and you’ll be on your ass.

Allie’s blue eyes meet mine across the table, a hint of anticipation playing in them, and I don’t feel like I’m only being put up with. I’m pretty sure some part of her might be falling for me, too.

You know, don’t you? I think desperately, watching her bite her toast, chew. That I love you?

Her smile widens a fraction and my pulse skyrockets.

Tell me you’re in love with me, too. Tell me we’re going to make it together. Tell me you don’t want this to end.

She says nothing.

I’m drinking morning coffee that tastes a million times better at this battered table with her than brew heated over a fire at the Boxcar Camp, strained through a cloth to catch the stale grounds. It’s the company though, not the coffee.

Why can’t I just ask how she feels about me? Coward, Jamison’s voice whispers.

The toast in my mouth is a dry ball I struggle to swallow. What if she’s letting me stay with her out of pity? There’s only one way to know for sure.

I stand too fast, the chair skidding across the floor. Allie jumps.

“Let’s go,” I tell her. “Out. You and me.”

“What? Now?” she manages, the toast caught in her hand, halfway between her mouth and the napkin.

“It’s gotta be now.”

We rush, Allie dressing in her room, me in the bathroom. I finish first, waiting anxiously until she emerges. She straps a variety of knives onto parts of her body. The girl is a walking arsenal. My wounded collarbone throbs in reminder.

Allie watches everyone on our way to the river. We pass a man in overalls despite the heat, who draws a long stare from her where he leans against a black railing. The air is heavy with humidity, dragging along the scent of warm creek water. I scan the crowd—a woman struggling over the cobblestoned street with two sobbing toddlers in a stroller, unfamiliar gutter punks lounging in front of a sandwich shop, one picking at a scabbed knee. No one pays us any mind. I remember how Jamison blended into a crowd, the way I did, disappearing in plain sight. If someone is following us, following Allie, I can’t be sure I’ll spot them.

My stomach knots. I can clear a day, I think. Not even that long…ten minutes without being paranoid. That’s all I need. Ten minutes of us being a normal guy and a normal girl.

We’re not, though.

Allie was born with a genetic mutation to bring back the dead. Inside me, her rogue cells are a virus gradually being defeated by my immune system, any abilities they brought fading as the last two weeks have passed. If something bad happens, it will take more than a mere syringe of blood to resurrect me a second time. According to Allie, it’ll take at least a couple pints to override the white blood cells my body now has primed against her. There most likely won’t be a third time.

I tug her closer, sling an arm over her shoulder and kiss her cheek, near her ear. “You okay?”

She fakes a smile as I pull away.

“Fine!” she lies. “I didn’t realize how cooped up we’ve been!” How safe, she doesn’t say. How unexposed.

The sun warms my skin. Around us, cheerful chatter fills the streets. Sugar sweetens the air, drifting from the bakery. I snatch Allie’s free hand, walking backward in front of her.

“Hey,” I say when her gaze stays pinned over my shoulder as we come to a stop. This could be the moment. The words are there. “No hunter will move on you here,” I say instead. “You’re safe, okay?”

I don’t wait for a reply as I wind us through the crowd. In a few yards, the riverwalk branches toward the tchotchke shops while the water itself flows in the opposite direction. The sliver of woods dividing them beckons. Instead of following the raised concrete sidewalk that runs parallel to the cobblestoned street, I climb over the railing into the oaks. Allie follows. I catch her by the waist and survey the crowd behind her quickly to be sure no cops are watching. Moss coats ancient stones thrown here in the time of horse-drawn carriages. The underbrush thickens, growing taller with every step as I help her descend the sharp embankment.

“Where are we going?” she asks, excited. “Is it far?”

I nudge a twig to the side and hold the leaves so it doesn’t whip her. “A little ways down this path.”

“Path?”

It’s easy to miss. The way is overgrown, more game trail than anything.

---