Page 11 of Whispers of the Dead

“Well, at least I did something,” I fire back. “What have you done, Damon? Besides give up?”

He doesn’t answer, but I feel his stare burning into mine. There’s something raw in his silence. Something broken.

“Don’t do it alone next time.”

The voice lacks the usual growliness and catches me off guard. The anger leaves my body. “Does this mean you’re willing to help?”

Silence.

Then, right when I think I might have imagined it, Damon speaks again. “Next time, don’t do it alone.”

That’s all the confirmation I need to know they’re no longer giving up.

4

BENJI

Ihum softly, letting the sound carry through the quiet of the cell block. It’s an old tune, one my mom used to sing when I was a kid. I can’t remember all the words anymore, only the melody, slow and soothing like ripples in still water. It’s enough to calm the oppressive silence. Even the rotters’ endless scratching fades into the background, drowned out by the low, steady notes.

“You always hum when you’re bored, or is this a special occasion?” Zoey’s voice drifts over from her cell, dry with a tinge of curiosity. She’s lying on the cold stone floor, one knee bent up, her golden hair fanned out around her like some kind of halo. Sunlight filters through the tiny window above her, catching the dust motes in the air and making her glow against the otherwise dark and lifeless walls. She’s the only thing in this place that looks like it belongs to the outside world.

The rest of us? We’ve been swallowed by the darkness for so long that I’m convinced the light will burn us if we get too close.

I grin from where I’m leaning against the wall, facing her. “Trying to class up the place. Thought you’d appreciate the ambiance.”

She snorts. “Ambiance? In this dump? You’re ambitious.” Her fingers absently rub against her side, like there’s some hidden pain she’s trying to soothe.

“Hey, a guy’s gotta aim high.” I tap my fingers against my knees, keeping rhythm with the song. “Besides, I figured you’d prefer this over listening to Damon brood, or Cole…well, do whatever it is Cole does over there.” I snap my fingers. “I got it. He can glare you to death.”

Zoey chuckles. The sound is lighter than I’ve heard from her so far. A small victory, but I’ll take it. “What’s the song?”

I shrug, then remember she can’t see me. “Something my mom used to hum. She used to say I’d grow up to be a musician. Guess I disappointed her there.”

“Considering the fact that music draws in hordes of rotters, I’d wager to say it’s probably for the best.” Zoey pauses and picks at the hem of her shirt. Her voice dips lower. “Although, I have a friend who saved us all one day by playing a guitar, so maybe becoming a musician isn’t all that bad.”

“Oh? Color me intrigued.”

Maybe you two can meet when we get out of here. “Besides, I’m guessing you didn’t disappoint her half as much as my mom would be disappointed in me right now.” The humor in her tone doesn’t quite mask the pain beneath it.

Despite my curiosity about this guitar-playing friend, I let the silence stretch for a beat before speaking again. “You’re alive, aren’t you? That’s something. I know I’m proud of you for that.”

Zoey lets out a slow exhale. “Feels like the bare minimum these days.” She doesn’t sound bitter, only tired. Morose, even.

“The bare minimum?” My brows pull together in ascowl. “The bare minimum isn’t as easy as it sounds. It’s really fucking hard to stay alive nowadays. Add in the fact that we’re currently imprisoned by dregs. Yeah, staying alive is a lot more than the bare minimum. You can’t see it, but I’m scowling at you right now.”

She rolls her head against the floor so her cheek rests against the stone while her gaze turns in my direction. It’s a little off, but for the most part, she’s looking right at me. “What I don’t understand is why we’re alive. I’ve seen them kill people, but this is the first time I’ve heard of them taking captives. What do they do to you guys here?”

I shrug, then remember she can’t see the motion.

Damon answers first. “Torment us. Have their fun.”

Zoey’s face loses color. “What kind of fun?”

Damon’s voice sharpens like a blade. “Don’t worry. They won’t lay a hand on you again.”

The certainty in his voice makes my stomach twist. It’s an impossible promise to make. She was extremely lucky she was pushed up against those bars instead of the stone wall at the back of her cell. I shudder to think what would have happened if no one could have stepped in.

For the first time since we were thrown into this place, we have a reason to get out. A purpose. I never thought I’d have one again, but then she came along. Besides, I need to meet this friend of hers who redirected a whole damn rotter horde with a guitar.

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