Page 53 of Whispers of the Dead

She shakes her head. “He’s alright. He’s confusing as fuck, but he’s not like Eugene.”

“That’s not the same as saying he’s safe,” I point out.

Damon’s voice cuts through the dark from his own cell. “What’s going on over there?”

Zoey shifts and wipes sweat from her forehead. That’s when I notice the sheen of sweat glistening on her skin, even though she hasn’t exerted herself. Then the slight tremble in her fingers. Her breathing…it’s a little too shallow.

Shit.

“I need my insulin,” she whispers in a voice that damn near kills me. “I’m in more danger without it than I am with eating their drugged food.”

A lump lodges in my throat when I realize she’s right. Fuck.

I don’t know what I expected with this little hunger strike, but it’s more dangerous for her than for us. Screwing up my own life is one thing, but I don’t want to gamble with hers. Not any more than I already have.

There’s nothing in her cell, on account of the dregs deciding they wouldn’t give us anything after the last debacle, so I reach for my untouched water glass from yesterday and slide it through the bars. “Drink.”

Damon’s voice comes out in disbelief. “What are you doing?”

“Chill. She needs it.”

Zoey reaches for the glass and gulps down the water like a drowning woman gasping for air, and guilt gnaws its way through my stomach.

“Come closer,” I say, and she does. She moves closer andpresses herself against the bars where she hears my voice. I wind my arms through the bars and wrap them around her so I can hold her as close as I can. Her body shakes, whether from hunger, exhaustion, or something deeper, I don’t know. “If they come for you, I’ll fight them off.”

Her breath catches. Then her voice cracks and shatters my heart. “What if they won’t give me my insulin?”

“Then we’ll make them, golden girl.” I lean forward and strain between the bars to press a kiss against the top of her head. “You’ve got three lunatics in here ready to do whatever is necessary. Metal bars can only contain us for so long.”

Her eyes flutter closed. Only for a moment, though, like she’s forcing herself to believe that. Then her breathing evens out and she’s fast asleep in my arms.

I look past her and into the shadows of the other cells. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The air shifts with their silent agreement settling between us. Doubt creeps into me, even as I assure her. I hope, like fuck, fate goes in our favor.

20

ZOEY

The world around me tilts. The walls of my cell stretch and shrink, warping like a funhouse of horrors. My skin is clammy, and my breath is rapid and slow. Every nerve in my body burns from the inside out. The feverish heat clashes with the icy sweat that clings to my skin.

I try to sit up, but my arms tremble and refuse to hold my weight. I collapse back against the cold concrete. My body is too weak. Too slow. A puppet with its strings cut.

The voices around me blur into noise. Shouts, curses, desperate pleas that I can’t respond to.

Benji yells out, but his words melt into the static of my pounding heartbeat.

Damon snarls. The sound edges with panic and fury, but I can’t make out the words. All I can understand is the loud clanging of his ring hitting metal, which only happens when he slams his palm against the bars. It happens over and over again. He’s going to hurt himself if he doesn’t stop.

Everyone is yelling. I think even Cole’s voice adds to the mix, so something must really be wrong.

The whispers of the dead are turning into the shouts of the living, and I can’t join them.

The fog thickens around me. Then a familiar voice cuts through the haze. It’s sharp and cruel, like a blade against bone.

A blade. I have one of those, but I can’t move my body enough to reach for it.

“Feeling a little off, little mouse?”

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