Page 84 of The Dead Don't Talk
The council, made up of more than just our elders now, and Moros decided that he wasn’t going to take his dad’s seat in their circle. Their ways were too biased. Antiquated. Moros wanted to fight outside the walls with his body, not inside their chamber using only his wits and brain. Though now that he’s getting older and the creaks in his bones are more pronounced, I think he might reconsider joining us. I know, and he knows, that he can’t run the Guards forever. Even now, he’s in the Outskirts, training the next rotation of recruits with his eye on one of them to take his place. I don’t know that my guy will ever not be the grumpy asshole with a drive to keep us all safe, but maybe he’ll calm down at some point.
As for me? Well …
I was bitten.
About a month after Cassia’s funeral, we were out scouting for the materials we needed to make Wilson’s greenhouse, and I got caught up.
Showing the teeth marks to my lovely partners was one of the worst times of my life.
Not only did they freak out, which freaked me the fuck out, they banished me from ever leaving the community again. Jokes on them, though, because living in Moros’s cabin still meant I was on theoutside.
Silly boyfriends.
To this day, my blood still runs red.
Normal red.
My palm still aches from the check I did this morning.
Which means immunity.
Go figure.
Aside from that fiasco, and during the time I was quarantined, I decided to become a teacher.
Well, becoming a scribe was my original intent.
But when Kyrt supplied books full of misinformation, I couldn’t stand by and watch. So, I took it over.
Now, I write our history books.
Like, I literally write the books, teach the kids, and help the adultsremember.
All it took was telling the truth that Michael had left out.
Moros is not just a notorious legend, known for his blood-thirsty tendencies, but a warrior in a field of cherry trees. A lover hidden behind the armor of a fighter, just waiting to be understood by the right people.
And Wilson, my sweet lover, is not just a hermit in the woods, scaling trees and eating people. He’s a goddamnhero. My hero.
Our hero.
They both are.
The ones we needed and didn’t even know it.
As for Michael … his body was found inside his room, one of the very few private ones inside the community, laying in a puddle of nearly black blood, only a day after the raid. Although the other elders questioned Moros about his death, I know he was with us. Most of the time, at least.
There’s really no way to tell who killed him.
So, he was burned with the rest of the bodies and put to rest.
Hypocrite.
Having him gone has been the best thing to have happened to our little town, his blockades of evolution finally ended and our new ways of life finally beginning.
It all feels like taking a full breath of fresh air. Just like the earth after a clear rainstorm.
“Poppy Amo?”
