battered couch. It had a pink blanket on top and a handful of fantasy novels scattered on top. I was beginning to sense a theme.
I was halfway across the room before I realized that I wasn’t alone. The baby Biter was sitting on the floor behind two of the chairs. Not saying anything. Not moving. She was staring dead ahead.
It had been more than sixty-four hours. The danger zone was over. Maybe. Without an experienced person helping her through the transition, there was no way to tell whether Andrea had begun to recognize familiar settings or whether she’d gone full on monster.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said softly. The words sounded pretty freaking disingenuous. I slipped my stun gun out of my pocket and tried again. “My name’s Gemma Sinclair. Your parents sent me. Do you remember them?”
Nothing. It was like talking to a wall.
“Your name’s Andrea. Andrea Mitchell.”
The girl’s eyes flickered. She opened her mouth like she was going to take a breath—the action pure reflex—then closed it again. She nodded. “Andrea. Mitchell.”
“That’s you.” I knelt down slowly a few feet away. “Your parents have been missing you. They want you to come home.”
Andrea glanced around the bungalow’s big kitchen. Like she was searching for something. “Home.”
“I can take you there if you want.”
“Home,” she repeated, drawing her legs up even closer. She looked so damn small, so vulnerable. After three days on her own, her long blonde hair was a tangled mess. Her once white clothes were covered in mud and dust. They were a mottled brown color that matched her stained fingers and bare feet. “Parents.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Home.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “Parents.”
This wasn’t getting me anywhere. “I’m not exactly an expert on happy families, but it looked like you’ve got a pretty good setup.” Whatever her life had been like, it was over. There would be no more rushing off to school every morning or playing with her friends at night. The girl was dead. A Biter. A zombie. I shrugged. “They’ve got food for you.”
“Food.” Her pale lips pulled up into a toothy grin. Damn, she was young. Two of her front teeth were missing. Now they’d never grow in. “Want. Food.”
“Okay,” I held out a hand. “Come with me, and I’ll find you some food.”
Andrea stood up and grabbed my hand. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch, but her smile was genuine. “Want. Food.”
“Uh huh.” I should have saved some of the steak for Andrea. “Let’s go. We still have to get past the dog outside—.”
“Lucky,” Andrea interrupted.
She couldn’t remember her parents, but the dog got an immediate response. Lucky seemed like a pretty ironic name for the dragon in the yard, but I wasn’t about to object. Not if it meant that Andrea could get us out.
“Lucky is a big dog.”
Her grip tightened on my hand. “Mine.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not taking him home.”
If I never saw Lucky again then, it would be too soon.
I led Andrea through the living room and outside.
The battle in the yard was over. Lucky was settled back down in position on the front porch. He glanced up when he saw us walk out the door but settled back down when Andrea waggled a finger in his direction. D.S. was leaning against the side of the truck. His shirt was torn, there was a cut on his shoulder, but the color had returned to his high cheeks. He looked satiated.
He also looked pissed. “You do that again, and I’ll eat you.”
Definitely pissed.
“We needed a distraction.”
“I’m not a distraction. I’m a DUA agent. I might not have a pulse, but I’ve got a heart and a brain. We could have figured something else out.” He glanced at the slender girl still grasping my hand. “That her?”
“Andrea Mitchell,” I said. “She’s hungry.”
“Good to know.” He nodded at the truck. “She can ride in the back.”
“She’s eleven years
I was halfway across the room before I realized that I wasn’t alone. The baby Biter was sitting on the floor behind two of the chairs. Not saying anything. Not moving. She was staring dead ahead.
It had been more than sixty-four hours. The danger zone was over. Maybe. Without an experienced person helping her through the transition, there was no way to tell whether Andrea had begun to recognize familiar settings or whether she’d gone full on monster.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I said softly. The words sounded pretty freaking disingenuous. I slipped my stun gun out of my pocket and tried again. “My name’s Gemma Sinclair. Your parents sent me. Do you remember them?”
Nothing. It was like talking to a wall.
“Your name’s Andrea. Andrea Mitchell.”
The girl’s eyes flickered. She opened her mouth like she was going to take a breath—the action pure reflex—then closed it again. She nodded. “Andrea. Mitchell.”
“That’s you.” I knelt down slowly a few feet away. “Your parents have been missing you. They want you to come home.”
Andrea glanced around the bungalow’s big kitchen. Like she was searching for something. “Home.”
“I can take you there if you want.”
“Home,” she repeated, drawing her legs up even closer. She looked so damn small, so vulnerable. After three days on her own, her long blonde hair was a tangled mess. Her once white clothes were covered in mud and dust. They were a mottled brown color that matched her stained fingers and bare feet. “Parents.”
“Do you want to go home?”
“Home.” Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “Parents.”
This wasn’t getting me anywhere. “I’m not exactly an expert on happy families, but it looked like you’ve got a pretty good setup.” Whatever her life had been like, it was over. There would be no more rushing off to school every morning or playing with her friends at night. The girl was dead. A Biter. A zombie. I shrugged. “They’ve got food for you.”
“Food.” Her pale lips pulled up into a toothy grin. Damn, she was young. Two of her front teeth were missing. Now they’d never grow in. “Want. Food.”
“Okay,” I held out a hand. “Come with me, and I’ll find you some food.”
Andrea stood up and grabbed my hand. Her skin was cold and clammy to the touch, but her smile was genuine. “Want. Food.”
“Uh huh.” I should have saved some of the steak for Andrea. “Let’s go. We still have to get past the dog outside—.”
“Lucky,” Andrea interrupted.
She couldn’t remember her parents, but the dog got an immediate response. Lucky seemed like a pretty ironic name for the dragon in the yard, but I wasn’t about to object. Not if it meant that Andrea could get us out.
“Lucky is a big dog.”
Her grip tightened on my hand. “Mine.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not taking him home.”
If I never saw Lucky again then, it would be too soon.
I led Andrea through the living room and outside.
The battle in the yard was over. Lucky was settled back down in position on the front porch. He glanced up when he saw us walk out the door but settled back down when Andrea waggled a finger in his direction. D.S. was leaning against the side of the truck. His shirt was torn, there was a cut on his shoulder, but the color had returned to his high cheeks. He looked satiated.
He also looked pissed. “You do that again, and I’ll eat you.”
Definitely pissed.
“We needed a distraction.”
“I’m not a distraction. I’m a DUA agent. I might not have a pulse, but I’ve got a heart and a brain. We could have figured something else out.” He glanced at the slender girl still grasping my hand. “That her?”
“Andrea Mitchell,” I said. “She’s hungry.”
“Good to know.” He nodded at the truck. “She can ride in the back.”
“She’s eleven years
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