baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt — this one emblazoned with a Captain America shield — and his high-topped Converse apparently hadn’t made any sound as he crossed the flagstones of the patio.
“Chris?” I finally managed, because one of us had to say something, and it seemed he was content to just stand there and stare at me with those weird pale blue eyes of his.
Finally, his mouth curved in a smile. His teeth were slightly yellowish, as was his skin and hair. Everything about him seemed vaguely yellow, except his eyes. “You’re immune,” he said, and made the oddest sound, like a choked little giggle.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Maybe,” I replied. “Or maybe I just haven’t gotten sick yet.”
“No, you’re immune.” His pale gaze raked me up and down, and I tensed. The clothes I wore were anything but revealing, and yet the way he was looking at me made me feel as if I wasn’t wearing anything at all…that he’d spent way too much time imagining what I looked like naked. “Just like me.”
I wanted to retort, I am nothing like you , but something held me back. Yes, I had that rock in my hand. Belatedly, I realized that was all I had, since in my haste to get out of the car and up to my aunt and uncle’s front door, I’d left the gun in the glove compartment of the Cherokee. Shit.
“This is perfect,” he went on, his tone almost dreamy. “Everyone gone except you and me. Just the way I always wanted it.”
Jesus Christ. I could feel the sharp edges of the rock biting into my fingers and palm. If I threw it, would it be enough to knock him out, or at least put him off balance enough for me to bolt to the car? I had no idea. Normally, I’d say I was pretty strong…but was I strong enough?
“Um, Chris,” I said, figuring that ignoring his comment seemed safest in that moment, “what about your parents? Your neighbors on the other side?”
An expression of annoyance crossed his lumpy features. “I told you. They’re all gone. Everyone on the whole street. I checked.” A pause, and then he added, “Your aunt and uncle, too, and your cousins. I went in and looked, then locked the door when I came back out. I figured no one else would be going in there.” The annoyed look morphed into one of sly knowing. “So you won’t need that rock to break in. Why don’t you give it to me?”
I didn’t reply. He frowned, taking a step toward me, eyes fixed on my face, greedy, hungry. A pale pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and I felt my stomach heave.
Now, Jessica!
Without stopping to think, I whipped my arm around and hurled the rock at Chris’s head with all the strength I possessed. It hit him square in the temple, and he let out a shocked cry, eyes wide and disbelieving, then backed away from me as blood began to pour through the fingers he put up against the wound.
That was the only opening I would get, I knew. I tore out of there, bolting as if someone had just shot off a starter pistol at a track meet. Behind me, I could hear Chris cursing, calling me a bitch and worse — but he was also coming after me. And though he was soft-looking and most likely out of shape, he was also almost a foot taller than I, which meant his legs could cover the ground a lot more quickly.
If I looked back, I’d be lost. I could only continue to pound my way toward the Cherokee, one hand scrabbling in my pants pocket for the key as I ran. My fingers closed around the fob, and I hit the “unlock” button while I was still a good twenty feet away. The lights flashed, and from the passenger seat I could hear Dutchie bark — not a friendly bark of greeting, but a sharp, strained one, as if warning me.
A cold, clammy hand caught hold of my bicep and spun me around. Chris’s washed-out blue eyes, even more blindingly pale now that they were circled by bright red blood flowing down from the gash in his head, bored into me.
“You’re going to regret that.”
“Chris,
“Chris?” I finally managed, because one of us had to say something, and it seemed he was content to just stand there and stare at me with those weird pale blue eyes of his.
Finally, his mouth curved in a smile. His teeth were slightly yellowish, as was his skin and hair. Everything about him seemed vaguely yellow, except his eyes. “You’re immune,” he said, and made the oddest sound, like a choked little giggle.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Maybe,” I replied. “Or maybe I just haven’t gotten sick yet.”
“No, you’re immune.” His pale gaze raked me up and down, and I tensed. The clothes I wore were anything but revealing, and yet the way he was looking at me made me feel as if I wasn’t wearing anything at all…that he’d spent way too much time imagining what I looked like naked. “Just like me.”
I wanted to retort, I am nothing like you , but something held me back. Yes, I had that rock in my hand. Belatedly, I realized that was all I had, since in my haste to get out of the car and up to my aunt and uncle’s front door, I’d left the gun in the glove compartment of the Cherokee. Shit.
“This is perfect,” he went on, his tone almost dreamy. “Everyone gone except you and me. Just the way I always wanted it.”
Jesus Christ. I could feel the sharp edges of the rock biting into my fingers and palm. If I threw it, would it be enough to knock him out, or at least put him off balance enough for me to bolt to the car? I had no idea. Normally, I’d say I was pretty strong…but was I strong enough?
“Um, Chris,” I said, figuring that ignoring his comment seemed safest in that moment, “what about your parents? Your neighbors on the other side?”
An expression of annoyance crossed his lumpy features. “I told you. They’re all gone. Everyone on the whole street. I checked.” A pause, and then he added, “Your aunt and uncle, too, and your cousins. I went in and looked, then locked the door when I came back out. I figured no one else would be going in there.” The annoyed look morphed into one of sly knowing. “So you won’t need that rock to break in. Why don’t you give it to me?”
I didn’t reply. He frowned, taking a step toward me, eyes fixed on my face, greedy, hungry. A pale pink tongue darted out to moisten his lips, and I felt my stomach heave.
Now, Jessica!
Without stopping to think, I whipped my arm around and hurled the rock at Chris’s head with all the strength I possessed. It hit him square in the temple, and he let out a shocked cry, eyes wide and disbelieving, then backed away from me as blood began to pour through the fingers he put up against the wound.
That was the only opening I would get, I knew. I tore out of there, bolting as if someone had just shot off a starter pistol at a track meet. Behind me, I could hear Chris cursing, calling me a bitch and worse — but he was also coming after me. And though he was soft-looking and most likely out of shape, he was also almost a foot taller than I, which meant his legs could cover the ground a lot more quickly.
If I looked back, I’d be lost. I could only continue to pound my way toward the Cherokee, one hand scrabbling in my pants pocket for the key as I ran. My fingers closed around the fob, and I hit the “unlock” button while I was still a good twenty feet away. The lights flashed, and from the passenger seat I could hear Dutchie bark — not a friendly bark of greeting, but a sharp, strained one, as if warning me.
A cold, clammy hand caught hold of my bicep and spun me around. Chris’s washed-out blue eyes, even more blindingly pale now that they were circled by bright red blood flowing down from the gash in his head, bored into me.
“You’re going to regret that.”
“Chris,
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