The Dead Saga (Book 3): Odium III by Claire C. Riley

mouth.
    “Okay, we’re done here.” I peeled her frail, skinny body away from mine and took a step backwards, feeling nauseated by the snot bubble coming out of her left nostril. I turned away and looked at Deacon. “We are not blowing this place up, and you will take us to Hilary and your baby. It’s important.” I turned to Nova. “And you will not shoot this man. If you do, I’ll shoot you. You got that?”
    She looked at me deadpan before pulling out her cigarettes and lighting one. “What-the-fuck-ever,” she said drolly.
    “You don’t understand,” Deacon said, staring down at his feet. “If you understood then you’d want to burn this place too.”
    I stepped forward and crouched down in front of him. “I used to live in one of these cities. I do understand. They didn’t test on me like they do here, but they stripped away everything that I was. They humiliated me, they hurt me…” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “They hurt everybody, so I do understand. And I don’t blame you for believing what you do, but there are things here that could help people survive. You could make this work.”
    “You don’t understand” was all he mumbled back, letting his head fall forward and his chin rest on his chest. “You just don’t understand.”
    “So make us,” I replied.
    He looked up at me through his dark lashes, his eyes like liquid black. His full lips parted hesitantly, as if he were still deciding on how to reply to me. “Okay.”
    I stared dumbfounded for a moment before getting my act together and giving him a firm nod. “If I untie you, do you promise to behave?” I asked.
    “Yes.”
    I looked over at Nova, who shrugged nonchalantly—though I knew she was anything but. “I’ve got this fool in my crosshairs, you don’t even need to worry about that.” Her eyes narrowed as she scowled down at Deacon. His lips quirked up at the edges into a sickly smile.
    Well shit, these two were never going to play nice, I realized.
    “Good,” I snapped at Deacon, my mood darkening with the return of my thumping headache. “Nova, there must have been a medic tent here or something.”
    “Yeah, so?”
    “See if there are any painkillers or some shit I can take for this flu. I swear my brain is trying to escape through my eyeballs. And we need something to clean his head wound. It’s still bleeding and will attract deaders if we take him anywhere.”
    I took a step back and sat down in my chair feeling hot and sweaty. The adrenaline rush was wearing off and leaving me feeling especially shitty.
    “It’s just a cold, stop being such a baby,” Nova said.
    “It’s the flu.” I glared back.
    She snorted back a reply and left the tent, hopefully in search of medicine for me. I’d suffered through several years in the apocalypse and I’d never felt so physically lousy from an illness. I’d fought off chest infections, knife wounds, sprained wrists, gunshots, beatings, and so much more, but this flu was kicking my ass.
    I dozed in the chair until Nova came back. The room was hot—too hot—yet a cold chill still managed to run down my spine as the first signs of a fever began to hit. A cold sweat covered my body, and I knew that I must have looked like total crap when Nova frowned down at me.
    “Don’t go fuckin’ dying on me, Nina,” she said, and dropped a small white tub of what I assumed to be painkillers into my lap. I guess by the lack of tact, she was still pissed at me for not letting her kill Deacon.
    I fumbled with the lid of the tub and shook out two white tablets before swallowing them down. I didn’t even care about finding my water to get them down my dry throat, I just needed them inside my system as soon as physically possible. Thankfully, Nova let me rest for twenty minutes until the headache started to ease. The entire time she sat on the chair opposite Deacon, staring at him and smoking as if she had an endless supply and I wasn’t in desperate need of some clean air