Before we started off, Maverick pulled a battered compass from his pants pocket. He tapped it once, watched the way the needle spun, then nodded to himself before walking away from me without a word. Following his lead, I jogged at his heels, determined to keep up.
At first I was a touch nervous that he planned on taking us right through the trees in front of us; no matter how much I want to go, I don’t think I could walk the path the lurkers took toward us the night Hallie died. But then Maverick turned left, heading down the middle of Ridgemond Avenue. It’s the direction of the nearby train tracks, and I exhale softly as I match his pace.
Up ahead, there’s an elementary school. It sits about two blocks past the rusted, unused train tracks. Martin Luther King Primary School marks the far reaches of the Grave on this side, the outskirts of the boundary that our patrol teams watch over.
It’s also the plot of land where we bury the few survivors who have died since the Turning.
Only our community-appointed gravediggers ever go this far. Even if a loved one is buried here, we’re not allowed to visit. It’s too dangerous.
At least, that’s what Jack always said when I asked to visit Hallie’s grave. But Jack’s not here, is he?
“Wait,” I call out. “Before we go… there’s something I have to do.”
Maverick pauses ahead of me. Interestingly, he’s not staring straight in front of him. As I move past him, I notice that he’s staringatMLK. I’m pretty sure that all he sees is the school. It’s not like he has any idea about the cemetery behind it… and I believed that until he frowns, shaking his head, as he says, “Iwouldn’t do it if I were you,” and I suspect that he might know more about the Grave than I would have expected.
Oh, well. He’s not me, and I’m not about to let him stop me, either. So, giving him a tight-lipped smile, holding up one single finger to signal for him to hang on, I jog across the street before he can say another word to me.
I slow down to a brisk walk when I reach the front of the school. Something compels me to stop and check over my shoulder, and I do. I give a start when I realize that Maverick is right behind me. Though his boots look like they’ve gotta be heavy, he must have a gait like a damn cat because I never even heard him coming.
He raises his eyebrows at me. “You done already? Because I don’t like stopping unless it’s necessary. That includes bathroom breaks if you’re wondering.”
If he thinks he can convince me to give up while we’re still in the Grave by mentioning I’ll have to squat outside to go, he has another think coming. “Don’t worry about me. I can piss outside without getting any on my socks. But that’s not what I’m doing. And you don’t have to come with me. I’ll be finished in a few seconds.”
He doesn’t have to come with me, but Maverick doesn’t quite get that. For a man who seems more than happy to go on without any volunteers after asking for them, when I inch my way around the back of the school, he’s right there behind me as though afraid we’ll be separated.
Oh, well. If he wants to come, he might as well. Maybe then he’ll understand that this isn’t a game to me.
Leading the way, I go around the perimeter of the school, more than a little nervous the closer I get to the cemetery. I’ve always wanted to see where Jack had Hallie buried. On the nights when my dreams were really bad—when I swore she washaunting me—I’d think of all the conversations I’d have at her graveside, of the apology I don’t think I’ll ever get quite right.
Now? Now I have my chance.
Except, the moment I turn the last corner, I stop short. Maverick does the same, pausing before he bumps into me. I don’t even think I’d notice if he did.
Nope. I’m too busy heaving behind the hand I clamped over my mouth.
This might have been a cemetery once. For all I know, it might even be the place where they placed Hallie’s remains. I don’t know. The only markers for the actual graves for the Grave are these large rocks painted with the name of each survivor we’ve lost since banding together.
But the rocks… they’re not set at the head of each grave anymore. All of them are strewn along the side of the field, tossed aside as if they weren’t anything but a pointless obstacle.
The graves… they’re not graves any longer, either. All they are are holes in the ground, big gaping holes where survivor corpses should’ve been allowed to rest at last.
At least, that’s what we thought. The lurkers obviously didn’t think so.
Instead, they feasted on our dead.
My worst fears have come true. The lurkers have eaten my twin.
Bile rises up in my throat, the acid burning my insides while also filling my mouth. I force it back. I’m all too aware that Maverick is watching me, watching for my reaction. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of proving him right. As much as I want to throw up, I tilt my head back, blinking away my sudden tears.
One deep breath, then another, and finally I can face him.
It’s his turn to look at me with a pitying expression. “You can always go back,” he murmurs softly.
I rub the back of my hand against my mouth, allowing myself to shudder just the once before I push the sight of the rocks and the gaping graves where it belongs: far fucking behind me.
“No.” My voice is just a touch shaky as I reply, “It’s too late to turn back now.”
And I mean that in more ways than one.