Twelve

          “Dad, why not?” I object, following as he leaves the living room to try to get away from me. I catch him in the kitchen and stamp my foot, frustrated. “It’s two weeks away! Why can’t I go? I’ve been to her house before, many times.”

            I wish my mom were home. If she were, I could ask her and she would be completely fine with it.

            “Drop it, Sloane.” His voice is tense and he refuses to turn around to look at me. “You’re not going.”

            My voice grows desperate. It isn’t the fact that I can’t go, but the fact that he won’t give me a reason. He expects me to just leave it alone without questioning why he’s being unfair.

            “Why?” He doesn’t respond. “Why?” I repeat. “Give me one good reason why I can’t go, and I’ll drop it.”

            My dad whips around. His nostrils are flared and his face is red from his anger. “It’s for your safety,” he snaps. Quickly, he leaves the room and I have nothing more to say.

            “Sloane!” I’m still in the kitchen, staring at the doorway my father just walked through. I run my fingers through my hair, confused. “Sloane!”

            Suddenly I’m back, as quickly as if someone changed the channel. Jack breathes my name the third time and once my eyes adjust, I hold in a scream. A woman is standing in front of me, her gray eyes searching my face. She isn’t groaning or grasping for me, but just standing there, watching.

            My breaths come out in jagged gasps as she raises her arm. I know I should grab the shotgun, that I should shoot, but I’m frozen. If I move, I could startle the monster and she could attack me.

            Jack gasps as the woman’s fingers touch my hair. She gently pulls it away from my face and stares at it, mesmerized. For a moment, our eyes meet. There’s something different about them from the usual ones I’ve seen; something off.

            I hear footsteps and though I’m proud that Jack’s taking a stand for once, I can’t move. I can’t even look away from the woman’s gaze. Her eyes are piercing.

            We stay locked, neither of us moving. It’s like we’re searching each other’s souls and trying to see what’s inside. She drops her hand, tilts her head slightly.

            She’s decapitated.

            The ringing in my ears prevents me from registering what just happened. One moment I was looking at her, saving her mysterious, gray eyes to memories. Then the next she’s gone, her body slumping to the floor.

            Jagger roughly grabs the upper part of my arm before I can see that it’s him. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses under his breath. He walks me towards Jack and Bullet, who are staring wide-eyed. Jack’s so pale I think he might throw up again.

            He does.

            While he turns away Jagger spins me around to face him. His expression is cold but his eyes look relived.

            “Sloane, answer me,” he whispers harshly. Jack’s gagging noises prevents him from hearing anything we’re saying.

            “I had a vision,” I explain. “Then she was there when I came back, touching my hair. I was frozen.”

            Jagger shakes his head and brushes past me just as Jack stands up. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and I feel sorry for the pile of pants on the floor behind him.

            “What is wrong with you?” Jagger barks, shoving Jack by his shoulders. He looks frightened and doesn’t fight back. He cowers away from Jagger’s touch. “She was in trouble and you just stood there? She could have been killed!”

            He shoves him again and Jack stutters. “I-I-I.” He doesn’t get anything more out.

            Jagger reaches for him when I grab the back of his shirt and tug him back. He turns around slowly, looking at me with something mixed between confusion and relief.

            “Leave him alone,” I say quietly.

            Jagger turns around but doesn’t raise his head to look at Jack. “Cole is by the shampoo isle with Emily. Go find him.” Jack trembles but doesn’t move. “Now.”

            Jack’s walking, obviously scared away from us. As he passes a shirt rack a cardigan falls off, it’s hanger clattering to the floor. He flinches and yelps. I sigh.

            “I’m going to follow him and make sure he’s okay,” I tell Jagger before taking off after Jack. I hear Jagger mumble something rude under his breath but he follows behind, keeping watch with Bullet beside him.

            When Jack’s safe and I have the unfortunate pleasure of finding Emily and Cole making out in the soap isle, I head out in search of power again. Jagger yells at them briefly about being stupidly unsafe before following me again, but at a far distance.

            “What was it about?” Jagger’s voice is quiet behind me. I look over my shoulder and Jagger meets my eyes. “What happened in your vision?”

            I turn back around my shoulder and shrug. Jagger catches up to me before I start talking quietly, scanning the isles for threats. Whenever we see a zombie Jagger picks it off, not letting me get a chance.

            My dad wouldn’t let me go to my friend’s house,” I mumble, the memory fresh in my mind. “I think.”

            “That’s it?”

            “He refused to say why except that it was for my own safety.”

            Jagger nods but doesn’t say anything.

            In the silence I listen to the sounds of Cole fighting with Emily somewhere behind us and various noises that I can’t put a name to. When I reach the door of what I assume is the breaker system, Jagger reaches for the handle.

            “Gun’s pointed,” he says.

            I raise my shotgun and take aim. Jagger copies me and throws open the door before I can prepare myself. Something flashes in my view and I put my finger to the trigger. I hear Jagger readying to shoot when the unthinkable happens.

            “Oh my god,” I gasp. “Stop!”

            When Jagger doesn’t lower his gun and jump in front of his aim and shove his gun away. He looks bewildered, as if I just shot him but he doesn’t move. When I’m calm, I slowly turn around, making sure that what I saw was real. I can’t believe it when I looked a second ago. Can I believe it now?

            A small child whimpers in front of me. His thin brown hair is dirty and matted against his scratched forehead. His cheeks are rosy despite his pale complexion and before I can meet his eyes his hands are reaching for me as he runs.

            Jagger raises his gun and I scream at the top of my lungs for him to stop.

            “He’s human,” I whisper as he clutches my bare leg. His round eyes look up to me and I can tell he’s smiling even though his mouth is hanging open.

            “This isn’t possible.” Jagger’s tone is pure disbelief. “He couldn’t have survived this long. Get away from it, Sloane.”

            Upon instinct I let my hands cradle the back of the child. He can’t be more than four. “No.”

            “Sloane.”

            “No,” I repeat, shielding the child from Jagger. “He’s human. He’s part of us, now.”

            Something resembling a growl leaves Jagger’s lips. I’ve seen him get mad with Cole, Emily and now Jack, but I’ve never seen him like this before. This emotion is completely different.

            Before he can say something else I hand him my flashlight. “If you can’t believe he’s human, than look around the room and see for yourself.”

            In the corner there’s a pile of food and beside it, garbage. In another part there’s an open door, leading into a small bathroom. There’s a filthy, toy truck sitting on the carpet beside a large desk. Jagger walks over and picks up a picture frame.

            “I believe it,” he mutters, showing me the frame. Inside is a picture of the child and a woman that I instantly recognize. It’s her eyes that get me. They’re a shade of gray. “We’re not where the breaker is. We’re in the manager’s office.”

            Jagger meets my eyes and I turn down to the boy. His eyes follow and the two of us stare at the child, unsure of what to do or say. We never expected a child to survive. We thought it was so impossible that the thought never crossed our minds of anyone surviving.

            “Mommy,” the little boy says, hugging me tighter.

            A lump rises in my throat and I struggle to swallow it down. Jagger meets my shocked gaze and gives me a dark smirk.

            “You do kind of look like her.”

            I turn away from him. “You’re not helping.”