A shadow of a smile crosses his face. “We need to get inside.”
I nod, letting him guide me away from the gate that rattles with undead fists. I hope it holds. My lungs burn, legs trembling with exhaustion and fading adrenaline.
When we reach my sister, I crouch down beside her. The thin red line across her throat stands out like an accusation. I was supposed to protect her. That was always my job.
“Amelia.” I raise my hand?—
“I’ll do it.” Without hesitation, Julien bends down and scoops my sister into his arms like she weighs nothing.
An ugly feeling twists my stomach as her head lolls against his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Everything else fades except how her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.
What is wrong with me? She’s my sister.
“Is she okay?” I hurry to keep pace.
Julien doesn’t look back. “She needs rest.”
“I can?—”
“You’ve done enough.” His tone isn’t accusatory, just matter-of-fact, but it lands like a slap anyway.
Cameron and Sienna rush ahead to hold the church door open after the reverend and my parents disappear inside. As we pass through and the door closes, Sienna catches my eye, her gaze soft.
She takes my hand and pulls me into a hug. “You did the right thing.”
Did I?
If I hadn’t left to check the bell tower, Julien wouldn’t have left to search for me, and the strangers wouldn’t have gotten in. We’d still have supplies and cars. Amelia wouldn’t have had a knife at her throat, but me.
Over Sienna’s shoulder, I observe Julien carry my sister through the corridor, his steps careful not to jostle her while my mother walks beside him. The tenderness in his movements makes my chest ache.
Whatever happened in the bell tower—if anything at all—I can’t interpret stupid feelings into it.
Maybe I’m the worst monster of all.
ELEVEN
DAKOTA
Amelia sits beside me, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold something in.
Or keep something out.
She hasn’t said a word since Julien carried her back inside, and the silence between us stretches wider than the space on this threadbare church carpet we’re sharing.
Her neck still bears a thin red line. A crimson reminder of my failure. I can’t stop staring at it, memorising the way it rises and falls with each breath she takes. She’s alive despite me, not because of me.
The church feels colder tonight, and the walls that sheltered us now feel like a trap.
The zombies outside. The empty spaces where our supplies used to be. The car we used to barricade the gate might buy us time, but for what? To die more slowly?
Beside us, Cameron and Sienna whisper, their heads bent close. Rosa continues her knitting, and my mother strokes Amelia’s hair whenever she walks by, as if making sure she’s stillreal while my father clutches a half-empty bottle of whiskey he found God knows where.
“Found these.” Julien enters, carrying a cardboard box that he places in the center of our circle. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing the bandage Rosa wrapped around his forearm earlier. “Had them stashed in the choir loft in case we lost access to the kitchen.”
The reverend crawls to the box, retrieving a can of beans.
My father straightens against the wall. “You hid food from us?”
