“Jack,” I say, and I murmur so that I don’t aggravate his headache, “don’t you think you should lie down? I can…” I gulp, but then I tell myself it’s for Jack and I continue, “I can go get Eddie or… or Chase or someone, they can take over for you. You should rest.”
Sleep is the only thing that really kills his migraines. Sleep and dark and five fucking minutes of peace—but I can’t give him that, can I? Just like he won’t let even his right-hand man know about his headaches.
He shakes his head gingerly. “Can’t. There’s not much time left. Besides, I, unh?—”
He’s wincing and, though the shade in the kitchen is drawn, there’s enough natural light filtering in to make the pain worse. I know why he hides his migraines, suffering alone. They don’t happen all that often, but the others might judge his abilities as the Grave’s leader if they knew.
That, plus how anything that makes you seem more like a lurker than a survivor is always suspect. Lurkers are so debilitated by the tiniest bit of light that they can’t step foot out of their dark dwellings until the sun has gone down. Flashlights slow them down almost as well as a survivor’s stare, street lamps keep them from breaking into the Grave, and fire burns them to ash.
Right now, watching Jack gulp and wince and fight the light-sensitivity that comes with a migraine, I would be reaching for my lighter if I didn’t know better.
“Okay,” I relent, “then why don’t you close your eyes? You might feel better.”
He sighs. “I could, but then I wouldn’t get to see you anymore. And if this is it, I’m going to treasure every last glimpse I have left.”
My fingers flex. I grip the side of my chair, holding on tight. “Jack…Dad?—”
“Humor your old man, honey. It’s bad enough that I have to let you go. Just sit with me, let me spend some time with you. I never—I mean, it would be nice to be here together, Allie. Even for a few moments.”
Back when he was a firefighter, it was always me and Hallie and Mom; Rory followed in Jack’s footsteps and volunteered right out of high school. Rory would sometimes take me hiking and camping, acting the part of my dad because Jack wasalwaysworking. It didn’t get any better after the Turning. To help him grieve Mom and Rory more than anything else, Jack took over the Grave. It was usually just me and Hallie fending for ourselves.
I’ve seen more of him these last six weeks than in the last six years, and, yeah, I resented him for it, whether I’d admitted that before now or not. That doesn’t mean I’m not going to miss him. I am. Tears sting my eyes at that realization, and I swallow roughly, forcing them back.
Jack is the only one who can make my tough facade crumble. The back of my throat is burning. Fuck me. This is harder than I thought it might be.
“I have a gift for you,” he says.
I can’t speak. I just nod.
Jack gets up slowly and crosses the kitchen. There’s a drawer at the end that we never use. It was jammed when we moved into this house, and when Hallie ripped the top of her fingernail off of her pointer finger trying to pry it open, he made us promise to leave it alone. We did… but now he heads right for it and, after playing with a catch on the underside, it pops open.
My lips part in surprise. I didn’t know it could do that.
He grabs something from inside the drawer before closing it gently and re-engaging the lock. Then, wearing a wistful expression, he places it in front of me before taking his seat again.
It’s a glass vial, about five inches tall and one inch wide, half-filled with a clear liquid. It’s not water. It’s too thick and gloopy to be, and it reflects the dim kitchen like a piece of glitter. A single cut of a faded red ribbon is tied in a bow around the lip. A piece of cork serves as a tight seal at the top.
I don’t have to ask what this is. No wonder Jack kept it hidden. I’ve only seen one of these once before, when the initial delivery was made in the first few days following the Turning, but I’ve never forgotten what they look like.
An antidote.
“Jack, no… I can’t take that.” I shake my head, holding my hands up, warding the bottle away. “No.No.Put that thing back. Iwon’ttake it.”
His jaw firms. “If you don’t take it, I can’t let you go.”
He’s dead serious, too, like he’s going to go up against the whole Grave and tell them their votes meant shit, that I’m being grounded, all because I’m not selfish enough to take that bottle with me.
I have to make him understand.
“But we only have, like, fifteen of those for the whole Grave.”
“Yes,” he counters, “but I only have one daughter left.”
And that’s when I understand there’s no way in fucking hell I can refuse his gift. Because I wouldn’t be bringing it with me for me—I’d do it for Jack.
I reach for the vial. He places it against my palm.
“I’ll bring it back,” I promise. “I won’t have to use it. I’ll bring it back after I’ve killed off that nest, and when I do? I’ll give it back to you.”
