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Keaton said nothing until we’d cleared the gate, the process to leave a community far simpler than that required to enter one. “Do you always break hearts wherever you go?”
I shrugged. It wasn’t a subject I particularly wanted to discuss. August used sexual entanglements as another means of getting what he wanted. Whether that be a place to stay, information, or a meal he didn’t need to pay for. But with Keaton by my side, I couldn’t become August again, or anyone else for that matter. I was stuck being Tobias Breeze for a few more hours. “It’s not like I encouraged her.”
Apparently, there was something funny about what I’d said, Keaton laughing as he walked toward the wooded area that bordered Birmingham. “What?” I demanded. “And where are you going?”
He gestured toward the trees. “My weapon.”
Keaton had a weapon besides the dagger he’d used last night. Not the best news, but hardly surprising. I trailed after him as he squinted at a tree, seemed to recognize it despite its unremarkable appearance, and used it to orient himself. I cocked my head, listening for any telltale sounds of biters, because one thing they weren’t was quiet. The virus stole any aptitude for stealth along with most other things that made a person human, leaving an empty shell interested in nothing but hunting down its next meal.
“You hooked that woman like she was a fish and you’d reeled her in,” Keaton said as he crouched and dug in the soil with his bare hands.
The accuracy of the reading momentarily took me aback. “How so?”
“The smile. The deliberate pause.” He paused his digging to do an almost perfect impression of my cap-doffing gesture. “That. You wanted her to fawn all over you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He unearthed something large, unwrapping the cloth that covered it to reveal a crossbow and a full quiver of bolts. I would have preferred something that required close proximity. Like a sword. Or like the axe I carried myself. “Do you know how to use that thing?”
He squinted up at me, the day brighter after the red rainstorm of the night before, as it always was. As if the sky had cleansed itself of its toxicity. “No. I just carry it around to make me look big and butch.”
No crossbow needed for that. “I’ll rephrase my question. How good are you? If I’m traveling with someone, I like to know what I’m dealing with in case we run into trouble.”
Keaton stood, using the side of his boot to fill in the hole. He folded the cloth and put it in his pocket, presumably for the next time he needed to hide his crossbow. “Don’t you mean when we run into trouble?”
I inclined my head in recognition of the indisputable fact. He wasn’t to know that I expected our acquaintance to last only a matter of hours before I ditched him. “Okay. How good are you with it when we run into trouble?”
“Pretty good.”
“Which means what?”
“I’m consistently accurate up to about seventy meters. Sometimes farther if I’m having a good day and there’s little wind.”
“Right.” I logged that for future reference, amending my plan for the coming night to make sure he didn’t have his crossbow anywhere near him. I didn’t fancy my chances of getting further than seventy meters away before he noticed I had no intention of keeping my side of the bargain.
He slung the crossbow over his shoulder so that it dangled at his side within easy reach, and he attached the quiver to his belt. Once everything was in place, he stared at me expectantly. I retraced our steps, my hiding place a small cave that could only be seen once you were on top of it. “Who taught you to shoot a crossbow?”
“The army.”
“You’re a soldier?”
“I was. Until I got bitten. They prefer their soldiers not to have to stay out of the rain.”
“Seems picky. With an attitude like that, they’ll run out of people they can use.”
“Right,” Keaton said, bitterness seeping into his voice. “Try telling them that.” I brushed a thick overhang of ferns out of the way to reveal the cave entrance. “This is where you keep the suppressants?” he asked.
“No.” Disappointment flickered across his face before he masked it. “This is where I keep my bike.”
“You have a bike?”
I didn’t need to answer that question, seeing as I was already wheeling it out. “You thought I walked everywhere?” I rested it on its stand and then went back for my axe and leather jacket. I put on the jacket, tucking the axe into it once I’d zipped it up. When I returned, Keaton was circling the bike, his expression one that said he could barely believe what he was seeing.
“How old is it?” he asked.
“Old.”
“And it still runs?”
