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“Right,” Oz said, pointing his pen at him. “Thank you.” He hitched his clipboard a little higher. “We’ll start with you. Name, please.”
“Tobias Breeze,” August said without missing a beat.
Oz scribbled the information down. “Age?”
“Twenty-eight.”
I had no idea whether that was the truth or a lie, when it wasn’t a conversation we’d ever gotten around to having. He looked around that age, so I guessed it was the truth.
“Infection status?”
“What do you mean?” August asked.
I frowned. Even I understood the question, and I had about as much scientific knowledge as a gnat.
“Immune, partially infected, or fully turned?” Oz gave a giggle that made him sound even younger than he was. “Obviously, you’re not fully turned or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Partially infected,” August said.
“How long ago?”
“Five years.”
Oz nodded as he recorded the information. “And last, I just need a bit of background information from you. How did you get here? Where were you going?”
“Does it matter?” August asked.
Oz smiled. “I’m just curious. You were out walking in the middle of nowhere. You must have walked a long way.”
“We did,” August said.
Oz made a little tsking sound in his throat. “Not quite true that, is it? I already have your bike here, so you don’t need to worry about giving away its location.”
It was like being hit in the solar plexus.
“You put the oil on the road,” August said after a pause.
Oz didn’t confess, but he didn’t need to; his smug smile said it for him. Everything had seemed like bad luck up to this point, but it turned out none of it was, that he’d nobbled us, and then just waited for us to walk into his trap. Which meant there wasn’t just one trap. No one could be that confident of someone stumbling into it with just one. He must have scattered them all over. Presumably with different bait. Some people might pass by a sword. But food or water? A first-aid kit?
Oz turned his attention to me and asked the same questions he’d asked August. I answered them truthfully because there didn’t seem any point in lying. Apparently satisfied with what he’d found out, he left again.
August was the first to break the silence left in Oz’s wake. “If you get a chance to get away, make sure you take it and don’t look back.”
I frowned. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
August smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “A sensible one. A determined one. A man who has something he needs to do.”
“We’ll both get away.”
“Maybe.”
More confusing than his words was his refusal to look at me. “August?”
He shook his head and refused to say more.
Chapter Thirteen
August
