Page 47

The thwack of the crossbow bolt came within a fraction of a second, the bolt burying itself dead center in Oz’s forehead. He wobbled precariously, his expression one of disbelief. And then he toppled backward, eyes wide and sightless, staring up at the ceiling.

Chapter Sixteen

Keaton

The decision to go back for August and put my life, my future plans, everything, at risk hadn’t come easily. I’d wrestled with it all the way through the forest, across the courtyard, and back to the door I’d escaped from. I’d kept tussling with it as I searched room after room for my crossbow—or failing that, something better than the thick branch I’d found in the forest.

A room full of biters came early in my search, one thankfully hurling itself against the door before I opened it and all hell let loose. It made sense that Oz would have a stash of test subjects. I resolved to be more careful from this point on.

A kitchen lay across the hall stocked with food: old tins, and vegetables Oz must grow. The remnants of the soup he’d fed us still sat in a large pan on a camping stove attached to a gas cylinder.

On the second floor, I found where Oz slept. The single bed was the only clear space in a room otherwise drowning in clutter. I’d assumed it was all junk until I found the crossbow and August’s axe among the piles. The realization had sunk in at that point that I was looking at possessions stripped from other prisoners.

And then I found the lab.

I’d known the moment I walked in on August in that impossible predicament, with Oz clearly having lost it, that I’d made the right choice in coming back. And now, with Oz lying dead at my feet, I turned my attention to August. He was so pale he almost blended in with the floor. And trembling. Any anger I still carried toward him dissolved in an instant. I’d experienced some things in the army, but no one had ever tried to cut my tongue out.

I went to him and held out my hand. “Let me help you up.”

I half expected him to brush me off, to insist he could do it himself. He didn’t. He took my hand and let me pull him to his feet. Evidence, if any were needed, of how wretched he felt.

Before I could think better of it, I pulled him into my arms, our slight difference in heights meaning his head came to rest on my shoulder. He smelled of sweat. And fear. And I didn’t give a damn.

“What are you doing?” His voice was muffled against the fireman’s jacket I still wore, something about that making me smile.

“This is a hug.”

“I know it’s a hug.”

“Then don’t ask silly questions. If ever there was someone who looked like they needed a hug, then it’s you.”

“I don’t need—”

I tightened my grip. “Yeah, you do.”

His body relaxed against mine. “He was going to cut out my tongue. He thought that was the solution to stopping my lies.”

I fought against what I wanted to say and lost the battle. “I mean… he had a point.”

A short, surprised laugh escaped him. “Don’t feel guilty about killing him.”

“I don’t.”

August eased himself back out of my arms, pointing to the wall. “That’s his science. That’s what he would have done to you.”

I only needed to look at a few photos before wrenching my gaze away. “Sick bastard!”

“Yeah.”

I cleared my throat, curiosity making me point out the elephant in the room. “Am I allowed to ask what happened to your shirt?”

August’s glance downward suggested that in all the drama he’d forgotten being half naked. I hadn’t. I had done nothing but notice with him pressed against me. My hands had been on bare skin. Warm, taut, bare skin.

“I lost it while I was unconscious.”

I grimaced at the implication.

August rattled his chain to remind me he was still shackled to the pipe. The same key I’d used to unlock my manacle earlier, unlocked his. Once free, he crossed the room and stood over Oz’s corpse, his expression giving nothing away. I left him to it, letting him have his moment. Eventually he hawked up some phlegm and let fly. It landed on Oz’s chest.