Grey Knights

Chapter 1

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

Hamlet

 Chapter 1

To the police, we’re escaped lab rats. Of course, rats don’t normally nibble on your brain and claw your heart out, not if you’re alive. Does that mean we’re worse than rats?  At least the rats are survivors. They sneak around in the walls, live off what they steal, and they rarely get caught. In World Religions, I learned about a Hindu temple where the rats are sacred. Apparently, a few people can see through skin and stigma to the intrinsic worth of life.

Curled up safely between Grey and me, her fist clenched around a little splash of red plastic, Amber yawns, rubbing her eyes. The serenity on her face melts the worry lines on mine. Her lids flutter as she realizes she’s cuddled up with Greyson. Startled, she searches frantically for me. I guess she’s woken up too many nights and found me gone. She used to sneak into bed with me before the Z-Virus turned me into a wolf in her sister’s clothing. I pet her hair and she snuggles into my palm.

“Are you tired of watching, Evy?” Sleep crusts the words she mumbles. “I can stay awake to guard you while you take a nap.” My lips curl at her ingenuous generosity. She can barely open her eyes, but to reassure me, she opens her fist to expose the red blotch for what it is—a very small pocketknife. “Greyson gave it to me so I would be safe.” 

Is this the part where I’m allowed to cry? For God’s sake! My baby sister sleeps with a knife, not a puppy!

For a six-year-old, life between the battle lines doesn’t offer a wide variety of options:  shut up, lie down a victim and die; or roar, grab a weapon and survive. It kind of breaks my heart that the little pink princess has been locked away in a tower. But then again, I traded in my tiara and stilettos for a sharp blade and combat boots a long time ago.

Greyson stirs, shifting Amber into his lap. A familiar warm spot kindles in my chest. How can you not love the boy who loves what you love most? That’s the way it works, right?

Amber reaches up to rub his shaved head. Her eyes half shut again, she grins. “Greyson got a hair cut.”

Barely managing a tight-lipped nod, I lean my head back against the seat. The near miss of a sharp blade exposing his brain, carving him out of my life, catches my breath. I shut my eyes and fade the scene to black.  It’s over. The ZV-Institute is a pile of ashes behind us.

Greyson passes his palm over his crown.  “How do you like that, kid? Pretty smooth, huh? It’s the new me.” 

I roll my eyes lazily, but his bravado drags a smile across my lips. Even bald, the boy sweats charm.

Amber grins, nestles into his chest, and yawns, patting his cheek. “I love you, Greyson.”

God! If only Greyson were that easy for me.  I really want to slip beneath his arm, lay my head in the soft spot under his shoulder, cuddle up, and breathe him in, eau de zombie and all. But Amber’s between us, and, probably, those syringes of Greyson’s blood I gave to Nicolas.

Funny—well, maybe not funny, maybe excruciatingly dysfunctional—when the guns are firing, the teeth are gnashing, and the grenades are exploding, Greyson and I engage like parts of a well-oiled machine. But after the smoke settles, we can’t seem to see each other clearly anymore; the gears between us rumble, rusty and warped.

“Are we there yet, Evy?” Amber doesn’t even know where we’re going, but she’s up for the adventure. I always knew she was a tough little cookie. Even before I got infected, she was so determined to hang with me that she put on her big girl biking shoes and rode next to me down the trails while I worked out. I had to keep a close eye on her because she would die before she would admit she wasn’t big enough to go along. And, let’s face it, not many six-year-olds can survive a zombie home invasion, jump through stained glass windows, and kick off rabid ZVs from the limbs of a tree without spending the rest of their life collapsed into a silent heap of snot and tears.