The Burning World (Warm Bodies #2)(34)

She watches me studying her, and when she notices the glimmer of moisture in my eyes she self-consciously pulls her hand away. “Look on the bright side,” she says, forcing a smile. “If we ever get married, you won’t have to buy a ring.”

? ? ?

We lose track of time, sitting in the dark. No one comes to drag us into another “interview.” No one slides a tray of food under the door. The speaker above the toilets clicks on and plays nondescript instrumental rock for a while, then switches mid-beat to nondescript instrumental hip-hop, then clicks off. Then clicks on again and plays classical. It might be psychological torture, or it might just be these lunatics’ idea of ambiance. I try to ignore it.

“Mozart,” Julie says in a bitter chuckle, staring at the speaker. “It’s supposed to be the pinnacle of art, right? This transcendent human achievement? And we use it for background noise in bathrooms. We literally shit on it.” There’s a pained tightness in her voice. She spasms occasionally and clenches her right hand. When the music clicks off she immediately turns her attention to the patch of light on the floor. “How long do you think the solar panels will keep working? Will that bulb out there still be flickering when we’re dead and everyone we know is dead?”

I look at her uneasily.

“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m trying to distract myself.”

She stands up and goes to the door. She presses her face against the bars. “Hello? Any other prisoners out there? Anyone else enjoying Axiom’s exceptional customer service?” She plants a fierce kick against the door; it leaves a dirty boot print but barely vibrates the heavy hinges. “Hey!” she shouts, desperation creeping through her sarcasm. “Hey!”

She kicks it again, then grimaces and bends over, clutching her hand. “God,” she says in a raw whisper, “this really hurts.”

A small voice echoes from across the hall.

“Julie?”

Her eyes widen and she leaps back to the window. “Nora?”

“Hey, you.”

A surge of disoriented emotion wracks Julie’s face; a joyful laugh bubbles out of her even as tears fill her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“You’re glad I’m in prison? Thanks a lot.”

Julie laughs louder. “So I’m a selfish bitch. Yes, I’m glad.”

Standing behind Julie, I can see the window of another cell a few feet down the hall. A single frizzy curl pokes out through the bars.

“Is R with you?” Nora asks.

“Yeah, he’s in here.”

“What is this? What do they want?”

“I don’t even know. They think we can control the Dead. They’re insane.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mostly, yeah. Although this happened.” She sticks her bandaged hand through the bars.

“Oh, Jules . . .”

“Yeah. We’re stump sisters now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ll get used to it. The only time it really trips me up is when I’m playing guitar.”

“I was never going to be a musician anyway. That gene died with Dad.” She’s quiet for a moment. “What about you, though? You’re okay?”

“They haven’t fucked with me much. I’m in for disorderly conduct.”

“What happened?”

“They were trying to take my Nearlies. I shot a guy.”

“That’s my girl.”

A pause. “Jules?”

“Yeah?”

Another pause, this one longer. “I heard about Lawrence.”

Silence.

“I’m so sorry.”

Julie leans against the door, pressing her forehead into the bars. “Yeah.”

“Ella came into the Morgue. Said she wanted to help someone. I asked if she had any medical training. She said she took a CPR class twenty years ago.”

“She was okay?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Julie closes her eyes and goes quiet.

I push my face to the window. “Nora. Have you seen M?”

“Marcus? The great outdoorsman? Sure haven’t. But now would be a pretty great time for him to come back, if he’s going to.”

“He’s going to,” I mumble, half to myself. “He said ‘See you later.’?”

“That’s sweet. But what he said to me was, ‘I don’t deserve to be here.’?”

I let myself sag back from the window. Julie takes my place. “How long have we been in these fucking bathrooms?”

“What, you’re not carving check marks on the wall of your cell? Where’s your prison spirit?”

“We’ve been unconscious most of the time.”

“Oh. Well, I’m pretty sure the explosion was three days ago.”

Julie nods and looks at the floor, lost in thought. “So today’s . . . July 26th?”

“If I’ve been counting meals right, yeah,” Nora says. “Why?”

To my surprise, Julie laughs. She laughs the way you laugh at a joke you know you shouldn’t find funny. “It’s my birthday.”

There’s a pause, then Nora bursts into a bitter cackle. “Well happy birthday, stump sister! Wishes and kisses!”