Thicker Than Blood (Thicker Than Blood #1)(24)

I was still flailing, screaming and kicking, when Mr. Peter was helped to his feet. His nostrils flaring, he glared at me through swollen eyelids. Licking the blood from his bottom lip, his once happy expression was gone, replaced with a deadly snarl.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he practically growled. “I thought we were friends.”

“Where is she?” I yelled, my throat burning with grief.

Without warning his hand lashed out, connecting painfully with my cheek. My head snapped back and stars danced in front of my eyes as I blinked repeatedly, desperately trying to focus. But the slap was like a mallet to my already dazed skull. Suddenly my legs were like jelly, and I slumped against the men holding me up.

“Take her to the altar,” Mr. Peter said to the men holding me, his now cold and disappointed gaze landing on me. “We’re forever grateful for your sacrifice, friend,” he said softly, a wicked smile curving his lips.

No longer with the strength to yell, I mumbled something incoherent in response before I was dragged away from the candlelit room and through a door. It was dark in the bowels of the church, my already strained eyes unable to make out much more than shadows.

“Don’t worry, friend!” Mr. Peter called out, his voice sounding muffled and far away. “You’ll be with them soon. Both the Lord and I want you to know that we are indebted to you. Forever grateful.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight them, whoever was dragging me along. And what would have been the point? Not only did they outnumber me, but Mr. Peter’s parting words had stripped away any fight I had left. It no longer mattered anymore what happened to me.

Nothing mattered if Leisel was gone.

I felt myself being pulled down a set of stairs, hearing the thump-thump-thump of my feet as they dully hit against each concrete step. It was even darker down here, and foul smelling. As the rank smell of death and decay washed over me, I gagged and almost sobbed. That smell reminded me of the early days, of the disease on every corner, in every home. It reminded me of the families lost, the children massacred. Worse, it reminded me of Shawn, of his final moments.

A low buzzing sound surrounded us, a strange humming, not unlike the sound of an electrical transformer. But my throat was thick with unshed sobs, and burning with a grief so all consuming, I couldn’t even find the strength to lift my chin from my chest to locate the source of the noise.

Several moments passed, then a flicker of light caught my attention. When I lifted my head, my gaze fell on someone’s legs. I tilted my head up, letting my gaze travel up the legs and body until I found the blurry face of a man.

“Please,” I begged. “Just tell me where she is, just let me see her.” My chin trembled as I spoke, but I refused to cry, refused to give in to my grief until I’d seen her, until I knew for sure what had happened to Leisel.

But the man didn’t respond, didn’t even look at me. Instead he moved away, allowing the men dragging me along to pass by him.

There was a draft down here, a chill that worked its way through the damp corridors, similar to the one making its way down my spine. My heart hammered heavily, and a drop of sweat slid slowly down my back. Off in the distance I could hear the sound of footsteps, each one echoing all around me.

Letting my eyelids drop, I swallowed another threatening sob, not quite able to believe that it had come to this. That after everything I’d lived through, this was how I was going to die—at the hands of a bunch of whack jobs in serious need of therapy.

Really, God? Really?

We continued for what seemed like an eternity, until one of the men holding me up began to grunt with the effort it took him to keep me from falling.

I lifted my head, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in the dim light. He was younger than me, yet he had an aura of darkness surrounding him that aged him beyond his years. There was a familiar look in his empty eyes, one I’d seen a hundred times before. It wasn’t sadness or anger, but the look of someone who’d seen too much, done too much, someone who knew they were going to burn in hell for it all when push came to shove.

“You’re going to burn,” I whispered hoarsely, wanting to remind him of what he already knew, and his eyes flitted to mine, staring blankly down at me. Disgusted, I turned away from him. There wasn’t hope for someone like him, lost to their madness.

We finally came to a stop just outside a large wood-slatted door. One of the men holding me unexpectedly released me, shoving me entirely into the arms of the other. He was older, and surprisingly heavyset considering we were in the midst of a damn apocalypse. I was reminded of Mason then, his greed when it came to everything, but most of all when it came to me. I hoped that having lost me, he was drowning in self-pity.

Casting a quick glance over my head, the man pulled a set of keys from his pocket and thumbed through them. After several tense moments as I waited for the horrors behind the door to be revealed, he unlocked it.

The door creaked open ominously, revealing a dark room, and the smell of decay wafted from within, even more potent than before. It wasn’t just the smell of decay, but the smell of death itself that hung in the air, and my stomach lurched at the thought of what new horror I’d just stumbled into. Squinting my eyes, I could make out what looked to be a concrete stand in the center of the room, a velvet blanket thrown over the top of it. There were no windows, and no doors aside from the entrance. Of course there weren’t.