Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(51)

For a moment, he says nothing. He holds himself still above me, but I get the sense he’s about to spring. Like something tightly coiled, ready to break loose. A muscle feathers the flesh of his jaw, and his eyes burn like charred-gray.

My thumb continues to caress his neck.

“Don’t,” he rasps. The sound is oddly satisfying. I’m getting to him. Penetrating his armor.

My fingers move, exploring, brushing his hammering pulse. Fascinated, my gaze slides over his face, stopping on his mouth. I want to kiss him with a fierceness I’ve never felt, heightened by my loneliness. The constant fear. The earth that won’t stay firm beneath me.

I lift my head off the bed and lean up for his lips. He jerks away with a gasp of dismay and scrambles off me. “Get out of here. Go home, Davy.”

I stand, feeling like the most repulsive girl alive. Rejected in action and words.

And why shouldn’t I feel that way? Suddenly, I see the girls he talked to in the hall at school. Maybe he preferred his girls normal. Normal and unmarked.

He turns his back on me. I stare at him, the stretch of his shoulders beneath his shirt, the dark gold strands falling against his neck. “You think I’m safer there than here?” I demand hoarsely.

The nerves in my neck tingle. It’s almost as though I feel the imprint there, a living thing awake and crawling. My hand goes there, presses against the too-warm skin.

He turns sideways, looks back at me like he wishes I was gone already. A stupid ache fills my chest.

“I’ll go, but it’s no longer my home. Home is safety and I don’t have that any more than you do.”

Before he can answer—if he even intends to—I leave the room. Simon looks up from the kitchen table, hunkered over a bowl of cereal. Milk dribbles from his chin.

He calls out a good-bye, but I don’t stop. I can’t. I can’t keep doing this. Everyone I had is gone. Everyone has turned from me and I can’t even find solace with another carrier.





UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers ..................................................................



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CNN Interview with Harlan McAlister, former classmate of alleged Texas gunman, Kevin Hoyt: REPORTER: Mr. McAlister, you attended high school with Kevin Hoyt, did you not?

HARLAN MCALISTER: Yes . . . we played football together. He was captain of the JV team before we all found out he was a carrier. It’s all just such a shock. A real shame . . . he was a good football player. Could have gone pro.

REPORTER: Can you tell us a little bit about Kevin Hoyt? What was he like?

HARLAN MCALISTER: Everyone liked him. He was a real leader. I mean, before, you know . . . not after.

REPORTER: Are you surprised that he did something so brutal and horrendous?

HARLAN MCALISTER: Yes . . . well, no. I mean . . . he was a carrier. Once that came to light, we all knew there was nothing he wasn’t capable of . . . right?





NINETEEN




MOM ORDERS PIZZA THAT NIGHT EVEN THOUGH it’s Mitchell’s twenty-first birthday and we always go out for sushi at his favorite restaurant. Mom and Dad usually wink at the waiter and order mai tais for me and Mitchell. This year, Mitchell could have ordered his drink himself.

“Pizza?” I look at Mitchell from the kitchen table where I browse through a magazine. It’s strange having so much time on my hands. I’ve taken to reading Mom’s décor magazines. “You don’t want your favorite spider roll?”

“Pizza is good. Let’s get pineapple and ham.” Mitchell shoots a quick look to Mom and smiles in a way that tells me they discussed this in advance.

“You just don’t want to take me out,” I say. “In public. Afraid Mrs. Doyle is going to be standing in her yard? Giving us the evil eye?”

“Davina, that’s not true,” Mama chides, but her eyes dart to my brother, clearly looking for help.

He sighs and props his hip against the counter. “After last week . . .” He motions to the small television on the kitchen counter that’s still replaying the tragedy. There hasn’t been much new information, but they keep flashing the faces of the four carriers. They look about my age. One or two of them might be in their twenties. Three of the four are imprinted, and the ink collars look so large on their necks . . . bigger and darker in their mug shots. “The Agency hasn’t even let you go back to school yet. It just seems like a good idea to stay inside.”

I nod and cross my arms. “I understand. You’re right. It makes sense. I should just stay a hermit in my home.”

“Davy.” My brother doesn’t look at me in the careful way Mom does. He’s too sincere for that. Too honest. Like the time he told Se?ora Ramirez the only Spanish he needed to know was cerveza, el ba?o, and quiero sexo. Yeah. He was that high school boy. “Don’t be a drama queen about it.”

I start to leave the kitchen. “Call me when the pizza is here.”

“Davy, wait.”

I turn, watching as Mom grabs a remote and increases the volume on the television set. The president stands there in the House chamber before members of the House and Senate, waiting for applause to settle. A reporter drones on in whispered tones about this being the second time the president has addressed the nation since last week. I watch numbly, half listening, certain he will wax on about loss and tragedy and prayers for the victims and families. Which is why I don’t fully comprehend his words at first. Not until he mentions “HTS” and “carrier” several times do I begin to process.