The Dark Calling (The Arcana Chronicles #5)(31)

I slid across the seat toward the door, feeling less pain in my shoulder. My offensive abilities might be stifled, but my regeneration eked on. My fingertips had regained their normal color, and the bite in my hand had oozed out venom.

I hopped down from the height of the cab. The truck was a behemoth, so big Joules had dubbed it the Beast. Would Kentarch have enough fuel to get us to the Atlantic?

As we’d covered miles through the eternal darkness, I’d swept my gaze along the road for slaver spike strips, telling Joules and Kentarch: “The threat is real.” We’d chugged along through towns with the same striped pattern of destruction that Jack and I had seen when we’d left Louisiana.

On one street, the buildings had been incinerated by the Flash. On the next one over, they would be intact. All stripped by now, of course; zero resources left behind.

Nearing the Bagger, I studied its appearance. It’d been a grown man—all that remained of its clothing was a ragged necktie. It moaned, grappling to reach me, milky eyes gone wide.

Other than this zombie, we hadn’t spotted any animals or a single other soul. This area seemed to be a death zone. Lowercase d.

So why did I experience that all-too-familiar sense of being watched? I rubbed my nape. Was it another Bagger? Or had Lark’s creatures caught up with us? I told the guys, “Keep an eye out for animal sentries.”

Kentarch nodded. I’d learned the Chariot was a man of few words. Joules had filled the silence with nonstop chatter. “I’m Irish,” he’d said early on, “so it’s in me genes to dole out nicknames. Can I call you Kenny?”

Kentarch had demonstrated endless patience with him. “No, you may not.”

“Sounds better than Tarch. Still, Tarch it is!”

I’d asked, “What’s my nickname?”

“I only give nicknames to folks I like. But if I did, I’d call you tart. Tarch and the tart!” Ugh!

Once we reached the Bagger, the putrid stench nearly overwhelmed me.

Joules rocked from his heels to his toes, looking uneasy. “You think the Sun Card’ll hear you?”

“He probably won’t be monitoring one lone Bagger, but maybe I can get his attention. I’ve got to try.” I asked Kentarch, “Can you hold it still?”

He placed his boot on the creature’s head, forcing it to face me.

I knelt just out of its reach, my breaths shallowing. “Sol, can you hear me? Sol?” Zero recognition sparked in those disintegrating eyes. “Come on, Sol!” Choking back my fear, I leaned in and yelled, “SOL! WE NEED HELP!” No answer but for the mindless moans of the creature.

“Call it, Empress.” Joules pulled his coat tighter. “This undead doesn’t feel like gabbing, and the truck is warm.”

I stood. “Fine.”

In a pissy tone, Joules said, “Are you just goin’ to leave it? Are Baggers off limits now?”

“They’re still a danger to our species. Even Sol couldn’t begrudge us taking out random zombies. Will one of you do the honors?”

At once, Kentarch let his knife fall, skewering the Bagman’s brain. Its body went limp.

Collecting the blade, Kentarch wiped it along the sole of his combat boot, then sheathed it at his thigh. “We might as well stop here for the night.” Night was relative these days, but his eyes were bloodshot with fatigue.

Once we climbed back in the truck, Joules wadded up his threadbare scarf, making a pillow against the window. “Is somebody gonna take watch? We’re deep in cannibal country.”

I should have been exhausted, but my nerves were wired. “I’ve got first shift.”

“Hey, Chariot, watch out for this one”—Joules pointed at me—“she’s a temptress.”

I rolled my eyes at him. When we’d stopped the truck earlier to winch a car out of the road, I’d taken Joules aside to get his impression of our new companion, wondering if we could trust him. Kentarch certainly didn’t trust us. He’d concealed his movements when he’d entered the ignition sequence. Insurance so we didn’t kill him in his sleep?

Joules had smirked at me. “You got me alone ’cause you want to seduce me, eh? One among your string of doomed men? Tough luck, Empress—I’m faithful to Cally’s memory.” Sometimes I more than slightly wanted to strangle the Tower.

He swiftly nodded off, his soft snores competing with the sounds of his empty stomach.

Kentarch drummed his fingers on the wheel, clearly wanting to voice a question.

“Just say it, Chariot.”

“Do you believe the game can be stopped?”

“I used to work toward that very goal.” Until my grandmother had gotten hold of me. She’d been right about so many other things.

She’d advised me to stash seeds all over the castle for protection, but I’d felt safe there. The plants I’d grown inside had been more for decoration, and I’d let them wither. She’d told me Death and all my friends would turn on me.

Bingo. Guilt weighed heavily on me. Toward the end, I’d dreaded being around her. Part of me had . . . hated her. Recalling the excuses I’d made not to see her cut me deep.

Yet all she’d wanted to do was warn me—protect me. Her only living relative. She’d wanted me to be deadly because I was immersed in a deadly game. How shocked she must’ve been when she realized I was in love with my age-old enemy.