The Host (The Host #1)(41)

Melanie was hardly even curious on the other side of the wall; she made no effort to break through it. There were much more immediate concerns than the fact that she had not been the only one keeping information in reserve.

Did it matter that I protected my secret from her? I wasn’t as strong as Melanie; I had no doubt she could endure torture. How much pain could I stand before I gave them anything they wanted?

My stomach heaved. Suicide was a repugnant option—worse because it would be murder, too. Melanie would be part of either torture or death. I would wait for that until I had absolutely no other choice.

No, they can’t. Uncle Jeb would never let them hurt me.

Uncle Jeb doesn’t know you’re here, I reminded her.

Tell him!

I focused on the old man’s face. The thick white beard kept me from seeing the set of his mouth, but his eyes did not seem to burn like the others’. From the corner of my eye, I could see a few of the men shift their gaze from me to him. They were waiting for him to answer the question that had alerted me to their presence. Uncle Jeb stared at me, ignoring them.

I can’t tell him, Melanie. He won’t believe me. And if they think I’m lying to them, they’ll think I’m a Seeker. They must have experience enough to know that only a Seeker would come out here with a lie, a story designed for infiltration.

Melanie recognized the truth of my thought at once. The very word Seeker made her recoil with hatred, and she knew these strangers would have the same reaction.

It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m a soul—that’s enough for them.

The one with the machete—the biggest man there, black-haired with oddly fair skin and vivid blue eyes—made a sound of disgust and spit on the ground. He took a step forward, slowly raising the long blade.

Better fast than slow. Better that it was this brutal hand and not mine that killed us. Better that I didn’t die a creature of violence, accountable for Melanie’s blood as well as my own.

“Hold it, Kyle.” Jeb’s words were unhurried, almost casual, but the big man stopped. He grimaced and turned to face Melanie’s uncle.

“Why? You said you made sure. It’s one of them.”

I recognized the voice—he was the same one who’d asked Jeb why he’d given me water.

“Well, yes, she surely is. But it’s a little complicated.”

“How?” A different man asked the question. He stood next to the big, dark-haired Kyle, and they looked so much alike that they had to be brothers.

“See, this here is my niece, too.”

“Not anymore she’s not,” Kyle said flatly. He spit again and took another deliberate step in my direction, knife ready. I could see from the way his shoulders leaned into the action that words would not stop him again. I closed my eyes.

There were two sharp metallic clicks, and someone gasped. My eyes flew open again.

“I said hold it, Kyle.” Uncle Jeb’s voice was still relaxed, but the long rifle was gripped tightly in his hands now, and the barrels were pointed at Kyle’s back. Kyle was frozen just steps from me; his machete hung motionless in the air above his shoulder.

“Jeb,” the brother said, horrified, “what are you doing?”

“Step away from the girl, Kyle.”

Kyle turned his back to us, whirling on Jeb in fury. “It’s not a girl, Jeb!”

Jeb shrugged; the gun stayed steady in his hands, pointed at Kyle. “There are things to be discussed.”

“The doctor might be able to learn something from it,” a female voice offered gruffly.

I cringed at the words, hearing in them my worst fears. When Jeb had called me his niece just now, I’d foolishly let a spark of hope flame to life—perhaps there would be pity. I’d been stupid to think that, even for a second. Death would be the only pity I could hope for from these creatures.

I looked at the woman who’d spoken, surprised to see that she was as old as Jeb, maybe older. Her hair was dark gray rather than white, which is why I hadn’t noticed her age before. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, all of them turning down into angry lines. But there was something familiar about the features behind the lines.

Melanie made the connection between this ancient face and another, smoother face in her memory.

“Aunt Maggie? You’re here? How? Is Sharon —” The words were all Melanie, but they gushed from my mouth, and I was unable to stop them. Sharing for so long in the desert had made her stronger, or me weaker. Or maybe it was just that I was concentrating on which direction the deathblow was going to fall from. I was bracing for our murder, and she was having a family reunion.

Melanie got only halfway through her surprised exclamation. The much-aged woman named Maggie lunged forward with a speed that belied her brittle exterior. She didn’t raise the hand that held the black crowbar. That was the hand I was watching, so I didn’t see her free hand swing out to slap me hard across the face.

My head snapped back and then forward. She slapped me again.

“You won’t fool us, you parasite. We know how you work. We know how well you can mimic us.”

I tasted blood inside my cheek.

Don’t do that again, I scolded Melanie. I told you what they’d think.

Melanie was too shocked to answer.

“Now, Maggie,” Jeb began in a soothing tone.