above ground: chapter 27 part 1

An odd numbness crept through her limbs when Lilith paused briefly by the shore of the lake to gaze across the lake, her eyes failing to bridge the distance of darkness to examine the opposite shore. Everything was quiet—haunted—the market stalls wrapped up in tight white plastic to ward off the evening chill. Behind her, past the sleepy wooden houses, on the other side of the imposing white church, the night-time revelry was in full swing; she could hear laughter, and drunken singing, although the sound was muted and out of reach.

She crouched down by the shoreline, dipped her hands into the icy water, then pressed her palms against her cheeks. The cold helped her sober up, a little, and made her realize how scratchy her throat was. Hesitant, Lilith cupped her hands together and knelt to drink. Was it safe? The water seemed clean, but it was pitch black outside, and besides, some dirt wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Then she half-shrugged, and slurped up the water. This was the end of her third day above ground; if she wasn’t already infected, she never would be.

Still feeling a little numb, Lilith pushed herself to her feet and walked slowly towards the forest, skirting the edge of the lake. The feeling only grew when Lilith reached the cover of trees, and she was forced to stop and lean against a tree, taking deep, steady breaths. She had to be in shock; there was no other explanation.

Lilith closed her eyes and fell back onto what had always worked for her, as a child: identify the symptoms, locate the emotion, and then dissect it to tiny, barely perceptible shreds. It was a habit she’d slowly fallen out of, since her parent’s divorce, and her lack of practice showed. Lilith’s emotions scattered beyond the reach of reason, and she could do nothing to prevent the solitary tear from tracking its way down her face.

A second tear followed the first, then a third. That girl in the pub—Liz—had been a blow to the stomach, reminding Lilith that Emma was dead, and Silver was gone, and she had no one left that she could trust. Her knees wobbled beneath her, so Lilith moved further into the cover of the trees and sank down onto the ground.

There was so much she didn’t understand, so much that she hadn’t even stopped to question, so focused she’d been on just getting home and putting everything behind her. But her frustration mounted up, now, and made her feel more alone than she’d ever felt before. If only she’d questioned Sam a little further; he, out of everyone she’d met seemed to know what was going on. He’d recognized her, even.

The newspaper! Lilith reached into her pocket and pulled out not one but two folded pieces of paper. She set aside the scrap of newspaper for a second, frowning at the other yellowed, battered page, which was so creased it felt soft between her fingers. She unfolded it, frowned at the odd drawing of triangles and swirling lines before she realized what it was: the map Silver had drawn her.

The large, uneven circle was the lake, the jagged triangles the mountains on the north side. There was a large dot on the south side of the lake—what else could it be but Rivertown?—and, a little to the northwest, a large cross, calling her attention like the cross of a treasure map. Only when her finger traced the cross did Lilith remember what it represented. It was the other underground entrance Silver had mentioned, the one he’d said he’d take her to, until the pack had interfered with their plans and decided she needed to go to the Guild.

Her heart began to thump a little faster. The entrance was close, so much closer than the Guild. If she could make it there, if she could speak to the guards, maybe she could make it back underground. She’d have to convince them she wasn’t an infected, but all they’d really need to do was scan her passport and—.

Her passport. Lilith patted down her pockets, then shoved her hands inside each pocket, half-sitting up. Empty. Her skin crawled, cold sweat on her back, and she searched her pockets a second time, as if somehow the passport would show up if she just checked again and again. But there was nothing. The passport was gone.

The last time she remembered having it was in the forest, with the werewolves, when she’d camped down for the night. But she would have noticed if it had fallen out of her pocket. So when had she lost it?

Then she remembered. Sam. He’d taken her clothes to wash them, while she was in the shower. He must have emptied her pockets, taken the passport, left behind what he didn’t want. Of course he’d known who she was, known that she was a bland. The newspaper scrap had probably been some kind of ruse to cover his tracks.

Lilith dropped the map onto the ground, and sank back against the tree, feeling drained. She rubbed her forehead. Maybe she could still convince the guards. It’d take more time, but if she spoke to them, told them her name…. Surely they’d have a list of missing people from the theatre?

When she let her hand drop to her side, Lilith felt paper crinkle under her knuckles. She looked down, to the right, and saw the scrap of newspaper. There was a large photo in the middle of the page, and staring back up at her from that photo was her own face, under the caption: “Infected Massacre Death Toll Grows.”

Lilith picked up the paper with trembling hands. It was a photo Emma had taken of her on a night out. She looked young, confident. Breathing shallowly, Lilith read the little she could from the article. Her fingers went limp; the scrap of newspaper fell on to her lap.

According to the newspaper, she was dead.