Page 105 of Bound in Ashes

I breathed in, the smell of hay, night air, farm animals, soothing my nerves ever so slightly.

But not nearly as much as what I was looking for would.

I went to the far corner, pushing away cobwebs as I moved. It was a long shot but those cobwebs gave me hope. I shifted a loose board, the low creak of the wood sounding like an explosion in the yawning quiet.

I flinched, frozen for a split second and then moved, my heart racing with anticipation—and bracing for disappointment. I reached in and closed my fingers around the bag, the low crinkle more exciting than firecrackers on New Year’s Eve.

When I removed my hand and looked down, I pumped my fist, but didn’t let out a yell of triumph.

Instead, I settled atop the hay strewn on the wood floor and rummaged around in my pockets for matches. After the quiet strike of the match, I lit it, leaning back, and inhaled.

A few minutes later, I heard footsteps.

Didn’t turn to look at the source of them when I called over my shoulder, “Did you come up here to fuck with me?”

Jack, infuriating as ever, answered my question with one of his own. “Do I need to call the police?”

He loomed over me, and I looked up, smiling at the image of upside down Jack with a slight frown on his face.

“I never would’ve taken you for a fucking narc,” I said.

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing down at my hand.

“This, my dear Jackson, is two decade old kush, and it’s amazing,” I said.

I giggled, and Jack cocked an eyebrow, but then plopped down next to me.

“Weed? At a time like this?” he said.

“Why not?”

I took another deep drag, and then gestured toward Jack.

He took the small joint, puffed, and then passed it back.

“Not bad,” he said, letting the smoke out through his nose.

“Considering it’s all there is, I guess not,” I said.

“So why are you hiding up here?” he said.

I glanced at him, the soft fuzziness starting to fade.

“I specifically asked you if you were coming up here to fuck with me,” I said.

“I’m just asking a question, Asia,” he said.

“Well, let’s see. Fucking dead people are walking. My fucking uncle looks like he’s about to drop dead. I just watched my archnemesis feed a girl to a zombie. Everybody’s looking at me like I’m supposed to have any fucking clue what to do. And—” I cut off, unable, unwilling to say the rest.

“And what?”

“When are you leaving?” I asked.

He looked stricken, but didn’t say anything.

Asshole didn’t even get defensive, giving me something to sink my teeth into other than the utter fucking despair that made every single second feel like it might break me.

“You’re not alone,” he said.