Chapter 9

9

Anna

We spend three days exploring the property, taking our time to look for any signs of people recently camping here. Three useless days because we found nothing.

In our original plan, we decided a few days on the farm would be best, using any clues that we might find to pick our next search location. The only problem with that is we've essentially got nothing. No footprints, no animal tracks, no traps, and definitely no human sightings. No hint of zombies either, but that's definitely about to change. The only information we have to go off of is what Caleb wrote for me in his note. Dad wanted to kill all the zombies he could manage, which likely means they went to areas with higher populations on purpose.

In all the times I've gone hunting with the Aprixians, we've shied away from the larger city areas. Even though the zombies act like tiny fish sensing a shark in the water when the aliens are near, they can only get away so fast. It's weird hunting something that's running away from you—or hobbling in most cases—but it's great for anger management. The people who were turned into zombies aren't at fault, but the zombies still need to be eliminated.

I'm more worried about running into people than hordes of zombies. Zombies are simple and easy to put down. People are tricky, especially in survival mode. Humans with a fight response will do anything to stay alive, even evil things they'd never imagine doing otherwise. And then there are people who were already evil, using this situation to act without consequences. Those are the really dangerous types.

I won't lie and pretend like having Drak by my side doesn't make me feel safer. It does sort of worry me as well, though. Will people shoot at him from afar because they're scared? Will they try and capture him like he's some kind of threat? The thought makes me murderous, honestly.

Bulletproof or not, if someone shoots at Drak, I'm going to end them. No one gets to point weapons at him except for me. No one gets to try and kill him except for me.

"We'll try the closest city first," I tell Drak, starting to scroll out a quick note in case they come here before we come back. "We'll use this property like a base, coming back every so often to check if anything has changed. If it were up to my brothers, they'd be doing the same thing."

Just like we planned. I know I don't have to remind him, but talking out loud helps keep me grounded. Drak seems to recognize this and doesn't inform me that he already knows. He's a perceptive alien.

"This is a good idea," he replies sweetly. "Do you have your armor with you?"

Kevlar, he means.

In case people try to fucking shoot me.

"Yeah, my vest is on the ship." We ended up bringing my bag inside when we decided it was safe to sleep here for a few nights.

I appreciate Drak most when I'm sleeping. I always rest better knowing that he'll watch over me the whole time. He doesn't get bored either, and he never complains, simply guarding me in case anything were to happen.

I used to wake up every hour or so sleeping at the sorority house. Any sort of noise in the night sent a jolt of panic through me that forced my eyes open. That doesn't happen anymore, not while Drak is near. Hopefully being a light sleeper isn't a skill I'll have to relearn anytime soon.

When I finish marking up the spare paper with a less-than-friendly note, I stick it to the fridge and turn back to Drak.

"Is there anything else we should do here before we leave?"

He scratches his chin, thinking about it. "I do not think so. I will hide a small sensor on the door so that the ship gets notified if anything touches your home."

My heart jumps around in a funny beat. "You can do that?"

"I can," he replies happily. "They are a small technology, but I believe they are effective even on Urth. I do not have any spy cams?—"

"Aprixians know the word spy?" I cut in.

"It translates," he explains with a shrug. "But I do not have recording devices to see what sets off the sensor. I will put it at hu-nim level so any small creatures will not trigger it."

Smart. Really fucking smart.

"Thank you," I say quietly. "You're a lot of help, and I probably don't tell you enough." I'm a bit ashamed of it, but there's nothing I can do to fix the past.

I'll just have to try and be more pleasant…

"You are welcome, An-nana," Drak replies, smiling wide. "I enjoy helping you. You are my friend."

I freeze, breath stalling in my lungs. "I am?"

"Of course." He nods adamantly. "The best of friends."

Does he really see us that way?

I'm nowhere near as kind as his fellow Aprixians are. Those are good friends. How can he consider me to be one of his best friends when I'm so awful to him?

"You have terrible taste in friends," I blurt out, insecurity creeping in.

His head shakes, and he crowds me, leaning down to lift my chin with a single finger. Our eyes meet, our mouths sharing the same air. "I have the best taste, An-nana."

My gaze flicks to his lips, a small part of me longing to lean forward and— No! Absolutely not. Not happening.

I step back, cornering myself against the fridge.

"I'm sorry that I tried to kill you when we first met."

There, I said it.

Drak chuckles, the sound light and airy. "No, you are not."

Nose scrunching, I look up at him with a scowl. "Yes, I am."

Again, he laughs. "If you are sorry, then you should not be. You were only protecting your sisters . I would have done the same thing had I found strange males in my home. Well, I would have broken their necks if the weapon I had could not slay them. And if their necks did not snap, I would pull their spines from their bodies?—"

" Jesus ," I exclaim.

"—and hang their bones like a warning on my front door," he finishes.

"Drak," I try, only to be cut off.

"Do not feel guilty for protecting yourself and the ones you love, An-nana. Your fierce nature and your ability to do what must be done is admire-able ."

He butchers the pronunciation of the word, but I know what he's trying to say.

"O-okay," I stammer, carefully slipping past his large frame. "Let's just go. I want to get a good start to the day."

Drak chuckles to himself, trailing behind me as I sling my bag over my shoulders and head for the door. When we get outside, I watch as he sets up a sensor as small as a housefly, clicking it into place and pairing it with the ship remote somehow.

This time when he picks me up to put me into the vehicle, I avoid his eyes. I don't think it's a good idea for me to look at him for too long anymore. Not when his face is becoming less irritating and more handsome by the second.

The flight is a short one this time, and Drak decides to land the ship on top of an old bank. Since this is the closest city to my old house and not the closest one to campus, we don't have to worry about running into any of the other Aprixians. This means everything popping up on the ship scanner is either a zombie or humans surrounded by a bunch of fucking zombies.

I shiver in my seat, looking at the screen. Zombies aren't like they are in the movies. They don't look like humans running around with dead, rotting flesh. They look more like bald bears or dogs, walking around on their hands and knees. They're not hairy, so their skin looks stretched. And they're almost always dirty, covered in blood and dirt from fighting.

When I first learned that the Aprixians came here to eat them, I was appalled, even though I'd been secretly killing off strays that wandered near the house for months. Just because they don't look like humans doesn't mean they look appetizing. But I mean, a cow doesn't look delicious until it's cooked, either.

Brooke thinks the aliens from Aprix developed their tastes for survival purposes. Like they eat things that don't belong in order to get rid of them. I don't know how good of a theory that is, but I wouldn't be surprised if she was onto something. These aliens seem massively advanced, so evolving to the point where they eat dead things could be some kind of revolutionary feat for the universe for all I know.

They eat other stuff too, of course. Apparently their planet has no shortage of food, no shortage of anything really. Marrec, Stevie's boyfriend—er, mate—used all of his money that he made as a war hero to make sure no one on their planet wants for anything. It's an interesting concept but hard to believe. On Earth, nothing is truly free.

While we were planning this little trip, though, Drak made sure to tell me he wouldn't be feasting on the undead.

"You find it repulsive," he told me, smiling playfully. "I will refrain from indulging, I prefer to hunt without eating anyway."

For some reason, I felt the need to tell him he could eat whatever he wanted. "You probably find the idea of eating something that looks like Harold disgusting, don't you?" As his face twisted in distaste, I nodded. "Exactly, so eat whatever you want. Humans used to eat Harolds aaaall the time, Drak. Chicken was one of the most eaten meats, if not the most."

He decided he would still refrain, but more for his focus than for my ability to stomach it. So at least I don't have to feel bad about that.

When we exit the ship, we look down over the edge of the building, a swarm of about thirty zombies already doing their best to scatter off. They're slow-moving but climbing all over each other to try and hide as fast as they can.

"A grenade would be nice right about now," I say, muttering the joke.

"A bomb?" Drak asks, eyebrows doing that thing they do when his translator doesn't have an exact match.

"Fragmentation bomb," I clarify. "It's a small device that explodes with metal pieces when it goes off. Pretty dangerous in close quarters, but small in comparison to some of the other huge explosions bombs can make."

"Ah," Drak grunts with understanding.

Without blinking, he pulls a metal ball from behind his belt, twisting it between his hands once. It lights up with a purple glow and starts to beep like a kitchen timer might. Causally, he tosses it into the horde below.

"What— holy shit! "

Blinding purple light sears through the crowd, cutting through the zombie bodies with insane precision. Black blood splatters the streets like buckets of paint being spilled. There isn't a zombie in that group still moving.

"What the fuck was that?" I demand, mesmerized and horrified all at once.

Drak smiles gleefully down at his handiwork. "Laser bomb."

Of- fucking -course, he has laser bombs.

"How many of those do you have?"

His lips purse, eyebrows furrowing with confusion. "Why do I need more than one?" Before I can yell that he's just used his only one, he whistles.

The sound is more chirpy than a typical humans, sharp and loud too.

And like a dog, the ball responds. Using some kind of magnetic pulse, the little thing flies straight up to us, bouncing back into Drak's hand.

"They're reusable ?"

"Of course. Are yours not?"

"Definitely not," I say firmly. "Bombs are one-time use here."

"Huh," he mutters. "This is interesting."

"You just obliterated like thirty zombies, and you think our bombs are interesting?" I gape at him.

"Would you like to learn how to use mine?" he asks, wiggling the little ball at me.

What kind of question even is that?

"Show me."