Chapter Nine—Kyra
“Trace!” I screech at the same time Jackie does.
“Don’t do it!” Jack begs. Trace looks her in the eyes, a complete neutral expression on his face.
“You can’t really be thinking about going through with this,” I add.
“What did you think I meant when I was saying the current state of affairs needed to be handled with? That we’d put her on a leash? Kyra Leigh, she doesn’t want to suffer,” he answers calmly. “Daniel, could you take them away please? Actually,” he glances down at Bailey, “let them say their goodbyes first. All of you that is.”
With that, he sticks his hands in his pockets and shuffles away, giving us some privacy. I fall down beside Bails. “This is what you want?” I whisper.
“Yea, it’s better for all of us this way,” she mutters back.
I bob my head and start to stand, but she grabs my hand. “I didn’t mean it. What I said the other day. I was just jealous of you, Kyra. Archie, he loves you. He and I would never have worked out because all he ever thinks about is you.”
I freeze in an uncomfortable half crouch position trying to process this impossible information.
“I just thought you should know. Thank you Kyra, for protecting us and taking us in. Watch out for Jackie for me,” she continues. She seems so...at peace with the whole situation. She’s braver than I ever gave her credit for.
“I will,” I promise her.
She smiles and turns to Izzie.
I walk over to where Trace stands, gazing off at nothing once again. I stop beside him and look into the same direction. Summer is approaching fast. The flowers are growing, young birds are learning to fly, blossoms are becoming fruits, everything is just beginning. But here, something is about to end.
“Make it quick, and not painful,” I say. My voice cracks.
“I will,” he replies softly, whispering the same words I said to Bails.
A small hand taps my shoulder.
“We’re going to start down the path now,” Tammy tells me.
I join her walking at the back. Jackie stumbles along closer to the front, Danno and Graham both supporting her. I shift my line of sight away preferring the non-heartbreaking look of the dirt below me. I take a moment to glance over my shoulder. Trace sits beside Bailey holding her hand and quietly talking to her. He tucks her hair back around her ears.
“Don’t look,” Tams mumbles from my side. “You don’t want to see.”
I follow her instructions and just stare straight ahead of me which makes sense considering I’m The Girl Who Only Looks Forwards, Only Moves Onwards. And everyone knows that when you’re so determined to move on, there’s no time to look back.
...
“We’re almost here,” Trace calls out from the front. His hands are pulled into his sleeves hiding them from view. I imagine them covered, no dripping, with Bailey’s blood.
“Whatever you do, don’t touch the fence or else you’ll d—” he cuts off his sentence at the last minute.
“Or else you’ll die,” Jackie hiccups.
He looks over his shoulder and gives her an apologetic look that tugs at your heart. Or, it would, if he weren’t an ass.
The forest suddenly stops, and in front of us is the biggest house I have ever seen. I can’t even compare its size to anything since I’ve never laid eyes on something like it. The front of the house (if it can even really be called that) has those Roman white columns. The house itself has the most vivid, beautiful, red bricks. All of the windows have navy blue shutters on them, most of which are shut. A metal, dangerous looking fence surrounds it, towering over all of us. Looking down the side, it looks as if it stretches on for miles. There’s this little section that sticks out a little bit from the rest kind of like those little rooms people have—or had—before their front door. The atrium or something. There are some zombie bodies lying on the ground beside the fence. Danno draws his weapon.
“Don’t worry, they’re not...moving,” Trace hesitates.
A bark catches our attention. A giant wolf thing barrels towards us. Pale Boy woofs back at him.
“Hey Fang, open the door for dad, would you?” Trace says to the dog in a baby voice.
The canine yips and jumps against the door on the inside sliding back the chains. He knocks it open and steps into the atrium, looking at us expectantly.
“Oh, right, you’ll have to turn around,” Trace tells us.
“Why?” Arch asks the question we’re all thinking.
“I taught him not to type in the code if people are watching,” Trace attempts to clarify but only complicates things further.
We all oblige and have our backs face the dog as he types in a code to open the door.
“How does he type this in exactly?” I ask.
“With his nose,” Trace responds as if it’s the most obvious answer ever.
“Of course, of course. And why did you teach him?” I query.
“Because I could,” he cockily responds.
“He’s yours then? Seeing as you call yourself ‘dad’?” Jackie sniffles.
“Yea, I’ve had Fang for a few years,” Trace replies from behind us. Maybe it’s just me, but he sounded kind of sad there. But, more likely, he’s holding in a sneeze. Sometimes it does funny things to your voice. As a kid I was told that doing that could backfire and you could blow-up your brain. How I wish that were true now.
“That’s sweet,” she mumbles.
Just then there’s a loud buzzing sound and a door swings inwards.
“Hey boy! You guys can turn back.”
Trace has the dog standing up in front of him with its front paws balanced on his shoulders. Trace closes one eye and turns his head as the dog licks his face.
“I wasn’t gone for that long, Fang,” he laughs and pushes the dog down. The dog doesn’t even notice us, he just looks at Trace wagging his fluffy tail.
“All right, everyone get in,” Pale Boy waves us ahead.
We enter single file, Trace at the end closing and locking both doors once we’re all through.
“This is your house?” Tammy inquires.
“Yea. Well sort of. But for all intents and purposes, yes, it’s mine.”
“Well that made sense,” Arch mumbles.
Trace runs ahead of us, Fang at his side. He leaps at the dog, making Fang jump away while he laughs. The dog, in return, does the same to Trace. I feel as if this dog is like a little brother as opposed to a pet. We trudge along in the wake of them, each of us lost in our own sadness.
Trace unlocks the door and walks through, leaving it open for us. When we finally do get into the house, my jaw literally drops open. It’s enormous. The ceiling seems to go on forever, as high as the sky. There’s a chandelier up there too, a stereotypical thing in all those movies about rich people. Apparently, in this case, it is correct. The floor is marble or some other rich rock that I don’t know the name of because it is so expensive that you have to pay just to know what it’s called. The swirly patterns look abstract and make me want to lose myself in them. Directly in front of us is one of those giant double staircases.
Trace exits from a little door on the ground floor between the two staircases. He’s hung his leather jacket up and is now in a plain black t-shirt that fits perfectly against his lean body. He runs a hand through his black hair and asks, “Anyone have anything that needs to be hung up?” It’s the most normal thing I’ve heard in a long time. My heart aches for a home that no longer exists.
Tams gives him her jean jacket and Jackie her red one. I keep my green one on myself. The others lost their coats in the fight when we had to leave everything behind.
“Kyra Leigh?” he says as he holds a hand out to me.
I shake my head. He frowns then shrugs and closes the door with a kick. He rubs his hands together as he thinks.
“So what do you want first; your rooms, a tour, or food?”
No body answers.
“All right. Rooms it is. Follow me.” He jumps up the staircase on the right, skipping every few stairs. We clamber up after him. He turns left which makes absolutely no sense. If we were going to go left in the first place, why didn’t we just go up the left staircase? I look down at the gold and red carpet as we walk, following the footsteps of the others. The carpeting looks like something that would belong in the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts. In the Before, I was a huge Harry Potter nerd. I always hoped that when they made a remake, I could be cast as someone. Preferably Angelina Johnson because I have always loved Fred and George Weasley.
“Kyra Leigh?”
I snap my head up.
“Your room,” Trace says as he twists the knob of the door. The room is golden, literally everything is a shade of gold. There’s a gold canopy king sized bed, gold curtains covering the windows, gold rugs on the golden-ish coloured hardwood floor, gold blankets, gold chairs, and the list goes on. My head whirls from gold overdose.
“It’s really...”
“Gold,” he finishes for me. “There’s an en suite bathroom right through that door.” He points. As I told the others, my room is way down the hall that way,” he points to the right. “Last door on the left-hand side. In case you need anything. I’m going to go and start cooking now, so...see ya.” He spins on his feet and saunters down the hall.
I watch as he leaves, unsure if we made the right choice coming here. There’s something about Trace that I just can’t figure out. But while we’re here, I’m making it my mission to find out what he’s hiding.
The door slightly down the hall opens and Jackie steps out. She looks so tired and sick. She sees me and the corners of her mouth turns downwards as she holds in her tears. I step out to comfort her somehow, but a fluffy beast beats me to it. Fang leans against Jacquelyn’s legs whining to be pet. I peek down the hall and see Trace on one knee, watching his dog. He silently stands up and retreats down the stairs. I glance back at Jacks who is now kneeling beside Fang, her face buried in his fur. So maybe this place isn’t completely bad. Jack opens her door to go in and the dog follows her. At least something is cheering her up.
...
We’re sitting about a living room on the softest leather seats imaginable. After sitting on crates and bunches of old itchy blankets, your butt really thanks you for a soft perch. Tams, and I are on one couch, Iz, Dan, and Arch on another. Jackie sits on the chair with the dog at her feet and Graham on the arm beside her. He tries to talk to her, but she doesn’t answer. He tries to touch her to comfort her, but she shies away from his reach. Graham sighs in defeat. After that, it’s silent as we wait for Trace who said to sit in here for dinner.
A loud screech emits from the hallway leading to the kitchen. All of us spring to our feet, ready for action even though we left our weapons in our rooms upstairs. Trace appears in the doorway wheeling a cart behind him. My team relaxes, sinking back into their seats. I remain on my feet.
Trace forges a sheepish smile on his face. “Sorry about that, this trolley isn’t as stable as I thought. Anyway, I know it’s supper, but I was in the mood for breakfast,” he says.
“Dinner,” I correct.
He pauses, hand on the lid of one of those fancy serving trays. “What?”
“It’s dinner, not supper.”
He frowns at me. I raise my eyebrows in reply, challenging him to answer back. The edge of his lip jerks before he turns away from me and faces the group. “Is she always this picky about everything?” Trace asks.
“Most of the time,” Arch answers.
“I am not! It’s just that this meal is called dinner, not supper,” I object.
“I think supper sounds better. It reminds me of ‘super’,” Jackie murmurs.
“See some people agree with me. Now, if you’d stop your nonsensical babbling, I’d like to unveil the dishes. If you do not quit your yapping, I am not afraid to use force to make you do so. Capeesh?”
I glower at him.
“Great. All right, so we have bacon, sunny side eggs, scrambled eggs, pancakes—plain, blueberry, and chocolate chip, little sausage things, hash browns, toast, and, my personal favourite, French toast. Then there’s water, milk, chocolate milk and orange juice since I don’t know what you guys like. Then all the other stuff—the ketchup, maple syrup and whatnot—is under this part of the cart.” He waves to where everything is.
We all look at him blankly. We’ve been living off of disgusting oatmeal, canned food, and not completely clean water, and now a feast is before us. It seems like a joke. Maybe it is.
Trace rubs the back of his neck as he inspects all of our expressions. “Um...do you guys not like this? You guys where all busy so I just... I could make something else if you want,” he offers.
All at once, we jump up and grab at the plates, piling everything on to them. I have never felt so hungry in all my life. I hadn’t realized how deprived of food we’ve been until a whole whack of it was in front of me. We’re going to be eating nicely for the next week. That’ll help us regain our strength. Maybe Trace will give us some of his supplies before we leave. If not, I’ll just steal some from him. I’d like to see him try to stop me.
Instead of eating, Trace wanders the room. I keep a close eye on him as he opens cabinets and digs through them. If he tries to pull a fast one on us, I’ll take him down. I see him start to pull something out from the depths of the cupboard and stand with bent knees, ready to pounce. He extracts his hand and holds a thin rectangle. My mind draws a blank. What the hell is it?
Trace’s gaze falls upon me. He takes in my aggressive stance and rolls his freaky eyes. “Jesus Christ, Kyra Leigh, when are you going to understand that I’m not going to hurt you?”
Seven sets of eyes, well, eight if you count Fang, stare at me, waiting for my reply.
“When you give me reason to trust you, Pale Boy,” I sniff as I heavily drop back into the soft cushion.
He starts to say something and then shakes his head and responds, “You’re a lost cause, Princess.”
“No, you’re just not as charming as you think you are,” I snap back though, secretly, I agree with him.
He doesn’t bark back, nope, not Pale boy. He just smiles his crooked grin. “Or maybe you just don’t want to admit I am.”
I snort. “Please, don’t give yourself an ego-boost. You just ooze narcissism as it is. I don’t want to have to clean up your drool as you admire yourself.”
“Self-confidence is not a thing to be afraid of, Princess. Now, if you are done insulting me, is there any objections to Harry Potter? My inner nerd needs to be satisfied,” Trace addresses all of us. He waves the rectangle in the air invitingly. I finally recognize what it is. It’s a DVD case. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I saw one of those.
I sceptically eye it. This boy just keeps getting weirder and weirder for was I not thinking about Harry Potter just an hour before? As if sensing my thoughts, he turns and throws me a knowing grin.
“I love Harry Potter!” Tammy exclaims.
Trace beams at her and turns to Jackie.
“Jacquelyn, what do you think?” he questions in a gentle voice.
Tamsyn shivers from beside me. “Oh God, that voice. Mama likes.”
I hold in my vomit. No way am I giving up the meal I just had.
“Harry Potter’s good, as long as it’s the first,” Jack replies. She sounds so much younger and more vulnerable. I know what she’s going through and am proud of her for being so tough.
“Excellent, that’s my favourite of the series!” Trace laughs.
“Mine too,” Jacks admits.
Trace unleashes his smile on her, causing her to blush.
“So where did you get all this food from anyway? And the electricity and water? The power was shut down and milk would have long since expired,” the rational part of my brain kicks in and speaks up.
“The food is from the animals and crops out back. It’s like a mini-farm. The house has wells, seven of them, so it’s an independent water source. The electricity is from my supply of heavy-duty generators and the solar panels I’ve put on the roof. Also the exercise room in the basement is rigged to create electricity whenever someone uses the machines. It took awhile to figure out, but I thought it was brilliant,” he responds without having to pause and think.
“And another question, why do you sometimes sound British?” Tammy must be the record holder for irrelevant questions.
This time, Trace does hesitate. He busies himself with setting up the TV as a way of not having to answer. “I grew up in England,” he finally says. “I spent most of my youth there before coming back to America.”
“That is so awesome!” Tams declares.
“Yea, I guess so,” he mutters as he clicks on the television.
He shifts his weight from side to side, suddenly not the egotistical boy. I make a mental note to further question him about his past, specifically that of growing up in the United Kingdom. There’s something he’s not telling us, and I’m gonna figure it out.
He makes a beeline for the hall. “I’m going to make popcorn. Anybody want anything?”
“No we’re all right,” I answer for everyone, “but thank you for dinner.” I emphasize “dinner”.
Trace freezes and looks over his shoulder at me. “It was no problem. I had to eat supper myself anyway,” he stresses the word. He quickly leaves the room before I can lash back.
“I could get use to living like this,” Arch says as he folds his hands behind his head.
“Well don’t. We will only be staying for a few days and then we’ll be heading off again,” I tell them.
“Boss, really? I like it here. We don’t have to do anything and we’re completely protected. Maybe Trace will let us live here. He seems like a pretty cool guy. Plus with all the farm stuff he has, he could probably use some help,” Izzie replies.
“No. We are not staying. That is final,” I shout back. Nobody says anything about settling here after that.
“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but I thought maybe some Coca-Cola would be enjoyable with the movie. I brought the glass bottle ones since they always taste better for some reason,” Trace hollers as he rejoins us.
He balances a few bowls of popcorn against his chest and arms since his hands each carry a case of Cola.
Jackie hops out of her chair and rushes over to him. “Here, let me help you with that,” she mumbles as she grabs two of the bowls.
“Thank you Jacquelyn,” he smiles.
“It’s the least I could do.”
Graham watches their exchange with a puzzled expression. He looks over at me as if I should have the answer for him. I shrug my shoulders.
Trace and Jack set the food and beverages on the table in the middle. Jackie returns to her chair and Trace sits on the floor, leaning against part of the edge of the sofa beside me. He stretches his long legs out in front of him and crosses his arms. He knocks his feet together, an irritating distraction.
I try to concentrate on the movie, but I can’t. If I move my leg the slightest to the left, I’ll bump his shoulder. I attempt to remain completely still, but my legs like to spasm. I tuck them up under me instead which is totally uncomfortable and cuts off the circulation in my legs, but it’s better than the alternative.
“He is so cute,” Tammy gushes to me in the middle of the movie.
I shush her and whisper, “He can hear you.”
One look at him backs me up. He has a smirk on his face, though he doesn’t waver his gaze from the TV where Harry breaks into the restricted section of the library.
“So what? That wouldn’t be the worst thing that could ever happen,” she argues.
The screaming book covers up my rude response.
“What?” she leans in closer, wanting me to say it again.
Trace tilts his head towards us eavesdropping. I shake my head at Tamsyn and return to kind-of-sort-of watching the movie.
Trace reaches his arms out in front of him as he yawns. It’s like I’m tuned into his every move, I hear him drum his fingers on this thigh as he follows the series of events in the movie. I know when he rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms. I can tell when he chews on his bottom lip. I feel like an obvious stalker.
At the end of the movie, Trace stands and stretches his back. He walks over to a long curtain and pulls it back revealing a glass door. He places his head against the glass and stares out at the night. I regard him as an animal would an equal opponent. Even though he may seem peaceful he could turn on us at any second. Standing there without moving as he leans against the transparent door, he reminds me of the undead who motionlessly stood against the wall as the vines grew over them. Stillness like this isn’t natural.
“One of my all-time favourite movies,” Danno is first to break the intense after-movie silence.
“Oh definitely. They really focus on the magic in this movie, a lot more than in the others. The paintings, the staircase, Diagon Alley, all of it has much more detail and such then in the movies after. What do you think, Trace?” Tammy says.
He doesn’t answer. We all watch as he slowly closes his eyes, his breath slowing down.
“Trace?” Tams says again.
He opens his eyes, eyes that are darker and duller than they were minutes ago, and backs away from the door, dropping the curtains into place as he does so.
“Sorry,” he mumbles as he turns back to us.
Fang whimpers from his spot at Jackie’s feet, wanting to go to his master, but not going for some reason.
Trace gives us a small smile. “I think it’s time for bed. I guess you guys will be needing clothes, eh? Let’s see what we can find then, shall we?” He pads down the hall, expecting us to follow as per usual. He jumps up the stairs, not as tired as he seems I guess, and walks into the first room on the right. It is literally filled with dressers and wardrobes.
“Will sweat pants and t-shirts do?” Trace asks with his head inside a wardrobe as he goes through it.
“Yea, they’d work fine,” I reply.
“All right, so these should fit Archer, and this one Isaiah.” Without even looking he tosses them backwards right at the boys. “Graham and Danno.” Two more prefect throws.
He closes the wardrobe. “I think there are ladies sweat pants in the chest of draws,” he tells us.
“Dresser,” I insist.
He turns to look at me, his eyes not as dark as they were a moment before. “We are not starting this again.”
He digs through the drawer messing everything up. I want to shove him out of the way and fix it, but I don’t. “Bad news ladies, only two pairs.” He holds them up as proof.
“Give it to them,” I say, “I’ll just take a guy pair. I like them more anyway.”
“Yea, about that, there aren’t any more,” he adds as he hands over the pants and shirts to the girls.
“Oh. All right, it’s fine. I can sleep in my jeans.” I look down at myself and wince. There’s mud and parts of leaves stuck to my pants. The knee is torn and a bloody cut can be seen. I don’t even remember getting that.
“What happened there?” Trace inquires pointing at my leg, noticing the scrape at the same time I do.
“It’s just a scratch,” I mutter.
“Kyra Leigh, why didn’t you tell me? It could get infected!” he sounds genuinely worried as he runs a hand through his already messy night coloured hair. “I mean not Infected but infected. That can be just as bad.”
I start to reconsider him. Maybe he isn’t so rude and mean after all.
“God, how could you be so stupid?! If it was really Infected you could have killed us all! I don’t just open my gate to anybody, you know. I thought that you had at least a bit of common sense for getting this far, but with stupidity like that it must have just been sheer dumb luck or these guys saving your ass all the time!"
“I beg your pardon?” I yell at him, intending on ranting but he interjects.
“I’ve seen you fight. You hide behind that bow, but without it, you can’t defend yourself at all. I can’t fathom why they put you in charge of all people.”
“I do everything I can to protect not only myself but my team as well! You barely even know me and yet you have been continuously making jibes at me the entire time! What is your problem? I haven’t done anything. I lead them because I am the one who can make the split-second decisions without losing my focus! I lead them because I have the most killing experience! I lead them because they asked me to!” While I scream I move closer to him until I am quite literally shrieking right in his face and jabbing him in the chest with my finger. As soon as I finish I dart back down the hall and slam the door to my golden.
Jackass.