Free After: Dying Light by Scott Nicholson Page B

a while, and he felt the battle had moved on. Nobody—Zaphead or otherwise—had appeared on the street, and the stillness of the middle of the night had descended on the area. It was as good a time as any to return to the stronghold.
    And Rachel.
    “You like Stephen,” Kokona said, as a fact, not a question.
    “Yes, we grew close while surviving together. Rachel loves him, too.”
    “Yet you left him back there where he might get shot.”
    DeVontay didn’t like the veiled accusation. Something about Kokona’s expression made him think he was being tested. “Franklin can protect him.”
    “You chose Rachel over the boy.”
    DeVontay couldn’t fend off the burst of temper. He was exhausted and his nerves were raw. “I’d choose her over me, too. I’d gladly die so that Rachel can live.”
    He stood on stiff legs and carried Kokona to the edge of the shrubs so he could study the surroundings. Still no movement anywhere. The coast was as clear as it was ever going to be, and he didn’t want Rachel to lay in that casket another second longer than necessary. No matter what she would be when she rose from it.
    As he navigated the street and headed back toward Hilyard and the others, as best as he could determine the direction, he realized Kokona could have yelled out at any time to summon her mutant tribemates. Even with her tiny vocal chords, her voice could carry for hundreds of yards in the silent night.
    “Will you take care of me?” she asked.
    What kind of question was that? She was a helpless baby. And cute as hell. “Of course.”
    Kokona smiled and cozied into his embrace. “Good. You’re my carrier now.”

 
    CHAPTER TWELVE
     
     
    “Uh-oh, SpaghettiO’s.” Franklin pressed the can of pasta into Stephen’s hands, along with a spoon.
    “What does that mean?” Stephen asked in the dark.
    “That TV commercial. Don’t you remember?”
    “I barely remember TV, much less ‘Uh-oh, SpaghettiOs.”
    For the millionth time since the end of the world, Franklin was reminded that he was getting as old as dinosaur dung.
    Their path to the rendezvous point with DeVontay was cut off by a mass of Zapheads who filled the streets beyond the school. The mutants moved like waves in the dark, their bright eyes bobbing on the inhuman sea. Even though Shipley’s attack was over, they were agitated, cruising for the chance to destroy. Or maybe waiting for their dead to return.
    Franklin and Stephen took refuge in a house on the northern side of the school, which afforded some concealment and time to scrounge for food. In the kitchen, with the aid of the night-vision gear, he found some plastic bottles of water, a big box of raisins, the canned pasta, and a sealed package of Oreos. Franklin wasn’t in the mood for cold tomato sauce, but he could just hear Rachel in his head, telling him to mind the boy’s nutrition.
    They ate the meal in silence sitting in the living room, the only sound the smacking of lips and the spoon clinking against the can. Franklin was afraid to light a candle. The cookies were a little stale, but he ate three and Stephen consumed more sugar than he should, but Franklin thought about a condemned prisoner’s last meal and let the boy go for it.
    He was grateful the mutants had collected most of the bodies in the town, but an unpleasant odor lingered in the house. Franklin was tempted to open some windows despite the winter chill.
    “Won’t DeVontay wait for us?” Stephen asked after he was full. The boy huddled under some blankets on the sofa, unable to sleep despite Franklin’s urging. Franklin wanted to nod off himself but every time he closed his eyes, he pictured a mob pushing through the doorway.
    “He can’t stay there all night,” Franklin said. “Too dangerous.”
    “The Zapheads can find them no matter where they go.”
    The boy spoke so quietly that Franklin wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “What’s that?”
    “Kokona can bring them to her with her mind.” Stephen