Free Jenny Undead (The Thirteen: Book One) by J.L. Murray Page A

for him. Unless she could force him.
    Suddenly he had hold of her left wrist and
yanked her sideways, thrusting her fingers to his neck.
“Feel!” he said. He was angry. Jenny wondered if he was
capable of killing her. She was so weak that it would be easy. She
put her right arm on the console in the middle to brace herself,
and her hand came down on something cold. She wrapped her fingers
around it. Casey was pushing her hand into his neck. Jenny decided
she must have been feverish because it felt like he was cold as
ice. She tried to pull away, but he was holding her fast. He moved
her hand to his chest. “Do you feel that?” he said. He
seemed on the verge of absolute hysteria.
    “Feel what?” she said, not sure what
he wanted her to say.
    “Exactly! There's nothing there. No pulse.
No heartbeat. Do I feel alive to you? ”
    She pulled her hand back and he let go. Pushing
herself to the far side of the seat, Jenny put her back against the
door. “I'm not myself right now,” she said, shaking her
head. “That's not possible. A rotter is a rotter. You can't
be one, Casey. Rotters don't think. They don't talk. And they sure
as hell don't drive fucking cars. You can't be one of
them.”
    He seemed to compose himself. He closed his eyes
for a few seconds and when he opened them his expression was flat.
Calm. “There are more of us,” he said quietly.
“There are thirteen of us, but, including you, we've only
found five.”
    “The Thirteen,” Jenny said.
“Are you fucking telling me that you are part of The
Thirteen?”
    “Yeah,” he said, pleased. “I
am.”
    “This isn't real,” she said.
“I'm hallucinating. You're probably not even here.”
    “It's real, Jen. I'm going to take you
where we can help you.” He shifted into drive and Jenny
raised a shaky hand. He looked at her gun as if it were something
alien he didn't recognize.
    “I want,” she said, her breath shaky
and rasping, “to see Declan Munro. Now.”
    “You're too weak to use that thing,”
he said.
    “Maybe,” she said. She cocked it.
“Maybe not.”
    “You'd shoot your own brother?” His
face was emotionless. He just looked at her with those dead
almost-brown eyes.
    “You said it yourself, you're a
rotter.”
    “Yeah,” he said. “And you will
be too.”
    “No,” she said. “I'll never be
a rotter. Declan will take care of me. Take a right up that alley
and drive for two blocks.”
    “Jenny...”
    “Fucking drive!”
    He worked his jaw, then eased the car forward.
“I'm going to come back for you,” he said.
    “Hallucinations can't save
people.”
    “Yeah?” he said. “Can they
drive?”
    Jenny frowned. She couldn't hold it together
much longer. There was a hollow feeling in her throat like she was
going to vomit. “Stop,” she said, recognizing the tall,
rotting fence on the left side of the alley. “This is
it.” It took all her strength, but she kept the gun trained
on him. On her own brother. But the brother she had searched for
was gone. This brother wasn't real. He couldn't be. And Jenny could
only think about one thing: she had to be with Declan before she
died. To tell him it wasn't his fault. She opened her door just as
hot, rancid stomach acid started rushing up her esophagus. She
wasn't sure how she got there, but she found herself hunched over
and puking in some overgrown bushes on the side of the alley. She
heard Casey yell something, but her body had abandoned her. She was
on her knees, her only function seeming to be to lose everything in
her guts. Casey yelled again and Jenny heard the deep rumble of the
engine revving up. She felt the dirt spray up onto her back as he
took off. “No,” she managed, but her body was heaving
again, bringing up nothing but air and saliva. And then she felt a
gentle hand on her back. Someone had come out of the gate. Wiping
her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned to see Lucy, her
usual sneer gone from her face, her green eyes gone soft.
    “Jenny,” she