Page 33 of The Mist of Stars
She eyes me over warily. “How can you be so calm about this?”
“I’m always calm,” I say offhandedly as I make my way to the window that frames the top of the front door. I peer outside to see if anyone is around, but the street and sidewalks remain vacant. “You’ve known me long enough that you should know that.”
“I do.” She moves closer to me. “And I’ve always wondered why.”
“Why do I feel like you’re trying to get into my head?” I glance at her from the corner of my eye.
She nonchalantly lifts a shoulder. “Maybe I am. I mean, you’re technically in mine”—she gestures at the stairway—“so it seems only fair that I get to see into yours.”
I face her and allow my gaze to deliberately scroll up and down her body. “You really want to know what’s going on inside my head?” When I meet her gaze again, I have to bite back a smile.
Her cheeks are tinted with a blush.
“No—yes. I don’t know.” She huffs in frustration. “Whatever. Can we move on from this, please?”
“Sure.” I’ll come back to it eventually because I’m curious to know what’s the cause behind that blush.
I roll up the sleeves of my shirt. “Why don’t we …?” I trail off at the sound of thumping.
Gemma must hear it, too, because she backtracks toward another window. “What is that?”
I look out the window again. “I don’t know … Nothing’s out there.”
“It sounds like something is banging on a set of drums.” She angles her head to the side. “Someone has to be …” Her eyes widen, and then she sputters, “Oh my God.”
I snap my gaze back to the window, and what I see sends a chill of undiluted dread through my body.
Hundreds of death walkers are marching down the street, in harmony with each other, as if they’re some sort of undead marching band playing the theme song to the gates of hell.
The ground quivers in fear underneath each of their rhythmic stomps. It should. These monsters are one of the most feared creatures to ever exist.
Their presence is stirring up a fog that can kill, and the temperature is already veering toward a hypothermic range.
“Alex,” Gemma says, her voice laced with panic.
I rush over to her, snag her hand, and yank her with me as I race up the stairs. She keeps up with me, grasping my hand.
“What’re we doing?” Her teeth clank together as she begins to chatter uncontrollably.
“Hiding and trying to find someplace warm.” I barrel into the first room, which is a bedroom with nothing in it.
I spot a closet and rush over to it, towing Gemma with me. Once inside, I close the door and let go of her hand, but only to wrap my arms around her.
She remains stiff in my arms. “You think hugging will save us?”
“No, but I think that buzzing sensation we both feel whenever we’re near each other will.” I hold my breath, waiting for her to confirm it. It’s the first time I’ve dared to say it aloud. I’ve often wondered if she can feel it, too, and have speculated at times that it appears she can, but I’ve never had confirmation.
She holds her breath, keeping her hands at her sides. “What’re you talking about?”
I tip my head down to look at her, my body already warming from the buzzing that’s increasing in frequency due to her closeness. “You really can’t feel it?”
She rubs her lips together then slips her arms around my waist and presses her body against mine. She’s tall enough that the top of her head reaches my cheek, putting the scent of her hair right below my nostrils. She smells like strawberries and vanilla, and she feels so warm. It’d be the perfect moment if we weren’t hiding in a closet from death walkers while we’re stuck in some sort of nightmarish alternate world.
“How long have you felt it?” she asks, breaking the silence, except for the crackling ice webbing over the door. I can’t see it, but I can hear it.
“The buzzing?” I ask, and she bobs her head up and down. “Since the first time I met you.”
“Me, too,” she confesses. “I honestly thought it was a one-way thing. Or, well, most of the time I did. There were times I thought maybe you felt it, too.”