The Survivors Trilogy

BOOK ONE || CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

"Xander."

In my dream, Vicky says my name, so quietly, so softly. She's standing right in front of me, arms at her side, hair loose and draped over her shoulders. She's wearing the same thing she wore in the Estate, but there is something different about her. Something very, very different, and I can't seem to figure out what.

Maybe it's the way she's dressed, or the way she's standing. Maybe the way she says my name, like an echo—smooth, calm.

Or, maybe it's the way she's looking at me.

She's inching closer to me, taking small, tentative steps. So slowly, so carefully.

"Xander," she says again, but her mouth is hardly moving.

My back is pressed against the wall, hands stuck behind my back for some reason. I can't move my arms. I can't move anything. It's like an invisible rope has bond my hands together, and no amount of pulling will help them separate.

Vicky is in my face, leaning up, only an inch away. A breath away from my lips. Her eyes are a darker shade of blue than they normally are. Her eyes are searching down my face; from my eyes to my nose, my mouth and back up.

Then when Vicky turns away, then back to me, her eyes are hazel, green when in a certain light. A strange color. Beautiful. Beautiful.

This isn't Vicky, I keep trying to remind myself. It isn't, it isn't—

"Wake up!"

I bolt upright, chest heaving, eyes wide, gasping for air. I clutch madly for the dagger that is no longer tucked underneath my pillow. My real pillow.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down!"

I jerk my head to the voice, furrowing my brows tightly when I see Kara standing at my bed. Close, close, too close.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" I snap, rubbing my eye with the back of my hand.

"Have you forgotten what time it is?" she snaps back, stepping away from the bed frame. "Or did you just need more of your beauty sleep?"

"I always need my beauty sleep, obviously." I yawn, swinging my legs over the bed. Kyle, Drew and Joel are nowhere to be seen. They must be at work. Typical of them not to wake me up.

I hardly flinch as a soft piece of fabric hits me in the face. As soon as it slowly lands in my lap, I realize that it's my shirt.

Kara stands there with her arms crossed over her chest. "Hurry up and get dressed." She starts to walk toward the door, stopping briefly to look over her shoulder, says, "Meet me in the training room in five!" Then she slams the door behind her.

I slip the shirt over my head; using my foot, with some effort, to pull my bow and quiver from under my bed. I sigh as I swing my quiver on my back, followed by my bow.

I'm too tired to do any of this. Back in the Estate, I could just about get up in the morning to scavenge, but the only reason I got up was because I had my best friend doing it with me. We had fun. This new job doesn't seem to be one where I can just wing it and do whatever I want.

Kara doesn't seem like that type.

The bathroom is surprisingly warm when I open the door. Someone must have recently had a shower—I can feel the steam on my face. I can smell the dampness in the air.

I don't bother to wipe away the condensation off the mirror, instead filling my hands with warm water, quickly splashing it on my face, rubbing in the corners of my eyes to remove all signs of last night. All signs of the dream. I sigh with relief when I feel the water drip off my chin, hearing the satisfying plink when the drop hits the pristine white sink.