After: Dying Light by Scott Nicholson Read Free Book Online Page A

cage—eight or nine wounds in all. It was a teenager, not a whole lot bigger than Stephen, and he was struck by a disturbing thought.
    That could be me. I could have been turned into a Zaphead during the solar storms and become part of this tribe. I could have been killed for the second time and then brought back to life yet again .
    But whatever sympathy he might have felt dissolved under Kokona’s command and he lowered her to the boy so she could touch his face. The bizarre ritual was repeated, and the electricity and confusion swirled through Stephen. He wondered if he was losing part of himself with each resurrection, as if he were the battery Kokona was drawing from in order to jolt another Zaphead back to life.
    How long would he last until he was used up?
    And this compulsion to serve Kokona—was it really that different from what he’d felt for Rachel and DeVontay, or even his own mother? Was this what love felt like, to give yourself until you were all gone?
    He’d always imagined love was scary. It always looked like that in the movies and comic books.
    And now he knew. It wasn’t even death that was terrible to consider, or even the return from death. It was this endless giving, this lack of will, this loss of self.
    When the mutant boy’s eyes flicked open and filled with sparks, Kokona laughed and flung her hands together with delight. “Patty cake, patty cake, baker’s man, make me a cake as fast as you cannnnnnnn ,” she squealed in her creepy little voice.
    This was love.
    He wanted to cry.

 
    CHAPTER EIGHT
     
     
    “Holy hell,” Franklin whispered, peering through the night-vision goggles he held to his face.
    “What is it?” DeVontay said, wrapping a torn curtain around his knee for support.
    “I’m not sure, but we didn’t do a very good job of killing.”
    They’d taken a position at the window of the second floor of a nearby house, deciding to watch the school for a while before returning to Hilyard and the others. Franklin was also curious whether Hilyard would send support after hearing the firefight. If his suspicions were correct, the lieutenant had already written them off as collateral damage.
    But he’d deal with that later. Whether they reported back or decided to strike out on their own, they needed to know what they were up against. So when the mutants returned to their dead tribemates rather than chase the humans who’d unleashed the fatal bullets, Franklin assumed they’d collect the bodies as they usually did.
    Instead, more Zapheads emerged from the school and they gathered around one of the fallen, and Franklin couldn’t be sure what was happening. It was almost like a memorial service. Except something wasn’t right.
    “Give me those,” DeVontay said, ripping the goggles from Franklin’s grasp. He mashed them against his face for a moment, trying to focus. “Can’t see shit with only one eye.”
    Jorge, who had taken Corporal Volker’s rifle, peered through the scope. “There’s a boy down there.”
    “No surprise,” Franklin said. “Zapheads come in all shapes and sizes.”
    “Take another look.”
    Franklin took back the goggles and fitted them over the bridge of his nose. He squinted hard, wishing he wasn’t so old that his vision was failing along with everything else. “It’s a boy, all right. Holding something. A lump that might be a backpack or a sack of food or something.”
    “What is unusual about the boy?” Jorge said. His voice had remained remarkably calm since he’d murdered his wife, which disturbed Franklin even more than a sobbing fit would have.
    “Nothing. Just another Zaphead.”
    “Look closer, my gringo friend. His eyes.”
    “What is it?” DeVontay said.
    “Damn.” Franklin drew in a sharp breath. “They’re not glowing. That’s not a Zapper.”
    DeVontay jerked with a start, banging his forehead against the glass as he tried to get a better view. “He’s one of us?”
    “Take a look,” Jorge said, passing