The Vault (A Farm Novel) by Emily McKay Read Free Book Online Page B

outside?
    Where am I? Outside, yes, but outside where? Not home, where the lawn service keeps our St. Augustine crisp and green. The grass here is patchy and wild, like we used to see by the side of the road on long drives. The dirt is the dull red-brown of Texas clay. I’m far from home. Far from the city.
    I twist my head to look around, stopping—not because of the pain—because there’s a man near me.
    Not just a man. My father.
    My father?
    That can’t be right.
    I haven’t seen him in years. In almost eight years. But it’s him.
    He’s sitting, leaning against the trunk of a scrub oak. His head tipped back and his eyes closed. Is he dead? Then I see his chest rise and fall with a shuddering, pained breath.
    Still, I can’t reconcile what I know of my father with the image before me. His hair is graying at the temples and the lines of his face are sagging with age and exhaustion. There’s a bloody gash from his right temple to his cheekbone and another, shorter one by his mouth. One of the sleeves of his shirt is missing. The rest of the white oxford cloth is dusty and he has sweat stains under his arms. The last I heard, my father was working at some kind of brain trust in southwest Texas. He was rich and successful and totally not interested in me. What the hell’s happened to him? What’s happened to me?
    I reach out a hand and try to speak, but the sound comes out as a garbled croak.
    His eyes flicker open. “Lily,” he says on a groan thick with pain.
    “Daddy?” This time it comes out clearer. Tears burn my eyes, because I haven’t seen him in so long. And I’m in so much pain. All I want is for him to pull me into his arms like he used to when I was child. I want his strength. His warmth. Oh God, his warmth. “So cold,” I gasp out.
    He pushes away from the tree. Leveraging his weight with his hands, he pulls himself along the ground toward me. That’s when I see his leg. He’s dragging it uselessly behind him. Something dark brown is tied around his thigh and there’s an odd lump under the bulge. No. Not brown. Dark red. And the lump isn’t just a lump. It’s a compound break. The lump is his bone. The brown fabric is his once-white sleeve drenched in blood.
    My stomach flips over and I manage to turn my head to the side before I puke all over the ground.
    There’s not much in my stomach, but after I empty it, I feel . . . not better. Steadier.
    This foggy feeling, the nausea. It all seems familiar. I push myself to my hands and knees and crawl to my father’s side. His eyes are closed now, his breathing so shallow I worry again that he’s dead. A moment later, his eyes flicker open. He reaches a hand toward my face, but it’s icy cold. Again I’m hit with a feeling of déjà vu, but I shake it off. He’s lost too much blood. Even knowing nothing else, I know that.
    How do I know that?
    What happened?
    A car crash? But I don’t see a car. And why was I with my father? I haven’t seen him in years. Or have I?
    A memory flashes through my mind of a sterile white room. And Mel was there, looking hyperalert and talking about mice. In rhymes. She hasn’t talked in rhymes since . . . I can’t remember.
    But I get another flash of memory. Mel saying, “Red rover, red rover, let Carter come over.”
    Carter?
    Carter Olson?
    “What happened?” I mutter aloud.
    My father’s too-cold fingertips brush my cheek. “So sorry. I tried.”
    “What?” I demand, but my voice sounds suddenly harsh. “What did you try to do?”
    “To keep you safe. At the Farm. You were supposed to be safe from the Ticks there. Top priority.”
    And then I get a blast of memories. The Tick outbreak. The virus that mutated people into unstoppable killing monsters. The Farm. Where Mel and I were supposed to be safe, but where we lived in fear and “donated” blood to keep the monsters away. Leaving the Farm, escaping with Carter Olson. And a vampire. Mel nearly dying. Being bitten by Sebastian. Turned