Page 62 of Romancing in Rot

The kid gives a sharp whistle.

A German shepherd trots around the corner. Lean, alert, ears pricked, tan and black coat dusty from the city. Something is strapped to its collar with a strip of cloth and tape.

A radio.

The dog pads straight to the kid and sits beside him.

The kid crouches slightly, eyebrows furrowed. “Where’s Luis, Wesker?”

Static crackles through the radio. Then a voice comes over the line. “Hello, Peaches.”

The kid goes still.

“Looking for someone?” Joanie asks.

God, I love that girl.

TWELVE

DEAL

CLAIR

The street holds its breath around us. Guns stay up. The dead behind us drag themselves closer, groans bouncing off the buildings and rolling back thicker than before.

The boy’s jaw tightens. He looks from me to the radio strapped to the German shepherd’s collar. He lifts the walkie slowly, eyes still cutting toward the upper windows where his people have guns trained on us. “Who’s this?”

Static crackles. Then Joanie answers, voice low and rough in the worst Stallone impression I’ve ever heard. “I’m your worst nightmare.”

A laugh rises, and I swallow it down.

Barely.

The boy scoffs, but the sound has less bite now. “I doubt that, chica.”

“Well,” Joanie says, dropping the voice and sounding entirely too pleased with herself, “I’ve got my gun pointed at your friend’s head, so you tell me, Peaches.”

He goes very still.

Another voice cuts through the line. Younger. Shaky. “I’m sorry, Carlos.”

Carlos closes his eyes, frustration and fear bleeding through the hard mask he’s trying to keep in place.

Joanie’s voice crackles through again. “Let’s make a deal. You give me back my people, I let you and your merry band of assholes walk. Once you’re gone, I let the kid go.”

“Fuck that,” Carlos snaps. “We’ve got guns on all of you.”

“Do you really want me to believe you’d sacrifice your little brother?”

Carlos freezes. “How the hell do you know that’s my brother?”

A tiny pause.

Then Joanie says, “I didn’t, but thanks for confirming, dumbass.”

Lyla lets out a low laugh, one of those quiet, delighted sounds that usually means someone is about to lose either blood or dignity.

Jacob just shakes his head. “Jesus, Joanie.”