It took them less than an hour to completely clear out my old home, but that didn't surprise me; it wasn't like we had a lot to begin with. In less time than I thought, I was sitting at the kitchen table in the bear's house with Marie hovering over me.
The voices were strangely silent, but that was fine. I was lost in my head enough that I wouldn't really be paying attention to them anyway.
But more than the disappearance of the voices, what I was really wondering was just where my stepbrothers were. It wasn't like they could just up and vanish, so why were they no longer in the house?
"Here, have a cup of sweet tea. We're in the south; you can't have a conversation without a cup of tea," murmured Marie, her motherly vibe making me want to burst out crying. She smelled like cookies, that warm vanilla scent that immediately made you feel at home, even if your home never baked cookies.
I jumped slightly as her hand rubbed my upper arm, trying to avoid my staples as best she could. I didn't feel bad about her black eyes; I didn't pity her for it. She and I were the same in that regard. We didn't do anything to deserve the hand we had been dealt, but we were living the best we could, regardless of the men in our lives.
Besides, she had a black eye; I looked like the bride of Frankenstein with my patchwork of skin and staples. It wasn't like I was in a position to pity her.
"Merci," I murmured, gently folding my hands around the ice cold glass. I could feel the condensation under my palms, and for a second, I wished it were a hot tea instead. At least that would have been able to get rid of the chill I had inside of me.
Slowly, I raised it to my lips and took a sip. "Where is the bear?" I asked softly, placing the cup on the table again.
"The bear?" repeated Marie, and I could hear the confusion in her voice.
"Mmm," I hummed. "The man who brought me here. The one that sounds like a bear."
I heard a gentle chuckle that was so soft I might have thought it was nothing more than the wind if she wasn't right in front of me. "Yes, he sounds like a bear, doesn't he? That is Lufroid Cambre. He is the one in charge of the militia around here."
I nodded my head to show that I was listening. Raising the glass to my lips again, I took another sip. "Why does he want me?"
That was the million dollar question. Why on earth did he decide to take me with him when he could have just as easily left me at home to fend for myself? Something told me that it wasn't out of the goodness of his heart.
Everyone had an agenda, and the second that you understood what theirs was, the easier it was on you.
The hand on my arm trembled for a moment before Marie withdrew her touch. I wanted to whimper, it was the first time I had felt a mother's touch, and I wanted it back.
"I don't know," she sighed, and I heard the feet of a nearby chair dragging across the floor as she sat down.
"Lie," grunted Pride.
'I figured,' I replied in my head, rolling my eyes. I might look like I was born yesterday, but Père had taught me well.
"Oh," I murmured as a door opened and was slammed shut. The sound of stomping approached where I was sitting from behind, and I couldn't help but to stiffen.
"Putain!" snarled a voice from behind. The man sounded young, but it was deep enough to know he wasn't in his early teens.
"Marc," scolded Marie, coming to her feet. I listened as the kid behind me stomped around the table and flung himself into a chair. "We have a guest."
"What guest?" sneered the kid, Marc. "It's just another putain that Père brought home."
I cocked my head to the side but didn't speak. This Marc seemed to be cut from the same cloth as the rest of the men in my life, and I wasn't going to get knocked out before I figured out just what was going on.
"What has made you so upset, mon fils? " Marie murmured, and I could hear her footsteps approaching Marc.
"It's these fils du putain," grunted the kid, slamming his hand down on the tabletop. "They be impossible to kill. No matter how many bullets we put in them, they just keep coming. It's merde!"
I slowly lowered my head until it was buried in Teddy, my sweet tea long forgotten the more Marc swore.
"I don't understand," murmured Marie like she was trying to tame a wild gator. I should have told her not to bother, that that was probably the way she got her black eye in the first place, but these were all lessons she was going to have to learn herself.
Especially if she didn't think sons took after their father.
"Père calls them zombies," continued Marc, and I could practically feel my ears turning in his direction. Pride told me that the world was ending, that there was an apocalypse coming, but this was the first time I had heard about it from someone else.
"There is no such thing as zombies. I don't allow that gris-gris in my house," snapped Marie, but I could hear the fear in her voice. Most don't claim to believe in voodoo, but that doesn't mean that they don't fear it just as much as those who do.
"They were dead; they mutated and came back to life. Sure, they have a giant ass head, a pencil dick neck, and teeth like a shark, but they don't look like no zombie I've ever seen before. They also move faster and better than any zombie I have heard of."
It took everything in me not to scoff at his statement. I had never seen a zombie in real life before, so how did he know what a zombie was supposed to look like or not?
But we don't call zombies the living dead for no reason. If they can take a full clip of bullets and keep going, then I was willing to bet that they were the living dead.