The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [20]
“I’m immune to the infection,” he clarifies. “Or rather, the infection doesn’t kill me. I’ve been this way for months.” He spreads his hands out to either side as if to display how healthy he is.
I narrow my eyes at him. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense. “I’ve never heard about there being any immunity,” I tell him.
He shrugs. “It’s not that complicated—I got bitten late in the summer,” he says, almost nonchalantly. “It’s winter and I’m not dead yet. It never killed me. I’m infected but I’m immune, which means I’m basically like a living Mudo—you saw that yourself last night on the roof.”
His tone seems so casual, but there’s an undercurrent running beneath his words, an emotion I can’t pinpoint. It could be rage or desolation, but something tugs on each syllable, making his words heavy. He even holds his body rigid as he waits for my response.
It’s hard to believe that what he’s saying could be true, but at the same time he’s right: I saw him on the roof with the two Unconsecrated women. They didn’t seem to care about him at all and there are no visible bites on him from them.
I stare at my hand clutching the knife. Catcher might be immune—he could be telling the truth—but he’s still a stranger, and strangers are dangerous.
“Not many people use the word Mudo to describe them.” It marks him as an outsider the same way everyone knew Elias and I weren’t originally from the Dark City because we called them Unconsecrated instead of plague rats or one of the other terms.
“I’m from down the coast,” he says. “A place called Vista on the edge of the Forest.”
My skin breaks out in goose bumps at the mention of the Forest. It makes me think of Elias and then of my sister, Abigail. She helped Catcher escape on the bridge. Which means he knows her. Slowly, I raise my head and meet his eyes, trying to figure out how to ask the right questions.
“I just …” He pauses and licks his lips as if he’s nervous. “I just need to know that you’re okay. You had my blood all over you and I don’t know …” He lets the words trail off. “I don’t know if I can pass the infection. If being immune means that the infection inside me is somehow different and I could still infect others. I’ve been careful not to find out.” He holds himself steady, trying not to show the uncertainty and fear that threads through his voice.
I can remember the taste in my mouth at the bottom of the stairs: metallic and earthy. I remember the feel of my blade over his arm, the slickness of his blood on my hands. I remember pressing those fingers to my lips to stop from heaving.
There’s no trace of blood on them now, and I realize he must have washed me after I passed out. A strange sensation sparks in my stomach at the thought of it, at his tenderness and consideration.
But then my mind clears. I was asleep and he had his hands on me. I rub my free hand up my arm, not sure what to think about this information.
“I’d know if I was infected,” I say firmly enough to convince both of us. Though there’s a tiny bit of dread in my mind now—worry that what he’s saying might be true and even now the infection is taking hold.
I’ve never really allowed myself to think about what it would feel like. I’ve imagined being dead, being one of the Unconsecrated. But I’ve always avoided thinking about the time in between—the knowing part of it. I wonder what that must have been like for him: the feel of the dead teeth, the realization that everything was over.
Catcher’s still staring at me, almost as if he cares about me, which doesn’t make sense and makes me uncomfortable. He doesn’t know me and I don’t know him. I shouldn’t feel safe with him. I shouldn’t still be here. I should kick his knee out and run for the surface, but I don’t do any of these things because I still haven’t figured out who this guy is and how he knows both my sister and Elias.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, snapping the words.
Relief washes over his face and he turns away, trying to hide it. Trying not to show me how afraid he was. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice weak.
I nod. “I hit my head when