CHAPTER TEN: LADY HEW SPEAKS
1245 Words
The hospital room was quiet, too quiet for Ron’s liking. The walls buzzed faintly with the low hum of medical machines. Outside the window, the late afternoon light washed the buildings in a golden blur, and far in the distance, a single siren screamed—then was silenced.
Ron sat up on the bed, one arm bandaged and strapped to a drip. The wound had been nothing serious, just internal stress and weakness, the doctor had said. But Mami insisted they keep him here “until all the devil inside clears out.” Minos had muttered something sharp at her—something about “if Ron dies, I will drag the heavens down”—and stormed out again.
Then she walked in.
She didn’t knock.
She didn’t introduce herself.
She simply entered like someone born to command silence. Her coat was long, tight across the shoulders, and olive green—military perhaps, or something close. Her boots thudded once against the tiled floor, then stopped. Ron stared.
The woman’s face was plain and unreadable. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the flashy, breath-catching way her younger sister Wyonne was, but there was something in her jaw, the set of her eyes—eyes that never blinked unless absolutely necessary.
Lady Hew.
“Ron.”
She said his name like a question and an accusation all at once.
Ron cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“You’re stubborn.”
“People say that.”
“I’m not people.”
He chuckled softly, and she stepped closer to the bed, standing with her arms behind her back. Ron could see now she carried no weapons. Not that she needed any. Her presence was blade enough.
“You turned Wyonne down.”
Ron blinked. “Ah. So this is about that.”
“Partly.”
She turned to the window, gazing at the horizon like a general looking at maps before war. “You know she cried?”
Ron shifted uncomfortably.
“She’s not the type to cry,” Lady Hew continued. “But that night, she did. Not because you said no. But because you said it with... disgust.”
“I didn’t mean to—” Ron started, then stopped himself. “Actually, I did. I meant it. She’s not for me.”
Lady Hew turned slowly. “Why?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’ve stood between a widow and a horde of half-deads while she delivered twins in a barn soaked with blood. Try me.”
Ron looked at her, quiet now.
Lady Hew stepped closer, voice level. “She’s not just the Magistrate’s daughter. She’s a person. She’s never hurt anyone. All she ever wanted from you was your attention.”
“She’s rich,” Ron said quietly. “You people don’t see the way we suffer. Wyonne talks like the world is a party we’re all invited to. I live in a rusted van with my brother and a zombie.”
“A half-zombie,” Lady Hew corrected.
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It does, actually. But we’ll come to that.”
She paced once, arms still locked behind her back.
“You think love is a thing that only fits inside poverty. You think rejecting her keeps your pride whole. But pride doesn’t keep you warm at night, Ron. It doesn’t clean the wounds on your back. And it certainly won’t stop what’s coming.”
Ron narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Lady Hew looked at him, expression sharp.
“The outbreak’s evolving. Faster. Last week we found a boy in the hills—eight years old—who had bitten his own mother and father. He wasn’t infected. He chose to do it. The virus didn’t get him. It whispered to him.”
“Whispered?” Ron asked, frowning.
“Not literally. Not yet. But there’s something changing. Not just the dead ones. The living are starting to think like them. Chaos is turning into culture.”
Ron swallowed. “Culture?”
Lady Hew’s face was hard as stone. “Zombies don’t talk. Not yet. But they organize now. They gather. The isolated attacks we used to see—those are over. Now they form ranks. There’s intelligence guiding them. Something old. Something cold.”
She leaned forward, voice low.
“Your half-zombie friend—Minos. He’s not a mistake. He’s a warning. He’s the middle ground. The bridge between two sides. And he’s not the only one.”
Ron’s skin tingled. “You mean there are others like him?”
Lady Hew gave a single, slow nod. “Not many. But yes. Half-bloods. They eat flesh. And they eat bread. They dream... and they decay. Most go mad. But some—like Minos—cling to their human parts.”
She stood upright again. “We’re trying to find them. To study them. Wyonne’s father—my father too, of course—he wants them captured. Chained. Studied in steel cages.”
Ron’s voice came fast. “Minos will never let that happen.”
Lady Hew smiled faintly. “I know. That’s why I’m here. You trust him. He trusts you. I need that bond.”
“To do what?”
“To reach him before the government does.”
Ron rubbed his temple. “So this isn’t about Wyonne.”
Lady Hew turned again to the window. “Everything is about Wyonne. At least to me.”
She was quiet for a long moment, then finally spoke again. “She loved you because you were honest. Because you didn’t try to impress her with pretty words or fake ambitions. She believed in your rawness.”
“She shouldn’t,” Ron said. “It’ll hurt her.”
“It already did,” Lady Hew replied. “But pain is a small price for understanding.”
She stepped back from the bed.
“You don’t have to love her. But don’t mock her feelings. She isn’t just a spoiled girl. She’s seen more than you know. She’s been inside the Red Quarantine. She’s held hands with a child while he stopped breathing. She laughs because if she doesn’t, she’ll break.”
Ron said nothing.
Lady Hew took out a small photograph from her coat and placed it on the table beside his bed.
“Take this. It’s of a map. A safe zone. Off-grid. Quiet. We want to move you and Minos there for observation. Quietly. No chains. Just... monitoring.”
“And if we refuse?” Ron asked.
Her face became steel again. “Then the Magistrate will send others. Not people like me.”
Ron exhaled sharply. “So this is blackmail.”
“This is the world we live in now.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Lady Hew moved toward the door.
She placed one hand on the knob, then looked back.
“Be careful what you throw away, Ron. Some people only get love once.”
She paused.
“And when the night comes... remember which side of the scream you stand on.”
Then she was gone.
The door clicked behind her, soft as breath.
Ron stared at the photo. It wasn’t just a map. Behind it was another—folded neatly. A picture of Wyonne, holding a baby in her arms, her eyes red, her face smudged with soot.
She wasn’t smiling.
Ron looked away.
Outside, another siren rose—and this time, it didn’t stop.
- Writer
