The Undead Age Series (Book 2): Damage In An Undead Age

by Geever, A. M.

  “And you don’t want an audience.”

  Miranda nodded. Absently, she reached down to pet Delilah’s head. Doug sat in the empty chair opposite her.

  “That’s got to be an anticlimax.”

  Miranda’s bark of laughter was so sudden it startled him.

  “You got that right,” she said, half crying, half laughing. “I got so amped up to finally talk to him, and now it’s going to be another day. We said hi on the phones through the glass, like in prison.”

  She sighed, rolling her eyes. Her hand rested on her belly, which she had done a lot while they sheltered-in-place at LO. Doug knew she had no idea she was doing it, and he didn’t think it was the kind of unconscious gesture that women planning on getting abortions made. It suggested protectiveness, not get the fuck out of my body, but he wasn’t touching that with a ten-foot pole.

  What I know about women got me where I am with Skye, he thought. What did he think he knew about being pregnant?

  “Alicia came out to draw some blood for Skye, but one of them had to stay with the experiment. But she was going right back in; they both need to do things for the experiment. Ma—” Miranda caught herself, then continued. “James started talking, and I could tell he was just about to go on a tear about protein folds or whatever the fuck it was, and you know how he is when he gets like that. He is not in the space I need him to be. I held it together till I got out here. Now I’m crying—again.”

  “I’m sorry, Miri. You can always watch the monkeys. There’s an orange-y one I’m thinking of calling Little Coppertop.”

  Miranda rolled her eyes. “I’m dragging my sorry ass upstairs,” she said. “If I’m not crying, I’m falling on my face. Or stuffing my face. Going to annoy Jeremiah doesn’t even appeal to me right now. I don’t know why anyone would do this to themselves on purpose.” She got up, then squeezed his shoulder. “Thank you for checking on me.”

  Doug smiled up at her, his heart not in it. “Any time.”

  Opposite them, the door to the hallway where the BSL-3 lab was located opened with a clunk. Miranda looked up.

  “Hey, Skye. Hanging out a bit or taking off?”

  Don’t turn around, don’t turn around, do not turn around, Doug said to himself.

  He turned around.

  The door sighed shut behind Skye. Her hair was pulled back in a severely tight bun. Dark circles smudged her eyes. She had pulled long hours getting the sound defenses back up, but Doug wondered how much of the pinched expression was because of him.

  Skye glanced up through the atrium’s glass roof, then back to Miranda. Outside, the macaques began to shriek.

  “Heading out. The storms can get bad this time of year, but we should beat it home. I don’t want to get stuck here for the night.”

  “I don’t imagine you do,” Miranda said, glancing sidelong at Doug. “Safe travels.”

  “Take care, Miranda. See you when I see you.”

  She turned and headed for the door.

  “Be careful,” Doug added softly.

  Skye paused for a millisecond. Her body stiffened even more, but she left his remark unacknowledged.

  Anxious dread pulsed through Doug’s veins. He wanted to run after her, try to make things right, even though he knew it was impossible.

  Miranda had not moved from where she stood by her chair. Outside, a sudden clap of thunder rattled the building.

  “Are you ready to talk about—”

  “No.”

  She gave him a have-it-your-way shrug. “Whe—” she yawned. “When you are ready to tell me how you screwed the pooch so bad…”

  “Yeah, no,” Doug said. He had no intention of talking to her about it. Ever.

  “If he gets out of the lab early—”

  “M—James is not going to need any help with wanting to see you, Miranda, but I’ll send him your way if he doesn’t find you first.”

  Miranda’s and Delilah’s footsteps receded up the main staircase. Squawks from the monkeys signaled Skye and Rocco were driving away.

  How pathetic would it be if he went to the door to watch them leave? Exceptionally pathetic, he decided, rising to his feet anyway.

  When he got to the main doors, the SUV was still there. Another vehicle, a truck that had not been there earlier, was parked on the closer side of the building, just around the curve of the O-shaped line of parking spaces in the center of the lot. Doug could see Rocco in the SUV, but he did not see Skye anywhere. The dark bank of thunderclouds was much closer. Rich had moved inside to get out of the weather.

  “Who’s that?” he asked Rich, indicating the truck with a jut of his chin. “Why haven’t they come in?”

  “It’s Brock. From P-Land.” Rich’s soft southern drawl made him sound rueful. “He was on his way in, but he and Skye met on the walk and headed toward the pond. She didn’t look happy to see him.”

  “And you didn’t go out there?”

  “You obviously don’t know Skye very well. She would not have liked me sticking my nose in.”

  And Rocco is just waiting for her in the SUV, Doug thought, surprised. That did not seem right. Rocco nursed a deep dislike of Skye’s ex, though he wasn’t outwardly antagonistic. But the curve of the O that the parking spaces were arranged around, combined with the solid ingrowth of now mature trees at its center, meant that Rocco probably had not been able to see who had been driving the truck from where he was parked.

  “Tell Rocco that Brock’s here and to come to the pond,” Doug said.

  He pushed through the door. The wind had picked up, the air colder than before. He veered left off the path toward the pond. As he got closer, he heard voices over the wind and creaking trees.

  “…can’t believe you’re being so selfish,” Brock’s voice said.

  “I’m done with this conversation, Brock. I’m done with you.”

  “I’m not,” Brock said angrily. “You owe me an explanation.”

  Doug did not care for Brock’s tone one bit. He picked up the pace, crossing into view just in time to see Brock grab Skye’s arm.

  “Skye,” he shouted.

  A flicker of relief flashed across her face, quickly replaced with an annoyed this-is-all-I-need expression.

  “Rocco’s waiting for you,” Doug said. “Brock. Didn’t know you were here.”

  “I’m talking to Skye,” he said, still holding on to her arm.

  Skye shook him off. Above, thunder rumbled across the darkening sky.

  “It’s over, Brock,” she said. “Leave me alone.”

  “I just wanted to see if you’re okay. They said you were here when I radioed so I came. It’s a long drive,” he added, his tone implying Skye owed him for it.

  A flash of lightning lit up the sky. Whatever had been holding Skye’s temper in check snapped.

  “Stalking me is what you’re doing! I broke up with you, Brock, months ago. We’re finished.”

  Brock’s eyes narrowed. He stepped closer, using his size to intimidate. “What makes you think you get to decide that?”

  Doug went from wary to enraged in a heartbeat. “Back the fuck off,” he said, putting himself between them.

  The heavens opened. A torrent of water fell from the sky, soaking Doug almost immediately.

  “Oh yeah?” Brock said.

  “Give me an excuse, man.”

  Guys like Brock relied on brute strength and always underestimated anyone who didn’t. Doug knew he could toss him with a karate hold, find a pressure point, and immobilize Brock while he writhed in pain in under five seconds. He had done it more times than he could count.

  “Goddammit, Doug, I don’t need your help!” Skye said. She pushed him out of the way and rounded on Brock. “Smith offered to ban you from LO. Did you know that?”

  Even through the rain, Doug saw Brock blanch.

  “I told her not to, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t know what I ever saw in you, but you’ll never set foot inside LO again.”

  A figure approached
from the path. Rocco—finally.

  Brock narrowed his eyes and looked from Skye to Doug. “You’re fucking this asshole now, is that it? You cheating bitch.”

  Lightning flared bright, followed by a rip of thunder over their heads. Doug’s hands balled into fists.

  “You okay, Skye?” Rocco asked, trotting into place beside her. He wrapped his hand around Doug’s wrist, above Doug’s fisted hand. “What are you doing here, Brock?”

  Over the hammering rain, Skye said, “He’s leaving.”

  Brock glared at Skye, the fury in his eyes like nothing Doug had ever seen, even in Jeremiah. If he and Rocco weren’t here, Doug knew that Brock would hit her.

  “It’s bad weather to travel, especially alone,” Rocco said.

  Skye fixed an angry stare on Rocco. “Either he’s leaving, or I am.”

  “Okay,” Rocco said, turning to Brock. “Come on, Brock. You’re leaving.”

  “You’ll get yours, you fucking cunt,” Brock snarled. “Just wait.”

  He spun on his heel and stormed away. Rocco shot Doug a what-the-fuck look before following Brock. The two men were lost in the sheeting rain in seconds.

  The storm howled around them. Another crack of thunder broke, so close that Doug flinched.

  He raised his voice to be heard over the rain and wind. “Come back inside, Skye. It’s not safe to travel in this.”

  She frowned at him, her fury on full display. Doug didn’t think she could look more angry if he had been arguing with her instead of Brock.

  “You don’t get to fight my battles, Doug. I’m not anything to you.”

  She headed for the building without a backward glance. Doug followed, floored by what he had just witnessed and seething with the pent-up energy of not beating Brock within an inch of his life. He had disliked Brock before, but now he fucking hated the guy.

  All things being equal, he would never let anyone leave in weather like this. It was already storm-dark, would be true dark in under an hour. In weather like this, you could drive into a group of zombies before you realized they were there.

  But all things were not equal. Brock had threatened Skye. If she had not insisted that Brock leave, Doug would have. The creep would get what he would get.

  Doug wanted it to be bad.

  24

  He wasn’t worried. It was just…odd.

  It’s nothing, Doug told himself as he turned into the last corridor on the first floor, at the far side of the building.

  But it was unlike Skye to not be somewhere when she said she would be. She was the most punctual person Doug had ever met. She had paced the lobby all morning and through lunch, only stopping when it was clear the storm was not going to pass until at least late afternoon. It finally started to clear up just past four o’clock. It beggared belief that she would do anything to keep them at the Institute for a millisecond longer than necessary after almost twenty-four hours of not wanting to be here. If she had not had that run-in with Brock yesterday, Doug might have the same attitude as the others, but the two things in combination did not feel right.

  Doug had known that Brock was a creep the first time he met him. Even so, the depth of his venom when Skye had told him to get lost and leave her alone—again—and that she would take Smith up on her offer to ban him from LO, surprised even him. Smith was not the kind of leader to offer something like that lightly. Before last night, Doug had thought Brock was merely a manipulative asshole. Now, he was certain Brock was abusive. When he thought of Brock hitting Skye—whether last night if he had not been there or in the past—rage mushroomed through him so fast he thought his body would explode into a million pieces. Doug had joined Rocco in escorting Brock off the Institute grounds. Rocco had not been happy about sending anyone, even Brock, out in such dangerous conditions until Doug filled him in on what he had missed. Rocco’s concern for Brock’s welfare had evaporated instantaneously.

  Doug knew the others were right; ten minutes was no big deal. Miranda was twenty minutes late for everything. But it niggled at him. There was no harm in looking around. When the few things he had the illusion of control over were out of kilter, it made Doug antsy. When it involved Skye, even more so.

  He really didn’t want to think about that right now.

  Instead, I’m taking this pointless walk around the building because she’s a few minutes late, but I’m not going to look at why that is, because if I don’t, it’s not real, he thought bitterly.

  He was probably the last person on Earth she wanted to see. Who was he kidding? He was definitely the last person she wanted to see, except maybe for Brock. Being lumped in with that piece of shit was a low Doug could do without.

  He cringed for at least the millionth time as he thought about the argument he’d had with Skye. Could he have fucked it up more or been a bigger asshole? He didn’t see how that was possible. When she almost died, he got scared, and then tried to make his fuckup her responsibility. Tried to make it about her getting the wrong idea and she had called him on it. She had refused to take responsibility for his bullshit and insisted that he own it. And then she told him where he could shove it.

  He loved that about her.

  It had made sheltering-in-place at LO dreadful. The horde had already taken responsibility for being stuck in the same place as Skye off his shoulders and gobbled it up for its own. It wasn’t his fault. He had not chosen it. Might as well enjoy the company. Except the only time he had spent with her was while he was being an asshole. Over a week knowing exactly where she was, and that she never wanted to see him again.

  I could sell myself a bridge and fuck it up.

  A sound ahead pulled him from his brooding. He heard it again, a soft thud. Even if it was not Skye making the noise, something was. He had to check it out. He padded down the hallway, his pulse thrumming in his temples a little faster. He stopped. Listened. A thud, followed by a grunt, from the last room along the long hallway.

  “Fuck me,” he said, pulse skyrocketing.

  He grasped the smooth leather hilt of the stubby nightstick on his belt, pulling it loose. This will be really useful against a zombie, he thought, cursing himself for leaving his Glock behind with Rocco. He had mentioned the weird recoil that had developed over the last few days, and Rocco had insisted on taking a look while they waited. It was sloppy, the kind that got you killed, but he had handed the gun off without a second thought because he was distracted about Skye. Doug closed in on the heavy metal door and peeked through the diamonds of thin wire that reinforced the glass of the narrow inset window.

  His blood ran cold.

  Brock had Skye pressed back over a table. Her jacket was on the floor, the layers of her upper clothing gone. Smudges of finger marks were forming on her ribs and splotched her breasts. One of her shoes was missing, and her long, silvery-blond hair tangled around her head like a cumulus cloud. She was bleeding from a cut along her jaw. Brock’s hand covered her mouth, the flesh whitening where it pressed against her face.

  She struggled, trying to fend off his other hand that worked to unfasten her pants, but feebly, like she was really out of it. The puffy red marks on her temple and face registered, and Doug realized that Brock must have punched her. More brown smudges of developing bruises wreathed Skye’s slender neck. If he had punched her and then choked her into unconsciousness, she might just be coming to now. There were scratches on Brock’s face, but he outweighed Skye by at least a hundred pounds. If he had gotten the drop on her, she never stood a chance.

  It took Doug half a second to process the scene in front of him, the other half to shove on the door.

  It stuck.

  His mind raced as he banged on the door. He looked down through the glass. A chair had been tipped back against it and jammed under the doorknob. Brock looked up. If he was surprised to see Doug, he did not show it. He released Skye’s mouth, grabbed two handfuls of her hair, and banged her head off the table. Then he started working on her pants with both hands.

  Sky
e’s head lolled to the side.

  Her eyes locked with Doug’s.

  She started screaming.

  Doug did not remember breaking the glass. He shoved his hand against the top of the chair, felt it give way, and turned the lock on the knob. He pulled his arm back through the mangled diamonds of wire and glass and pushed the door aside.

  In the time it had taken him to get through the door, Brock had pushed Skye’s pants and underwear down around her boots and pulled her to him, her knees spread around his hips. He would have looked comical with his ass hanging out and erection bobbing in front of him if his intent was not so foul.

  Doug plowed into him. Until that moment he had known Brock was imposing, but he had not realized just how solid the guy was.

  But he had momentum on his side.

  And rage.

  They hit the floor hard, rolling over one another. The sharp edge of a table leg hit Doug’s back across his kidneys. A blast of pain and light exploded around Doug’s eye from Brock’s fist. Another powerful punch connected with his cheek, bending him back over the table leg. If he did not unpin himself, Brock would beat him to a pulp.

  He got his hands behind Brock’s head and smacked their foreheads together. He felt almost stunned, surprised by the stars in front of his eyes. Head-butts never seemed to affect other people like this, but at least he caught Brock off guard. Doug’s fist connected with the bottom of Brock’s chin. He heard Brock’s teeth click when his jaw snapped shut. Doug kneed Brock in the groin, heard his groan of pain. He wriggled out from between Brock and table, blood pounding, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he stumbled to his feet.

  A hand clamped around his ankle, and his feet shot out from under him. His elbows broke his fall, sending lightning bolts shooting through his fingertips. Doug rolled onto his back. He kicked at Brock’s face with his other foot. His boot did not connect very hard, but Brock let go of his ankle.

  They both scrabbled to their feet. Absurdly, Doug noticed that Brock had managed to pull up his pants before he charged. His arms wrapped around Doug’s midriff. With a spine-rattling impact they rammed into the wall. Doug wrapped his foot behind Brock’s foot, just like he had demonstrated for Skye, and lurched forward. They fell to the floor again with a crash.