by Paige Weaver
He fell back a step, looking at me like I was demented. Maybe I was. I hadn’t left Cat’s side for a week. Suddenly, I needed to get away. But I had to know that she would be safe and the kid would stay out of trouble.
When he backed down, I shot out of the bedroom and across the cabin. The living room was the size of a postage stamp. Tate had been camping out on the couch. David had taken the tiny second bedroom. I had spent my nights in the chair next to Cat’s bed. But Tate could take over. I needed to put space between her and me. It was for the best. I had gotten her shot and put her in danger. Me.
I hit the heavy wooden door with the palm of my hand, slamming it open. Sunlight and a gust of cold wind greeted me as I stalked outside. Jumping off the porch, I started across the clearing, my strides angry. Pissed.
I clenched my fists. My muscles grew taut. I couldn’t handle seeing Cat lying there bleeding anymore. I had lost my parents because I couldn’t save them. I had lost my home and my land. I had seen things that would make a grown man cry and done things that would make one shudder. But I couldn’t take seeing the woman I loved hurt because of me.
Looking down, I flexed my hand, knowing what I had to do. I had to stay away from Cat and stop loving her. For her safety and my sanity. It’s what I deserved for getting her hurt. It’s the deal I made with God if He returned her to me.
I just had to figure out how to survive it and get her to stop loving me.
Chapter Eight
Cat
Cold air forced me awake. Strong gusts of wind rattled the window. I opened my eyes with a white ceiling meeting my gaze, a wide crack running down the middle.
It all started to come back to me in a flood of images. Paul. Frankie. Hilltop and the hotel. Cash. The bullet. Keely and Gavin. My pain. His anger.
I drew in a great gulp of air. My side hurt, a sharp pain extending to every limb of my body.
I winced and realized with a start that I was only wearing a man’s flannel shirt. It hit me mid-thigh. A bandage of some kind was wrapped around my middle. I reached down and felt it. When my fingers grazed over the left side, a hiss left me.
That’s where the bullet struck. I felt queasy, remembering the thud it had made when it hit me and the excruciating agony afterward.
I started to push the blanket off me to look at the wide bandage but a soft snore startled me.
Tate was asleep in the chair beside the bed. His hand supported his head on the arm of the chair and his mouth was hanging open.
I remembered what Cash had said – Gavin got Keely out but he hadn’t seen them since. I was worried but at least Tate was here. I didn’t know what I would do if something happened to him.
Another snore escaped him. His chin dropped off his hand and his eyes opened. When he saw me, he blinked then blinked again.
“Cat?”
“In the flesh,” I whispered weakly. “Can I have some water?”
Tate jumped to his feet, almost toppling over the chair. He rushed out of the room in a tangle of feet and gangly legs.
I heard him talking to someone outside the bedroom. A minute later, he reappeared carrying a crumbled plastic water bottle.
“I’m so glad you’re awake!” he said in an excited voice, handing the water to me. “I thought for sure you’d go into a coma or die. We were all so worried that you wouldn’t make it. You scared the shit out of me, sis, I swear.”
“I’m okay,” I lied, taking the bottle with a shaky hand. “Just thirsty.” And in pain.
Raising the container, I took a long drink. Metallic-tasting water slid past my cracked lips and down my parched throat. I gulped and gulped, unable to get enough. Dying of thirst.
“Not too much. You’ll get sick,” a deep voice boomed from the doorway.
I lowered the bottle, my blood going cold at the sound of the man. The preacher from Hilltop stood near the foot of my bed. David.
He had a smile on his face but worry in his eyes. I remembered him as the man who had welcomed us with a grin. Tricked us into believing Hilltop was a friendly place. As far a I knew, he worked for Frankie. He was guilty by association if nothing else.
When he took a step closer to the bed, my fear of him turned into rage. Rage for what they did to me. Rage at feeling helpless when I saw Paul and Hightower.
I sat up and reached for the pistol sticking out of Tate’s waistband. The world tilted and my vision blurred but I grabbed the gun and pointed it at David.
“Don’t move, mister.”
Tate looked at me wide-eyed through strands of his long hair. “Cat, he’s cool. Put the gun down.”
“Shut up, Tate. He’s one of them,” I spit, keeping my gaze on the old man.
The preacher’s smile wavered. He raised his hands, showing he was no threat.
“I see you’re feeling better,” he said. “But you’re looking a little pale. You must be in a whole lot of pain. I got something—”
He started to reach into the front pocket of his jacket but I pulled the hammer back on the pistol.
“I said not to move.”
He paused and raised one bushy eyebrow. I licked my dry lips and tried to concentrate on holding the gun steady. The pain was getting worse. A dull thumping agony beat through me.
The man must have known it because he reached toward his pocket again. “Don’t shoot me, honey.” A second later he tossed something on the bed beside me.
“From your boyfriend,” he said in way of explanation, nodding down at the bottle.
I looked down. It was a prescription bottle. A couple of white pills sat inside. If they were painkillers, I needed them. But I wasn’t ready to trust the preacher just yet.
“Where is he?” I whispered, leaving the bottle untouched.
David shrugged. “Your man? He’s gone.”
The gun faltered in my hand. Panic bubbled up inside me. I glanced at Tate.
“Where’s Cash?”
Tate avoided my eyes, hiding behind his long bangs. “You gotta understand, sis…”
I interrupted him, growing desperate and angry. “Where is he, Tate? Tell me!”
He pushed his hair out of his face and ducked his head. "It’s just…well…he’s just not the same since you got shot. It’s like…seeing you bleed all over the place, it…well, it changed him. Made him mad.”
Hurt twisted inside me.
“So he left?” I asked, forcing the words out. “He just packed up and rode off?”
Tate frowned. “Nah. He keeps his distance. That’s all. Says it’s for the best. He’s around. He just stays clear of you most of the time and it keeps going out, looking for Gavin and Keely.”
“He hasn’t found them?” I asked with a whisper.
Tate shook his head, looking upset.
Anguish squeezed my heart and made my eyes water. The preacher started to move toward me again but I raised the gun higher.
“Don’t come any closer,” I said, staring at him through the tears clouding my eyes. “I’m not warning you again.”
The threat was weak and he knew it.
Moving closer, he kept his hands up. “I’m a doctor. If I wanted to hurt you, I wouldn’t have dug that slug out of your side. I would’ve let you bleed out instead.” He nodded at the gun in my hand. “Now, put it away before you shoot me on accident and someone’s got to dig a bullet out of my ribs.”
I glanced at Tate, unsure. The preacher couldn’t be trusted. I was almost certain of it. But Tate nodded.
“You can trust him, sis. He ain’t gonna hurt you.”
And just like that, my energy disappeared. I let out a breath and dropped my hand. The gun was suddenly too heavy. I was too weak. The pistol fell into my lap, my fingers going limp around it.
I started to collapse back to the bed but the preacher raced to my side. Putting an arm around my shoulders, he eased me down.
“She’s freezing, kid. Get another blanket and heat up some of that soup,” he instructed, glancing over his shoulder at Tate.
“And go get Cash. He may not want to be here but he’ll want to know she’s awake and lucid,” David added.
Tate nodded and disappeared behind the blanket that hung between the bedroom and the rest of the cabin.
As he did, David grabbed the bottle of pills from beside me and shook one out in the palm of his hand. “I didn’t ask where Cash got these from but praise God he did. Painkillers, darling. Take one,” he said, offering it to me in the palm of his hand.
I took it and the water he handed me, my fingers numb with cold. The pill felt like a stone going down my throat but the water felt amazing.
I took small sips, hoping the painkiller did its job quickly. The wound was throbbing, sending agony through me. Beads of sweat popped out on my upper lip and hairline. I felt like I had been run over by a freight train and speared by a harpoon.
When a violent shiver ran through me, the preacher reached for the blanket that had fallen down around my waist.
“May I?” he asked pausing, his fingers inches from the faded quilt.
I studied him through the dark strands of my hair. Everything in me screamed not to trust him. But if Cash and Tate did then I would too.
“Okay,” I whispered, giving in.
He started tucking the blanket around me. “Gotta say that you’re one mighty strong woman. Stubborn, I might add, but strong. You fought us tooth and nail when I tried to get that bullet out of you. That man of yours had to knock you out. About tore him up. I ain’t never seen a man so broken before.”
I reached out from under the blanket and touched my jaw. A vague memory of Cash doing the same came to me. He had run his fingers over my chin and whispered he was sorry.
“Tell me the truth. How bad was I?” I asked, dropping my hand away.
David tucked my hand under the covers, frowning when he felt my cold fingers. “Bad enough that Cash didn’t sleep a wink or leave your side for a week.”
My heart thumped harder. Cash had sat beside me the whole time? A week? I blushed, thinking of him taking care of me. Wiping my brow. Watching me sleep. So why was he staying away from me now?
David patted my shoulder and turned to leave. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you later.” He was almost to the door when I spoke up.
“Wait. Can I ask you something?”
He turned and looked down at me, a gentle smile on his face. “I’m a man of God and a doctor. Questions and confessions are my specialty.”
I didn’t return his smile. I had only one thing on my mind.
Cash.
“Does he really want to stay away from me?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.
David opened his mouth then clamped it shut. Walking to the end of the bed, he rubbed his chin and looked down at me.
“He’s fighting his own demons. He’ll come around,” he said, sounding sure and confident.
“And if he doesn’t?” I asked.
David shrugged. “Then you fight the demons for him.”
Chapter Nine
Cat
I woke up sometime later. The bedroom was dim. The sun was setting. The chair beside me was empty. There were no sounds coming from the other room. I stayed still, listening. There was nothing. Just silence.
I shifted and my bladder protested. I needed to find a restroom quick.
I pushed to a sitting position, careful not to move too fast. The room spun then righted itself. I moved a lock of my hair back. It felt matted and dirty but it was the least of my problems. I had to get out of bed.
Taking a deep breath, I shoved the covers off my legs with my feet. Cold air hit me. I eased my feet over the side of the bed. By the time they dangled to the floor, I was breathing hard and sweating. Weak.
I sat at the edge of the mattress for a moment. When my breathing returned to normal, I pushed to my feet. As soon as I was upright, my knees started to buckle. I cried out and grabbed the bed, catching myself before I fell.
When the room stopped spinning, I let go of the bed and straightened. This time my legs supported me.
The shirt I wore hit me at my knees. My feet were bare, the scuffed, wooden floor cold beneath my toes. I glanced around. I didn’t want to walk around without pants or underwear, but I didn’t see any other clothing. The shirt would have to do.
I took a faltering step then another. It felt weird to stand after being in a bed for so long. My legs felt like Jell-O and being upright felt odd.
I took careful, slow steps toward the door. When I got to the faded sheet that hung from it, I pushed it aside and stepped out of the bedroom.
A small living room greeted me. The walls were rough planked board. The windows were covered with faded curtains in green. The room had a rundown couch shoved against a wall and a faded recliner in the corner. On my right was the kitchen. Four mismatched chairs sat around a scarred table. A small hot plate rested on the cracked butcher block countertop and a stack of dirty dishes were stacked near it.
I averted my gaze, my stomach rolling at the thought of food. Tate had brought me soup earlier but I hadn’t managed to keep it down.
Fighting the ill feeling again, I held onto the wall and made my way across the room. My legs were unsteady but I was determined to find the bathroom or what counted for a bathroom when modern plumbing didn’t work anymore. The cabin was rustic, more for camping than for living. I realized quickly that there had never been a toilet or even a shower. I would have to go outside, barefoot and half dressed. But I had to go.
The thought of using a tree or a dark, dank outhouse would have made the old me stomp my Louis Vuitton heels in frustration and whine like a spoiled princess. I once lived in the biggest home in the county. I could snap my fingers and get what I wanted. My father was a bigwig in the oil business. His daughter wouldn’t be caught dead using an outhouse or wearing a man’s flannel shirt that hung on her like a sack.
But times had changed. I hadn’t seen my dad in three years. I gave up heels for boots. I ate whatever I could find and lived wherever it was safe. Running water was a luxury very few had. Using an outhouse was now normal.
I made my way to the front door, listening for any sounds of activity. There was none, not even the sound of someone breathing. Where was everyone?
I felt alone and that’s a feeling I didn’t like. It could get you killed in this world, not having someone to watch your back. The war and the EMP had brought out the worst in people. The inability to produce and distribute antipsychotic drugs made it impossible to keep the crazies sane. The absence of law enforcement enabled rapists and killers to roam free. People shot you in the back for something as simple as a bar of soap. Yes, we had no electricity but it went beyond that. The ripple effect of the EMP was massive. Rumor was, the U.S. would never recover from it.
I didn’t know if that was true or not, but I didn’t like being alone. Bad things happened when you were by yourself. People like Paul and Hightower found you.
Forcing them out of my mind, I pushed open the front door and stepped outside. A gust of wind wrapped around my legs. My hair whipped across my face. Thick woods surrounded the cabin. Leaves blew across the clearing in front.
I held onto the rough-cut timbered structure and made my way across the porch. I could see the outhouse. It was set back a few yards from the cabin, surrounded by tall pine trees.
I tried not to think about how far away it was as I stepped off the porch and into the tall weeds. Despite the cold, a thin sheen of sweat dotted my forehead and upper lip. My knees almost gave out. Blades of dead grass pushed between my bare toes and my feet sank into soft earth.
I took a few hesitant steps. Somehow, I made it to the outhouse without falling. I did my business and headed back, feeling weaker and weaker. Holding onto the rough bark of trees as I went for support.
I was almost to the cabin when I heard a twig snap behind me. My body went cold. The little hairs on my arms stood up.
“What the h
ell are you doing?” a deep voice exploded.
Relief almost made me collapse. My heart beat a rapid, crazy tempo as I turned.
It was Cash.
And god, did he look pissed.
His head was tilted, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from the sun and me. His body was strung tight. His gray, cold gaze was staring at me.
A few yards behind him was David. He was walking toward us, watching us with interest. His tall, giant-like body moved slowly. In one of his hands a skinned chicken dangled. In his other was a bloody knife.
I looked away from the dead bird and at Cash.
“Ummm.” My mind went blank when I saw the anger in his gaze. I knew he wouldn’t hurt a hair on my head but he was staring at me with such animosity.
Cash raised one eyebrow, waiting for me to explain. I saw his eyes. They were cold. Hard. Staring back at me with rage. I had never seen him look so furious. I felt a pang when I remembered what David had said. Cash was fighting his own demons.
And apparently I was one of them.
He took a step closer, the toes of his boots inches from my bare toes.
“I asked you a question, Beauty Queen. What are you doing out here?”
My chin quivered, but I jutted it up anyway. I was cold and godawful weak. My teeth were on the verge of chattering and I was fighting the urge to collapse. Pain throbbed in my side and a damn rock had poked me in the arch of my foot.
I wasn’t in the mood.
“I’m happy to see you too, cowboy,” I said as sweetly as I could, considering I was about to pass out.
David chuckled and walked past us on the way to the cabin. A tic appeared in Cash’s whiskered jaw as he ignored the preacher and stared at me. His eyes turned a darker shade of gray. They made a quick pass over me, taking in my bare legs with no hint of concern.
“I didn’t ask if you’re happy to see me,” he said in a clipped voice, sounding impatient and pissed. “I asked what you’re doing out here by yourself. It’s cold. Where’s Tate?” He glanced past me to the house.
“I don’t know,” I answered, wondering that myself.
“Shit. I’m going to kill that kid,” Cash snarled between clenched teeth, rushing past me.
