by EM Roberts
“Was it intentional? Do you know?”
“No, he was actually working on a vaccine for AIDS, but it mutated and was stolen by a terrorist group. That sounds like something straight from a cable TV movie, but I guess things like that do actually happen.”
“Well, that clears up a few of the questions I’ve been asking myself,” Sully thoughtfully replied. “It’s not my area of expertise, but I’ll see what I can interpret.”
The two sat in silence for a few minutes. Ella snuck a glance over at the man. She knew she shouldn’t even be contemplating it, but he was so attractive. He made her heart race. Also, she was a little in awe of the man. He was a doctor who’d travelled to foreign countries giving his time and effort. Even now, he seemed to be in control of his destiny.
“So, Ella are you married? Have a family?”
“Never married. No family anymore. I lost my father last month,” Ella replied, smiling sadly.
“I’m sorry.”
“What about you?” Ella asked curiously. He had to have been married or engaged. He was too good looking to be single.
“Married. We got married last year. My wife was on a trip to New York City. She never came back. That’s why I’ve been waiting here. I keep hoping that somehow she made it out of there alive.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just one of the many stories like that. I’m not an idiot. I know she’s probably dead, but there’s that hope in the back of my mind that won’t go away.”
Ella didn’t know what to say, but she knew exactly what he meant. She had that same hope for Eli. She knew he was probably dead, but since she had no definitive proof, that little glimmer of hope remained. She reached over, grabbed his hand, and squeezed it. He smiled into her eyes, and Ella felt something inside of her want to comfort him.
He leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. It was probably the sweetest kiss she’d received in her entire life. It was filled with loneliness and loss. It was a comforting kiss. She wanted more even as she told herself it was a mistake. She didn’t know this man, and he didn’t know her.
The kiss became urgent and her tongue met his thrusting and sparing back and forth. His hand crept inside her blouse and kneaded her breast. She felt a jolt of desire run through her entire body.
“We shouldn’t do this,” he murmured, “It’s not right. I still love her, and I always will.”
“We don’t have to, but I want to. I don’t want to feel sad or alone anymore,” Ella sighed into his mouth.
She leaned over and unbuttoned his shirt, and he let her. She ran her hands up and down his muscular chest, caressing it and marveling at how fit he was. This was so different from the last time she’d been intimate with someone. With Dean, it’d been all about the passion and the physical release. With Sully, it was about comfort and healing.
She stood and pulled her shirt off, tossing it to the ground. The boots and jeans came next. Naked, she held out a hand and helped him up. She peeled the shirt from his shoulders and unzipped his jeans. She kissed him again, longer and more aggressively as he cupped his hands around the cheeks of her ass and squeezed.
Lowering themselves to the outcropping, she slid beneath him. He looked down into her eyes and sadly smiled as he positioned himself above her. Ella reached over and pulled a condom from her pants pocket. He looked at her questioningly.
“Jem stuck it in there as we were leaving. She was convinced the only reason I volunteered to come was to get lucky,” Ella murmured.
“Nice,” he replied as he slid the condom on and plunged into her.
He rocked into her, and she raised her hand and caressed his face. The stubble felt rough beneath her fingers. He reached up and grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. He did the same with the other hand, pinning them both to the ground as he thrust in and out of her.
She lifted her hips to meet his and marveled in the intense lovely feeling. There was no rush or hurry for satisfaction. Even though there should be with an army advancing any minute now. It was slow, languid lovemaking. She could feel the intense pleasure rising with each thrust, and suddenly she did want him to fuck her faster and harder.
“Faster,” she whispered.
Rapidly, he thrust in and out, his face a mask of concentration. She’d missed this. Dean had awakened a hunger in her, a sexuality that couldn’t be denied.
“I’m going to cum,” Sully grunted.
“Do it, then.” She clawed his back as her own orgasm flowed over her.
A few seconds later, Sully cried out and collapsed on top of her. They stayed that way for a couple of minutes, his weight a comfort in this lonely, sad wilderness.
When he did stand, he couldn’t meet her gaze. He dressed quickly and peered out at the road.
“Sully, you don’t have to feel guilty about this. It was just two people comforting each other.” Ella said softly.
“Then why do I feel like I’ve just cheated on my wife? I feel ashamed,” he said, still not looking at her.
“You shouldn’t. I’m sorry you feel that way.” Ella stood and walked over beside him.
“You’re the first person I’ve slept with since her.”
“I know it didn’t mean anything. I know you still love her. It was just two people coming together—comforting each other.”
There really was nothing more to say. Sully would still feel the guilt no matter what Ella said. She wouldn’t be heartless and remind him that his wife was more than likely dead. Plus, she felt a little ashamed herself. This was the second man she’d slept with in six months. Was the thought of dying what made her crave physical contact? Or was it the thought or dying without love? At least Sully still had his love to hold onto.
It was a couple of hours later that the military command marched down the road with the Apache helicopter flying overhead. She and Sully hid beneath an overgrown bush, taking count of the men and women who were visible. It was a growing army with a stockpile of weapons, and Ella suddenly felt afraid for Parker. It was a fear that made her nauseated. She had to catch up with Parker before Adams did. There was no other option. The two of them had to come up with a plan before Adams became any more powerful. If she had to kill the man in cold blood, then so be it.
Chapter 5: Second in Command
He was sixteen years old when he made his first kill. It was a spur of the moment decision but something he’d fantasized about for a while. He’d never thought he would actually follow through, but that night had changed everything. He’d come home at two in the morning wasted and drunk, and that’s when the old man had lit into him. To make things worse, the old man wasn’t even his real father. He was a man who’d married Hector’s mother and thought that gave him the right to beat on Hector whenever he wanted.
He’d snuck in the window to his bedroom only to find his step-father waiting for him. Hector’s growth spurt during that year sent him towering over the old man and outweighing him by a good fifty pounds. This time when the old man had come at him, fists swinging, Hector had been ready. He’d fought back, splitting his opponent’s lip on the first blow. Enraged, his stepfather had come rushing at him. Hector had met him head on and the two men had crashed to the floor where Hector quickly obtained the upper hand.
Looking around, he’d spotted the baseball bat in the corner. He jumped up, grabbed it, and swung—hard. The bat had connected with his stepfather’s head, making a sickening crunch. Another blow rendered the man unconscious. But, Hector couldn’t stop there. He continued to rain blows down on the man’s head and face until it was a bloody pulp. Hearing a sound of dismay from the doorway, he’d turned to see his mother.
She’d never particularly shown him much affection or sympathy, and he’d realized suddenly that she was the one who’d allowed this to happen. She was the one who had brought this man into their lives and had abandoned her own son. She’d chosen his stepfather time and time over her son. She deserved the same fate as her husband, and he’d
taken even more satisfaction in bludgeoning her to death. While he was it, he thought he might as well take care of the other occupant in the house—his eight year old brother, Jimmy. Jimmy was a little shit who at every turn made fun of or tattled on Hector. He didn’t deserve to live either.
After the three deaths, Hector had cleaned himself up, packed a bag, taken all the money he could find which ended up being around two grand, and grabbed his old man’s handgun and spare clip of ammo. Lucky for him, his mother had the rent money in her purse and his old man had just cashed his paycheck. He’d left the small town of Henderson, Colorado and never looked back. Of course, the authorities had plastered his picture all over the news, so Hector had become a wanted man on the run at the ripe old age of sixteen.
He’d left a trail of bodies from Colorado to Kansas. Suddenly, killing had become easier and enjoyable. There was something about knowing he had control of a man’s life and could easily extinguish it. He’d killed a clerk at a convenient store for a carton of cigarettes and two hundred dollars. The same night, he’d killed a woman in her sixties for her car. He’d tired of walking and riding the bus, so when the old woman had stopped at a stop sign, he’d decided to take the car and kill her in the process.
He’d lain low for a few days at a campground. But, the itch to move had overcome him. So he’d ditched the old lady’s boat of a car and killed a fellow camper for his truck. That made six bodies on his list. He’d taken the truck and set out north toward Nebraska, hoping to eventually make his way to Canada where he hoped to get lost for a while.
He’d never made it to Nebraska, let alone the Canadian border. His capture came because he’d gotten cocky as only a sixteen year old can be. He’d decided he needed a lump sum of money, so he’d settled on a bank robbery for this source of income. He’d entered the bank wearing a ski mask and brandishing the handgun. By this time, he was down to the spare clip he’d taken, finding it hard to purchase ammunition at his age. He figured he wouldn’t need the bullets anyway.
What he hadn’t counted on was the undercover police officer who’d been inside the bank. Unsuspecting, Hector had been shot in the shoulder and his illustrious career as a serial killer had been nipped in the bud. At least it was until he’d arrived in prison. He was tried as an adult for his crimes and received six consecutive life sentences, one for each of his victims. He would spend the rest of his life in prison. His public defender had tried to claim insanity, but a court ordered psychiatrist had disproved this notion.
Hector had spent the next year and a half in a juvenile facility where he’d ruled the roost. He’d been the cock in the henhouse, and no one fucked with him. Upon his eighteenth birthday, he’d been transferred to a maximum facility prison where he’d been the low man on the totem pole. Right away, he’d been targeted by older inmates wanting to make him their pretty boy. Knowing he had to prove himself, he’d killed the first man to try with his bare hands. This had sent him to solitary confinement for a while, and when he’d gotten out, more hardened than ever, no one had fucked with him. He was on his way up in the prison hierarchy.
Ten years later, he was once again the king of his domain. With three in-house murders under his belt, he knew he was never getting out of the prison. He no longer minded the punishment, the solitude, or the prison life. He’d accepted it and would make the best of it. When he’d entered the prison, he was a stocky teenager with a full head of greasy, brown hair and teen acne. Now, he was muscular, bald, and tattooed. He had a scar running from his left eye to the corner of his mouth where he’d been attacked with a handmade shank in the shower. That motherfucker had paid with his life. No one fucked with him anymore. No one called him Hector anymore, either. He’d become known to the inmates and the guards as Devil.
He’d become known by this name after a punk ass kid trying to make a name for himself had challenged Hector six months into Hector’s sentence. He’d taken the young man’s eye in the shower—literally. He’d used his toothbrush, stuck it in the kid’s eye and pulled it out. It’d been one of those tiny Bob Barker toothbrushes, but he’d made do with it. When the kid had been questioned, he’d blamed the encounter on the devil, and that had become Hector’s new name.
Very few inmates had survived the first round of the outbreaks. With prisoners becoming sick and being left in their cells to turn into the creatures, Devil had thought he might go crazy. He’d waited for his turn, but it never came. Two weeks into the outbreaks, the power in the prison had gone out, causing the generator to kick on. As a lifer, Devil had known that this would happen. The prison generator was a natural gas generator meaning that it would run until its natural gas supply was exhausted.
After the first two weeks, food had stopped coming, and Devil no longer was visited by guards or allowed out of his cell. He wondered if he would die in the small enclosed area. He’d a stash of contraband in his cell which consisted of four candy bars, two bags of peanuts, and three cups of soup. He rationed the candy bars out to eight days, the peanuts lasted two days, and the soup three. Fortunately, the plumbing was still working in the cell, so he had some water.
He’d been lying on his cot wondering if he would have to resort to cannibalism and eat the rotten remains of his neighbor when the electronic lock to his cell door had suddenly clicked indicating it was unlocked. The bad thing about this was that every other door in the place also became unlocked, releasing hordes of the infected into the prison. Apparently the generator that had been running the electronic locking system had run out of natural gas. Now, the only thing left to do was make his way out of the prison.
He’d found out from the prison guards early on in those first two weeks that the only way to kill the creatures was to behead them or pierce them in the brain. It had something to do with the brain and its connection to the spinal column was what he’d heard. He’d had to work hard to fashion a weapon. He’d taken the mattress from the bed, and worked all day on dismantling the steel frame. Eventually, after a fair amount of blood and sweat, he’d created two rods with sharpened tips.
He’d waited another day after the lock had been released before leaving his cell. He’d done this hoping the creatures would disperse. Some of them had, but there was still a good amount of them strolling around looking for food. He’d just have to take his chances; he couldn’t stay in the cell a moment longer.
He left the cell, a weapon in each hand. The first creature came at him hungrily, and he knocked it down and ran. He didn’t have to kill them, he just had to get by them. As he ran, he knocked creatures left and right. He was still strong even though he’d lost weight and muscle mass. He felt a creature bite into his arm, and he stabbed it in the head with the metal pipe. Finally, he made his way down to guard central which was less crowded. There, he was lucky enough to find an abandoned assault rifle.
From there, it was a matter of shooting the creatures in the head. He wasn’t a good shot, having never had the opportunity to hone that skill. When he’d used a weapon to kill before, he’d been at point blank range. That’s what he’d had to do to make his way out of the prison. He’d waited until the creatures had gotten close enough and then shot them in the head, splattering blood and gore everywhere. By the time he made it outside and to one of the abandoned vehicles, his ears were ringing.
He’d worried for the next few days that he’d turn into one of the creatures because of the bite he’d suffered, but he hadn’t. He’d disinfected, kept it clean, and waited. Nothing—maybe he really was immune. Next, he’d spent eight months just rambling around the state. He’d holed up with a fellow prisoner in an apartment complex for a couple of months. They’d systematically cleaned the complex, apartment by apartment, of the creatures. They’d scrounged for food and ammunition trying hard to stay alive. Then, about two months ago he’d awakened to find his roommate stumbling around, grunting and growling. Without thinking, he’d put a bullet in the man’s head.
Here he was now, surrounded by soldiers, their weapons dr
awn. He smiled a cold, hard smile at the officer in command. They didn’t know who they were fucking with. He’d already taken out two of them before they’d brought him to his knees. He wouldn’t go back to being held prisoner. The first chance he got, he would take it. He didn’t care who got hurt in the process.
They shoved him in the back of a transport truck where he was guarded by four soldiers. It was alright--he’d bide his time. He was then taken to a makeshift army camp, and as he was pulled from the truck, he took note of his surroundings. There were several tents, army vehicles, and even a helicopter. This place looked legitimate, and Devil couldn’t help but wonder where these motherfuckers had been the last ten months.
“Lt. General Adams will see you now. He likes to greet all new arrivals,” the soldier announced, pushing Devil into one of the tents.
“Sir, he killed two of our men before we brought him down,” the soldier announced, stepping off to the side. Devil smiled a sinister smile. Yeah, he’d taken out two of their men and with his bare hands. He’d enjoyed it immensely.
Adams looked Devil in the eye, and in that instant, Devil knew this was a man who was the same as him. He could just tell it. It made him a little afraid, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. He’d hadn’t been afraid of anyone, not since the day he’d killed his stepfather. Now, he felt a chill running up his spine. This was a man who was just as evil and bloodthirsty as him. Still, he wouldn’t show any fear.
“What’s your name, young man?”
“Devil,” he replied, offhandedly.
“Your real name. We don’t go by nicknames here,” the man ordered. He was a cocky bastard, Devil thought. Just who did he think he was?
“Fuck you,” Devil replied, snarling the words.
A fist smashed into his nose, cartilage snapping. Blood gushed down over his lips. He didn’t move. In fact, he smiled through the blood. He stuck his tongue out and licked the blood, smacking his lips in the process.
