Tonight though, I feel strong.
My feet barely make a sound as they thump the pavement, my muscles warm and no longer hurt. Once again, I’m surprised by how fast my body took to rigorous exercise. I really am a new woman. The world ended, and through a strange turn of acid-and-rage-induced events, I’ve been reborn.
No longer am I the girl who played small and feigned affection and love. No longer am I hiding that light from myself. No matter how dark it gets, that beam is so bright, and it shines through Gideon’s eyes. It shines in my sadness around memories of those I love. My humanness is apparent to me now more than ever. For so long I’d tried everything to further alienate myself from society, and those around me. Everyone since Aislynn, minus Evie. She had a way of breaking through my wall. I wish she were here to see me getting stronger. I wish she were here getting stronger, too.
With that, though, comes guilt, because of Gideon. I’d like to think that we could have a happy little three-way marriage arrangement, but . . . this is far from a utopia. And the fact that I can’t say who I’d choose over the other, if given that option, makes me even guiltier. I love them both for different reasons. But the fact is, Eve loved Ophelia, and Ophelia no longer exists. Nor does Eve. Which leaves only one clear option.
Still, I can’t shake the guilt. But I hope it fades, with time.
I keep up the pace, which gets easier every day. I don’t even feel tired. Never in a million did I think I’d like to run, but I do. I’m starting to love it.
Some time around age fifteen, Eileen had recommended running. I’d had a stint of self-harm, and she thought it would do me some good. I hated running, but took to long-boarding, and got good at that. I quit cutting and did that for about three years, until it just wasn’t fun anymore.
That’s the extent of my experience with self-induced exercise.
But those things out there—they run—so if I want to stay alive, I have to run, too, and faster than them. Knowing I’m getting stronger, physically, every day, makes me feel stronger on the inside, too. Gideon’s number one mission right now is to protect me, and mine is to get in the best shape I can so I can protect him in return.
I jog past the racks that once held inner tubes, or maybe life jackets, past the kiddie pool pirate ship area and snack bar, then circle around back to my favorite part of the park. I assume it was some sort of lazy river, but nature has run its course, and the thing has become a true lagoon of wildlife. The bridge is covered in vines that hang down over the entrance and exit of the tunnel. A little creepy at night, but Gideon scored me a tiny flashlight I keep strapped to my wrist, practicing the one-click-on-off technique to visually place where I am and where I want to go without spotlighting myself for too long. We’re nocturnal now, so we’ve gotta adjust to living our lives at night, and shift-sleeping our days away.
I swipe the hanging vines at the tunnel and click my flashlight on and back off again. All clear. When I come out of the other side, a frog hops from the pathway into the water to my left. There’s a family of frogs here, a few lizards, rats, possums, and various birds, but other than them, and us, no one has tried to come into the park yet. It both scares and relieves us. The tiny speck of Earth that Gideon and I occupy is so safe and sacred that we’re apprehensive to taint it by bringing in outsiders, if and when that time comes. With people come dangers.
Most of those left behind were children and young adults. The likelihood of them being taken by the Suits or eaten by the dead is great, so I hope those who survived found safe places to go. I don’t know what I’d do if a group of them came to our door, though. After Corbin . . . I just can’t.
I circle back around to the other side of the park, past more waterslides and a wave pool that has become a thick, green swamp, and I see my signal up ahead. Gideon and I have been learning Morse code in case we ever need to communicate from a distance without being seen or heard. He blinks the flashlight at intervals of long and short patterns, three seconds of darkness between words, as I make my way toward him, another few hundred yards ahead of me.
One down, two to go, his message says.
I steal a kiss as I pass him, and he returns to his claimed “chin-up” bar, which is a support beam beneath our waterslide tower hideout. I peek back, because I could never get enough of watching those muscles flex, supporting their own weight with ease.
The thing that turns me on most about Gideon’s strength is that he could very easily use it to overpower me and take what he wants. But that’s the thing: that’s not what he wants. What he wants is to use his strength to protect me. To pleasure me. I’ve never had this before. I never even knew it existed.
One more time through the tunnel, and I’m surprised my stamina is keeping up with me. Just weeks ago I was nearly dead. And now look at me. I click the light on and off again at the tunnel, but freeze in my tracks when I hear voices. I tiptoe to the tunnel exit, peeking through the vines. From the other side of the fence, there’s whispering, and it sounds like two, maybe three people. I can’t see them, though, so I don’t know if they’re armed or trying to get in.
I go back through the tunnel entrance, down the path I just came from, clicking a warning signal on my flashlight about my change of direction. Gideon responds with a wink from his, and he meets me halfway.
“What’s up?”
“There’s a group over there. I heard them whispering.”
With a nod, he swings his AK around and slips through the shadows like a cat on a hunt. I follow him along the twelve-foot-high fence line that we’ve scoured many times looking for weak spots. He stops, and I crouch behind him, the sounds of voices up ahead. But then there’s the scuttle of feet and gravel on pavement, as if they split in a hurry. A few seconds later, my heart pounds in my chest as a horde of the infected shuffles past. I’ve come to know their sounds well, and dream them when I sleep. One of many nightmares.
It could be hundreds of them. They bump the fence and growl, and I watch their feet and shadows pass in that foot of open space between the bottom of the thick black plastic on the fence and the ground. My legs grow tingly and numb beneath me, but I know one move could be detrimental, so I hold my position, balanced and still, until minutes pass since their last sound.
Gideon signals with a nod to head back to the hideout, so I crouch low and move along the darkest part of the pathway, beneath the cluster of various types of waterslide towers. Runaway Mountain—the log ride, Geronimo—the steep ass waterslide, The Crazy Racer—five slides all twisted around each other that shot you through these tunnels at like seventy billion miles an hour onto a Slip’N Slide, probably. Not that I’d know. But hey—my dream came true. I finally got to come to Wipeouts. And I’m slowly getting each ride off of my bucket list. Though riding in some of these slides at night is more terrifying than being on the other side of that fence in the daylight. You never know what you might find in them.
Climbing the steps of our home is a great act of cardio in and of itself. Two hundred twenty-six steps may not sound like a lot, but when you climb it a few times a day on very little calories, it gets taxing.
Gideon gives my butt a playful slap as I climb the steps above him. “That is one fine ass.”
I laugh. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” I wink back at him.
“Seriously, though, those squats are starting to show. You are one beautiful woman. Inside and out.”
“Are you just saying that because you know I’m tired as fuck and I wanna stop for a rest?”
“Not just because of that.” He steals a quick kiss to my neck as we climb the last stretch of steps. With one final sweep of the covered stairs behind us, he lifts the black tarp and we go inside. Gideon fastens the tarp down and clicks on the dim, battery-operated night light that’s about on its last leg.
Over the past few weeks we’ve been fortunate enough to have good weather for the most part. Fortunate, because the roof is crappy and doesn’t really keep out the rain. When the weather t
urns too hot, cold, or wet, we’ll have to find a place indoors.
But for now, our bed consists of rows of found pillows of various shapes and sizes, layered with two comforters and a thick fleece blanket to cover up with. We’ve got food, a cooler of bottled water and soda, clothes, medical supplies, a deck of cards, a couple of books, and Gideon has scored us seven various weapons so far, including a pair of matching katanas with etchings on the blades, a set that must’ve cost someone a fortune.
I miss my Suki, but I doubt I’ll ever see her again. If I do, a Suit will probably be aiming her at my head.
“You were doing good. I bet you would’ve made the three miles, easy,” Gideon says, grabbing a twenty-ounce Dr. Pepper from the cooler. He hands me a water.
“Thanks.” I crack the lid, taking a couple of swigs before closing it again.
Gone are the days of pouring half the thing on your head and downing the other half in seconds. That was a fantasy life I must’ve only dreamed about. These days, we ration. Take just what we need. Even in these few short weeks since society as we knew it ended, a new set of survival skills has kicked in, as if it were there all along, waiting for us to get back to our roots.
Sooner or later we all go back there, to that place in the ground where we originated from, in one way or the other.
“So, Grace . . .” Gideon sips his Dr. Pepper, sets it aside. “I’ve gotta go out for a bit tonight.”
“What? No, we have plenty of sup—”
“Please. There’s . . . something I need to do.”
“What?”
“I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise.”
“Gideon—”
“Will you just trust me? I promise you I’ll be fine. And I’ll only be gone for a few hours. Maybe five at the most.”
“Five is cutting it close.” I check my new black leather wristwatch that I had to adjust to wearing and winding. Gone are the days of cellphone, satellite, and wifi. “It’s already after ten.”
“I’ll try to make it in four, okay, baby?” He guides me down onto our pallet, kissing me softly. “Trust me. You’re hard to be away from.”
“Am I?”
He nods.
“Then when will you let me go, too? I think I’m ready.”
He stares off to the side and I see the thought in the clench and release of his jaw, followed by a sigh of concession. “After tonight.”
Adrenaline flares up in me. “Really?”
He takes my hand, weaves his fingers in mine. “I don’t like it, but yeah. I hate being apart from you even more.” He rubs himself against me and I feel him getting hard.
“Ugh, you’re gonna get me all horny, then leave?” I slip my hand under the blanket, beneath the hem of his pants and boxer briefs, and grip his beautiful, now-fully-erect penis. “That’s a really nice handful,” I purr in his ear.
“You’re making it extremely difficult for me to leave, you know that, right?” He moans as I stroke him.
“Yes.” I stroke faster until he’s wet with precum, and he’s gripping my back and kissing me so hard.
Then he pulls away. “To be continued. When I get back.”
My body aches for him, my mouth aches for him. My soul, my everything aches for him.
“You better fucking come back.”
“I will. Promise.” And he takes the 100-mile-an-hour exit slide down.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
If not for the storm I survived down the road behind me, I wouldn’t have been able to capture Grace’s story—her pain, heartache, anger, her need to be whole, wanted, and loved—so vividly. In a lot of ways, though Grace and I are very different, her pain is mine, and vice versa. I’m grateful for the things I’ve been through in my life, which helped me to breathe life into this character I’ve grown to love so much.
So, for this one, I’d like to acknowledge all of those who’ve ever crossed my path, whether in darkness or in light. Not only are my characters seasoned with bits and pieces of you, but you’ve also helped to shape my own character into someone I’m proud of today, despite the remorse that will always be there for the things I can never go back and make right. This remorse is but a compost for the desires of my heart to bear more fruit, more love, more light.
In creating this story, I’ve realized even more so that my trials and tribulations are an asset, if I choose to view them, and use them, in that way. Which I do, and I hope you do, too.
Special thanks to “The Oddville Press,” who first published a version of Murray’s story about Hao in 2014. (The Toothbrush and the Lie by C.L. Rozelle)
And last, but certainly not least, thank you sooooooo much to my amazing, beautiful, and fabulous Advance Readers. There are so many of you now, but you know who you are and I love you!
WHERE TO FIND CHRISTINA
And here are some more places you can find Christina L. Rozelle and her work around the web:
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
QUICK LINKS
EPIGRAPH
DEDICATION
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
THANK YOU
MURRAY’S LAW
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
WHERE TO FIND CHRISTINA
OTHER BOOKS BY THE AUTHOR
Dysphoria and Grace Page 18
