I smiled weakly at him and then let the words go. “My dad trained me to be a soldier.”
He nodded indifferently but showed no other reaction. He didn’t seem to understand.
“Tactical maneuvers, hand-to-hand combat, battlefield medicine. We’d meet his friends at different training grounds on the weekends for simulated battles. He’d quiz me over breakfast about military conflicts…I got an A in Modern World Studies because of it.”
His laughed lightly to himself, but showed nothing else in response. In fact, he took a few moments to make sure I had finished speaking before he did reply. “I know, Kennedy.”
My jaw fell open, and I didn’t bother to close it. “You knew?”
“Don’t worry, I think you kept your secret pretty well hidden.” After a quick shrug, he added, “Even if your new fashion choices were a little risky…” He gestured to the cargo pants and combat boots I was still wearing and flashed a sly smirk.
Amazed, I asked, “That’s how you figured it out?”
“Well, I was aware of a few small details others probably didn’t catch.”
“Like?”
“The throwing stars and use of firearms were key signs. The side kick to Tammie just inside the fence after she’d turned on that first day. The injuries MacAvoy sustained on your date…” he said, ducking his head and smiling in reflection to himself. “But there were other signs, earlier ones…The way you responded to authority, it was clear that respect had been drilled into you. You also exhibit highly trained responses such as the way you walk into a room and immediately scan it for threats. And the way you move…” he said, reluctantly admitting he’d been paying close attention to it. “It’s…precise and graceful.”
Stunned and speechless, it took several seconds for me to garner a response from my lips. “Wow. You were watching closely weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was.”
We stared at each other then, separated by only a few inches. In the moonlight, I could see the heat come into his eyes, the muscles tense along the length of his neck, and his jaw flex, sending a shadow across his face. And I was sure he saw a reaction in me, too. Every muscle in my body had tightened and I hadn’t been able to blink for far too long. This was all because we both had the same idea, the same craving.
And when my eyes landed on his lips he became entirely motionless.
He let his lids fall, breaking our gaze, and exhaled slowly, trying to reign in his emotions. Right before he spoke his eyebrows furrowed in pain. “If I am a carrier, my kiss could transmit the virus.”
His comment carried with it an insistence for me to read between the lines; implying that he wouldn’t risk it. “We’ll be careful.”
“We know nothing about this virus, Kennedy. I…God…” His agony was evident in his rapid exhale. “I want to, but I can’t.”
Suddenly, he rolled off the pad, leaving me bewildered. I kept my eyes on him as he stood up and ran a hand through his hair. He looked disturbed, agitated, with his head bowed and shaking back and forth. But when he lifted it, there was determination in his expression. “Get some sleep, Kennedy,” he said, ending any hope he’d change his mind. “I’ll let you know if-”
“You start to feel different,” I muttered. “Right.” Dropping back to the pad, I watched as he strode away, toward the door, and into the shadows. A few seconds later, I heard his back slide down the wall as he lowered his legs to the floor, and that was it. There was no more sound, just a thick silence hanging in the air. I debated whether to follow him, but ultimately, I refused to allow myself.
He’d made his decision.
Instead, I strained to hear the slightest sounds he might make…his breathing, a bored tap of his foot, the rustle of his clothing as he changed position…but there was none, not until dawn when he announced in a hushed voice, “Doc just dropped off breakfast.”
I sat up and found halos around everything I saw. Wiping my fingers across my eyes, I realized Harrison had been correct. I had needed sleep and had unknowingly given into it during the night.
“Eggs Benedict,” he announced while bringing the tray to me. “I think…”
I smiled at him, hoping that we could move on from the night before. He returned it and I instantly felt better.
“Breakfast in bed…” I said, trying to keep things playful. “Nice…”
“Hopefully,” he said looking uncertainly at the plate meant for me.
Given that breakfast was reconstituted scrambled eggs and the muffin was a slice of bread, he could have been correct. In fact, Doc and Mei had somehow found ingredients to make a version of the sauce, which turned out to be incredibly good.
“Where’s yours?” I asked after a few bites in.
“Already ate.”
I nodded and continued with mine as Harrison sat uncomfortably silent on the edge of the pad, legs stretched in front of him, lost in thought. The profile of his face told me nothing of what he was going over in his head; it only gave me a distressingly seductive view of him. Midway through my breakfast, I couldn’t stand the silence but wasn’t willing to address last night either.
“It has always bothered me,” I said between bites, “that we don’t have any track banners.”
He peered over his shoulder at me.
“The banners.” I motioned to the ones hanging over our heads, mounted along the ceiling on both sides of the courts. “We don’t have any track and field ones hanging.”
“Oh, right. I never paid attention to them,” he mumbled absentmindedly before turning back around. I initially took this as a sign of rejection but he twisted back around, rapidly, to once again look at me. “Kennedy, about last night.”
I almost choked.
While I was struggling to dislodge the half-chewed egg-bread in my throat, he stood up and started toward me, but I waved him back. If he was going to reinforce that he needed to reject me, there was no way I was going to accept his help. I’d rather suffocate. So there he stood, observant, thoroughly aware that I was being stubborn, ready to step in and save me. Once I hacked up the chunk of food embarrassing me and took a few much-needed, deep breaths, I lifted my chin to him.
“Yes?”
Apparently, my delay had given him time to formalize exactly what he wanted to say because it came out steadily and under a good deal of control. “I want you to know that there is no way in hell I would have passed up an opportunity to kiss you if I didn’t think it would hurt you.” To eliminate any doubt I might have, he restated his words with force, “No way in hell.”
It was an apt phrase, actually, given our surroundings.
Strangely, his admission sent a pleasant tingle through me, but having no idea what else to say, I muttered, “Okay…” An awkward silence followed, leaving us to stare aimlessly around the gym. Then, I realized the very things keeping us apart might need some tender loving care of their own, so I asked, “How are your dressings?”
He eyed them and I could tell by the way he’d done it that he hadn’t considered them once since I’d put them on. He caught me shaking my head at him.
“What?” he asked innocently.
Holding back a laugh, I stood up and went to take hold of his arm for my own inspection. I twisted it around both sides and found they were holding up, before wondering if he’d taken any of the antibiotics in the first aid kits. I was just about to ask this when I found him studying me.
And in the quiet peace of the gym, he said it again, in almost a whisper, his voice rumbling up from its depths. “No way in hell, Kennedy.”
It sent a warm shudder through me, and as his dark blue eyes pinned me down, I struggled to reply. “I know.”
I released him and went back to my breakfast, and again the silence enveloped us. To fill it, I explained, “I’m not the best field medic. I was always better with weaponry.”
This brought a smile to his lips. “That doesn’t surprise me.”
I didn’t ask what that meant.
“Your
dad taught you both, didn’t he?” Harrison asked in a way that made me think he already knew my answer.
“Yes, he wanted me to know how to protect others as much as myself…Teamwork. Keeping others alive preserves your survival.”
I paused and smiled to myself, acknowledging the irony of that foresight. Here I was trying to keep Harrison healthy because I needed him, in more ways than one. Although I doubted that my dad had this particular scenario in mind when he trained me.
Stirring me from my thoughts, Harrison stated compassionately, “He was a good dad.”
“The best. A good person all around,” I said and then my muscles braced against the swell of anger that followed. “When they said what they did about him…”
Immediately understanding where I was heading in our conversation, he insisted, “You don’t need to explain to me.”
“So you heard the rumors?”
I could feel him staring. “I don’t listen to rumors, Kennedy.”
I nodded slowly. “Then you did hear them,” I said and a sinking feeling came over me.
He maintained, for my comfort, “You don’t need to-”
“I do,” I said, realizing something with unwavering clarity. If anyone needed to know the truth about my dad, it was Harrison. “He was a security guard. More than that. He knew more about security and defense than most guys with a badge and gun will ever know in their entire life. His job was Chief Security Officer at a lab and it was a cakewalk for him. That was something he needed. He came back from the Middle East with…scars.” Harrison tipped his head, showing me he understood they weren’t only on the surface. “So the job was stress-free, kept a roof over our heads, and allowed him to come home every night. Until…one night…he didn’t. One of his buddies woke me up early the next morning…Edgar but everyone called him Mack…and he told me to get dressed, and when I went into the living room and saw it full of people without my dad there, I knew…I just…knew. I don’t remember much after that. Adrenaline has a way of blocking out details. It was a few days later that Beverly told me in a planned-accidental slip of the tongue. They had – my dad’s buddies – had been careful to block the details of it from me. The TV wasn’t allowed on; the newspaper went into recycling before it ever made it into the house. But there are some things that can’t stay hidden, not when everyone is talking about them, and…not when a friend of yours wants to see your reaction after you hear the details for the first time. She broke the news at lunch, saying something about ‘a history of security guards going stark raving mad’ and I asked what that meant. It took a little pushing, but she finally told me. I didn’t believe her, of course, so I left school to find a newspaper. It’s how I knew about the space between the buildings on the south side. It was there in that strip mall that I learned what they said my dad did. He didn’t though, Harrison,” I said, lifting my head up to him. “He wouldn’t have. He had nightmares, like me, but he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t…do that.” I sat there realizing I hadn’t actually filled him in on what they said he’d done and raised my head to him before continuing. In a firm voice, I stated very clearly, “He did not eat the face off another security guard.”
Simply saying those words caused me actual pain, suddenly shooting waves of heat to every part of my body and leaving my stomach in a knot. I pushed aside what remained of my breakfast before what had been swallowed could come back up. Then I wanted to hit something, hard. So I stood and strode with long steps down the length of the courts, looking for something I could beat to a pulp. Almost blindly, filled with more emotion than logic, I shoved open the door to the weight room and in the dim, windowless room the punching bag caught my eye. Then I was beating it, fist after fist, my arms flying in rhythm at it, my body rotating with power. I felt nothing beyond the emotions that consumed me. I didn’t hear Harrison follow me. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone. I only cared about the bag.
That’s the problem with rage. It takes everything out of you. Including oxygen. And when I was done and my body was using the bag to keep me up, Harrison made his way to me. I collapsed to the ground and he crouched down facing me, taking my hands and holding them between his, a gesture I deeply appreciated in that moment.
Tenderly, with a way that touched my heart, he whispered. “I know… I know, Kennedy…I know.”
I began to shake at that point and tried to focus on his calm, handsome face. It was my anchor as the room began to pulsate around me. Then the tears swelled, blinding me, taking away the sight of him, and that comfort I needed so much right now. I closed my eyes, squeezing them away, but Harrison didn’t wait for this to happen. His arms, strong and firm, slipped around my body and slid me to him, pressing me, holding me, supporting me. And there I sat on the sturdiness of his thighs, catching my breath, and letting the tears drain away the pain. Exhaustion followed my outburst, leaving me limp, and tired enough to close my eyes, blocking off the rest of the world. Then there was only me and Harrison and the cool darkness of the air surrounding us.
“I’m sorry,” I said, uncomfortable about having dragged him into my little episode.
“It’s all right,” he reassured. “That’s been a long time coming…I’m guessing.”
I almost laughed at the understatement.
“I think it’s time for me to bandage you now.”
“Hmm?”
He held up my hands to show me what I’d done to my knuckles. They looked like I’d dragged them down the pavement at a fast speed. The stinging pain was just a dull sensation at the moment, but it would soon be an agonizing, throbbing reminder of what I’d just done. I stood and he did the same, and we headed back into the gym where he pulled out the first aid kit and started doctoring me up.
Unlike me, he was careful in his approach, gently cleaning the blood from the shredded skin and winding the gauze around my knuckles. His touch was more of a caress than a dutiful application and more than once he looked up to assess my pain level.
When he was done, I held them high because the blood was already seeping through.
“They look like white hand wraps,” I commented.
He grinned. “You thinking of going another round on that bag?”
I could, I really could, but when I began to smile, Harrison laughed. And somehow the feelings that had just been eating away at me disappeared entirely.
“I really am sorry about…about that,” I said, lifting my chin toward the weight room. “It’s been hard. I mean, if the company he worked for would just have given me an honest answer, shown me the reports – the unmodified, true account – it would be easier. But they wouldn’t divulge…anything…saying that what happened was classified information.” I drew in a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second, a trick my dad taught me to use in stressful situations. Sadly, I’d forgotten to use it up until now. “Do you know I even wondered after this virus broke out that maybe, somehow, the two were connected? I mean with the lack of information, I just…But no, they couldn’t have been. My dad died a year before the outbreak and Chicago wasn’t the only place hit.”
We contemplated this for a moment.
“I wouldn’t be surprised though,” I said, my teeth remaining clamped so that it sounded like I was seething, which was actually true. “Do you know the president of the company, my dad’s boss, came to his funeral? What kind of a person goes to a funeral while withholding information that will give the family some peace? What kind of a person does that?” I scoffed to myself. “He worked at Ezekiel Labs,” I added and then glanced at Harrison. The name didn’t seem to affect him, at all. He wasn’t trying to figure out if he’d heard it before or seen the name on a highway billboard. He simply sat quietly staring out at the courts. “Have you heard of them, Ezekiel Labs?”
I asked this because some reports included the name of my father’s employment and where the attack occurred and some didn’t. Apparently, Ezekiel wanted its name out of the news and had connections high enough to make that happen, with the latter reports a
nyways.
“Yes, I’m familiar with it,” he said, still looking straight ahead. “My aunt,” he began again and paused. His eyes flitted to the ground as if he were contemplating something and then came back up again. “My aunt works at Ezekiel Labs.”
Instantly, my expression transformed to a mixture of regret and shock.
So he’d heard all the explicit details…
Finally, he looked at me.
“That’s how I…,” he said and shifted his legs uncomfortably before starting again. “That’s how I recognized you in the cemetery that night. I…I saw the name on the tombstone where you were laying.”
My eyes widened as I stared back at him. I had always assumed it was the gossip chain that had delivered the news to him.
“I was sent here a few days before your dad’s…incident.”
I continued to gawk.
“When it happened, Eve didn’t come back to her apartment except for random stops to pick up a change of clothes. So I asked her about it and all she would tell me was that there had been an…event…at the lab. She told me the same story as the news reported and that was supposed to explain why she was putting in extra hours.” He pondered this before adding, “Of course, it didn’t explain it, but…”
“I…,” I mumbled without any clear understanding of what I meant to say. Astonishment had its fingers wrapped around my brain so hard I couldn’t think. “I wonder if my dad knew your aunt.”
Harrison shrugged. “I don’t know. Ezekiel is a large building. But it’s a strange coincidence…” He let that sink in and then muttered, “Definitely a strange coincidence…”
“Odd,” I remarked, perplexed by it all. “Others in our families may have known each other before we did.”
Harrison laughed, a brief outburst, but it was pleasant to hear.
“So you knew all about me when you saw me for the first time in the cemetery.”
Haven (Apocalypse Chronicles Part 1) Page 19
