Apocalypse Dance

by M. Barnette

  "Most people died like that,” she said quietly, remembering the horror of seeing people, especially children, dying so quickly. “It was ... horrible."

  "What was it?” his voice was clipped. Controlled.

  He sounded upset, even to her, and she wondered whom he'd lost. The soft ring of the bells in his hair reminded her of her parents and the fact she'd never got to say goodbye. Pulling herself together, she answered, “It was a mutated strain of Ebola. At least that's what we all thought. The WHO didn't even get a chance to issue much of a warning before it all started coming apart. They thought it was a new strain of SARS at first.” She'd been in the middle of the crisis, watching people die, unable to save more than a handful of the thousands the hospital had attempted to treat. But she had saved a few, which had been more through pure luck than anything else. She still couldn't have said why any of her patients lived. No one she hadn't personally treated survived.

  She saw him tense at the mention of SARS and wondered why. He was digging with mechanical precision, the shovel cracking through tree roots and ripping out rocks as if neither were an impediment to his work.

  "Did you know the people who lived here?” She had to ask, even though she was sure he hadn't known them either.

  "No."

  Nikki watched him for another minute, then went to find a shovel.

  There were several in the barn. She grabbed one and joined him in the hole.

  Eyes the shade of a summer sky regarded her for a moment.

  "It'll go faster with two people,” she explained as she set the shovel and stepped on it, driving it into the dirt.

  "True."

  For a while she just dug, concentrating on what she was doing. But her mind on the man's puzzling behavior. He moved and acted the part of a killer, but there was something hidden beneath the surface that went beyond being a killer. Even beyond being one of the Immortals. Roderik was an Immortal, and he was as simple and easy to understand as a bullet.

  What Roderik wanted, Roderik got, or there was hell to pay.

  But this man wasn't so easy to read. Like a still pool of water seen by night, the surface hid a lot of what was beneath.

  Digging a grave for people he didn't know, the way he'd figured out what they'd found in the house without setting foot inside. Planning to bury the people with or without their help. Not wanting to even go inside the house.

  Hawk came out of the house carrying a dark brown comforter bundled around the pitiful remains of the husband. Nikki stepped out of the hole.

  "I've got John here,” he said. “Dal's going to bring Carrie, Anya's said she'd bring Lisa and Joanie."

  The blond kept digging.

  Hawk lay the dead man down and took the shovel from Nikki. “Digging's hot work. Why not get us some water, Nikki? I'll take over for a bit."

  Nikki took the gruff dismissal to mean he wanted to talk to Bells alone. “Sure, Hawk."

  She ran into Dal, who was carrying a brightly colored quilt, the pattern one she recognized from her days with her family. The wedding ring. Usually made and given to newlyweds. It wasn't even faded. Tears blurred her eyes and she made her way to the truck to get water from the cooler. It wasn't cold, but it was at least clean. She grabbed it and a few of the plastic cups and started back to the gravesite.

  Anya was standing on the porch, crying, arms around her stomach, over the baby she was carrying. Chet came outside carrying a brightly colored comforter, ponies in a rainbow of colors on a grass green background.

  "Oh, god ... Anya,” she mumbled knowing what had upset the other woman. Nikki hurried to her, setting her cooler and the cups down on the porch, taking the woman into her arms in a much needed embrace. Nikki didn't say a word, she didn't need to. They simply stood there together and cried, Anya for her lost daughter, Nikki for all the people she hadn't saved.

  * * * *

  "Not very social, are you?” Hawk asked after Dal and Chet had put down the bundles and left.

  "Depends,” Bells answered as he threw more dirt onto the growing mound.

  The dark haired man laughed softly. “We won't push you, Bells. Take your time getting used to us. Dragons tend to be loners anyway."

  "Or egomaniacal tyrants with misplaced delusions of godhood."

  Hawk smiled good naturedly. “Or that. I see you've met my brother then."

  They dug for a bit, then Bells turned around. “Maybe. I...” he frowned, “...don't remember. Everything before I woke up last night is,” he shook his head, the bells ringing softly, “gone."

  "Not surprising. If you were anything but an Immortal you'd be dead, and that's a fact."

  He resumed digging without replying to Hawk's comment.

  "Look, I've got a good reason for what I'm going to say. Don't take it the wrong way, and hear me out."

  Bells stopped digging and regarded the man coolly. “Yeah?"

  "I want you to go on with the girls and Chet. There's a car, I think you can get it running. Dal and I will take the truck and lead the people following us on a wild snipe hunt.” Hawk grinned, a fierce joy lighting his eyes. “We've been thinking about it for a while now, taking them on a chase across the countryside, but we couldn't trust Chet to keep them safe alone."

  "And you think you can trust me?"

  Hawk stood there, studying him. “Yeah, actually, I got the feeling I can."

  For a few heartbeats the pair of men, one tall and dark, the other smaller and blond, just stared at one another.

  Bells started digging again. “Why?"

  "Because you didn't shoot Anya today. She drew on you, but you didn't shoot her, and she could well have shot you."

  Shrugging, the bells chiming, Bells kept digging. “Not much to base your hopes on."

  "Isn't it?” Hawk asked. He dropped the shovel and drew his sidearm, his hand a blur of motion. Bells didn't even flinch as he pressed the business end of the barrel to his forehead.

  Cobalt met near black in a cool exchange.

  "Why didn't you draw on me?” Hawk asked.

  "Because you aren't going to shoot me."

  "And you know this because?"

  Bells gave the man a cool, humorless smile. “Because, I would have felt your intention before you even drew."

  Hawk nodded and holstered his weapon. “And that's why you didn't shoot any of us last night, and why you knew not to shoot Anya today."

  Bells shook his head. “If I hadn't moved at full kick she'd have shot me."

  "Why didn't you shoot her then?"

  "Because killing a woman is ... abhorrent to me.” He shrugged. “And even if she had blown my head off, I wouldn't die, so why hurt her?"

  "You're a peculiar guy,” Hawk remarked.

  "Comes with the territory."

  "Yeah, I guess it does,” Hawk allowed. “So, can I count on you to take care of the girls? And Chet too? He's our mascot, and I'd hate to lose our poster child for social ineptitude."

  "Let me check my day planner and get back to you."

  Hawk grinned. “Sure. We can do lunch and discuss it then."

  * * * *

  Hawk was smiling when Nikki finally arrived with the water. Bells even had a slight uplift to the corners of his mouth, the smile faint. She'd already noticed how good looking the blond was. Standing there, sweaty and a bit flushed, the hint of a smile sparkling in his gaze, he was gorgeous. Alive and, for the first time since she'd met him, human.

  The appearance was quickly gone as he noticed her. She wondered what he'd look like if he really smiled. Or laughed.

  She tried to imagine it. A real smile curving his sensual lips. Tried to construct what his laughter would be like. His mouth were so masculine, sexy. A smile would turn him into an Adonis.

  His laugh would be like his voice, deep and mellow, rolling across her awareness like a breath of summer breeze across overheated skin.

  Despite the heat she felt a chill, gooseflesh rising on her skin as her imagination conjured up more detail.

>   What it would be like to feel his hands at the small of her back, drawing her close for a passionate kiss. He'd taste good. Like a cold drink on a hot day. Sweet-tea like they served up cold and wet in Georgia.

  Heat bloomed, and another kind of wetness dampened Nikki's panties.

  "Thank you, Nikki,” Hawk said as he took the cup from her.

  She smiled and handed the blond his water.

  Nikki was startled to notice the way Bells was regarding her. There was an intensity in his gaze that only added to the dampness between her thighs setting off an ache of desire deep inside her.

  "Did I hear Anya crying?” Hawk asked.

  "Yes."

  "Anything in particular that set her off?"

  "Seeing those two little girls."

  Hawk nodded, “I was worried that was going to be to much for her, especially under the current circumstances."

  "We'll be okay,” she assured the older man. “It's just...."

  "Girl stuff?” he asked, giving her a warm, somewhat fatherly, smile.

  "Yeah,” Nikki admitted, actually able to respond with a soft laugh. “You'd think after a year we'd both be over it, but sometimes it just jumps up and bites us."

  And that was true. Even after a year there were just some things that could make one or both of them cry. Even Chet had broken down when they'd found an elderly couple locked in a final embrace in their home. He hadn't stopped crying for several days, just sitting and blubbering.

  He'd later admitted that had been how he found his own parents, locked in one another's arms as the Grim Reaper claimed their lives.

  They'd all suffered losses. Even Hawk, who'd lost everyone but his brother. The man had openly—and tearfully—admitted he'd lost both his sons, their wives, and all his grandchildren and his cherished great grandchild, too. Being an Immortal didn't confer the guarantee of Immortality to your children, or theirs.

  Hawk held out his cup to Nikki and she refilled it. “Anya wanted to know if anyone has a preference for dinner. There's a lot of canned vegetables and soup."

  "She can make whatever she wants. By now she should know I'm easy.” Dal stated.

  "But never cheap,” Nikki replied automatically. It was one of their constant jokes.

  "Anything in particular you'd like?” Hawk questioned the blond.

  Bells’ face returned to the usual blankness she was beginning realize hid the real man. “I wouldn't mind some canned fruit.” His reply surprised her because she'd expected one of his monosyllabic answers.

  "Fortunately there's a lot of that in the pantry in the basement. Even some home canned, but I'm not sure how safe it might be."

  "Best if you let one of the two of us try that before anyone else eats it,” Hawk told her.

  "Good idea, food poisoning can't kill either of you, can it?"

  "Nope,” Hawk agreed.

  Nikki could see the blond withdrawing emotionally from them bit by bit. The walls going up. It left her wondering what had created them, and why he insisted on distancing himself from everyone around him.

  Everyone handled trauma differently, and she couldn't help being curious over what had made such a young man construct a fortress around his emotions. She had far more questions than answers, and she wasn't sure she'd ever get any answers from him.

  One of the answers that kept nagging her was the question of his age. Hawk was over seventy and had greying hair because he'd been forty before becoming one of the Immortals. But Bells looked really young. Except for his eyes. He looks so ... tired. As if he's seen too much. How old do you have to be, or what do you have to see to have eyes like that? Or how much pain do you have to endure? Watching him, she wondered if it wasn't a mixture of all those things. Pain, age, and cynicism combining to make the cold killer named Bells.

  "I'll let her know you want fruit. Any preference?"

  "Peaches."

  And there it was again, the beauty of his voice marred by the ice beneath the velvet. The eyes were dead again. His expression taking on that chilling inhuman appearance she'd seen before. She was starting to think it was there to hide more than his feelings. Like armor, it was there to protect him from incoming damage.

  She smiled. “I'm pretty sure I saw a few cans. Peaches it is."

  The men went back to digging. “I'll leave the cups and water here,” she informed them, setting the cooler down and putting the cups in the grass beside it.

  "Thanks, Nikki,” Hawk told her.

  * * * *

  The pair of men finished digging the grave, laying the dead to rest and burying them.

  They'd made four crude crosses, Dal writing the names on them in black paint he'd found in the barn. Bells hammered the grave markers into the ground, and Hawk had recited the Lord's Prayer over the graves. Crying again, Nikki laid wildflowers over the mound, and Anya put some stuffed ponies over the place in the common grave where the girls’ bodies lay.

  So many people dead. A way of life lost, maybe forever, certainly for their lifetimes.

  Only Chet proved immune to the mood that had gripped them all, the younger man complaining about wanting some dinner.

  Done with the depressing task of interring the dead, Hawk heated water for a bath in a couple of large kettles. There was a fire place and they were using it, Anya doing the cooking there, the warmth welcome during the chill of evening.

  Bells gathered up his clothes, some shampoo, soap, and the same towel he'd used that morning from the truck and headed for the creek. He was filthy and wanted nothing more than to wash the grime from his hair and body. But this time he wasn't going to take out the braids. His hair wasn't that dirty, just a bit sweaty, and the shampoo would get that out without taking the whole business down.

  Without the least bit of self-consciousness he started to strip, eager to remove clothes and boots, because he wanted to wash the dirt away.

  * * * *

  Nikki had gone to get water from the creek and stopped to stare, her dark eyes going wide at the sight before her.

  Bells was stripping off his clothes, his sleek, muscled body being revealed before her stunned eyes. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever seen, the muscles of his tanned back and shoulders sliding under his skin like steel cable. The gunbelt slipped to the ground and he crouched to take off his boots which only made those delicious muscles in his back ripple sinuously under his skin.

  And what skin. It was a perfect golden color, without so much as the slightest imperfection she could see. No scarring either.

  The boots came off and he stood, sliding his pants off, a nicely angular male butt fully revealed to her sight. His legs were longer than normal for a man, and firmly muscled with a light scattering of golden hair that caught the glimmers of sunlight coming through the trees.

  She'd seen him naked before. But this, this was different. He wasn't lying unconscious and being turned and moved during an examination that should have been clinical but hadn't, quite, stayed that way. Motionless, he'd been attractive.

  Moving under his own power he was spectacular.

  Totally unaware of her presence, the blond stretched his arms over his head, arching his back a bit. Nikki's breath caught. She wanted to walk down there and run her hands across the firm planes of his body.

  He's beautiful. I wish he'd turn around so I could see his chest. I wonder what he'd look like from the front when he stretches like that.

  But if he did turn around he'd see her standing there watching him.

  Creeping slowly behind a tree, Nikki crouched down to spy on him. She felt like an intruder, but was unable to take her eyes off of him as he walked out into the creek. His natural grace and balance held him steady even though she knew the rocks out there were slick with moss.

  He lowered himself into the water, disappearing below the surface for a moment. He came up and tossed his head back, the spray of water from his braids arcing throug the air in a brief rainbow.

  Just watching him, she could see the differences betwe
en him and a normal man, the contrast drawn starkly into her mind. He was too graceful. Even when he was alone there was nothing clumsy in his movements, no awkwardness, no hesitancy. She saw him stretch again, arms to full extension over his head. He tensed his body, bringing his arms back down so that the cables of muscle in his back rippled with the isometric exercise he was performing. Seeing what he was doing, Nikki suddenly understood he was testing his body, gauging how well he'd healed from his impact with the scraggly tree. His arms went from harsh tension to smoothly graceful motions as beautiful as those of any dancer, and she recognized the motions as being some type of martial arts when he performed a series of blocks and punches.

  He was heart-wrenchingly beautiful in a way only a man could be. Masculine. Powerful. And, she suspected, he was far more deadly than most all men seemed to be in these dire times. Tears burned in her eyes, choking her as the awful things Roderik had done surfaced in her thoughts. He liked to dominate. Hurt. Rule. She fought the fear down, fists clenched, teeth gritted. This was not Roderik. Bells wasn't any taller than her own five feet, eight inches. He was beautiful and lacked the much larger man's hulking mass.

  Forcing the unpleasantness that was Roderik from her mind, Nikki went back to her silent observation of Bells. The fluid grace, as he washed, soaping himself down everywhere, totally unaware of her skulking behind the tree like some sophomoric peeping Thomasina.

  The soap ran over his skin as he rinsed himself, the trail of white foam sliding down his body made her think of sex. She felt her arousal building, sharp and intense.

  Nikki, what are you doing? she asked herself. You can't be thinking of sleeping with him, can you? The stark realization that it was exactly what she was thinking about stunned her. Sure she'd had lovers before the Collapse. Other med students. A doctor she'd met at the hospital, but she'd never just hopped into the sack with a relative stranger.

  She'd always considered herself as the equal of any man and had excelled as a physician, outstripping the abilities of many of her male classmates. She had a very competitive spirit that hadn't let her fail in anything she tried.

  She'd been very naive in believing she had the freedom to do as she pleased.