The Break Free Trilogy (Book 3): Through The Frozen Dawn

by Fitch, E. M.

  "What are you reading?" she said softly into the quiet cabin. He looked over to her in surprise. She couldn't stand it, the strained formality. And she couldn't stand the constant restraint. He blinked and put the book down again, spine up this time so he wouldn't lose his place.

  "A book," he answered impishly, grinning over at her. She rolled her eyes. It was teasing, playful, but there was no one there to act for. Everyone else in the cabin was blissfully asleep, and maybe that's what made the difference. "Why are you awake? Are you okay? Is it the attack?"

  Emma froze, unable to answer truthfully and annoyed that she couldn't. She was awake because he was, because she enjoyed watching him, even just the little bits she could see, without the judgmental gaze of everyone else. Her mouth popped open and she closed it again, shrugging and settling for a lesser truth. "No, I was just cold."

  She was. It wasn't a lie, not completely. His eyebrows rose and he looked from her to the wood stove that was radiating heating in the corner beside him. He nodded pointedly at the space between him and the stove.

  Every joint in her body locked. She wanted to go, be near him and the heat, and he had given her the perfect excuse. But she wasn't expecting it and it caught her off guard.

  "C'mon," he coaxed. "I won't bite." She threw him a dirty look and he grinned before adding, "As long as you don't."

  "Oh, ha ha," she growled. "You're so funny."

  He jerked his head towards the empty space again, a grin lingering on his lips, and without her mind giving permission, her body was shuffling to a stand, her blankets gripped around her and her pillow under one arm.

  The space between Andrew and the stove was warm, much warmer than her corner. The metal radiated heat she could almost see in waves. She focussed on setting up her blankets, placing her pillow closer to the stove than to Andrew, but she didn't lay down right away. She leant into the wall, letting her head rest back with her eyes closed. She could hear the turning of pages again and guessed that Andrew had gone back to his book. That was good.

  When she turned to peek at him from beneath her eyelashes, he was reading again, though keeping the book at an angle that kept the title from her. She frowned.

  "It's none of your business," he murmured, not taking his eyes off the book. Her eyes shot open and she glared at him.

  "What is?"

  "What I'm reading," he answered, smirking over at her before turning another page. Emma scowled but tried to swallow it back, realizing he was right, it really wasn't any of her business. That stung.

  "You don't have to pretend now," he said, his voice low. "There's no one here."

  "What am I pretending?"

  "That you like me," Andrew answered, shutting his book again and placing it under his blankets. Pain lanced through Emma and she couldn't meet his eye. "I mean, I have to admit, you're doing a great job of it out there, but you don't have to now."

  "I can go back," she murmured, stung at his assumptions and already missing the warmth of the stove.

  "Only if you want," he answered. He seemed sincere, his head also resting back against the wall but his face turned, watching her.

  "I can't have what I want," she said. "You of all people know that."

  "It just seems so real," Andrew continued, looking up to the ceiling, "out there, with everyone around, you're just so... And then we come in here for the night and it's gone. Poof! We don't speak. It was never like that before."

  "Before we weren't married," Emma muttered.

  "Well, they say the first year's the hardest," Andrew quipped.

  "Andrew, stop it!" Emma hissed. Pieces of her chest were breaking apart and grating together and it hurt, his words and his flippant attitude and his own pain underneath it all, she couldn't take it. "What do you want from me? How am I supposed to-" she broke off with a huff and angry tears were threatening to spill. She swiped at her eyes in annoyance.

  "Hey, look," he murmured. "I'm sorry. I forget sometimes."

  "I know you do, that's the problem."

  "Not the infection, you," he corrected gently. "I forget you're younger, how new this is for you."

  Emma spun towards him in angered shock. "This will always be new for me because I can't have it. How dare you-"

  "Don't get all worked up," he hissed. "You're gonna wake-"

  "-talk to me like that! You pushy, pain in my ass-"

  "Hey," he broke in, reaching towards her. It wasn't his words that stopped her, it was his hands. He gripped her upper arms tightly and she felt the warmth of his fingers through her shirt. Her whole body spasmed with the contact, so unexpected, so unprepared for, and she froze. He noticed, his brow contracting in disapproval. His hands fell from her and she let out a breath.

  "It bothers you, doesn't it?" he asked, his jaw grit. "When I touch you."

  She shook her head but he looked to the ceiling in disbelief, nodding before letting his head fall back to the wall. She had the strange and sudden urge to crawl into his lap.

  "No, it's not you," she said in a low breath. "It's everyone. And when it was just me and Jack, he didn't, no one touched me. It's like I have to get used to it again."

  She saw his throat bob before he slowly turned his head to look at her. His hand reached out slowly, his intention clear. The muscle that ran the length of her forearm contracted, bouncing in agitated movements. His fingers caught the hem of her shirt sleeve and slowly dragged it up, revealing her bare arm with fine hairs standing on end. She shivered when he danced his fingertips up and down her skin, skimming along from her elbow to her wrist.

  "Is this bad?" he asked. She shook her head, catching his eye. He turned her hand over and traced circles into her palm. "Then get used to it again."

  It was hard to concentrate when he was touching her. Her mind felt muddled and confused. But they started speaking, slowly and about nothing in particular. Apparently, there was a library in the camp. He still wouldn't tell her what he was reading, but he told her some of the other titles he found, teasing her about some trashy romances he had noticed. She laughed along with him, trying to keep her voice low, and all the while trying not to lock her muscles against his touch.

  They traded favorite book titles, favorite movies. It felt a lot like it used to and new in a way too, almost like a blind date, one where you kept the questions benign and coming, trying to avoid awkward pauses. Andrew's fingers worked their way over her arm and down her palm. She let it rest between them, cushioned on a tangle of her blankets and his. He traced her fingers and she kept perfectly still, trying not to let the tingling in the wake of his fingertips distract her.

  "You're doing good now," he murmured suddenly. Emma looked down, watching his fingers skip over her skin. Her chest was seizing with anxiety that she tried to beat down. "Come here."

  "Where?" she asked quickly, tensing up again. Andrew rolled his eyes but the effect was lessened with a smile. He pat the space on the other side of him. There wasn't much room there, much less space would be between the two of them. Emma paused.

  "Oh, fine," he muttered, getting up himself and moving to sit on her other side. He took her other arm and rest it in his lap. Even with the loss of the direct heat from the stove, Emma felt incredibly warm. "Might as well get this arm, too."

  "That's not necessary," Emma murmured. But he was already dragging her sleeve up and passed her elbow, his fingers beginning their light dance down her skin. A small moan built in the back of her throat and she swallowed it down, closing her eyes and resting her head back as he continued with another story. This was one from before the infection, something about a project he and Kaylee had to do in school.

  His fingertips were hypnotic, not too firm and not light enough to tickle, just enough pressure for her to know he was there, and safe enough away from her mouth. She felt a slow smile spread across her face and she turned her head to peek at him again. He was intent on her skin, watching the patterns he was tracing from freckle to freckle.

  "I always liked you, you
know," she said out of nowhere, cutting him off, "even back then."

  He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. Something like doubt flit across his features and he looked back to her hand. "Well, I was your sister's best friend."

  "I'm not pretending," Emma bit out, unsure how to do this. Andrew was right, she was young, this was new and strange and had the added component of being potentially lethal. And Kaylee was right, maybe Andrew did deserve honesty, if nothing else. "I mean out there, during the day. It's not- I mean, I know it's forced. It's too much, I get that. But I do like you, more than I should. I do."

  Andrew's face was hard and still as he looked up at her, his gaze sharp and intense. It made her insides squirm. She felt herself stiffening, her back drawing closer to the wall. But she couldn't pull her hand back, it was locked in his grip.

  "I can't, you know I can't, offer you anything," Emma continued in a rush. She felt like an animal that had cornered itself. "I wish I could, you have no idea how much I wish I could."

  Her eyes dart to her fingers, now tangled in his, and a burning want seared her belly. She swallowed it down, looking up to him again and shrugging weakly.

  "I'm bad at this," she muttered, looking to her lap. Her free hand fluttered uselessly, "you're right. I don't know-"

  Her words stuttered to a halt when a warm hand encased her cheek. She looked up, finding Andrew closer than she expected; his eyes locked with hers. His breath was warm on her lips and she pulled back, turning her face away from his.

  "I can't," she whispered.

  "I know," he murmured. "And it's okay." She squeezed her eyes shut tight as she felt the pressure of his lips on her temple. He lingered there and she froze, terrified to move even an inch.

  When he finally pulled free of her, she felt her shoulders unlock. The tension was finally winning and her body felt exhausted. He caught her eye and smiled, a gentle quirk of his lips.

  "I love you, too," he whispered. Something in her chest broke, snapped in two.

  "I didn't want you to," she cried, shaking her head. It only made him smile more.

  "Too late," he answered with a shrug. "You're stuck with me."

  Tears clouded her vision. Not for her, but for him. She didn't want this empty life for him. She wanted him to be happy, free. Not stuck with her.

  He reached for her face again but she pulled back, not allowing him to touch her when she was crying. Who knew, maybe tears were infectious.

  "You know," he said, seeming to read her mind. "There's never been any infection transmitted through tears."

  "How would you know?" she shot back, wiping at her eyes. When she could finally see clearly, he was grinning at her.

  "I still say you're immune, not infected. Don't worry tonight, Em. We'll find a way," he said softly, grabbing at her hand again. "But for now, we should get some sleep."

  He didn't let her leave his corner, tucking her up in blankets near to the fire. The warmth blanketed her, sweeping her into sleep. Or maybe that was him, the warm pressure of his hand in hers, rubbing soft circles with his thumb as her mind slowly shut down.

  Before she fell to sleep entirely, her eye caught the cover of his book as he shifted under his blankets. The title shone briefly in the cast of the lantern light, mocking her in golden letters. Disease and Immunity. Something awful snagged in her chest, but it wasn't enough to pull her out from the coming sleep.

  Chapter 17

  Kaylee wasn't sure what it meant, that the men's dorms had experienced an outbreak like the women's had before. Andrew had been glowing, babbling as soon as they shut the cabin door for the night about it clearly not being Emma's fault, that she hadn't been near the dorms so how could it be?

  Kaylee wasn't convinced. She didn't think Emma was either.

  The fact was, it still could have been her. There was no concrete way of knowing. Someone could have come across something of Emma's, she may have switched glasses, taken a sip out of the wrong canteen, her saliva may have been laying in wait for the next unsuspecting victim on any surface in the camp.

  It had never happened before, that was true. Kaylee knew how careful her sister was. But that didn't mean she was safe. A part of Kaylee felt awful for it. It would anger Kaylee to no end if someone else in the camp had the potential for infecting her and the people she loved and they kept that secret from everyone. But what was the other choice? If they told everyone about Emma, about the potential for infection, at the very least they'd run the whole group out of the camp. At the worst, they'd kill them. Kaylee wasn't blind to that possibility.

  Kaylee pressed her face into Jack's shirt, inhaling the musky scent of him. She smiled against his back and tucked her knees more snuggly behind his own.

  Kaylee tried to consider Emma's preferred choice of running into the wilderness. But with the snow falling every other day, the shortage of food, she didn't know if they could survive the winter without the camp. It wasn't just the lure of the private cabin and the wood stove, though, pressed as she was to Jack in a bed that was made infinitely more comfortable by sharing it, she couldn't deny that the camp had its perks. But it was more than that. She knew a winter without a base would be near impossible.

  So they were stuck, Emma most of all, forced to watch every step, every interaction, and shy away from anything that could be dangerous.

  Kaylee jumped at the knock on the door, rolling away from the warm haven of Jack's body heat. The rest of the cabin was still asleep. Kaylee felt her eyes drawn to Emma's corner, fear rising up in her chest when she noticed her missing. For a brief instant in time, she thought maybe her sister had finally had enough and run away into the night. A quick sweep of the cabin brought Kaylee's attention to Andrew, her sister's hand resting in his open palm, her chest rising in even breaths as she slept quietly next to her pseudo-husband.

  A rap sounded sharply on the door. Kaylee felt Jack stir.

  "I got it," she whispered, shushing him. He rolled over anyway, stretching from the warm cocoon their bodies had created in the blankets. He offered a sleepy grin as her bare feet hit the freezing cabin floor.

  A swirl of snow drifted in when Kaylee cracked the door. A man's face, both familiar and new, someone Kaylee had seen but not spoken to directly, squinted through the crack.

  "Is Jack here?" Patrick asked. His face was carefully arranged, as though he was attempting a polite, friendly smile, but unable to pull it off without the impatience showing through. Kaylee answered in the affirmative just as Jack appeared behind her. He wrapped his warm forearm around her middle, pulling her back flush against him. She shivered, not from the cold.

  "I'm extending an invite," Patrick continued, speaking over Kaylee's head. "The other men seem to think you might be interested."

  "I'm guessing this is something that doesn't involve the Council," Jack said, his tone low.

  "You guessed right."

  "We'll be there," Jack answered. Emma stirred as Andrew sat up. Anna shifted in the arm chair, her eyes intent on the door. Patrick's gaze swept through the room. He nodded once to all of them, gave Jack the time and location of their meeting, then turned and left.

  ~

  They met in the middle of the day, the sunlight shining brightly down onto the snow covered ground, catching in bright sparks off the errant rises in the snow. Kaylee thought meetings like this one would be better suited for the dead of night, hidden in the shadows. Of course, that would take them all out past curfew. And as far as Kaylee could tell, that was punishable with banishment. Though it was enough that they were at the men's dorms. No one else would be there. The Council had already searched the rooms for signs of contagion but no one had cleaned up the snow yet. It was beaten down with smears of dirt and mud, but there was undeniable blood laced throughout the filthy snow. There was something else, Kaylee thought it was maybe feathers, though they were so packed into the muddy ice now she couldn't be sure.

  "Most of you understand why we're meeting again," Patrick started. A few of the men grunte
d, Kaylee heard Marco's name thrown around followed by a bark of laughter and a muttered, "Naive fool."

  She tried to determine the source. Marco had seemed so friendly with these men, she found it odd that she couldn't find him here now. But he wasn't, his friendly, smiling face would have been instantly recognizable in this disgruntled crowd. Patrick didn't pause. He launched into what was, Kaylee determined, a well-practiced speech. He started by outlining the danger, touching briefly on the two outbreaks that had happened. "Right under the so-called Council's noses!"

  He didn't dwell on how the infection got in though. Kaylee found that odd. She saw the tension in Emma's shoulders lessen though when he quickly moved on. She frowned, watching as Andrew's hand rest on her sister's lower back. It was over her coat, so nowhere near her skin. Still. Kaylee wondered if Andrew was being careful. She knew Emma didn't want him to push it, but she also knew how much Emma fiercely hated the infection, how much she wanted to be healthy. It would destroy her sister if Andrew pushed the limits and it cost him his life. Kaylee wasn't sure there was a way Emma could live with that. The thought chilled her.

  Patrick was already moving passed the dangers of the infection. It seemed a well-rehearsed diatribe about the evils of the Council. The men that stood closest to Patrick nodded along at intervals, seeming to know what he was going to say before he said it. Maybe they did. They had probably heard this before. Kaylee didn't know many of the men, though she suspected Jack and Emma did. They were a bulky group, and not just because of the winter coats they wore. These men were Scroungers, the group that her sister told them about, the ones who found Jack and Emma on the road. Her gaze flit among them. Each tense arm rest on the handle of a gun.