by SP Durnin
“We’ll stop.” Jake’s hand came up, raising Kat’s chin so he could look into her face. The cords in his neck strained as he mentally bludgeoned his howling need for her into submission. “We’ll stop right now.”
Cho’s heart lurched. The look in Jake’s eyes behind the discolored flesh of his lids—a leftover from his injuries at the hands of the Purifiers—made her tears flow faster. She could tell how much the words cost him. She could see the animal in his gaze, the pulse at the side of his throat, the shaking of his hand as it cupped her jaw, and it set a bomb off in her brain.
“Don’t you dare.” She rasped the words into his mouth. “If you even think about it I’ll...I’ll make sure you never can again!”
He struggled as his body cursed him, but still wasn’t convinced. “The way I feel about you won’t change.”
Kat didn’t want to talk any more. She rolled her hips forward and twined her arms together behind his neck. She kissed him again, the sharp tips of her breasts scratching softly at his pectorals, and his hands slid around to her shoulder-blades. They moved together slowly, taking time to savor the maddening feeling of tingling skin-on-skin and the flexing of muscles that lay beneath. Cho leaned back, pushing against his chest until he was at arm’s length, and he cradled her torso as she lay before him.
It was too much. Her thighs trembled over Jake’s, her body contorting slowly in the circle of his arms, and—while virtually reclined on his lap—Kat felt as if she were running a marathon. Her heart pounded, her ears roared, and her exhalations that matched their languid rhythm couldn’t provide her with enough air.
Then the orgasm rolled through her like the ponderous creep of a steamroller, crushing away her senses and all but snuffing out her reason as wind would a guttering candle. She lost her hold on him, fighting valiantly not to cry out for fear of attracting any nearby dead to their hiding place. That would bring their coupling to a swift end and Kat had been wanting this for far too long. When O’Connor shivered, that sent her plateau even higher. She gasped and flung her head back, nearly brushing the ends of her short, pixie cut to the floor as her spine bowed desperately. The feel of his release dropped a rogue wave through her senses, causing Cho’s mouth to stretch painfully wide as a hot spike shot from her toenails to the tips of her roaring ears, and her eyes rolled upward in their sockets.
The two of them hung there, breathless, clutching at each other as their thrumming nerve endings sang out and the world fell suddenly away.
Tendons along Jake’s forearms popped quietly in protest when he eventually pulled her vertical again, where Kat glued their mouths and torsos together. They didn’t rush, choosing instead to soothe each-others battered flesh with warm caresses and the light touches of lips.
“So...so...worth the…wait,” Cho told him from behind still-closed eyes, voice hushed as she stroked her palms over his neck and shoulders to take in the texture of his skin.
Jake gulped, still damn winded himself and shaking noticeably. “That was...I can’t even...Jesus! ...I think my pores are vibrating.”
Her quiet laugh brought the tentative smile to O’Connor’s lips that Kat found endearing. He moved her fully onto the bed and lowered them—injured sides up—until they were supine still entwined with each-other upon the comforter. Kat’s eyes roved around his face as they lay there, and she cupped his tired visage with a gentle hand.
“I love you.”
He flinched as if she’d stuck him, and Kat pressed her lips to his again before going on. “No games. We’re both exhausted and you’re really hurt, so it’s nothing but honestly now. I also think we need to forgo all the rest of the things I plan on doing to you until later, but…”
A slow grin crept over his face.
Kat’s brows lowered in a mock-glare. “Hey, one of us needs to act like an adult here. I’m just amazed it has to be me. Dammit.”
“I agree,” he sighed. “At least, with the whole ‘amazing’ part.”
“Oh, you wait. Once we find the others and get somewhere even partially safe? I’m gonna jump your bones till they rattle.” Cho’s face turned serious. “But for now, just listen. I love you. You need to know that. I want it to be at the forefront of your mind from now on, because—in case I’m not being clear—that means where you go, I go. Always. No more splitting up. Ever. It doesn’t seem to end well.”
Jake raised his brows. “That might make going to the bathroom a little awkward.”
Kat rolled her eyes skyward. “Point taken. Except for that then, even though I’m very much looking forward to an eventual shared shower. Or even better, a bath. But enough jokes. We stay together, no matter what. I’m tired of constantly having to pull your hunky butt out of the fire, anyway.”
“Hey! I’ve saved your bacon too, smart-ass!” He protested. “Remember day one? You opened the front door to your building and that zombie fell out? Old Milo almost stabbing you near Cincinnati? The dam in Langley? Who exactly was it that kept you from drowning in the river?”
“Please don’t bring up bacon,” she begged. “I want some of that salty-smoky-pork goodness so bad. Who knows when you’ll be able to cook another quiche for me? And you’re still behind a few rescues by my count.”
O’Connor kissed her. “I’ll make it up to you.”
Curling her sore arm around him, Cho stretched—smirking privately when Jake’s eyes moved to take in the length of her body as she did so—put her head on his bicep, and sighed with contentment. There had been a lot of moments since the zombies rose that just sucked, but this wasn’t one of them. Her belly was full, she’d been able to use actual toilet paper instead of wet-wipes this evening, and now she was super-duper comfy on a big warm bed in the arms of her very own monster-slaying hero.
Her hero.
The gods would spoil her if that kept up.
“Deal,” Kat agreed, then blinked owlishly. “I don’t know how much longer I can stay awake.”
Wordlessly scooting back against the headboard, Jake gathered her up and draped her over his reclining form. Once she was comfortable, and had stopped wriggling, he pulled the comforter over them both creating something which resembled a human burrito. Kat noticed the similarity and laughed quietly.
“What’s so funny?”
Still grinning like a Cheshire, she said, “We’re like a chimichanga here. You know, meat in the middle?”
“If you weren’t hurt, I’d show you meat.” Jake’s voice was husky.
“No teasing.” Cho smiled wistfully and pillowed her chin on her hands a-top his chest. “And don’t worry, the two of us will be discussing that—in great detail—really soon, if I have anything to say about it. I’m for sure a girl that can appreciate a nice tamale.”
“You’re bad. I love it.” O’Connor squeezed her lightly, then leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. “We’ll follow the river south in the morning, as long as I’m satisfied you have your strength back. Any nearby roadways will be glutted with zombies, so it would be the safest route.”
“Won’t that take forever?” Kat lay her head in the hollow between his pectorals and snuggled closer. “I agree we can’t risk getting into fights with tons of maggot-heads but, if we stick to the riverbank, we’ll only be able to make a few miles a day. It’ll be tough going.”
O’Connor looked down at her and smiled knowingly. “Normally, yes. But I have a plan...”
-CHAPTER THREE-
“Oh jeez. That’s all the ammo we’ve got?” Cho frowned at the out of date can of baked beans she held.
Jake nodded. “Every round. Two full magazines for your Glock, and one and a partial for my Hammer. The rest I had to ditch during our dunk in the river, along with my radio. I figured I can always get more ammo, but there’s only one bad-ass Ninja-girl around, so I should keep her from drowning.”
The pair had risen before dawn, reluctantly left their comfortable bed and proceeded to loot the vacant house. Whosoever once lived there had more than a passing inte
rest in camping, which was a lucky break, because neither she nor Jake possessed anything but what they’d had along in Langley’s watchtower. No packs, no supplies, nada. After discovering the Esbit pocket stove the previous evening, O’Connor had a feeling there might be useful items and had meant to search the home. But he’d become distracted. Quite thoroughly so. He smiled at the memory as they proceeded to ransack the kitchen cabinets for edibles.
They’d acquired an old but serviceable JanSport external frame backpack from the downstairs hall closet. Upon opening it, they found it already held two Mountain Home dinner pouches (both Meatloaf, of course), a hundred-foot bundle of Paracord, a dark blue rain poncho, one 4-inch Buck folding knife, a canteen complete with GI style cup around its base, a personal first aid kit, a Swiss fire-steel, a Ziplock bag full of drier lint for tinder, and a mini Maglight. The batteries in the mini were dead, so Jake dumped them but kept the light. He had an epiphany, then cannibalized the home’s remote controls, coming up with six AA batteries for it that still held a charge. To this they added the small pot Jake had used to make Kat’s dinner (once he’d broken the awkward handle off), along with the following items, which was pretty much everything edible in the near-empty kitchen. Two (questionable) Nutri-grain bars, three more cans of chicken noodle, a 1.5 pound bag of Twizzlers, eight Lipton teabags, one third of a jar of Folgers —which Jake emptied into another Ziplock baggie for ease of transport—and the remaining roll of Ritz crackers.
That would seem like a good amount of food to most. It might feed two people expending lots of calories under highly stressful circumstances for three days at best, but no more. If it took them longer than that to reach their companions, O’Connor and Cho would have to scavenge. Either from homes and businesses they might encounter—which could very well put them face to face with the dead— or try to find naturally-growing edibles from the land itself. Jake didn’t say anything to Kat, but he’d seen plenty of cattail hearts and roots, clover, dandelions, and wild onions when he’d carried her from the river. Though not their normal fare, if need be he’d could gather enough to keep them going.
For a time anyway. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
Bear Grills he wasn’t.
“I’m not going to bother with this.” Kat tossed the beans back under the counter. “It could be all right, but it’s just not worth the extra weight.”
“I suppose, but does that matter? I’m the one who’s going to be toting it, aren’t I?” Jake asked.
“That depends. Do you ever want to see me naked again?”
“I’ll get the pack.”
“Thanks. That’s very considerate of you.” She beamed at him.
While he gave Cho a steady look, Jake wisely kept his mouth shut.
After checking the area carefully from the second floor windows, the pair exited via the home’s rear door —the one not directly facing the nearby river along with any creatures who might be crawling out of it—and started out across the enormous yard. As they moved at an easy trot, O’Connor had to admit the pack wasn’t too inhibiting. Whether that was due to his increased muscle mass, improved endurance, or just finally getting a decent night of sleep he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Though overgrown from not being mowed for nearly four months, the grass didn’t hide the modest work shed just within the property line. Cho made a beeline for the modest structure and picked its lock in about eight seconds flat. She ducked in as O’Connor wondered why she’d bother, and he kept watch for any of the infected.
“What are you doing?” he asked quietly.
“Looking for—Ah! Here we go.” Kat stepped out into the overcast morning once more and pulled a slightly weathered crowbar from behind her back. “I noticed you didn’t have your brain-masher. I assume you lost it in the river?”
Jake actually felt relieved as he took the proffered tool, then shoved it into the empty scabbard riding his back beneath their pack. “Yeah. It was either ditch it or ditch you. And I figured I could always get another crowbar…”
Cho beamed “Oooo. You get major points for that.”
“Thanks. I was actually feeling naked without this.” He rolled his shoulders a few times, settling the weapon and motioned towards the tree line.
She gave Jake a wicked grin. “That’s a great mental image. You naked, I mean. We’ll talk more about that later. Right now, I think we need to make tracks before any of our smelly fans come along.”
“I agree. On both points. Let’s go.”
Instead of heading for the shadows under the trees, the haggard-looking man turned and began working his way around the home. Towards the Neosho River, and the nearby boat dock…
Early the following morning, a slightly worse-for-wear canoe nosed onto the north bank of Snowdale State Park and Campground.
“Hallelujah! Dry land!” Kat sprang from the narrow boat in a fair impression of her namesake. “I’d kiss it, but this place has seen better days.”
The flooding of the Neosho River had washed all sorts of debris along its shoreline, turning it into a soggy mess of mud, tree branches, waterlogged fauna, and the occasional bit of dismembered zombie. A number of appendages littered the rocky area, along with quite a few bodies, all with rather prominent entry wounds through their foreheads. That lifted Jake’s spirits noticeably as he tossed their pack of meager supplies to Cho, then awkwardly made his way along the canoe, moving carefully so not to tip it over and land himself face first in the knee-deep muck. Their day-and-a-half long journey hadn’t been very eventful in a zombie kind of way. Yes, there’d been some of them along the riverbanks every so often, but none were able to keep up with their canoe. That was largely because of —along with Jake and Kat’s bouts of highly motivated paddling—the now swiftly moving Neosho.
While riding the river allowed the pair of survivors to cover a respectable distance in a relatively short time, their trip had its stressful moments. Kat was reasonably well rested after nearly three straight nights of convalescing in an actual bed—only one of which she had any memory of—and then one in their canoe while anchored to the large limb of partially submerged tree that overhung a small, deep cove. Finding that place had been pure luck on their part, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. Besides, by the time dusk rolled around after a day paddling, both of them were pretty tired. Kat had spotted the cove and, after braiding some of their 550 paracord into an impromptu length of rope, she and Jake had shared a cold can of Campbell’s chicken noodle—each wolfing down half the single roll of Ritz they’d scrounged, as well—then fallen asleep together in the bottom of canoe. Since the limb they’d secured their boat to was in sufficiently deep water, there was no chance of a ghoul wading out for a bite, even if any had taken notice of the vacant seeming floatation in the darkness. If the dead ever learned to climb trees maybe they’d have been far more concerned but as it stood, none of the creatures could’ve made like Tarzan out along the limb to consume them. They’d both slept soundly and uninterrupted, snuggled tightly in one-another’s arms.
Jake, however, wasn’t in great shape. He still carried a number of injuries. The vision in his right eye was limited due to swelling of his face around his cut brow. His cracked ribs ached with every paddle stroke, causing him to grit his teeth often against the pain. His back felt as if someone had pressed a hot branding iron into his flesh, and his sweat set the cuts on his shoulder blade smarting. He tired easily too, which forced him to take position at the rear of their canoe, sometimes relying on Cho for the bulk of the paddle work while he played rudder-man. Watching the slim muscles in her arms and shoulders move as she propelled them down the swollen river was no unpleasant chore, but Jake didn’t like not being to pull his weight while she rowed on mechanically. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. Kat had looked over her shoulder when he’d been hunched over, elbows on his knees, fighting the dull throbbing in his ribs, and she’d firmly insisted that he scale b
ack his efforts. The expression on her face—combined with the fact that, in his current condition, she could easily knock him senseless if he refused—convinced him to obey her emphatic command.
But that was then, this was now.
Leaping doggedly after her, Jake almost nosed into the saturated bank as his numb legs half-buckled. If Cho hadn’t caught him mid-fall, he would’ve been picking Blue Gill bones and river muck out of his teeth.
“Watch it there, hero.” She supported him as he shook the spins away.
“Let’s not bash up that face of yours up any more, yeah? I like it just the way it is.”
Jake winced and got his balance again. “Even the with my new Were you juggling knives and bowling balls, then got stung by a scorpion look? I think the ass-kicking I got from our fall and in the river did some damage. I’m going to have a scar or two.”
His blue-haired companion traced the deep cut on Jake’s brow with one ghost-light fingertip. “Maybe. But they’ll work with those shadowy eyes and hawk nose of yours. Besides, the scars will be totally hot. Just thinking about it makes me want to drag you off somewhere, curl up for a week or two, and purr.”
“We’ll talk about that. Later.” Jake gave her a brief squeeze around the waist then reached for his Hammer.
Jake’s pistol was a frightening work of art conceived, designed, and fabricated by their very own George Foster. The High-impact, Multi-caliber Repeater, or HAMMER for short, was the single, most vicious looking handheld automatic any of their party had ever seen. It weighed a good five pounds and its thick slide had slim air vents all along its length. The weapon fired .45mm rounds or any 12 gage ammunition, and its barrel was fitted for a screw on suppressor. Basically: If it bled, the Hammer could kill it. Either that, or make whatever you were shooting at hurt so bad it’d wish it would die. When George had pressed it into the younger man’s stunned hand back in his Ohio safehouse, he’d stressed it was accurate only for shooting at targets up to fifty yards distant, but O’Connor would want a rifle for anything farther than that anyway. Jake ejected the magazine, checked that it was full, reinserted it into the weapon, and racked the slide back to ensure he had one ready in the chamber.
