The relief didn't last long. Shortly after we disembarked, we both stopped and stared at each other, uncertain of what we were hearing. There was a sound echoing around the bunker, a terrible sound, and it was coming from inside the building.
It took us a few moments to figure out that it was the sound of a little girl screaming in terror.
We both took off running simultaneously, though with my foot almost crippled, Michael soon drew out in front of me. The further into the belly of the bunker we went, the worse the noises became. Madeline's muffled screams were interspersed with those bloodcurdling yowls that were steadily becoming all too familiar to us, punctuated by the intermittent wet crash of flesh on wood.
There was another screech, followed by the sound of wood splintering, and Maddy screamed again. The sound was followed by an older female voice issuing orders that we couldn't quite make out: Skylar.
Michael rounded the corner ahead of me, his shotgun loaded and aimed from the hip. The discharge roared in the narrow corridors and made my ears ring, but I didn’t care about the discomfort or the pain in my foot.
All that mattered right now was Maddy and my little sister.
The door the undead was beating upon was a bloody mass of splinters. The creature was so intent on getting at the victims inside that it had torn pieces out of its own flesh as it was trying to get through.
Michael charged it, unloading the shotgun again and again, until the barrel ran dry and he was forced to stop and reload. The creature was taken completely by surprise by his vicious assault, and now it was on the ground with its head and shoulders churned to a bloody mess by hot shards of metal. His attention was completely focused on it, so I turned mine towards our family.
Through the door, I could hear Maddy crying and the sound of someone in pain.
"We're here – is everyone alright?" I shouted, leaving Michael to vent his temper on the creature he had cornered.
"Sandy? Oh, thank god." It was Skylar's voice, and I felt a surge of relief. There was the sound of moving furniture, then the door flew open and Skye was suddenly in my arms, hugging me tight around the neck. I hugged her back and did a quick headcount, finding everyone alive and accounted for.
Alive, but not necessarily well.
Ryan was groaning on the bed, bleeding badly from several nasty cuts across his chest and left arm. The fact that they were not yet stitched and bandaged told me all I needed to know. Skye and the doctor had barricaded everyone inside the room, and they'd dedicated all of their strength to keeping that terrible undead thing out.
There wasn't much left of it now. I released Skye and turned my attention to Michael. I moved up behind the former police officer and grabbed his forearm before he could unleash another shot into the bloody mound of flesh. His eyes darted towards me, wild and full of bizarre, mindless berserker rage. I somehow instinctively knew that the emotion wasn't directed at me, but rather that something snapped inside his mind. I stared back at him, keeping my gaze level and unflinching, and my voice soft and soothing.
"You're wasting ammunition."
He blinked and stared at me, then looked at the undead thing. It was shredded by a dozen blasts of buckshot, its body reduced to a few twitching limbs, its torso all but liquefied. He nodded dumbly and handed his shotgun to me, then began the gory process of picking up the writhing limbs from the puddle of body parts.
Now there was a sight that I prayed I would never have to see again. I could only be thankful that the face on that corpse didn’t belong to someone that I cared about.
I followed him as he moved the corpse outside, and guarded the door with vigilance while he piled the pieces together and poured accelerant over them. When the pile was alight, we returned to the bunker.
The others were taking care of one another, and Michael was clearly in shock. He didn’t say a word to anyone, not even me. I was the one that locked the door behind us, and I was the one that took him by the hand and led him to the bathrooms. I was the one who stripped the blood-splattered clothing off us both, and I was the one that guided him into a hot shower.
He just stood there, like a statue, while I soaped his muscular frame, making the kind of soft, soothing sounds that I didn't know I had in me. Still, I understood in some intuitive way that a part of him was shell-shocked beyond comprehension for a while, so I bathed away the blood that soaked us both and then bundled him up in a towel and guided him to his bed.
He didn’t seem to notice my presence at all. He obeyed my every touch without showing a response. I sat beside him until he fell asleep, gently stroking his hair the way that a mother might. Finally, exhaustion won out over the shock, and his eyes closed.
My clothes were far too repulsive to put back on, so I was dressed only in a towel wrapped around my midsection when I went off in search of the others. I found Skye and Madeline in the kitchen, huddled together. Maddy was sobbing uncontrollably, but Skye was aware enough to look up when I entered the room.
"Michael?" She asked softly, as though afraid to hear the answer.
"He's asleep. I think, you know... Sophie..." Skye nodded. I didn't have to explain further. "What about Ryan? What happened?"
"It attacked us in the storage room, while we were packing." She suppressed a shiver as she explained the story. "Ryan tried to protect me, and got a bit torn up. I managed to get it off him and shut it in the room while we ran, but it got out.
"We barricaded ourselves in the doctor's room, and then you two arrived." Tears welled up in her eyes but she blinked them back, showing a remarkable degree of personal strength. "I don't know what we'd have done if you hadn’t gotten here when you did."
"Don't think about that." I put my hand on her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "We arrived in time, that's all that matters. Is Ryan going to be okay?"
To my relief, she nodded. "He bled a bit but not nearly as bad as Dog; Doc says he'll be fine, but it'll take some time to heal."
"Then I guess it comes down to the McDermott sisters to save the day again." I leaned down to give both her and Madeline a hug. Her smile was weak but determined. Feeling a flash of affection towards her, I brushed the hair back from her forehead, and planted a light kiss there. "What's most important is that everyone survived the day. But, the first rule from now on is that no one goes outside until we're ready to leave."
"Amen to that," she agreed wholeheartedly.
Chapter Nineteen
I spent most of that night awake, patrolling the corridors with shotgun in hand while the others slept intermittently. Occasionally I'd see one of them up and about, anxiously roaming the halls unable to sleep, but I was simply too keyed up to sleep. I did try for a bit, but I ended up getting up again, feeling this overwhelming need to protect the people I’d claimed as mine. My friends. My family. Mine, mine, mine.
The infected would take them over my cold, dead body.
It was hard to tell how many hours that passed in the dimly-lit corridors of the bunker, but with unrelenting determination I checked each and every single room in that warren for anything that even remotely resembled a threat. There were a lot of rooms, and I was still dressed in the nightshirt I had intended to sleep in, but by God I would bring hell upon anyone or anything that threatened my family.
A week ago, I wouldn’t have even considered walking around half-dressed when there was a chance people might see me, but something had changed since then. They’d all seen my legs before, on the night of Dog’s ill-fated return, so modesty seemed like such a waste of energy in the face of impending doom.
As far as I could tell, it was the darkest part of the night; that time right before the dawn when the body should be in its deepest sleep. I padded along the hallways with barefoot stealth, the cold concrete numbing any pain I may have felt in my wounded foot. I was indulging a compulsion, a need. There was no logic in it, not tonight.
One by one, I checked on my family. Ryan, stitched and bandaged, lay asleep on the breast of his would-be wife, wh
o had finally settled into a fitful doze herself. The next room on, the doctor slept upright in bed, propped against the wall with his little granddaughter snuggled against his tummy. Safe. Serene. Oblivious to the world.
Good.
I moved on to the last of them, the furthest one away and the one who gave me the most confusing feelings of all. I silently opened his door and found him awake, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. For a moment I thought he might be crying, but then I realised he was just trying to organise his thoughts.
I lowered the shotgun and cleared my throat softly, alerting him to my presence. His head came up, and he stared at me blankly for a minute before recognition dawned.
"I'm sorry..." he murmured, lowering his head back into his hands. "I don't know what came over me."
"I do." I slipped into the room and closed the door behind me. I put the shotgun down and sat beside him on the bed, to rest my hand reassuringly upon his broad back. "It was shock, Michael. It happens to us all."
He looked at me, those dark eyes unreadable, but his expression was solemn. "I'm supposed to be tougher than that. The leader. I-I froze..."
"You're an officer of the law, not a soldier." I pointed out softly. "You're not meant to be a battle-hardened warrior. That’s not your role. Your role is the protector, the community leader who exists to keep us safe. What you did was exactly what you were meant to do." I put my arms around him and drew him against me, trying my best to ignore his nakedness. "You protected us."
He slumped against me, and I found myself supporting most of his weight. His voice was just a whisper when he spoke. "I did a piss-poor job of it, yet again."
"No, you didn't." I stroked his cheek, feeling the roughness of his stubble against the curve of my neck as he leaned against me. It sent a shiver down my spine. "If it had just been me all alone, they probably would have died – and I would have joined them."
He sighed, his breath hot against my skin, but no words accompanied it this time.
"It's okay, you know." I stroked my fingers through his hair, trying to reassure him. "There's only so long you can possibly be strong. Something has to give eventually."
"But I have to be strong." His voice was weak, and his face so close I could almost feel the brush of his lips against my skin when he spoke. "For all of us, I have to be strong."
I drew away from him, and cupped my hand beneath his chin until his eyes rose to meet mine. They were so sad right now, so hopeless. I'd always wondered what people meant when they talked about puppy-dog eyes, and now I understood.
"You don’t have to be strong when you’re with me," I whispered, and then kissed him softly.
At first he didn’t respond as though uncertain of what to do, but after a moment his hands slid around my waist and drew me gently up against him. His lips parted and the tip of his tongue flicked out, tasting me tentatively, perhaps afraid I might bite him.
I didn’t, of course. That familiar hot prickle crept up the sides of my throat and brought heat into my cheeks as his head tilted to draw me deeper into the kiss. Oh God, I’d forgotten what it felt like, to really kiss a man, a man that I cared about and wanted to get closer to. It felt so good, so right, like I could fall into that kiss and just live in there forever.
I felt a gentle hand upon my thigh, creeping up beneath my night shirt to trace the line of my underwear. Our lips parted, and his head dipped lower, to the side of my neck to press soft kisses against the sensitive skin there. My heart raced and my breath came faster, responding to his touch. Part of me was terrified and wanted to run, but it was only a very small part; the rest of me wanted that touch so badly that it almost hurt.
Those strong hands lay me back on the bed while his lips explored my throat, my collarbone and down to leave a trail of kisses across my skin. The buttons of my nightshirt came open as though by magic, exposing my skin to the cool air. I shivered, but the cold had nothing to do with it.
His kisses drifted lower, into the crevice of my breasts. There he lingered, breathing deeply for the longest moment before he drew back just enough to look at my face. His dark eyes searched mine, seeking my thoughts, my needs, before they drifted down across the curve of my bosom.
The softest sound escaped him, a sound I recognised as one of deep longing and need that had been held in check for far too long. His tongue flicked out and danced across the sensitive apex of my left breast. The feel of it made me gasp out loud, and his breath was so warm on my skin that it left me quivering. He was so handsome, so strong, so… everything that I needed.
His lips touched my navel, and kissed a soft trail down further and further. I wondered briefly where my knickers had gone, then realised that somehow he had managed to slip them off me without my even noticing.
Oh, but his lips were going even lower now, and I found myself not caring anymore. He was so very gentle, careful not to even scrape my skin with the stubble of his chin. Oh, and his tongue... what was it doing down there? My mind was so addled by arousal that I could barely keep track of what was going on anymore.
I couldn’t remember ever being so turned on before, not even with Harry, who was my first, so many years ago. It had been so long since then, a long time since I wanted anyone to touch me, and I wanted him now. I wanted him so badly. More than anything I’d ever wanted in my life.
But then, while I was weak and at my most vulnerable, the memories came crashing down on me like a bucket of ice water. The flash of hot pain, of violation, of humiliation. Violence, so much violence. I cried out again, but this time it was a sound of blind, animal terror, and then I forced poor Michael away from me, terrified beyond words of a phantom that only I could see.
The knives cutting my skin, the burns, and the harsh sound of laughter as the men gloated over my beaten frame. In my memory, a fist struck me and I fell, crying, begging, alone and terrified. Oh God, I was so afraid.
An uncontrollable sob wracked my body. I was on my feet without thinking, fleeing from him, fleeing from his bedroom, fleeing to anywhere where the spectre couldn’t find me. I left him staring after me, confused, aroused and hurt. I could hear him calling my name but I couldn’t respond.
He didn’t understand why I rejected him in the moment when he, too, was at his most vulnerable. He couldn’t possibly understand. I didn’t understand.
They laughed and laughed, mocking me with their horrible, naked bodies.
Do you want it, little slut? They gurgled drunkenly in my memory, the faces blurred by time into the faceless ghosts of a past that could not be forgotten. All I remembered was the terrible tattoos and the corpulent, repulsive bodies. And the pain, so much pain.
No, no, I begged, please, anything but that. But they didn’t listen. It hurt, it hurt so much. They made it hurt, because it gave them pleasure to watch me suffer.
I ran, or at least hobbled, as far and as fast as I could, and soon I found myself back in the locker room. Feeling unclean beyond words, I stripped off my nightshirt and flung myself beneath a blast of hot water.
The water hid the tears. The warmth between my thighs mocked me, teased me, and made me question myself and everything about me. Everything about everything. Why didn’t I fight harder? Why didn’t I kill myself when I had the chance? Why did I now want to do something that had caused me so much pain before?
How could I ever want to be with a man again? How could I even consider making love to one? He would hurt me; they always wanted to hurt me.
It’s my fault, my battered psyche told me. I brought it on myself. I’m a bad person.
I’m dirty, unclean. No one will ever love me again.
I hate myself.
My shoulders shook convulsively as I slumped against the wall, pressing my face to the rough concrete. The strength faded out of me and I slid down the wall, to curl up into a wet, shivering ball in the corner of the shower stall.
I had no idea how long it was before Michael found me, huddled beneath the water that did nothin
g to wash away the feeling of terrible sin. I had cried all my tears and there was nothing left to spare, but I was off in a world where everything was terrible, bloody and violent. A world where I was the victim, and yet somehow I thought it was my fault.
Where was a psychologist when you needed one?
"Sandy?" His voice was so soft and gentle that it cut through my nightmare, but I didn’t have the strength to reply. I heard the shower curtain twitch, then the water turned off and strong hands bundled me into a big, soft towel. The animal part of my brain screamed and flailed and told me to flee, but I was too exhausted to even move.
Wrapped up and dripping, he carried me to a nearby bench and cuddled me into his lap. His touch was so soft and his voice so soothing that it finally began to calm me down again. I shivered and turned my face against his chest, where I found him dressed in crisp blue fabric. My eyes flickered open and I saw that he was fully clothed, dressed in his police uniform.
I’d never seen him wearing that before.
It was a wise choice of attire. The uniform soothed me in some way I didn’t quite understand. I had been raised to trust the police as a child, and that trust persisted into my adult years.
That’s why he’s wearing it now, I realised numbly. For me. To show me who he really was, and why I didn’t need to fear him. The uniform embodied everything about him, and everything that I trusted.
"It’s okay," he whispered soft, soothing nonsense in my ear, and stroked my hair in a way that oddly mirrored what I’d done for him not so long ago. In spite of everything, I snuggled closer, finding comfort in his warmth.
He was still aroused, I realised suddenly – I could feel him hard against my hip. But through cloth, it was so much less threatening, less real.
A flash of affection overrode my panic, followed by guilt for making him suffer. I could only imagine the discomfort of going from a state of intense arousal to where we were now. Yet, he was trying so hard.
"I’m sorry." My voice was hoarse from crying. "I’m so sorry. I just… I just… I-I…"
The Survivors (Book 1): Summer Page 20
