I didn’t trust him, not by a long shot. But he hadn’t tried to jump me, which gave me a smidgeon of hope. Maybe his humanity hadn’t been completely destroyed yet.
“Under the seat.”
He dragged two plastic gallon containers out from under the bench seat.
“We’re in survival mode.” I popped the rest of the chocolate cake in my mouth. “Survival is job number one for the brain. Our primitive reptilian brain—you could even say our zombie brain—is the one that protects us from outside threats, adapts to life changes and challenges. The lizard brain keeps soldiers alive.”
He lifted a water jug and set it on the seat between us. “Don’t tell me—you were a shrink in your former life.”
“Surgeon.”
His body jerked a little. “Who are you with?” He ripped a couple of Velcro fasteners and lifted off his body armor. “Army Medical Corps? World Health Organization?
“Medecins Sans Frontieres.”
“Doctors Without Borders.” He translated, stealing a furtive glance at me. “Mind if I wash up?” His combat shirt came off, then the body-hugging desert brown T-shirt.
I stuffed another chocolate-covered roll in my mouth and stared. Well-defined muscle, not too bulky. Nice pecs and abs—the body of a fitness instructor. A light mat of chest hair narrowed and disappeared under a military issue web belt.
Nothing I hadn’t seen before. I was used to patching up injured soldiers as well as civilians. So what was it about this Army Ranger?
He moistened his bandana. “I caught a piece of Plexiglas when the RPG hit.” He peeled a field bandage off his side. The injury had reopened and was seeping blood.
“Let me take a look at that.” I reached behind the seat and grabbed the medical kit.
The damage was on his left side and hard to get to. He shifted closer and bumped my hip. “You could sit on my lap. Straddle me?”
I checked his expression. Deadly serious.
This was going to be interesting in so many ways. “Lay across the seat on your side.” I moved the jug of water to the floor and arched up to let him crawl under me. “Scoot up.”
I perched on the edge of the bench seat and squinted at the wound. A clean slice through the skin above his hipbone. Dried blood stained his belt and fatigues below the cut. “Undo your belt and loosen your pants.”
He complied silently, pushing olive drab skivvies halfway down a cute ass. I unhooked the Maglite from my belt and placed it in his palm. “Aim it over here.”
He held the light above the injury. “Good?”
I nodded, probing the wound gently.
I used an antiseptic wipe to disinfect my hands and another to apply a topical anesthetic. “You’re going to need ten to fifteen stitches.” I tore open a sterile packet that contained a suture needle and thread. “This is going to hurt.” I jabbed the needle in.
“For fuck’s sake,” he gasped. “The least you could do is stick a finger up my ass.”
“You must have me confused with a proctologist.”
To keep his mind off the needle sticks, I made small talk. “We left camp in a big hurry. I’m the only one who made it out—you?” I tied-off, snipped, and stuck him again.
“The bird went down hard,” he hissed. “A rotor blade shredded the cockpit. The radio was out, my co-pilot was semi-conscious and badly wounded.”
I stole a quick glance at him. “Sorry.”
“She was an awesome pilot—brave, funny—had a smart-mouth like you.” He held my gaze for several seconds. “Zs reached in and yanked her out of the cockpit.”
I gasped. “Swear to God?”
“My brain wasn’t right, and I was tangled up in the wreckage. By the time I got the shoulder harness to release, she was gone, along with the rest of my crew.”
He paused for a moment, his eyes glassy and haunted. The eyes of a soldier struggling with survivor’s guilt.
“Then what?” I asked, tying off a suture.
“I grabbed an M4 and cleared out the biters.” He exhaled a low, ragged sigh. “Then I returned to my crew, checked pulses…put a bullet in the back of their heads.”
I got it, he wanted to make sure they didn’t turn. But shit-crap it had to hurt, they were his comrades in arms. “You did them a mercy—you know that, right?”
He shot me a half-hearted nod. “At that point, I was numb. All I want to do was clear out. Black smoke poured out of one of the engines, but the fuselage was intact. The Ducati barely had a scratch on it.
“I got on the bike and headed for a coalition base five minutes away. The place was a ghost town. I found an infirmary, patched myself up and rode out of there.”
I raised a brow. “You mean you stole the Ho Hos and moved on.”
“I went back to look for survivors, but…” he shook his head, “the refugee camp was crawling with biters. I rode southeast, moving in circles, crisscrossing the desert to avoid the hordes.”
He tilted his chin and caught my eye. “A few clicks outside of Akashat, I run into this hot zombie slayer in her underwear, swinging a machete.”
I stopped mid-suture to snort a laugh.
“And when I asked her to put some clothes on she ignored my request.” He swung the light up to my face. “She blushes.”
I shaded my eyes and squinted. Was I annoyed with this guy or wildly attracted to him? The answer disturbed me enough to change the subject.
“Mind if I check a few cranial nerves for signs of a concussion?”
I took the flashlight away from him and dialed down the light intensity. I didn’t want to blind him. Gorgeous sapphire blue eyes blinked back at me. “Your pupils are working, which is a good sign—probably no brain damage.”
The ends of his mouth twitched. “I guarantee you there’s damage.” When I frowned, his smile only grew wider. “Helo pilots all have neurological problems—neck stuff, fused spinal discs. Comes from all the gear, rotor vibrations, crappy safety seats.”
“Follow my finger.” His eyes moved right, left, up, and down.
He lowered his gaze to my lips, and I had no problem checking out his mouth. Wide, sculpted lips surrounded by thick scruff. A full bottom lip and well-defined cupid’s bow. Sensuous and kissable.
I handed back the flashlight and took up the needle. “So where are the zombie hordes lurking? Give me an update.”
He exhaled a manly sigh. “They’re headed south in waves, like a tsunami.”
I knotted and snipped. “How long have we got?”
“The closest bunch is maybe seven or eight hours behind us.” I poked him again, and he gasped. “Make it ten stitches.”
“Think of it this way, if it’s fifteen, you only have six more to go.”
He cocked his head in warning.
“Lay flat, and let me finish.” Even though he needed fifteen, I compromised at twelve and bandaged the wound.
“Looks like I found an urgent care in the middle of the Syrian Desert.” He sat up gingerly. “Thanks.” He stared for an uncomfortably long time. “So, have you figured it out yet?”
“What?” I closed up the kit.
“Those rangers that dropped into your field hospital.”
I searched his face. The same piercing gaze, with a slight up turn at the ends of his mouth. Deadly serious with a dash of spec ops arrogance. “Jeezus—your team’s mission was my medical team.”
“Simple extraction. Get the docs out and the supply truck to K1 in Kirkuk.”
I continued to stare. “We received radio instructions. Pack the truck with supplies and equipment and stand by.” Somewhat stunned, I shook my head. “You were our ride.”
His mouth flattened into a thin grimace. “The team was supposed to drive the transport south, while I airlifted medical personnel out. I was hovering on the outskirts of camp when the RPG hit.”
“Al-Nusra or ISIS?” I asked, still baffled by a war that stubbornly continued despite all sides being decimated by z-forces.
The tension in his f
ace softened. “Does it matter?”
“Guess not.” I stashed the medical kit behind the seat and dug into the ammo bag. Bags of chips, yogurt covered pretzels, candy bars, packs of cookies. “What did you do, knock off a vending machine?”
He ripped open a bag of Cheetos. “You’re not complaining are you?”
I reached for the pretzels and ate quietly.
After a few minutes of awkward silence, I had to ask. “So, is your mission still on or what?”
“Depends.” He tilted his head back and emptied the bag.
“On?”
He tossed the empty Cheetos bag onto the dash. Moonlight illuminated his eyes—crystal blue panty-melters. I imagined in better times this handsome Night Stalker got all the pussy he wanted. And as ill-advised as this was, I returned his gaze just long enough to let him know I might be interested.
Finally, he spoke. “Put your arms around me.”
“Why?”
“Because then I can hold you.”
I can only imagine the conflicted look on my face. Something between go fuck yourself and fuck, yeah.
I hadn’t been in the field long, but I knew a horny soldier when I met one. The military blocked Internet sites, but porn was still pervasive, traded from soldier to soldier via smartphones and laptops. The usual plea from the hospital bed was for a hand job, but I’d treated a few men with some kinky requests.
It was like he could read my mind. “I get all the quadruple X-rated porn I can handle. “It’s just that I have this lost memory of skin…”
Beautiful eyes turned soft and vulnerable, and a shiver traveled down my spine. Never in a million years would I have called him a flirt, mostly because so many of his pick-up lines sucked. But he was a seducer, and he was uber hot.
I crawled over and placed a knee to each side of his thighs. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
“Anywhere.” His hands moved under my cropped tee shirt. “Fuck—you feel amazing.” The light stroke of his fingers across my belly caused a shower of tingles and I caught my breath. “Do you think we should start this?”
He wrapped both arms around me. “We’re not going to live much longer—not in our present form—so why worry your pretty little head about it?”
I stared at him. “Pretty little head…really?”
He snorted a soft laugh. “Pretty smart-ass little head?”
This kind of flirty foreplay probably got him plenty of first date sex—but would it pass the Armageddon test? I’d received no guarantee that he was going to get me out of here. In fact, he seemed to believe our chances were slim to none.
“And if we make it to K1?” I traced a narrow trail of fuzz down hard abs that trembled under my touch.
He stopped my hand at his belt buckle. “That’s a big fucking if.”
My fingertip brushed the waistband of his skivvies. “A hand job for your promise to ride me out of here.” I caught myself and clarified. “On the bike.” Nothing like pimping myself out.
His mouth twitched slightly. “That’s a start.”
With any other man, I would have cringed at my offer. But he wasn’t any man. He was handsome, somewhat personable, and a competent zombie wrangler. And I was going to barter my way out of this hellhole any way I could.
I moistened my lips. “A hand job with oral.”
His gaze moved to my mouth and lingered. “Kiss me.” Long lashes shaded beautiful eyes. “Not as part of our negotiation—do it because you want to.”
Chapter Three
I SAT BACK and stared. I knew damn well he wanted to fuck me, he’d said as much earlier. “Did your ear drums rupture in the crash? I just offered you a hand job and fellatio for a ride out of here.”
A slow smile teased up one side of his mouth. He wore that lopsided grin so well it annoyed me. “Do you really think I’m going to bargain with you over getting me off?”
“You started it…sort of.” Now I sounded like a third grader. And his message was clear: He’d take what he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
Why did that arouse me? I wriggled a little on his lap, well aware my panties were damp. “Okay, but this is—”
Strong arms tightened around me. “Shut up and kiss me.”
He kissed with a fierce, tender passion that sent shivers through my body. “You’re soft and female…” His hands moved over my ribs to my sports bra “…and heavily armored.” He lifted off my tee shirt, then the bra, and tossed them on the seat beside us.
His hungry gaze devoured me.
“How long has it been, soldier?”
“Nine—ten months, maybe.” He finally took his eyes off my breasts. “Fuck, you make me so hard it hurts.” He lifted me up and tongued a nipple. “Oh yeah…” His words were muffled against the hardening tip.
A hot rush of arousal awakened all of my girl-parts, and I moaned.
“You have no idea how amazing this feels.” He moved to the other breast and licked.
“Oh,” I gasped, “I think I do.”
“Before you make me come…” He spoke between swirls of his tongue. “What’s your name?” He lowered me onto his lap.
“Why not keep it anonymous?” I nuzzled his nose. “You call me Doc and I’ll call you Night Stalker.”
He laid his head back against the seat and cupped my breasts.
“I like to know the name of the girl I’m fucking—or pretend fucking—even when I watch porn. ‘Suck me deep, Kelly Lingus.’”
Sweet and sexy. Crude and cocky. An oddly irresistible combination for an end-times companion. He ran his thumbs over both nipples, and pleasure rippled through my body.
“What’s your name?” I gasped.
“Chris.” He pulled me closer. “Rub your breasts against me.”
I rubbed and he groaned. “Is there more,” I asked, “or are you a one name person like Sting?”
He lifted me off his lap and onto the truck seat. “Chris Oakley.”
“Rank?”
“Captain.” He had me flat on my back, knees spread, with his hand in my panties.
“Elizabeth Davis—” I sucked in a breath. “But everyone calls me Lizzy.”
He pulled the crotch of my underwear over and slid two fingers along each side of my clit. “Nice to meet you, Lizzy.”
I moaned between magic finger strokes.
“Christ, you’re so fucking hot and wet.” His eyes rolled upward and froze. He stared out the side door window.
My clit throbbed even as a chill ran through me. “What is it?”
His pupils were dark and deadly calm. He shifted his gaze to meet mine as he eased back. A part of me desperately needed a screaming orgasm, but my lizard brain insisted on survival. “There’s a biter at the window above me.” I whispered.
His nod was barely perceptible.
Inches away from my head, the door handle rattled. I didn’t whimper, but I must have looked a little wild-eyed. Chris gave my knee a reassuring squeeze.
“Where’s the M4?” I rasped.
“Outside the truck, on my side.”
Fuck. “There are two pistols in the box behind the seat.”
He moved in slow motion.
“But no bullets.”
He swung an arm over the seat. “Nine millimeter?”
“I think so.”
A loud hiss pierced the air space above me, and the window shook violently. I pictured a fucking z-face smashed against the glass and reminded myself that where there was one biter, there were others. We had seconds or minutes before they swarmed the truck and shattered the window.
Both handguns were out and Chris was digging into deep side pockets.
“How many?” I whispered.
He dipped his head to see out the window. “A few more coming up behind him.”
He emptied both guns and loaded ammo into the magazines.
I pulled my sports bra out from under me.
“Don’t bother.” Chris tossed his body armor over. “Put this on.” He yanked me
down the seat, away from the window.
Exactly as pictured, the biter’s face was jammed against the glass. Necrotic flesh had begun to peel off the skull, and the eyeballs were milky and vacant. This one was also a loud snapper.
Generally, there are three types of zombie sounds: A harsh wheeze or hiss, a hollow snapping at thin air, and a gurgling growl.
I hadn’t examined enough undead to know much about of their sensory retention. I knew they had auditory abilities—either sound or sound waves. Vision seemed to be limited to following movement and shapes. Zombie olfactory abilities, however, were extraordinary. The taste and scent of living flesh was like crack to them.
“The second I fire a shot, the others are going to come running.” Chris handed over a pistol and crawled over me. “Ready?”
I pulled the vest over my head and nodded.
He kicked the door open, and the biter fell backward. His first shot entered the skull, the second shredded the lower brain.
He hauled me out of the truck and fastened his body armor onto me. “A bit loose,” I pulled on the Velcro tabs to try and tighten the vest.
“Better than a bra and tee shirt.” His inspection continued down my legs. “Where the fuck are your clothes?”
I avoided his glare and scanned the horizon. “Zombies don’t want to fuck me, they want to eat me.” Fifty yards out, a pod was closing in on us.
Chris’s calm battle demeanor helped me to muster a little grit. As if this zombie fight was just another day in the trauma center and not the living nightmare it really was. And his wink said it all—for both of us. When this skirmish was over, we were gong to fuck like there was no tomorrow.
He reached inside the cab for his tee shirt. “I want to eat you and fuck you.” He kissed me hard and fast. “Get behind the truck and spot for me.” He grabbed his M4 and climbed onto the hood.
I lowered my night vision goggles and frowned. “I thought you said a few.”
He lifted his rifle. “Talk to me, Lizzy.”
“Ten o’clock. A dozen or so coming straight for us.”
Chris sighted and fired three shots. A trio of biters went down one after the other. Impressive shooting for a chopper pilot. I looked up as he shifted slightly and took aim. I really liked his fighting style. Cool as a cucumber. Unhurried and lethal.
EAT, SLAY, LUZT: A sexy wild ride through the dark heart of the zombie apocalypse. Page 2
