But now I couldn’t tell if it was concern because they could have found us or disappointment because they didn’t.
“Anything to worry about?” Nelson asked. He sounded so normal, so…. unconcerned.
That rattled me for a second. It took another moment for me to realize it was because I was concerned. For them.
For her.
I cleared my throat and said, “No, nothing to worry about.”
But that wasn’t true. Because the girls came back, fast and frantic. Racks of clothing started to tip over, curses flew from their pretty mouths and I could hear their feet pounding on the grimy tile. Gun shots followed and the twisting of the doorknob still under my hand.
My chest clenched with what this could mean- Feeders.
And then I lost my mind completely because for a split second the last thing on my mind was my family.
And my first thought, my first consuming instinct was those girls and how I could help them.
Son of a bitch. I reached down ready to unlock the door at the same time I heard a jingling from above making me hesitate for half a second and then jolt into action.
“Move, move, move!” I whisper shouted, but Nelson had already registered the sound.
We jumped up the staircase just as the trap Nelson and I had set when we first moved in here went off. A carefully constructed net of pots, pans and as many breakable items as we could fit inside the makeshift net dropped to the floor in what would have been a very loud alarm bell if anyone was trying to break in undetected. Too bad we were already alerted. The debris had been pulled to the ceiling of the stairwell, secured with a rope that snaked under the door and tied to a heavy rack of clothes and hidden weights. The weight balanced evenly so that the rack wouldn’t move and the net wouldn’t fall unless someone cut the rope.
I thought it was pretty clever.
Glass shattered around us in tiny splinters and cutting shards and the clanging pots and pans rang in my ears like a roaring freight train. Gun shots punctuated the ending of the clattering debris and set me into motion. The door handle rattled from repeated attempts at opening it. I kept my gun trained and ready in my hand, somehow finding a semblance of rational thought, despite the girl on the other side doing her best to cloud my mind. I took a calming breath and leapt for the door.
Those girls were being pursued. Something was after them and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was. I had to help them.
This might come back to bite me in the ass and I swore up and down it had nothing to do with this stupid attraction I felt. I had an obligation to rescue them. I could be careful about it.
But they needed my help, my actions weren’t up for debate.
I heard a frustrated scream of, “Open, damn it!”
And so I answered accordingly. I yanked open the door to invite them inside just as the girl that had so wholly caught my focus came- literally- flying through. Her body was a graceful mess of flailing long limbs and whipping black hair. Her entrance happened so fast I didn’t even have time to reach out and catch her; although because I was still assessing whether or not she was a threat or not, I wasn’t sure I would have helped her if I’d thought to.
Her friend was right behind her, shouting, “What the hell, Reagan!”
Reagan.
The girl had a name.
The door slammed with a final, ominous thud.
A feeling so thick and certain settled over me that I could only stare at the girl still folded on her hands and knees below me. She had mesmerized me, even from down there. She was probably in pain, and most definitely still had a weapon. But this girl was about to change my life. I could feel it in my rushing blood, in my heaving chest, in all the metaphysical parts of me that were reawakening and coming to life after a very long slumber.
Finally, the rational part of my brain kicked in and I clicked off the safety and pulled back the chamber of my .40 S&W Beretta.
“Don’t move,” I ordered in my scariest voice.
I waited for them to start crying, or screaming. They would be panicking in any second. I knew from experience this was how it went. The friend against the door would start weeping uncontrollably and the girl at my feet would inevitably start begging for their lives. We would reassure them we didn’t mean them harm of course, but it wouldn’t matter. They would turn pathetic in their attempt to survive.
Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they would offer us something, sell their bodies in exchange for a place to sleep. Not that we would accept of course, we did have standards and weren’t complete animals. But girls like them had one asset stronger than all else and in this ugly world, they sold their souls and learned how to use their bodies as payment for whatever they needed.
Or maybe they would surprise me by fighting.
Although, I was probably most surprised when none of that happened.
“Out of the frying pan,” her friend mumbled.
I smirked because she was right and because they couldn’t see me.
“And into the fire,” Reagan spoke with a voice that was like balm on an open wound. That voice. It wasn’t one of my brothers’, it wasn’t from anyone that was related to me or male. It was fresh, feminine and just husky enough that my blood zinged again with that unfamiliar life and want.
She would need to speak again soon. I would need her to. I would need to hear what other words could be said so sarcastically but yet so undeniably sweetly and almost intimately sounding. But now I needed to be in control.
I looked up at her friend and demanded, “You, drop your gun and put your hands in the air.”
Nelson finally got his crap together- what had he been doing this whole time? Amateur. He was probably dumbstruck from the girls. It had been a solid year and a half since we’d been this close to any of them. And at least three months since we’d even seen one in passing.
He probably had a boner.
Finally, I heard Nelson’s gun click. Reagan still hunched at my feet and my stupid heart started to hurt as I realized she was probably in a lot of pain. I could not have compassion for this girl until I knew for sure that she posed no threat.
Her friend’s gun dropped in a clatter on top of the debris and she threw out a testy, “Fine. But it was empty anyway.”
I felt the urge to smile again. God, when was the last time I really smiled? Nelson must have felt the same way because he choked on a little bit of laughter before he reigned it back.
I turned my attention back to Reagan and took a slow breath for composure. “Now, you,” I said. “Stand up slowly.” I wanted her to be slow more for her sake than mine. Her knees were going to be beat up.
“Do I have to?” she asked in a pained voice.
“You’re bleeding,” I reminded her. Now that I was in control of the situation, she needed to get up before she contracted tetanus or something.
She let out an impatient sigh and deadpanned, “I’ve been booby-trapped.”
My lips twitched again and I had to stop myself from thanking her. We hadn’t ever tested that particular trap. It was nice to know our pulley system worked.
Her friend laughed at her and told us, “She’s been booby-trapped.”
They both broke down into hysterical laughter and I wondered if they were a little bit insane. Or a lot insane. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Two girls, by themselves, fighting off Zombies day after day after day. Probably I should be more surprised if they weren’t crazy.
I decided to test this theory. “We have guns. This isn’t a joke.”
“But you’re not going to shoot us,” her friend declared with conviction.
“I’m not?”
“We’re hot,” she explained although that point didn’t really need to be mentioned again. “You’ll at least rape us first.” And then she dissolved into more laughter.
“At least,” Reagan agreed. “Just don’t give us herpes.”
They really were out of their minds. “We’re not going to rap
e you!” Nelson practically shouted. He sounded completely disturbed by the idea- as was I. Who talked like that anyway?
“Are you two high?” I demanded. This was the only other explanation I could come up with if they weren’t clinically bonkers.
They just laughed harder.
When had I lost control?
A heavy fist came down on the other side of the door. And then another. And then another.
Feeders.
We all jumped at the first hit, and then moved into action on the subsequent ones. It wasn’t safe to stick around anymore.
Reagan finally stood up- gingerly- and brushed away the loose shards of glass and debris from her kneecaps. She hunched over with bent knees, and all in all looked very uncomfortable. My chest started hurting again and I rubbed at it with an absent hand.
I didn’t like that I was starting to feel weird things for this girl. I didn’t even know her. I promised myself it was just because she was the closest thing to normal I’d seen in a very long time and, like her friend had said, she was hot. This was all very shallow of me. But I wouldn’t act on it. As soon as she got bandaged up and we avoided this Feeder attack, we’d part ways and I’d stop having to deal with all these stupid feelings and… urges.
“Those look bad, Reags,” her friend winced. She sounded seriously concerned. And if they’d been anywhere but with us, she probably should have been. But we were prepared for stuff like this. We were prepared for everything.
“I’ll be Ok,” Reagan promised. A new feeling slipped in with all the rest- admiration. This girl was strong, a fighter. No, a few cuts on her knees and hands weren’t the worst that could happen to her, but she wasn’t even going to let them phase her.
“Let’s go,” I demanded gruffly- probably gruffer than I intended. But I needed to get her in front of Vaughan before I lost my mind too.
Nelson led the way and the girls followed in between. I locked the door before I moved behind them and left the slow pounding of Feeder fists to rot.
Reagan seemed to be having trouble making it up the stairs. Her body stayed bent over and her steps were slow and labored.
Against my better judgment I asked, “Do you need some help?”
“Uh, I’ll be Ok,” she answered quickly.
My gut churned and I shook my head but still offered her some comfort. “It’s just up at the top of the stairs.”
We finished climbing and I felt a little dazed. Hopefully, Vaughan would just play along because I didn’t have the mental capacity to take the lead on this one.
I walked past the two girls and Nelson so I could knock on the door. Nelson probably thought I had lost my mind cutting him off like that but I needed some breathing room.
Harrison opened the door with gun raised, but the girls hardly noticed as they blinked against the light, putting hands up to shield their faces. We ushered them inside and took them to stand in front of Vaughan. Page stayed hidden, as was protocol. We had to keep her safe above all else.
While the girls adjusted to the light, I adjusted to them- or rather her.
Reagan was shockingly pretty. And I was so unused to loveliness and beauty that it felt like she could easily be the last of the beautiful things on this planet. Her eyes were dark, deep brown- so rich in color they were like chocolate diamonds. And probably just as rare. Her lashes were thick and smudgy, her cheekbones high, her lips full and soft looking. Her body was perfectly toned, even if she was a little skinny and my eyes immediately fell to her slender neck and…. lower. She didn’t belong here- not with us mere mortals, not in a world ripe with Zombies and not in any place that would swallow her up and digest her in the bowels of rotten, putrid, decaying humanity.
I shook my head out and moved to stand near my brothers. We were a united front, practice and instinct had turned us into a fluid, fighting machine.
Vaughan was sitting down on the couch, looking relaxed and in charge. I hid my smile, because I knew this looked a whole lot more threatening than it was. We would protect our family if we had to, but we were not bad guys. And we didn’t lash out unless we had to.
Vaughan was very amused by this whole thing. I could tell. His eyes were drinking in Reagan and her friend like he had been deprived of water for his whole life. I knew the feeling.
“What did you find, Hendrix?” he asked me.
“Girls,” I all but growled. “They were shopping.”
Reagan didn’t take that very well. She snorted and then bit out, “We were stocking up on supplies.”
“Makeup?” I taunted, expecting some kind of fierce denial or sarcastic insult.
But even I was surprised when Reagan admitted, “Just a little eyeliner.”
This surprised me more than anything else. This wasn’t exactly the appropriate era of history to struggle with vanity. It should have been annoying- it should have been a huge turn off. But damn it to hell, it was intriguing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met someone that still cared about their looks. Even me and my brothers had resorted to beards and shaggy hair and we were supposed to be this great, last vestige of all things humane and civilized.
We were letting ourselves de-evolve back into apes and cavemen while these girls actually put effort into what remained of their lives. It wasn’t exactly an admirable pursuit, but calling them vain seemed a little bit harsh.
Still, I couldn’t help myself. I mean, it was exceedingly frivolous, especially after they nearly died restocking their lipstick. Now the other girls’ gun was empty and who knew what Reagan had on her as far as weapons went. They walked right into our trap and if it hadn’t have been us, it would have been somebody else. And then they’d either be dead by now, or…. worse.
They were lucky we found them.
Clearly they were ill prepared for this whole Apocalypse thing.
How could they be so irresponsible? Actually, it kind of made me angry. And being angry naturally turned me into a jackass.
“Yeah? Is that eyeliner going to help you stop bleeding?” I challenged her.
She was fast with her comeback, “No, but you could.”
I started to say something, although I wasn’t exactly sure what, when Vaughan cut me off. “She’s right. Help her get clean before the Feeders get a scent of her fresh blood.”
I thought that might have already happened and was about to tell Vaughan when her smug look distracted me completely. I couldn’t look away, although I didn’t try very hard. And why would I? She was everything in my life that I was missing, and I hadn’t even realized it until this very moment.
A huge, gaping hole oozed emptiness and loneliness in my chest, eating up space in my life with every useless moment that passed. And then there was her- Reagan. She was both the magnifying glass that enhanced all the colorless, wretched feelings of loss and aimlessness and the cure, the life-saving antidote that could remedy my mundane, isolated existence.
I walked toward her like a bug on its helpless way to a zapper; a meteor pulled in by her unavoidable gravitational pull- on fire, blazing out of control, committed to this path of either destruction or salvation. She was light. She was life. She captivated me and somehow I found myself sucked into her magnetic field of exquisiteness.
And she didn’t even seem aware of her effect on me.
Because for some reason she was less than happy to have to deal with me. In fact, her adorably cocky expression turned into a frustrated scowl that irked me.
Suddenly, I was extremely self-conscious. Which was crazy talk. Before Zombies, I had been one of the captains for the Northwestern swim team. I’d never, not once, had an issue getting a girl’s attention. And I’d never had them get annoyed with me. Girls, loved me. They loved the broodiness, the quiet, understated temperament. They loved everything about me.
Or they used to.
I motioned for Reagan to sit down on a bar stool in the corner of our large space. I planned on saying something to ease the tension between us, but her attention was on her frie
nd. I looked over, too, and watched her wave happily in our direction. Reagan seemed to relax after that.
I took a quick breath and went for it. Grabbing her hand without warning, I started to pull the larger pieces of glass out as carefully as I could. She would live, but these seemed painful.
She sucked in a sharp breath and blinked away tears. My chest tightened and I slowed down my effort, being as gentle as humanly possible with her.
“That’s some defense system you got down there,” she winced through the pull of glass.
I removed the worst of it, so I took the alcohol and rubbed it on her slightly bleeding wounds. She made a high-pitched squeak and her eyes slammed shut. I applied a little pressure to her palm, hoping to ease away the sting. When she relaxed under my attention, I relaxed too.
And felt a little bit like Superman.
“Most people that come through that door are invited.” I sounded like a dick again, but I couldn’t seem to remember how to be charming. I was out of practice talking to any other girls besides Page.
“Are they also being chased by Feeders?” she asked, sounding so snotty I wanted to cringe.
“Hold this,” I pressed her fingertips against the towel I had been using and ignored her sarcasm. I grabbed another bar stool so I could sit down at her level and reach all her wounds easily. I looked over the rest of her, wondering which place would be the most prudent place to start with.
I decided to continue with her other palm because in order to get to her knees, she was going to have to take off her pants. This fact hit me like a punch in the face. I cleared my throat and demanded that my mind focus.
But holy hell.
Legs.
I hadn’t seen a nice pair of legs in a pathetically long time.
And then I wasn’t just going to get any legs, I was getting to see these legs.
Some deep, internal, masculine instinct promised they would be legs worth all this trouble, that these were the kind of legs that changed lives and altered destinies.
I suddenly felt thirteen again and a little concerned that King had better stamina than me by this point.
Love and Decay, Boy Meets Girl Page 2
