Mikey falls into step beside me. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he wants to. I think he’s been building up to ask me something for a while, but with his questions he knows my own will come.
I glance over at him, the rabbit slung over one shoulder, his face covered in a rough three-week-old beard.
“What you looking at?” He turns and smiles. “I’m a handsome guy, right? You know, I’m a free man these days, if you’re interested.”
I stop and look at him before bursting out laughing. He looks offended, but I don’t care. “Fucking real romantic, man.”
He keeps on walking. “Well, you know where I am if you get ‘desperate.’” He makes weird quote marks with his fingers and storms off.
I try to compose myself and jog after him, still giggling. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just, I don’t think I’m your type, and I ain’t ever gonna be someone’s second choice.” I refrain from laughing again to show him I’m being serious for a change.
“Why wouldn’t you be my type?” he asks in confusion.
I look at him with a grin. “Mikey, we’re from different worlds—certainly different sides of the tracks.”
He puts a hand on my arm and we stop walking. He looks at me, even more serious. “You’d be surprised where I’m from. You might come across as the big tough girl—which I do not doubt—but I’m very much from the same side of the tracks as you.”
“Really?” I look doubtful.
“Really,” he replies.
“So you’re telling me that you didn’t grow up with both parents working nine-to-five jobs, get your college education, and get a nice cushy job before all this?”
He looks at the ground and then back up at me. “I’m telling you that before all this, I was as much a criminal as you were; our crimes were just very different.” He looks away, breathing out heavily as if the next part is hard to say. “Look, I’m more ashamed of what happened after all this started than what happened before. But I have to live with that. I got dealt a hand, and—”
“—you’re working with it,” I finish for him.
He shrugs and smiles. “Yeah, basically. I’m just saying that I’m not the all-American guy you seem to think I am.”
“I never thought that for a minute,” I snark and push him away, wanting to lighten the mood from this serious tone.
He pushes me with a laugh and I stagger backwards. “Don’t make me get my kukris out on you.”
He laughs back and makes a come-hither signal, like he’s fucking Neo from The Matrix. “I warned you, Mikey.” I pull my knives out and charge him, not intending to hurt him—well, not too much anyway; just enough to teach him a lesson.
He sweeps his leg out in an attempt to trip me, but I jump over it and elbow him in the ribs. He shouts out and grips me around the waist, swinging me around and slamming me into the ground. I cry out and grab for his ankle, but he moves before I can connect and climbs on top of me, pinning my arms to the damp ground. I kick out at him, laughing and shouting at the same time, and then he leans down and kisses me hard, surprising us both.
I pause for a split second, looking into his rugged face, his wonky grin, and deep brown eyes before I start kissing him back. He releases my hands, freeing them to move to his back, where I pull him closer to me. I claw at his clothes, heat building in my stomach and moving south with every stroke of his tongue. How long has it been since I had sex? Fuck, I can’t even remember. The last time I was high and had no clue what was going on anyway. This is the cleanest and clearest I’ve been in years. I push at him, rolling him onto his back and straddling his waist as his hands move to my breasts and squeeze roughly. The pain is good, satisfying almost, and I hiss and move a hand to his jeans, unbuttoning them. God, I want him. A hunger builds in me, a feeling that if I don’t have him inside me now, the moment might be lost forever.
My eyes check around us, seeing nothing but trees and soil, as I slink down his body, ridding him of his jeans and boxers. I stand up, stripping out of my skin-tight ripped jeans and panties, and slowly lower myself down on top of him, letting him fill me up. His hands clamber for my breasts, pulling my shirt over my head as I move slowly on him, gradually increasing my movements until it’s rough and hard—almost painful—as I move on him harder and harder. This isn’t just sex, this is raw unadulterated fucking. His hands grab my ass, moving me faster and faster on him, until it’s him doing nearly all the work and not me, until I feel the tension building in my lower stomach, gradually increasing, and a rush of heat floods my body as I cry out. He continues to move my sated body on him, my hands clawing at his chest until he finally reaches his own climax and lets out a growl of satisfaction.
I lean over him, panting; my breasts heavy on his chest and sore from his groping. I look up at him through my lashes. He’s staring at me with a big pie-eating grin on his face.
“Will you stop that?” I whisper, still a little out of breath.
“I’m not doing anything.” He smirks.
I sit up and look around for my shirt. Seeing it, I grab it and slip it back on. “Yeah, you are. You’re grinning at me.”
He laughs, putting his arms behind his head like it’s Sunday and he’s about to have an afternoon nap. “I knew you liked me.”
I groan and stand up, feeling his warmth moving down my leg. Gross. “I do not like you, I used you. There’s a difference.” I grab the rest of my clothes and put them back on.
He gets up and pulls his own clothes back on, and we continue moving through the forest. The spring in his step is hard to ignore so I decide to address the issue.
“So, how about we use each other some more?” I ask nervously.
He looks at me seriously. “You’ll have to give me a couple of minutes, but sure.” He smiles.
I punch him in the arm. “Not now, you fucking freak,” I laugh.
*
“Crunch!” Mikey pulls open the car door. “You have got to come and see this.”
I rub the sleep from my eyes, unsure of what time it is, but it’s still dark out, the sun barely showing through the trees. I estimate around five a.m.
“What the fuck are you doing up this early?” I throw back my blanket and grab my knives.
He looks shy, blushing a little. It suits his skin tone, which is normally a light-golden sand color. “I was going to make you breakfast.”
It’s my turn to blush now, but I cover it up with some swagger. “Awww, aren’t you sweet. You must be falling for me.” I laugh.
“I just know how to treat a lady.” He runs a hand over his beard. “Shit, I forgot. You aren’t a lady, are you?” He chuckles.
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you forget it.” I lock the car, feeling uncomfortable with him thinking of me as anything less than a lady—not that I’d let him know that, but it still hurts. “So what the fuck did you wake me for anyway?”
He grabs my hand and drags me through the woods, talking as he does. “So, I was looking for something to eat. Woke up starving and couldn’t wait, so I’m doing my usual rounds through the woods, checking the traps and shit, and I come to this.” He stops and points to a small clearing between the trees.
I step into the clearing and gasp. “What the fuck is this?”
“No idea, but I think that there are people up there,” he whispers.
It’s early, and I’m guessing that if there is anyone up there, they’re asleep.
It’s hard to describe what I see—it’s hard to fucking comprehend—but built into the trees are what can only be described as tree houses. Large ones, and really high up. Between each hut there’s a pathway with ropes and wooden slats, though from down here I can’t quite grasp it properly.
“That’s fucking amazing.”
Six.
“What should we do?” I ask. I want to go up there, but we don’t know if these people—if there are indeed any people—are the friendly type or the chop-you-into-bits type.
“I reckon we go up.”
“Just, go up?” I spl
utter with a sarcastic mimic of his voice.
“Yeah, fuck it.” Mikey moves to the bottom of the wooden ladder that leads to the top of the structure. “I wanna see what it’s like up there, don’t you?”
“They could fuck us up, Mikey.”
“They could try.” He smirks and starts to climb.
“True,” I laugh. In fairness, he’s as badass as any action hero movie star with that machete he carries around with him, and I know that I can handle myself with my knives.
I follow up behind, both of us trying to keep as quiet as possible so as not to alert anyone to our presence. When we reach the top, we’re greeted with beautiful views over a lake on one side and the trees on the other. In another couple of years, this place will be all but invisible. A life suddenly opens up in front of me—a life where I’m not living out of my car (well, my neighbors’ car), but also one where I don’t have to sleep with one eye open, and I have a man by my side—someone who actually gives a shit about me.
As I’m about to tell Mikey that I’m staying here no matter what it takes, a man comes out of one of the little huts. He stretches and rubs a hand through his hair. He’s medium build and height, and I figure I can take him down if need be.
He looks over and sees us and freezes. “Uh, hi.” He waves and offers a small, desperate smile, his face paling when he sees our weapons.
“How many more of you are there here?” Mikey asks, not wasting any time. He draws his machete and I watch the guy look like he’s about to vomit.
“Just me,” he whispers, holding his hands up in front of him. “I don’t want any trouble. You can take whatever you want, but I don’t have much.” He shrugs.
“We don’t want any trouble either,” Mikey replies, looking back at me.
“We’re just looking for somewhere safe to stay,” I say. This guy seems harmless, and if he’s not lying to us about being on his own, then I guess we can all get along nicely.
“You can stay here, no problem at all. I’m Duncan.” He lowers his hands, coming closer and holding one out in front of him instead. He seems nervous, and I don’t blame him. I guess we do look a little crazy with our knives drawn. I put my knives away and Mikey does the same, taking Duncan’s hand.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Mikey, this is Crunch.”
Duncan looks at me and goes to say something, but Mikey interrupts. “Don’t ask her about the name, she’ll only give you a smart-ass remark.”
“True,” I quip with a snort.
Duncan nods, a smile crossing his face. “Crunch, Mikey—welcome to Ravendale Outdoor Activity Center, and my home. And yours if you want it to be.” He laughs. “Well, mine and Britta’s. She’s another woman staying here with me. She’s still sleeping, but she’ll be happy to see more people for sure.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Thought you said you were on your own?”
“Uh, yeah, it’s just me and Britta. Sorry.” He shrugs. “This is our home, and we protect each other and it. But like I said, you can stay. It can be your home too.” He smiles.
I look around me, a flutter in my stomach. Home.
The Coward.
One.
The first year is always the hardest for a new business—that’s what they say, anyway. Who says it anyway? The ‘start your new business’ books I read before building this place, my accountant, my bank manager? Yeah, they all say it. Well, I’m coming up to nine months and I’m still rolling further into the red, with no clear exit strategy in sight. None of them tell you how to stop the bills from coming in, do they? None of them give you any help when it gets tough. Certainly not the bank. No, they just want their monthly repayments, regardless of the personal cost to myself or my fledgling business.
I sigh and put my head in my hands. I have to make this work. I’ve put everything into it, every last cent that was left to me in my mother’s will. If this place doesn’t start making a profit in the next couple of months, I’m screwed. This place will close, and I’ll have nothing to show for it but a stack of debts a mile high. What a great homage to my mom that will be.
I tap away at the calculator, but no matter which way I add up the numbers, they always come out negative. Cooking the books, that’s what they call this. That’s what I feel like doing—cooking them; burning this whole damn place down and walking away with the insurance money. I shake my head. This was supposed to be my dream, and now I hate it with every bone in my body. If I could go back and not build it, I would.
Pulling my hands through my hair, I stare down at the negative numbers on each page, the bills taunting me, and I grab the stack of papers and throw them against the wall. Maybe I can sell this place. Though who would want to buy something that’s sinking quicker than the Titanic? An idiot, that’s who; just like the idiot who thought it up in the first place.
I look up at the sound of footsteps running down the hallway, followed by a sharp knock on my office door.
“What?” I shout.
The door opens and Sanil, my Saturday helper, comes in. He looks worried, pale, and sweaty. Jesus, that’s just what I need: a stomach bug or whatever going around and infecting all the customers. Great advertisement. I’m sure they’ll be happy to write me a great review on it.
“What’s up, Sanil?” I stand up and walk around the table, finger pointing at him. “Are you coming down with something? Because you look sick, and I don’t want you making any of the visitors sick—”
“No, sir, there’s been an incident.”
“An incident? What kind of incident?” I snap and push past him, starting down the hallway before realizing that I don’t know where this supposed ‘incident’ is. “Well? Get on with it; take me to whatever mess I need to sort out now.”
He looks guilty and steps past me, picking up the pace as we near the outside. I feel even worse now. It’s not the poor kid’s fault I’m in over my head, but still—he’s here and I can’t hold my temper right now.
As we get outside I see a commotion over by the canoes. Some of the women from FedEx, here on a team-building exercise, are there and looking worried, and I jog over with a shake of my head. As I get closer I can see there’s crying and all sorts of drama going on, but then again I know how emotional women can get.
“All right, what’s going on, ladies?” I push between them, wishing Sanil had warned me to bring the first aid kit since I can see some blood on the ground. The women finally move out of the way and I stop in my tracks. There’s more than a little blood: one of the women looks like someone has tried to gut her. A large hole and a red pool of blood are where her stomach should be. She’s unconscious, and I kneel down and check her pulse, putting my face to her mouth to listen and feel for her breath. It’s there, but it’s weak. Shit.
“What the hell happened here?” I shout and look around at the other women. I notice that one of them has what looks like a bite mark on her shoulder. She’s shaking and crying, but I need to prioritize my first aid. “Sanil, come and help me get her inside. Someone get to the office and call 911.” God knows how long they’ll take to get here. I point to the woman with the bite mark. “You, come with us inside.”
I grab the unconscious woman’s arms and Sanil grabs her legs, and we start to carry her inside, leaving a trail of blood behind us.
“Her name’s Halima,” sobs the one with the weird bite mark, clutching at her shoulder. “It was some freak on the other side of the lake.”
I turn to look at her as we carry her back into the hub and down the hall to the medic’s room. There’s blood on her shirt, but she seems to have stopped bleeding now, thankfully. We place Halima on the cot.
“It was a person who did this?” I ask in confusion and press a large dressing on to Halima’s stomach wound, feeling it damp and warm under my fingertips. It’s not as bad as I first thought, but I still don’t have the training for this. I can do first aid, but this—this is more than just your basic first aid, and as it turns red with her blood, I realize a dressing isn
’t going to do anything for her.
She nods and fresh tears fall from her eyes. “We’d just paddled across and were pulling the canoes up onto the bank, ready to do the treasure hunt for the team challenge, when two guys came out of the woods. I thought they were with the Center at first—you know, like your employees or something—but when they came closer, I could tell they were sick. Halima tried to help them. Amy told her not to,” she whimpers. “But she didn’t listen. She kept asking them what was wrong, what had happened, and when she got too close, they lunged for her.” She sobs harder.
Blood is spilling from the wound in Halima’s stomach now and dripping onto the floor. She seems to be getting worse, and I become conscious that in my panic I’ve moved her when I should have left her where she was. She coughs, blood splattering up from the back of her throat and falling around her mouth and chin. Her breathing is getting worse: I can almost hear the blood being sucked down into her lungs, the deep crackle of it as it gets stuck every time she takes a breath. I see there are other bites on her arms and legs, now that I’m actually looking closely, but they seem superficial in comparison to her stomach. I’m lucky her insides didn’t tumble out of the hole.
Shit, shit, shit! Sickness swarms me at that thought.
“Grab some towels, Sanil, come on,” I shout. She’s going to die right here in front of me, and I really will be totally screwed. Burn this place down? Ha! I’ll end up in prison for letting an accident like this occur. But this wasn’t an accident: someone did this on purpose. I grimace.
She coughs again, the blood spraying up into my face, and I flinch and pull away from her, letting go of the dressing I was holding. Sanil’s hands rush to grab it, keeping the pressure on the wound.
“Do something,” he says calmly, looking up at me.
I feel dizzy, light-headed, and sick. My vision is tunneling to her blood-soaked face, and I look at Sanil and then back down at her repeatedly. Her breathing sounds more like oil in a deep fryer now, bubbling in her chest and spitting back up her throat. What can I do about that?
The Dead Saga (Novella Part 1): Odium Origins Page 4
