Breakfast was a cheerful affair in comparison to the solemn meals we’d shared the day before. The storm had passed, and although the wind still whined around our building, it left us feeling like we’d survived a disaster.
After we’d finished eating our scrambled eggs, we went outside to inspect the damage done by the storm. Our little garden had survived mostly intact thanks to our forethought, but the outside of the building was a disaster zone. The remains of one large tree lay uprooted across the road, and down the street we could see another, smaller tree leaning up against the side of the building next to it at a drunken angle, its roots partially dislodged from the earth.
Leaves and debris were strewn everywhere, including large shards of broken glass that threatened our feet as we picked our way around the motel to inspect it. Our building had survived mostly intact, and I was amazed to see my haphazard construction on the roof was still standing strong. It’d take a bit of effort to clean it up, but only a couple of boards were missing completely.
A few of the other buildings in town had suffered far worse than ours. Michael nudged me and pointed at a portion of a roof that lay slumped across an overgrown lawn a short distance down the road, reducing the jungle to a crushed mess.
“Glad none of us were under that,” I murmured to him. He nodded, but I saw the look on his face. He was thinking the same thing I was: Ryan may have been out in that weather last night. As angry as he was at Skylar’s former fiancé for abandoning her, no one deserved the full force of nature’s wrath.
I reassured myself with the thought that he’d survived just as many storms as I had over the years. He would know the warning signs, know when to go find shelter, and what kind of buildings would be sturdy enough to survive the weather. New Zealand was an island, and we were all Aotearoa’s children. Our country had been subjected to many different kinds of storms over the years, not to mention the geological activity, floods and even tidal waves. You couldn’t go anywhere without seeing some kind of natural damage.
Years ago, I’d honestly thought that my number was up. I had been travelling near the centre of the island when an earthquake struck that was ten times more violent than anything I’d felt before. I had fallen to the ground and hadn’t been able to get back up for what felt like forever; in the distance, a massive plume of ash had shot up into the sky.
To my eternal relief, I later discovered that it had only been Mount Taranaki venting its red-hot disinterest at the world, as it did on a semi-regular basis. The eruption had caused little damage beyond light ash fall. Nature was a fickle mistress, and she scolded us often; we’d all survived it before.
He’s probably fine, I reassured myself, then took Michael’s hand and led him back towards the others.
***
Anahera and her son stayed long enough to help us repair some of the damage to our home. Our motel was low, squat, and solid; the work mostly involved clearing debris, so that it wouldn’t endanger us in the future.
The wind blew in brief but violent gusts as we worked, yet it only took a few hours to clear up the worst of the mess. There was nothing we could do about the tree that blocked the road without putting all our people at risk, so we decided to just leave it where it was. At least it meant convenient firewood nearby, or a makeshift barricade in a pickle.
Surprise, surprise. The barricade idea was mine. It’s not that I’m paranoid, per se. I just like to be prepared for every contingency. That was the same thing that I told Anahera when we were debating whether or not to bring our weapons on our trip west to visit her home.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you or your people,” I explained to the group as we stood around the kitchen, making plans, “but there are a lot of dangers between here and your place that we should be able to defend ourselves against.”
“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Michael protested. “We’re only going for a short vacation, and it’s just a few hours walk away.”
“Hemi was only a few hours from home when the pig found him,” I pointed out. The youth grunted in agreement.
“She’s right, man,” Hemi said, then pointed at his bandaged side. “Don’t forget about the bugger that’s out there taking pot shots at us, too.”
The others looked undecided, but it was Anahera who broke the tie.
“I agree with Sandy. You should bring your weapons along.” She looked at me and smiled. “However, I appreciate you making the effort to ask my permission before you made the decision. Thank you.”
“Of course,” I stammered; her praise always left me feeling a little flustered. “You don’t bring a shotgun to a mate’s house without asking first. That’s just bad manners.”
“Your mother clearly raised you well.” Anahera’s smile broadened.
“Well, it’s settled then,” Michael finally agreed reluctantly. “Everyone go get your things, we’ll leave in fifteen minutes.”
Those of us who were going filtered out to collect our packs, and left the doctor to chat with our guests. He’d decided to stay behind with Madeline rather than come with us, protesting that our gardens still needed care and someone should protect our home base. I assumed that he just didn’t like being out of his element, but I hadn’t said anything. If Michael hadn’t been so determined to go and Skye wasn’t so clearly in need of an adventure, then I would have stayed home as well.
Home. It felt funny using that word, particularly to describe a run-down old motel and a tatty former video store. Michael slipped his hand into mine as we walked back towards his room, and I was forced to quickly reassess that thought. Maybe it wasn’t so strange after all. Home is where the heart is, and mine was here.
He opened the window to our walkway between the buildings and offered me a hand up, which I accepted. I slipped out onto the damp planks, testing their stability carefully, then I crossed the alley to the top floor of my old video store to gather my things. Michael stayed behind, to pack his own bags.
My backpack lay in a distant corner of my bedroom, slumped sadly against the wall like an abandoned toy. Unlike Michael, I’d taken the time to clean out the drawers in my room, and replaced all the former occupant’s belongings with my own. I didn’t have much in the way of personal possessions, but I had acquired a few and it felt nice to have them organised in my drawers.
During my original expedition through the area, I’d spent a good deal of time exploring the town and scavenging anything that looked like it might fit me. When I had returned from Hamilton with my new friends in tow, my prizes still waited where I left them. Over the course of the last few weeks, I tried everything on and sorted the ones that fitted from the ones that didn’t. My sister benefited from anything too small for me, and everything else went into storage. You never knew what you’d need to use for trading one day.
I pulled my drawers open one by one and added enough clean clothing to my backpack to last me three days. Our plan was to stay for a couple of days then head back home, so I doubted that I would need any more than that. If our plans changed, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d had to go a bit longer than preferable without a change of clothing.
I had started to relax my usual dress code recently, too. During the decade I spent on my own, I’d usually worn military surplus, which was abundantly available if you knew where to look. It wasn’t pretty, but it was hardy, long-wearing and easy to clean. Settling into life with my group had made me reassess my priorities. I found myself wearing casual civilian clothing more and more. It was mostly jeans and t-shirts, but I did have a few nice outfits that I’d hidden away to surprise Michael with one day. It amused me to imagine the look of shock on his face if he ever saw me wearing a dress.
I pondered that fact as I changed into my travel clothes: my old cargo fatigues, paired with a dusky grey tank top. Would I even know how to get dolled up anymore? I had gotten a wee bit of experience between puberty and when the plague hit, but a decade had passed since then. Michael had one up on me there. All he h
ad to do was put on his police uniform, and suddenly he was the sexiest man alive. What did I have? Not much of anything, really.
With a hefty sigh, I sorted through the neat row of items sitting on top of my dresser. My GPS went into one pocket, my taser into another, my first aid kit into a third, and my gun went into my backpack. That should be enough for a couple of days in friendly territory, if I didn’t give in to my natural urge towards caution.
What’s the worst that could happen? I told myself as I picked up my pack and headed back to the window on the landing. Lake Ruatuna’s two hours away at most, over open farmland. If something happens, we’ll just come home.
Famous last words, my inner cynic contradicted, but I decided to ignore it. Michael scolded me regularly for being too pessimistic, so I had made it my personal mission to try and stay positive, for his sake. Positive, but realistic. I wasn’t about to let a cheerful disposition get all of us killed.
I eased myself out the window onto the walkway, and closed the window behind me. Although it wasn’t locked from inside, someone would have to get through the motel to reach it. That seemed pretty unlikely. I crossed the space between my window and Michael’s and ducked back into his room. just in time to be confronted by a very nice pair of tight, manly buttocks.
“Well, hello there,” I teased as I hopped off the window sill onto the bed below.
Michael shot a glance over his shoulder at me. “Oh, you’re back. That was fast.”
“I pack efficiently. Call it a skill.” I gave him a smile, then flicked a pointed look down over his body. “Why are you naked?”
“What?” He glanced at me again, and then looked down. “Oh, right. I got distracted. Have you seen my vest?”
I flung myself down on my belly and reached under the bed, to pull out a dark blue body armour chest piece. “This one?”
“That’s it!” He brightened as soon as he saw it, then came over and took it from me with a smile. “What would I do without you?”
“Lose things, apparently,” I answered dryly. “You put it under there last week. Did you forget already?”
“I’m just not quite used to being here yet,” he admitted sheepishly, turning his back to me as he got dressed. As sad as I was to see that delicious bottom covered up, we weren’t going to go anywhere without pants. “I lived in that bunker for a very long time. I’m so used to everything always being in the same place, and now it’s not.”
“You’ll get used to it,” I said, lazing on my belly to watch him pulling on his boxer-briefs and jeans.
“I know, I know; it just takes time to adapt.” He gave me that sweet smile of his, then tugged a close-fitting white t-shirt over his head. Once he’d straightened his clothes, he wandered over to plop down on the bed beside me. I felt the warmth of a hand on the small of my back, followed by inquisitive fingers slipping up beneath the hem of my top. “You understand that better than anyone.”
“I guess I do,” I agreed, rolling onto my back to look up at him. His hand slid over my skin, until it came to rest on my belly. He stared down at me thoughtfully, trailing gentle fingers over the smooth curve of my stomach, as though considering moving them higher. If he did, the chances of us setting off on time were slim to none.
He let out a long, deep sigh and reluctantly removed his hand from beneath my clothing. Self-control could be difficult at times, even for the best of us, but he was a good man and tried so hard. I felt a sudden rush of affection towards him and popped upright to plant a kiss on his cheek.
Michael’s brows shot up at the gesture. Suddenly, before I knew what was happening, he caught me in a playful embrace and bore me down onto the bed. I found myself pinned down by strong, gentle hands, and could only squeal helplessly while he planted kisses on my belly. He released me a few seconds later, but it was so sudden and unexpected that it got me laughing all over again.
“You’re so weird,” I scolded him, giggling; he just grinned right back at me and went about strapping on his vest. It was only then that I realised he’d been looking for it because he intended to wear it for our trip. My levity oozed away. “Wait, you didn’t want to bring the guns, but you’re going to wear that?”
“I thought about what you said downstairs,” he admitted, tugging a strap tighter against his skin, “and I realised that you were right. I don’t think Anahera’s whanau mean us any harm, but anything could happen. We should try to be prepared.”
“I’ve trained you well, my pet,” I teased him. While he was busy, I wriggled back over to close the window above his bed, so the rain and insects couldn’t get in while we were away. “We’ll make a proper survivalist out of you yet.”
“I hope not,” he answered dryly, then he reached over to poke my bottom while he could reach it easily. “Positivity!”
“Hey, hey, what’s with the poking?” I spun around and poked him right back. “I keep telling you, there’s a difference between negativity and realism.”
“Ah, but there must be a balance, grasshopper,” he told me sagely.
“So you’re the Yin to my Yang, Officer Chan?” I asked, moving back to the edge of the bed to sit beside him.
“Something like that, except it’s the other way around. Yin represents the feminine and yang the masculine.” He gave me a quirky sideways smile, and started putting his socks and boots on while we were talking.
“No, I’m pretty sure I meant exactly what I said,” I countered dryly. A little too dryly, apparently; it took him a second to cotton on to what I’d said. When he finally put two and two together, he shot me an amused glance.
“Really now? I’m pretty sure that I’m the one with the—”
“Maybe so, but which one of us hits like a truck?” I waved a fist at him playfully.
“Okay, you win that point,” he conceded, laughing.
Dressed at last, Michael rose to his feet and stretched languidly. Although the action was quite innocent, it distracted me from our conversation; I watched with interest, admiring his physique. He really was a remarkable man: mentally, physically, and emotionally. Suddenly, I felt a little inadequate by comparison.
Michael glanced over his shoulder at me, as though sensing instinctively that something was amiss. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? You’re being quiet. It worries me when you’re quiet.”
“It worries you?” I couldn’t help but laugh at that comment. “I’m quiet by nature; why would that worry you?”
“No, you’re not,” he said, reaching out to take my hand. With that wonderful, gentle strength of his, he drew me up to my feet and wrapped one arm around my waist to hold me up against him. “You’re quite gregarious by nature, love. The only time you’re quiet is when you’re scared, angry, or sleeping. Or when you’re thinking, but I can usually tell when you’re doing that because of the smoke coming out of your ears.”
“Smoke!” I put on an offended expression. “I’ll have you know I was thinking just a moment ago, mister. You’re so mean to me. Just because I’m blonde doesn’t mean I’m dumb!”
“You know that I love your hair, and that I don’t think you’re dumb at all,” he said, his humour fading. With his free hand, he slipped a finger beneath my chin and tilted my face up towards his. “Penny for your thoughts, then?”
Oh, compliments. I still wasn’t used to those. Not that I wanted him to stop, but I had no idea how to respond. Feeling the heat rising in my cheeks all over again, I paused for a second to formulate my answer before I replied. “Well… I was thinking about you, actually.”
“Me?” He raised a brow, looking curious.
“Yeah, it’s just that...” I broke eye-contact and looked away, when a wave of shyness reared its ugly head. It had been a long time since I’d talked to a boy about my feelings. Hell, it’d been a long time since I had a boy to have feelings about.
No, not a boy, I corrected myself. A man. A wonderful, sweet, loving man who deserved to know he was doing a good job.
“You’re just so pe
rfect, Michael,” I admitted, staring at some point beyond his right shoulder as I tried to organise my thoughts. “You’re so kind and generous, and you always know just the right thing to say. I just… sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you. I try to tell myself that you must see something in me, but you’re just so amazing that I feel like I’m nobody compared to you.”
His expression softened, and his arm tightened around me protectively. “Oh, Sandy…”
“I know!” I groaned and rolled my head back, ashamed of myself for feeling that way at all. “I know that it’s ridiculous, and that it just sounds whiny and pathetic. I’m a shame to empowered women everywhere. You probably just think I’m fishing for compliments, but I’m really not. I just… don’t know how to—”
“Shh.” He silenced me with a quick kiss, then hugged me. “You don’t have to explain it to me, sweetheart. I feel the exact same way every time I’m with you.”
“…What?” I stared at him, stunned. “You feel inadequate beside me?”
“Sometimes, yes,” he admitted. “I wish that I had half the strength I see in you. Every time I think about what you’ve been through and survived all on your own, it makes me feel sick for you, proud of you, and envious of your resilience all at the same time.” His strong arms tightened around me, not enough to hurt but enough to make me feel safe and secure, while his words made me feel so vulnerable. “It makes me want to be more than I am, for your sake.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. My emotions were a mess at the best of times, and when I felt weak and exposed it only got harder to stay in control. Part of me wanted to laugh, part of me wanted to cry, and part of me wanted to rip his clothes off and have my merry way with him right then and there. Unfortunately, the ‘cry’ part won. Tears sprang unbidden into my eyes. I buried my face in his chest to hide them as I thought over what he’d said.
Never one to let me mope unmolested, Michael used the opportunity to unleash his wicked sense of humour. He leaned down and put his lips right against my ear to whisper, “Plus, you’re fucking gorgeous.” Then, he grabbed my bottom in both hands and gave it a vigorous squeeze.
The Survivors (Book 2): Autumn Page 5
