The Survivors (Book 2): Autumn

by Dreyer, V. L.

  This time, we both slept deeply.

  Chapter Eight

  I had often wondered in my youth what people meant when they spoke about true love being the only real source of satisfaction, about unrelenting passion and desire so strong it addled all of your senses. My early experimentation with boys in high school had done nothing to prepare me for what I experienced with Michael that night. When I awoke late the next morning, I felt lazy and satisfied in a way I’d never known before, and felt no desire to move from the position I had slept in. I couldn’t even be bothered to open my eyes, lest the wonderful feeling dissipate in the light of day.

  It didn’t occur to me that Michael might have woken up before I did until I felt gentle fingers stroke my temple, sweeping a lock of my hair away from my face. I opened my eyes and found him propped up on one elbow, watching me with a smile of pure contentment on his face.

  “Good morning,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss me. My response was muffled by his lips and it wasn’t necessary anyway. He knew how I felt better than I did. It felt like he always had. Words were just unnecessary between us; our bodies and our hearts spoke louder than words ever could.

  Ignoring the stiffness of my joints, I drew him down atop me once more, and this time he came willingly. All his reluctance was gone when we made love for a second time, in the light of the golden morning sun. I felt such joy that I never wanted to let him go. I’d finally found a place where I felt safe, happy, and welcome, and it was right there with him.

  Ever the gentleman, Michael refused to put his own pleasure above mine at any stage. He held himself back with a resilience that amazed me, and focused on pleasuring me instead. His lips touched my throat, my collarbone, and my breast, while gentle hands explored what he could of my flesh around the bandages and wounds. Only once I was satisfied did he let himself join me, and then he finally collapsed with his head upon my uninjured breast, his breath coming in harsh gasps that sent chills across my skin.

  Eventually, Michael rolled onto his back and drew me atop him, so that I could lie comfortably in his embrace. Despite our exhaustion, neither of us felt the urge to sleep again. We’d rested for almost a full day now, and were starting to get restless. I heaved a long sigh and stretched languidly, only to get distracted when I felt curious fingers creeping across my belly.

  I opened one eye, and I found him grinning at me. The look on his face made me laugh. He looked like the cat that had finally gotten the cream. The fact that he’d been willing to be so patient with me made it feel so much better in the long run.

  “Insatiable, huh?” I teased him right back, trailing a few exploratory fingers in interesting places of my own. My touch drew a deep-throated growl from him, but I knew him well enough to know he was only playing.

  Unfortunately, our play was interrupted by a knock on the door. We had just enough time to separate and feign innocence before the door swung open, and Skylar entered with a couple of plates of something that smelt so good it made my mouth water.

  “Breakfast, you two.” She gave us a knowing look, and set the plates down on the small table beside Michael’s bed. As she was turning to leave, she added, “The doctor will be up to check on you both shortly.”

  We exchanged looks at her warning. I cringed, since I knew that we were about to get a lecture for messing up our dressings so badly. As far as I was concerned, it was more than worth it, and if I was any judge of expressions then Michael felt exactly the same way. Still, the doctor had a way of making us feel like naughty children over the smallest misdeed.

  Breakfast ended up being more interesting than usual. We had to fight to keep our hands off each other and our food going in the right place, but we got there in the end. I wasn’t terribly hungry, but as always Michael cajoled me into eating, and my resistance to his demands was at an all-time low. Besides, I knew he was right. My body needed food to heal, and it had a lot of mending to do.

  By the time the doctor arrived to check on us, we’d finished eating. We were just relaxing side by side, chatting casually like nothing had happened. He took one look at us and seemed to know better, but for once he said nothing. Even though we were both braced for a scolding, he didn’t say a word – he just changed our bandages, inspected our injuries, then left us in peace.

  Michael and I exchanged a confused look, but no answers were forthcoming. I was glad to go without my daily scolding, and content to leave well enough alone. Michael was more reluctant to let it go, until I distracted him to the point that he didn’t care anymore.

  ***

  Hours later, we languished abed trying very hard to rest, but I was too restless to relax.

  “I want to get up,” I complained, absently rubbing at one of my bandages.

  “You’re supposed to be resting,” Michael scolded, and gently grabbed my hand. “Stop scratching. If you scratch it, it’ll never heal.”

  “But it itches,” I whined like a spoilt two-year-old, wriggling to try and escape his grasp. Of course, he wasn’t having any of that and held me tightly until I finally gave up and relented with a heavy sigh. “Okay, okay, I won’t scratch – but I still want to get up.”

  “Bored of me already?” he said, feigning injury with such conviction that my heart leapt up into my throat.

  “No! It’s just that I… I…” Then I saw the smile twitching at the corners of his lips, and realised he wasn’t serious at all. “You’re just pulling my leg, aren’t you? Damn it! You had me going!” I snatched up one of our pillows and flung it at him.

  He laughed merrily at my antics, then picked up the pillow and deposited it back where it belonged. “Of course I am. I’m bored, too. We’ve wasted an entire day.”

  “So, let’s get up then. I’m sure there’s something productive we can do that won’t put too much strain on our injuries.” I leapt out of bed before he could stop me, despite my aching muscles. I needed to move, to stretch and to get my biological engine going before it froze up completely, and there were only so many times I could use Michael for that before he ran out of steam.

  “Like what?” he asked curiously, easing himself out of bed with much greater care than me. While he was stretching, I went over to my gear to find clothing. Luckily for me, the others had left my belongings in the room when they escorted me up here, so I didn’t have to go far to find what I needed.

  “I have no idea.” I shrugged. I pulled on my clothing, fighting the urge to curse at the pain. It was a necessary evil, though; I couldn’t exactly go prancing around naked. Michael probably wouldn’t have minded, but everyone else would. “I suppose we could work on the roof?”

  “Nah.” Michael shook his head, his back to me while he dressed as well. “Climbing ladders isn’t a good idea in our condition. We’ll tear our stitches.”

  “Ugh, you sound like the doctor,” I complained, plopping back down on the edge of the bed to put my socks and shoes on. In the middle of the task, I paused to stare at the horrible pink scar in the middle of my right foot.

  That scar was the legacy of the injury that had brought me to this group of survivors. Although it was a memory of terrible pain, it had brought me something wonderful in the end: a family, and a lover. Two things I so desperately needed in my life. Now, I couldn’t imagine my life without them.

  Michael caught me staring at the scar. He knelt down on the floor in front of me, captured my foot in his big, gentle hands, and planted a kiss on the top of it.

  “Someone has to make sure you take care of yourself, Little Miss Reckless,” he said, surrendering my foot back into my own care. In spite of everything we’d been through together, that little gesture made me blush.

  “Says Mister Hero,” I retorted, poking a finger in the direction of his wounded shoulder. “The man who took a bullet for me.”

  “Well, I didn’t really take it for you,” he said, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I mean, I would have in a heartbeat, but I didn’t see the shooter before he got me.”

  I imm
ediately regretted my choice of words when I saw that embarrassment on his face. I reached out to stroke his cheek, instinctively seeking to reassure him. “I know, sweetie. I didn’t mean it like that. It was just a little joke.”

  “I know.” He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. With a sigh, he lay his head down on my thigh, letting me run my hands through his short hair and over the contours of his face.

  For some reason, the moment felt even more intimate than the time we’d spent in bed together. I admired him thoughtfully, letting the contact warm and relax me. A surge of emotion brought tears to my eyes unexpectedly, and I found myself wondering at the feelings that this man could make me experience. It was new and intense. I’d never felt anything like it for anyone else. I wondered if it was the decade alone in the wilderness that made my feelings so extreme, or if it was possible that he was ‘The One’. I had so little experience to compare it to. From what my mother used to tell me, it could happen unexpectedly. Sometimes, you just knew that it was meant to be.

  Only time will tell, I told myself, turning my attention back to the task at hand.

  “Well, there is a place,” I said, running my fingers over his nailbrush hair. “In the township. I found a door, but it was too solid to break through on my own. Perhaps between the two of us, we can figure out a way to open it.”

  “A mystery door?” He lifted his head out of my lap and looked up at me, curiosity twinkling in his dark eyes. “Where?”

  “In the old general store, at the back. The rioters tried to get in, but couldn’t get past the locks.” He sat back on his haunches to give me room to finish putting on my shoes and socks, then I rose to my feet. Michael joined me a moment later. Together we made our way out onto the landing and down the stairs to where we stored our equipment. “I was going to go back and try to pick the lock, but I never got around to it.”

  “You can pick locks?” His brows shot up, and he peered at me askance.

  “Sometimes.” I shrugged noncommittally. “I’m okay at opening the older-style locks, but this one was pretty modern. I’m not terribly confident about my chances.”

  “Hmm.” He rubbed his scruffy chin absently, as we crossed the courtyard and entered the storage room. “Why don’t we just take off the door?”

  “Take off the door? What do you mean?” I shot a curious look at him.

  “If the door is on the right way, then we might be able to force the bolts out of the hinges, and lift the whole thing off,” he explained. We paused so he could show me what he meant on the storage room door.

  I made a thoughtful sound and nodded slowly. “That might work. I don’t remember which way the hinge was on. Let’s bring a crowbar anyway – we’ll probably need it, one way or another.”

  Okay,” he agreed. With a plan in mind, the two of us dove into the boxes of goods we kept stored in case of emergencies, until we found a tool kit and a large crowbar. Armed with those, I led the way out of our motel and held the door open for Michael. Of course, he insisted on being the one to carry the heavy stuff despite the wound in his chest, so I just let him. It wasn’t worth the fight, and my muscles were sore enough that I wasn’t sure I was up to it any more than he was.

  We traipsed down the road towards the town centre, stepping carefully over the debris deposited by the storm a few days before. Every now and then I spotted something potentially hazardous, like broken glass or a downed sign post, and marked it to be cleaned up. A few minutes later, we arrived at the little shopping centre that dominated the centre of town, though Ohaupo was so small that “town” was kind of an overstatement. Since we’d destroyed the function centre complex, there were only a half-dozen shops left, including my tiny video store.

  Michael peered around us with interest as we walked, as though seeing everything for the first time. We rarely came this way without a purpose, so he’d only seen it a handful of times in daylight. I, on the other hand, had turned the place upside down over the weeks since my arrival, and knew it as well as any inhabitant.

  “Hold your breath,” I warned as we approached the creaking doorway of the old general store – and with good reason. The stink of decomposition didn’t get any better for being aired out. And even though I’d been in there before, I was never one to ignore personal safety. I had my taser in hand as I stepped through the doorway into the reeking darkness beyond, and kept it armed until I had cleared the building.

  Nothing stirred, not even the baby mice that I’d seen last time I was there. That was interesting. Perhaps Tigger had eaten them. I heard gagging behind me, and turned to watch poor Michael with amusement.

  “And I thought I had a weak stomach,” I teased. He shot me a dark look in return.

  “It just… takes a second to get used to it, is all…” He gulped down a lungful of the stinking air, then straightened himself up and put on his best manly airs. I hid a smile and led him deeper into the building.

  We passed row after row of dirty shelves covered in rotten produce and shattered glass, picking our way towards the back counter. There, the mysterious door stood waiting for us, as implacable as a gargoyle guarding its treasures. At least, I hoped it was guarding treasures. Otherwise, all the effort we were going to have to put in would be for nothing.

  “Huh. That’s a tough door for the back room of a little corner store,” Michael pondered out loud, rapping his knuckles against the old metal.

  “Yeah, that’s what got me curious. I mean, it seems like a lot of security for relatively nothing,” I agreed, edging around the door to get a good look at it. “At least the hinges are on this side. I think we should be able to get these off.”

  “I assume that you already checked if there was a back door, or a window?” He glanced at me, then looked back at the door.

  “Of course.” I nodded and gave him a smile. “What kind of scavenger do you take me for?”

  “Well, you never know. Let’s get to it then, eh?” He grinned back at me, handed me the crowbar, and set the tool kit down on the countertop nearby. “Feel like making a bet on what’s in there?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Probably money or something equally useless, knowing my luck.” I pulled a sour face, but Michael laughed.

  “Hey, hey, hey – positivity!” he scolded me lightly, while fishing around in search of a screwdriver big enough to survive the abuse we were about to unleash on it.

  “I know, I know.” I sighed and gestured towards the hinges. “Have we got any lubricants in there? These are rusted solid; it’s going to be a bitch to get them loose.”

  “Language!” Michael teased me playfully.

  “Sorry, Mum,” I answered dryly.

  He gave me a peculiar look, but I was too amused to explain. Did it make me weird to have spent so much time alone that I had inside jokes with myself? Yeah, probably. Oh well.

  Michael shook his head and shot me a lopsided smile, then tossed a can of industrial lubricant to me with a gentle, underhand throw. I caught it easily and popped the top, then covered my face with the neck of my tank top to protect me from the fumes as I lathered the hinges with grease. When I was done, I stepped aside and Michael attacked the hinges with his screw driver, while I smeared lubricant over the locking mechanism as well.

  It took all of Michael’s strength and a great deal of cursing from both of us before the bolt began to slide up out of the hinge with a blood-curdling, rusty screech. I ducked beneath his muscular arm and sprayed the bolt with more grease. It came up easier after that. After a few minutes of work, the first bolt came loose and we moved on to the next one.

  The top bolt was even more difficult than the first one had been, since it required him to clamber up on an old crate to get the angle he needed, but eventually we got it out as well. By the time we got to the bottom hinge, we had our technique down; the last bolt came out easily compared to the first two.

  Once we were done, we cast aside the loose bolts and stepped back to admire our handiwork. Now, the door was only held up
by the tension of the lock itself, and a decade’s worth of rust.

  “Honestly, who on earth thought metal doors were a good idea? Really, that’s just selfish, if you ask me,” I commented. My usual technique for solving any problem involved attacking it with a liberal dose of sarcasm, and this situation was no different. I grabbed the crowbar, then jammed it into the gap between the hinges and the wall. Michael added his strength to mine and we pulled as hard as we could, but all we got was a metallic whine that set my teeth on edge.

  “No good,” Michael muttered. We released the tension and stood back again.

  “The lock’s in too tight, I think.” I bent down for a second to peer at it closely, then straightened up and went over to the toolkit. “Give me a second, I have an idea. Ah, here we go.” I pulled out the tools I had been looking for, and showed them to him: a hammer and chisel.

  “How will those help?” Michael peered at the tools dubiously. “It’s metal.”

  “The door is metal, and the hasp is metal,” I answered, then reached over and tapped the door frame. “But this is just wood. I suspect if I dig deep enough, we should be able to rip the whole locking mechanism out of the wall.”

  “Ahh…” he breathed in understanding and nodded his approval. I set about destroying the structural integrity of that frame with a vengeance. Michael slipped up behind me to brace the door closed while I worked, just in case it happened to come loose. With careful, practiced strokes, I reduced the old wood to splinters, taking care not to risk injuring either myself or my lover in the process.

  In due time, I uncovered the base of the hasp buried deep within the wooden frame. My chisel struck it with a resounding clang, which let me know that I’d dug deep enough to reach my goal. I widened the hole carefully until we could see the entire mechanism, then I set the hammer and chisel aside.

  “That should be enough,” I announced, and looked back at him. “Now we just need to break the screws on the other side. It’s brute force time.”