Hell Bent (Redneck Apocalypse Book 2)

by eden Hudson

  I pushed that part of my mind away. I wanted to stay there with Colt, to have his arm around me even though I knew it wasn’t, to feel the way I felt when he looked at me to see if I thought his joke was funny.

  Just one more minute. I just needed to stay there for one more minute. Then I would get back up and start picking my way across the minefield again.

  Colt

  I head down the pharmacy aisle, looking for the sutures and some rubbing alcohol. I’m not hurt, but the med kit is low on one and out of the other and you never know when you’re going to get shot or stabbed. Also, Tiff’s been out of town the last few days and I can’t stand to be in that fucking cabin staring at the walls by myself for another fucking second. So refilling the med kit it is.

  Or trying to refill the med kit. I can’t find anything I’m looking for. Which is ridiculous since the Halo pharmacy only has four aisles. I’m pretty sure Beth Ann rearranges this place every couple of weeks so that people have to ask her where things are.

  It’s easier to blame that nosy rip Beth Ann than to admit that I’m a little drunk and having some trouble focusing. If I cop to the drinking, then I have to remember why I’m drunk at two in the afternoon in town instead of back at the cabin, training.

  There—rubbing alcohol. I grab a bottle. It takes me a couple more trips down the aisles before I find the sutures. For some reason they’re right next to the condoms.

  Then I realize why. One of the brands the pharmacy carries is BawdyHeat. Vamp condoms.

  I wonder if Tiffani uses these when she’s with vamp groupies. Have things ever gotten out of control enough that the groupie she was with needed stitches?

  Thinking about Tiff’s fangs ripping into flesh makes me rock-hard. I know it’s some fucked up shit, but her biting me has been my go-to fantasy for the last four years. The idea of her doing it to someone else makes my throat hurt and my stomach clench.

  I know she can’t help it. Primal things like sex and blood feed the crow magic that makes her a vamp. Tiff does what she needs to do to survive. Anyway, what did I think? That she would want to have sex with me? Who the fuck would want me?

  Tiffani hasn’t even fed on me since that first time. We’re just friends…I think. I think she thinks of me as a friend. But maybe I’m just another annoyance she can’t get rid of. Too fucking stupid to take the hint and leave her alone.

  If she wanted things to go further, she would’ve made a move by now. I mean, shit, her super-smell is so powerful she can probably smell exactly what I imagined us doing the last time I beat off. Am I just supposed to believe that in four years she hasn’t once noticed how badly I want her? Even without her super-smeller, she can probably hear my heart race every time I see her. She knows. There’s no way she doesn’t.

  Maybe it’s because I’m drunk. Maybe it’s because I’m delusional. Maybe it’s because I miss Tiffani and I wish like hell she was missing me, too.

  Whatever the reason, I pick up a box of vamp condoms and take them up to the counter with everything else.

  Beth Ann smirks down at my items. “Will this be all for you?”

  It hadn’t occurred to me before this very second that rubbing alcohol, sutures, and vamp condoms all together make it look like I’m about to go party with somebody cold. My face turns Whitney-red, but I don’t squirm.

  “That’s it,” I say.

  Beth Ann’s eyes gleam as she rings everything up. I wait for her to say something about how coffin fever must run in the family, but Beth Ann just takes my cash and gives me my change.

  “Would you like a bag or do you need these handy?” she asks, batting her eyelashes at me.

  I give her a flat stare. “A bag is fine.”

  Once I’m in the Explorer, I throw the bag into the passenger seat and turn the key.

  I can hear Ryder’s high-pitched giggle in my head. After all his ragging on me about girls, about how it wasn’t normal not to even be interested in sex, and after all my preaching at him and Tough about not getting caught up by the shit of this world, Ryder would have loved to see this go down.

  “Happy birthday, asshole,” I say, putting the Explorer in gear and backing out.

  Tiffani

  Gritty dirt stuck to my tongue. Blood pooled around me, soaking into the dry ground. I hurt everywhere, a deep throbbing ache.

  Mines. Of all the damn things, mines. I couldn’t have picked someone with a little less familiarity with explosives?

  What the fuck is wrong with you? Ryder said. His flickering image stood looking down at me, shaking his head. You think all this shit’s for funsies? I told you, he doesn’t want you here. Get. The fuck. Out.

  My fingers curled, scratching little lines in the dirt. My body shook. Took me a minute to realize that the shaking was me crying.

  It hurt. Worse than the pain from the explosion. Worse than the broken glass sea. Worse than the razor wire. I was the last person Colt wanted to remember? Well, he was the only damn person I wanted to remember. I wanted to feel how I felt when we were together, when I wasn’t thinking about the fact that I was old enough to be his great-grandmother, when I wasn’t wishing he would fall in love with someone good enough for him, when I wasn’t regretting the last vamp groupie I’d had sex with while imagining it was his body, his skin, his kiss.

  Damn it, Colt. My voice sounded as if it had been ripped apart by the explosion. I pressed my face to the ground. For years, I’d told myself that all I wanted was to be left alone. I had lied to myself for so long that I started to believe it. But Colt had come along and slipped right past my walls, dug himself into my chest so deep that I was never getting him back out. I’m not leaving.

  I pushed myself up onto my hands and one remaining knee and crawled.

  Colt

  Somehow I make it back to the arsenal and stow the rifle. My hands are shaking and slick with sweat. I wipe my palms on my jeans. I feel sick, like the black noise has solidified in my stomach and it’s pulling me down.

  I killed a guy. Six hundred yards, no suppressor, no cover, no chance for him to defend himself or for Mikal to defend him. I straight-up murdered him. A human.

  Part of me wants to cry like a baby, go curl up by Sissy and Ryder’s graves and never get up again. The rest of me knows I can’t.

  “Stick to the fucking plan,” I say.

  Even though it hasn’t dropped below ninety since the beginning of June and I feel like I’m on fire, a shiver rolls down my back.

  I lock the rifle case, set it up in its spot, and head outside. For a second, I just stand there staring at the cabin. There’s a bottle of SoCo on the dresser in the bedroom.

  “Fuck.” I scrub my hands across my face. I can’t drink. That’s why I put the bottle in the bedroom—so I’d be less likely to go after it. Alcohol holds back the black noise, but it also dulls the lines. I have to be able to see the lines to get the sword. If Mikal comes after me today— And why wouldn’t she? She has to know it was me. Who else would murder a guy just so—

  My stomach pitches, but there’s nothing in it. I left what little I was able to eat back by that fence at the edge of Dark Mansion property after I took the shot.

  I start walking. I don’t even think about taking the Explorer until I’m out of the trees and across the Hickses’ pasture. Just as well. They’ll be looking for my vehicle, anyway.

  By the time I make it to the bakery, the bank clock is flashing a quarter to four. The door is locked and the place is dark. Tiff’s out hunting.

  I know the code. I could go in. It’s safe in there. I can shut everything out when I’m in there, just be with her, surrounded by everything that makes her Tiffani.

  But I don’t touch the keypad. I put my back to the wall, shove my hands down into my pockets. The heat from the bricks soaks into my skin and makes my shirt stick to my back, but I can’t stop shivering.

  I shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t be dragging this to Tiffani’s door. It’s not her fight. But I miss her. Fuck, I m
iss her. I haven’t touched the bottle in a week, haven’t been by to see her in at least that long. I can’t go through with this if I can’t see her one more time.

  Just let me tell her goodbye. That’s all I want. Please, God, just let me tell her goodbye.

  Then there she is, coming across the square. It’s like I prayed her into existence. And even though everything is awful, even though I’m a murderer, and this is probably one of my last few hours as a free man, I grin. Five years Tiff and I have been hanging out, and I still can’t help but smile. Seeing her is like being able to breathe again.

  “I was starting to think you were done coming by,” she says. “You get stuck in a missile silo?”

  The smile freezes in place. I have to look down at the sidewalk.

  “Yeah,” I say, but I can’t make it sound like I’m joking, too.

  Tiff stares at me for a second, then turns and punches in the code. The metallic chink of the deadbolt opening sounds exactly like the action on a Tac-Ops Tango 51 sniper rifle.

  She holds the door for me. I flip the lights on and head straight for our booth.

  “I’m going to go get a shower,” Tiff says. “Be right back down.”

  I nod and slide into the seat. Sitting is such a relief. It feels like I’ve been on my feet for days.

  My eyes slip shut. Tiff will be back in a second. She’ll lean against me for warmth, and I’ll feel her beside me. Everything will be all right for a little while.

  Tiffani

  It took six unlucky guesses before I got good enough at spotting the land mines to drag what was left of my body through the rest. By the end, there really wasn’t much left to drag. An arm, part of my chest, my head.

  When I came to the edge of the minefield, my body regenerated again. I stood, then took a second to light up again. Looked around while I waited for the cigarette to sooth the shake from my hands.

  Ryder was gone, but Mikal and the creature were still up ahead. Crossing the minefield had closed the distance between them and me. Now I could see a leash running from the creature’s neck to her hand. It wasn’t begging for mercy at her feet like I’d thought. It was clinging to her legs, licking her red spike-heeled boots.

  I took a step closer. Colt?

  The creature was him, a barely recognizable version. It was as if he’d been burned alive. His skin and bones formed grotesque, inhuman shapes. All over his body, open sores oozed infected pus. He was naked, his hair was matted and dirty, and his penis was unrealistically enlarged, disfigured, and throbbing.

  Mikal saw me. You came to fight me for this piece of shit?

  His name is Colt, I said.

  The dog’s name is whatever I say its name is, she said, jerking on the leash. It belongs to me.

  I took a drag off my cigarette and held the cherry up like the Smoking Man to watch it burn. A ghost of Shannon flitted through the smoke. Colt whimpered as if he’d been kicked and tried to hide himself.

  You don’t want this filthy slut, Mikal said. No one does. Not the way I trained him.

  He’s not your damn dog, I said.

  Mikal smiled. Yes, he is. Watch. Beg, Colt.

  The creature scraped his face across the toe of her boots.

  Please, Mikal, he croaked.

  Tell me what you want, she said.

  Please hurt me.

  Tell me why you want it, Mikal said. Tell her why.

  The creature shuddered.

  I need it, he said to the ground. I need to be punished.

  Good dog, Mikal said. Then she looked at me. You see? The dog needs pain and humiliation to be satisfied. You can’t give him what he needs.

  I’m done screwing around, Mikal. I dropped my cigarette and stopped concentrating on it. It disappeared before it hit the ground.

  Mikal laughed and dropped the leash. A spiderweb of glowing red lines appeared around her, dotted with mixing bowl-sized drops of blood. She reached into the blood-drop at her hip and pulled that flaming sword out.

  Colter Whitney’s burning angel versus Halo’s own ice-bitch? Mikal took a step toward me. I’ve been waiting for this.

  I shuffled through Colt’s knowledge banks for heavy artillery. The word thermobaric vibrated in the air.

  No! The creature that was Colt turned toward me.

  Mikal looked over her shoulder. Sit, Colt. Stay.

  He obeyed, but he twitched and squirmed. His hands reached out as if to grab, but then pulled back. He couldn’t disobey her.

  Good dog, Mikal said. Then she turned back to me, her tar-covered wings stretching out to their full span, trying to intimidate me.

  RPG-7. Information poured from Colt’s consciousness into mine along with that word again, thermobaric, and a litany of warnings. FAE. Non-nuclear nuke. Shoulder-mounted shitstorm. Mini-Hiroshima. Too close, too close, too close.

  That sounded like what I was looking for.

  Ready to go to Hell, Tiffani? Mikal asked.

  I pictured the launcher on my shoulder. When it appeared, the surprise of its sudden physical weight threw me off balance. Another thing I’d never felt in a mind before. I planted my feet and shifted my shoulders until the launcher rested against my neck.

  Mikal charged. Time slowed. I watched the long, sculpted muscles of her upper arm bunch as she swung her fiery sword at my throat. Individual tongues of flame reached for me. Their heat blistered my chin, neck, and chest.

  The instinct to get away from the fire was overwhelming. I stumbled backward, forgetting for a second that I couldn’t die here.

  Damn it, this isn’t real, I snapped. It can only hurt.

  Mikal laughed. But it can hurt a lot.

  She thrust the sword at my chest.

  I aimed the rocket launcher and fired.

  I didn’t get to see the warhead hit. The moment I pulled the trigger, Colt’s mind forced me to drop the launcher and run in the opposite direction. The words too close, too close, too close pulsed in my ears. Behind me, Mikal screamed, furious. Then all sound disappeared.

  Something heavy hit me in the back. I threw my arms out to stop the fall, but my head bounced off the ground.

  Everything was fire. My skin crackled and hissed. I opened my mouth to scream, but my lungs shriveled. I could feel the tiny air sacks popping like bubbles in my chest. My bodily fluids boiled until the pain inside matched the intensity of the inferno surrounding me. The pressure built in my head until I felt my skull crack and explode. Brain matter filled my throat and mouth. I gagged.

  I needed to scream, cry, writhe in agony, but I couldn’t move or make a sound.

  Far away, past the pain and animal terror, I realized I was babbling nonsense, begging for it to end. But I couldn’t be babbling and unable to speak at the same time.

  This wasn’t real. I had to remember. I’d mesmerized Colt. Somewhere along the way I’d lost control. He had taken over. This felt real, but it wasn’t.

  The realization dimmed the intensity of the pain. I could feel the thing that had knocked me down lying on top of me. A body. His arms were wrapped around me, shielding me from the blast.

  Colt. My throat tried to protest when I spoke, as if my vocal cords were actually brittle and burnt. I forced my consciousness to swell and wrestle control away from him. It’s over, Colt. Stop.

  The holocaust receded. The weight disappeared from my back. My body regenerated.

  I stood up and dusted my clothes off, more out of habit than necessity.

  Sizzling pieces of flesh and charred clumps of feather littered the scorched ground, a hand here, a chunk of wing there. A leg in a melted red boot.

  At my side, Colt was that diseased creature again. He looked up at me without standing. Through the facial deformation, it was hard to tell what his expression meant.

  You know me, Colt, I said. Remember me.

  His form shifted from the diseased thing to that black-haired little boy. Baby fat cheeks and dark blue-green eyes like his father’s. He just barely dared to look up at me throug
h his bangs, and I remembered thinking whenever Shannon brought the kids by the bakery what a shy kid Colt was. Ryder and Sissy had never met a stranger, but Shannon could barely get Colt to look at people when they talked to him.

  Mom’s friend, he said. Ms. Cranston.

  As I watched, Colt changed again, grew sinewy teenage muscle, all arms and legs and feral righteous fury. The boy screaming in the woods the night I had tried to talk Danny out of the war.

  NP bitch, Colt spat. Too scared to fight because you sold your soul? Hell’s coming one way or the other, vamp. Being a coward ain’t going to stop it.

  Then he grew into his body, filling out into the man waiting for me back in the real world. The rage and battle-stress cooled, but that unnerving feral spark had rooted itself in his eyes. That was never going away.

  Tiff. He smiled. It was short and self-conscious, but it was my smile. The one he smiled just for me.

  I reached out, but Colt shifted again, back into the reeking, diseased creature. He cringed down into the dirt to get away from my touch.

  Don’t, he growled.

  I grabbed the thing that was Colt and pulled him to his feet. Wrapped my arms around him. The super-smeller recoiled in disgust, begging me to get away. Stinking pus oozed onto my skin. His mutilated erection throbbed against my ribs. I kissed his mouth and gagged on the rotting sickness.

  Colt shoved me and I stumbled backward. Yellowish, infected tears dripped from his eyes and slid down his distorted cheeks.

  Can’t you take a fucking hint? he screamed.

  I crossed my arms.

  I’ll come back here every damn day, I said. I’ll cut myself to pieces on the razor wire and crawl across the broken glass and get blown up by mines and fight that bitch every damn day. And you know what, Colt? I’ll win. Every. Damn. Day. You take the fucking hint.

  Getting thrown out of Colt’s mind and back into my own was like exploding to the surface of the ocean after a deep, deep dive. I even gasped as if I were still alive and needed the oxygen. My body and soul and mind ached like open wounds.