by Angel Lawson
“All quiet,” he says. “Areas like this—the ones that cleared out early either because people died or they evacuated--are fairly safe. We just don’t pass through them much because they’re so far off the main roads.”
“Maybe this is what they meant by a quiet suburban life. We just needed the apocalypse to make it happen.”
“Seems like that was Hamilton’s plan.”
He’s moved closer and my butt hits the top of my dresser, toppling a few knickknacks on the surface. I hook my finger in his waistband. “You don’t think you need to stay on watch?”
His hand moves to my hip. “I’d really rather be up here with you.”
Wyatt isn’t one to be reckless—at least with our safety—so when he leans in and kisses me with intensity, I know we’ve found a tiny slice of solitude.
We fall into one another and he lifts me off my feet, carrying me over to the twin bed. I have a fleeting moment of panic. This bed? My childhood bed? But it feels right, more than right, when he lowers me gently and kisses me all over my face and neck.
I love the feel of his weight on top of me, something real and tangible. I love his humanity and the way he loses himself in stolen moments like this one. His back is hard muscle, despite the hard days on the road. He worships me like a prized possession, which in this world, in the end? It feels good to be loved and to love.
My heart hammers in my chest and warmth spreads down my arms and legs. The adrenaline kicks in and suddenly his hands and mouth take on an entirely new sensation. His fingers burn a trail of fire down my skin.
I laugh and he stops, a frown creasing the edges of his mouth.
“What?”
“Just discovered another benefit of the EVI-3.”
The frown evaporates, transforming into a wicked grin. He flips me over and I squeal with newfound delight.
*
Later, wrapped under my aunt’s quilt, he tightens his arms around me. “I’ve been thinking.”
“About what?” With Wyatt it could be anything.
“After this fight we need to get out of this. Settle down.” His fingers ghost over the wedding ring he gave me days ago. I never took it off. “Get our happily ever after.”
I glance over my shoulder, looking for the hint of a smirk or a raised eyebrow. I find nothing but earnestness. “You think we can get a happily ever after?”
He kisses my forehead. “I said, our happily ever after. The kind that suits us. Suits this world.”
I rest my head back on the pillow and feel him burrow his face in my neck. It’s a lovely thought. A fantastic one, but I’ve gotten through the last two years one day at a time. Thinking about the future is asking for trouble. But then again…
“Talk to me about it again—after this thing with Hamilton is settled.”
“Deal.”
I drift into sleep, waking only when I feel Wyatt leave the bed. He quietly dresses and grabs his boots. I don’t get up until he’s gone, needing just one more quiet moment alone before we go.
I dig through my drawers, finding a couple of T-shirts I left behind. I find two pairs of jeans. One pair was too small before but now it’s a little big. I slip those on, doubling the shirts and pulling on three pairs of socks. It’s cold outside and I never regret having enough layers.
I take one last look and step in the hallway. A noise drifts up the stairs. I move to the landing. I hear a voice and the door shut. Grabbing my hatchet I rush quietly down the stairs. Wyatt’s pack is on the table. One of his guns is sticking out of the pocket.
He never leaves without his pack.
He definitely never leaves without his guns.
I creep to the door and curse when I remember we covered the window with plywood. Carefully I twist the knob, hearing the familiar creak of the hinge. I peer through the doorway, hatchet gripped tightly in my hand.
Wyatt stands on the porch. Hands shoved in his pockets, head tipped back in laughter. The sound of his voice shatters the quiet and I fling open the door, startling him and the other man.
I stare at the man—my friend—the one built like a tank, wrapped in a bear, topped off with the Incredible Hulk. He smiles at me and any anger I have from being frightened disappears.
“Hey girl,” he says and I almost trip pushing past Wyatt to give him a hug.
“You’ve been following us?” I ask Davis, his arms wrap around me like a vice.
“Since you left Catlettsburg.”
I look at Wyatt. “And you knew?”
He shrugs.
Of course. He told me he still had sources. I sigh and wave them both inside. As much as I want to be mad and possibly smack them both in the head, I can’t, because things just got a lot more interesting.
Chapter Twenty
“I was already plotting my escape when Hamilton told me to go chase after the Hybrids. I would have left with Parker but she didn’t give me the chance.” Davis shifts in his saddle and Wyatt urges our horse to keep up. We’re on the edge of Raleigh, taking a different and hopefully faster route out of the city. “Walker and Jackson—they were sold the second we walked into New Hope. I could see the glint in Walker’s eyes. She’d found her new home. It had all the structure, discipline and the touch of authoritarian madness that she seems to crave.”
“And Jackson? Did he do it just because of her?” I ask.
“Maybe a little, but you have to remember Jackson was one of your sister’s personal Fighters at PharmaCorp. It’s likely he thrives in the same conditions. Some soldiers thrive in situations like that.” He glances at Wyatt. “Others, not so much.”
“So you ran,” I say. “Then what? You found us in Catlettsburg?”
“I figured it was a good place to start. The Hybrids and Mutts scattered like the wind. Hamilton had no idea what he was doing or what he was up against but he’s too stubborn and egotistical to admit it.”
I nod. “That sounds like our assessment.”
“When I got to Catlettsburg I found Paul and Cole.” His jaw tightens. “I hadn’t seen that bastard in months. Not since we left Georgia and when I heard what he did to you…”
“What Chloe did to me.” I correct him. “Cole was nothing more than a pawn in this game.”
“He made his choices Alex.”
“To fight his sister.” I’m not hashing this out with Davis. I know how I feel. Wyatt does too which is why he’s silent in front of me. “Did you hurt him?”
“I wanted to. But we need as many able-bodied men as possible and Paul assured me he would fight.” He gives me a wary glance. “He’s also still scary as hell.”
Wyatt and I both laugh because Cole is beyond dangerous, but I do think he’s trying.
“Speaking of,” Wyatt asks. “Where are we meeting him?”
“At the off ramp to Burlington. Hopefully he won’t be alone.”
Paul, Cole, and Davis holed up in Catlettsburg while we were being processed in New Hope. They knew they had a split second before the dust settled and Hamilton would send us out to catch them. They worked out a plan; Davis would track us, Cole would go on the search for Mutts, and Paul would head west.
“West? Alone?” I asked. We were sitting at the table in my kitchen. The idea of Paul headed through the Hybrid-infested Death Fields alone doesn’t sit well with me.
“He’s going to check on Birmingham. See what’s happening there. Hamilton mentioned both cities down south, but Winston-Salem seemed a priority.”
“Wait. Were you there when we were ambushed by the Hybrids in the mountains?”
“I was tailing Paul and Cole. Oh and that girl they picked up.”
“So you watched that whole fight and didn’t think of helping?” I asked, thinking about how another set of hands would’ve been useful.
“You guys had it under control.”
I glared at Wyatt. “And when did you find out?”
“Shortly after that. I found him creeping around the house one night while I was on watch. I nearly shot him
in the face.” The two men smiled at one another like that was hilarious.
Davis waited outside the gates of Winston-Salem until we were on the move again. He tracked us like a shadow and when I asked why he didn’t reveal himself sooner he shrugged and said he knew we needed some time alone.
We no longer work on specific dates—not out here. The cities keep time and have current calendars but on the road things begin to blur. Davis is convinced though that we’re right on target for meeting back with Cole.
“Do you think he found them?” Wyatt asks as the horses walk down the road. It’s been a peaceful day—unseasonably warm. A pair of hawks soar overhead.
“I’m sure he found some. If they’re willing to cooperate—that’s the bigger question.” Davis tilts his head down the road and at the top of the exit ramp, two figures stand watch. “Think that’s the welcome wagon?”
Our horse twitches, spooked by a sound from behind. I look back and spot a handful of men and women, all dressed for battle, trailing us. Their uniforms are ragged, but familiar.
“Wyatt,” I say, tugging on his back. He turns and grimaces.
Davis gets our attention. Down the exit ramp, two people have turned into a dozen more. “Shit,” he mutters.
“Something tells me those aren’t the good guys,” Wyatt says with regret.
“Maybe it’s just the Mutts,” I say, hopefully, but my senses tell me otherwise and I pull the gun from my holster, checking it for bullets.
“Head left?” Davis says. Wyatt nods and he twists the reins in his hands to force the horse into the forest lining the highway. Cooperating for once, probably in fear for his life, the horse sprints ahead and the hooves of both animals turn into thunder. The people on the road, both ahead and behind, shout and set off after us. I wrap my arm tight around Wyatt’s waist, trying not to fall off.
We’re close and a flock of birds bursts from the treetops at the very moment figures emerge from the forest. A row of them, wobbly on their feet, brains burning with infection.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Wyatt sounds like a man inconvenienced.
“Push through,” Davis shouts, because that’s what this has come to. Who is the least dangerous? Right now it’s the Eaters.
We charge forward. Wyatt uses all his strength to hold on and direct the horses, who lurch and jump with fear. Davis removes the blade slung across his back, pulling it out to slice the throat of the Eaters blocking our escape. I lean over the edge of the horse do the same with my hatchet, chopping at hands and necks, listening to the painful wail of the infected.
“I’m so sick of this,” I shout, kicking a woman with long, graying hair in the head. Her frail neck snaps. “If it’s not one, it’s the other. Or, you know, on an extra special day, it’s both.”
We take them down easily, their feet getting caught in the muddy earth. As time passes the infected begin to decay and although still deadly, with the vaccine and their slowing movements, they’re little more than a nuisance. The biggest danger is because they hold us up more than anything else and when we have a bunch of Hybrids on our tail—it makes them deadly.
“We need to push through,” Davis says once we’ve disposed of the final Eater, his skull cracked and then trampled by a hoof. Both horses move deeper into the woods but sound of the approaching soldier’s shifts, moving farther away from us. Sudden gunfire explodes and I clench Wyatt by the waist, turning to get a better look.
A battle rages, but not toward us.
“Hey,” I say, getting him to slow. I feel something in the air. Sense it. “Something’s going on.”
“Not anything we need to be a part of,” he declares.
“No, wait. Get to that clearing.” I point to a break in the trees. The sunlight shines down and I can see the twist of the highway behind it.
Davis and Wyatt exchange glances, but I grab the reins out of Wyatt’s hands and dig my heels into the horse’s side. He darts forward quickly, on edge from the Eaters and gunfire. We emerge in the space in the trees and down below we have a better view of the fight. Black-masked Fighters challenge the soldiers tracking us.
“It’s the Mutts,” I declare, feeling the hum of camaraderie. Even though I feel the hold of the EVI-3 slipping away, I have a connection. “They’re here.”
A single figure emerges as the leader, charging toward the heart of the battle. I recognize his stature; wide set of his shoulders and the wisps of golden hair. Before we can act, a massacre unfolds. He moves like a whirlwind, breaking necks and shinbones. He spins on a dime, landing every punch. He dodges bullets and blades, anticipating his opponents’ every move.
Cole is a deadly force and it’s easy to see the rage and pain fuel his movements. There’s not an ounce of insecurity or the slightest wavering. I’ve never seen someone fight like this, other than Wyatt, but this is different.
Wyatt fights with a purpose.
Cole fights because he doesn’t know what else to do.
“Jesus Christ,” Davis says. “When did he learn to do all that?”
“When Chloe imprisoned us,” I hear myself answer, unable to tear my eyes away. “We fought daily but I know they beat him after our training was over too. He had to learn to defend himself.”
A breeze gusts over the road ahead of us and Cole stands among the dead, the other Mutts several feet away, cleaning the blood from their hands. I slide off the horse, my feet sinking into the soft ground, ignoring the sound of Wyatt calling my name.
The Mutts watch me carefully as I approach, stepping gingerly over the bodies. Cole, with blood smeared across his cheek, glances my way, his dark eyes hard and distant.
“Hey,” I call when I’m close enough. “Are you okay?”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. The blade of a red-stained knife hangs from his fingertips. I know Wyatt has followed me. I know Davis has him in his sights. One inch and they’ll take him out—because how do you come back from what we just saw?
“Cole?” I ask.
“No,” he says, voice tired and defeated. He looks at his hands. At the blade. Down at his blood-covered boots. “I don’t think I am.”
Chapter Twenty-One
We wait a day for Paul to return.
Cole disappeared into the woods after the slaughter and came back scrubbed clean and wearing a new outfit. His boots were the same, but the toes had been washed and there was only a faint tint of red on the leather.
The crazy look in his eyes was quelled. At least for the moment.
I sit on a rotted tree stump by a small, trickling stream. The Mutts had been congregating for a week or so and had created a small camp. One man, who was missing an ear, told us that they felt safer in the wilderness, away from the towns. I watch him tear small pieces of charred squirrel meat with his fingers before gnawing on the bones. I’m not sure if this type of isolation is a good signal. Safety? Or are they just losing their humanity—another step toward being feral?
“How many did you round up?” Wyatt asks once Cole rejoined us at camp. I offer him a can of tuna only just past the expiration date. Wyatt’s asking about the Mutts that Cole found who are willing to fight Hamilton.
“Forty-eight. But I think at least three didn’t survive that attack.” He removes a multi-tool from his belt and cuts off the lid. Then he opens a section designed like a fork and digs in.
At least he still uses utensils.
I fall asleep quickly—feeling a small sense of security with so many fighters around. A nudge wakes me in the morning and it’s Cole, kneeling over me in the gray light. “He’s back,” he whispers.
I rub the sleep from my eyes and glance over at Wyatt’s bedroll. It’s empty and I remember he’s on morning watch. “Who?”
“Paul. And he brought reinforcements.”
I scramble from my sleeping bag, wincing at the pain in my back from the hard ground. That’s another reason for staying in town. Beds.
“I should get—”
�
�He’s talking to him now.” He jerks his head. “Come on.”
The other Mutts are in various states of sleep and waking up. We step around the majority and follow a small, newly worn path out of the camp and down the small creek.
“How far away are they?” I ask once we get to a second rise.
“They came in a little bit south. Come on, I’ll show you.”
I have a dozen questions to ask but he takes the hill in a sprint and I fall behind, unable to keep up with his long legs. Halfway up I get an uneasy feeling. Mostly because he’s acting pretty normal. Is that his plan? Lull me into complacency and then kill me?
I’m about to turn and run for it but run where? Back to a Mutt-filled camp? I swallow my fears and climb over a rock that gets me to the top of the hill. Cole waits at the top. A strange smile on his face. I frown. Or maybe it’s just strange to see a smile on his face.
I follow his eyes and look down. A large parking lot sits below us and a building, big and industrial-looking, is almost a mile away. Vehicles fill the lot, but they’re not in organized positions—not like the ones closest to the building. No, these are military green, stamped with US identifiers. National Guard. Army. Marines. Two have flags hanging lank from poles but I can tell they are red, white, and blue.
“He found them?”
“Yes, and because they were so close to the Georgia state line they were well aware of the Hybrids. A couple of Jane’s original Fighters escaped West during the Coup.”
Cole goes first, quickly descending the hill. I come in faster than I’d like. A dozen soldiers watch me tumble in. I trip over a root near the bottom and land with a thud. Wyatt emerges and I give him a threatening stink eye if he even dares help me off the ground.
These people have no idea who I am—but I’m not some girl that needs help off the ground.
Wyatt backs off and waits as I stand, brushing my scraped hands on my pants.
“Guess that injection is finally wearing off.”
