Deadly Hearts: A Post Apocalyptic Romance Novel

by Priscila Santa Rosa

  I don’t understand why he’s telling this to me, of all people, but I still feel a pang of pity for him. “Ortiz and his soldiers were the ones who took him there, not you.”

  Diego sighs. “If I had fought more for custody, he would have been with me in Punta, instead of in Rio Alto, when everything happened.”

  “And why didn’t you fight?” I ask, trying not to sound too judgmental, but I’m pretty sure someone like him could afford all the best lawyers in the country.

  He looks down and draws a deep breath before answering. Surprisingly, there’s shame in his voice, “A mixture of thinking he was better off with his mother and … not wanting to draw the attention of the law. My ex would’ve used what she knew about me and jeopardized the business.”

  After a heavy silence, Diego shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “I am aware of how bad that makes me look. But I was a different guy. You wouldn’t have liked me back then.”

  “Who says I like you now?” I retort a little too fast, a little too defensively.

  He looks at me with a raised eyebrow and a teasing smile. “Oh, I don’t know, just a vague feeling. But enough about past regrets. Let’s talk about something else.”

  “Like?”

  He scoots too close for comfort and flashes me a grin. “I couldn’t help but notice your ninja abilities back in Punta Franca. I mean, taking down Pepe, a man twice your size, is quite the feat. Where did you learn those moves?”

  “I took Taekwondo classes, but also self-defense. That was before … everything.”

  I would add that I also participated in illegal fighting matches for street gangs, but, for some reason, I don’t. Maybe I don’t want him to know that part of my past yet. Maybe because I enjoy that he’s impressed by me instead of repulsed by what I’m capable of doing to survive, which makes little sense considering who Diego is. Yet, there it is.

  “Really?” With a fascinated smile on his face, he gets up and claps. “I took a few classes too, a long time ago. Care for a friendly spar?”

  I look around us. Everyone is busy eating or checking their supplies, but they’re still close enough to hear and see us. Ana Cruz is also nearby, stealing occasional glances in our direction.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Diego’s smile turns into a challenging smirk. “What? Afraid of a rematch?”

  “No.” I’m concerned with what will happen once I wipe the floor with you. Your men might kill me.

  “Then what’s the problem? Come on. It’s going to be fun. We need to relax a bit. You’re way too tense.”

  “I like tense. Tense is good. Tense keeps me alive.”

  “What’s the point of staying alive if you won’t enjoy yourself while you can? Come on.” He offers his hand with a smile.

  Before I can stop him, he has pulled me up. We bump at each other, but I step away quickly so there are no lingering touches or looks. Last thing I need is to be in close contact with this man.

  Of course, fighting him means I’ll be in close contact with him anyway, but that’s totally different.

  I clear my throat and say, “You aren’t going to enjoy yourself when I beat you.”

  He laughs. “Now you’re getting the spirit.”

  He waves at the rest of the group. “Guys, gather around. Isabel and I made a bet. We’re going to fight, and the one who wins gets to carry the other’s supplies.”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” I mutter, but nobody is listening to me. Instead, the guys hoot and clap, forming a circle around us.

  The only person who doesn’t join, of course, is Ana Cruz. She stands away from the commotion with her weapon out and eyes fixated on the tree line. The only sign that she heard us is a quick frown thrown at Diego.

  We take our places. Diego raises his fists in front of his face while I stretch my arms and legs. This won’t take long. I’ll take him out, and this nonsense will be over before something else happens. I just need to be careful not to hurt him too badly. I doubt giving their leader a concussion will end well for me. Ana Cruz will probably put a bullet into my brain if that happens. Or high five me, if Diego’s suspicions are right.

  “Okay, rules of engagement—no hitting in the face. We’re both too pretty for that.” I roll my eyes as he keeps talking. “The winner is the one who first immobilizes the other one completely. Ready?”

  I shake my arms a little and crack my neck. “Of course.”

  He’s fast; I’ll give him that. Diego moves around the invisible arena we created between us with ease, but his swagger also telegraphs his next movements. He tries and fails to grab my arm and lock it. I sidestep quickly and jump away from his grasp.

  This elicits whistles and hoots from the crowd. Diego narrows his eyes, but his smile remains genuine. He’s not humiliated—he’s excited for more.

  My turn to attack. I rush toward him, grab his belt with both hands while swiping his legs, and then toss him onto the ground in a matter of seconds. He lets out an oof followed by a thud, but as I move to yank his arm up and finish the move, Diego counter-attacks by gripping my shirt and pulling me down.

  I fall on him, our bodies crashing together. The smell of his body invades my nose as I cushion the fall by resting my hands against his rock-solid chest. Gulping, and suddenly very aware of his rapid breathing, I freeze. He uses my hesitation to grab my wrists and pull them down.

  The last barrier between us is gone.

  The tips of our noses touch, his breath teasing my lips. My covered breasts rub his naked chest as we both gasp for air. Heartbeat loud in my ears, I make the mistake of staring into his eyes for too long. I inhale hard, spellbound by his fiery gaze.

  He licks his lips, teasing me without words.

  It’s his smirk that brings me out of my daze. He’s doing this on purpose, the bastard.

  I roll off his body, standing straight again while trying not to appear rattled by that… whatever that was.

  Calmer, I attack again. This time, I wait until he comes at me to redirect his weight and toss him stomach-down to the ground. I don’t give him a chance to react; I yank his right arm and pull it against his back, making sure to put pressure on it. A little extra too, as payback for the trick he used on me.

  “Okay, okay. You win,” he yells, pain mixed with a laugh. He taps my hand, as one would to signal defeat in a dojo. “I’m done.”

  I let him go. His crew doesn’t react until I offer him a hand to pull him up, and Diego pats my shoulder with a smile. Only then do they clap and whistle.

  “A promise is a promise,” he announces, extending his hand. “M’lady?”

  With a roll of my eyes, I take off the backpack and toss it against his chest. “Cheating won’t help you win any battles, Vargas.”

  He throws my backpack to Pepe, who catches it by surprise. “Cheating? When? I’m innocent.”

  I cross my arms. “When you distracted me with…” I stop myself before I admit out loud I’m attracted to him. That’s not happening. Ever.

  Diego steps closer to my face, grinning. “Is that a fluster I see?”

  “No.” I clear my throat and wave my hand at Pepe. “Shouldn’t you be the one carrying my supplies?”

  “Technically, I’m carrying it because Pepe works for me.”

  I’m about to argue with that particular notion, but the conversation is cut short by Ana Cruz’s raised fist. At her signal, we all crouch. The excited mood evaporates, tension building each second we keep still.

  I race my eyes over our surroundings. At first, all I hear is birdcalls and the croak of frogs, then… crunching noises and heavy breathing coming from our left.

  The commotion we made drew the attention of something far too dangerous.

  Between the trees and dark bushes, a form slowly stumbles in our direction—a man wearing nothing but muddy rags. He trips on a large tree root with a grunt. As he climbs the root and uses it to propel himself up, a cold shiver runs through my spine as I recognize the sign
s. The bulging, milky-white eyes, the permanently exposed rotten teeth, and the aimless behavior.

  He’s infected.

  “Stay quiet and don’t move,” I whisper to Diego, my right hand reaching for the hunting knife in my belt.

  The man’s head shoots up, hyperaware of any and all sounds. He emits a deep guttural growl, bloated face twitching and half-opened eyes blinking furiously. Fungi have grown inside his nostrils and on the corners of his mouth. Ants and worms trail his bitten neck with mosquitoes the size of bees following his foul smell.

  I take one step forward, boots sinking into the dark soil. His milky-white eyes meet mine. He hollers. I tense my muscles, grip firm on the knife, and wait. He rushes at me, yellow teeth exposed in a dangerous grin.

  Legs spread, gaze fixed on his skull, I prepare to strike.

  A bullet cuts the thick air right next to my ear, missing the infected and me by inches. Momentarily shocked, I glance back to see Ana Cruz pointing her gun at me. One eye closed, she pulls the trigger again, and I fall to the side.

  The shot hits the sick man straight in the chest, echoing around the canopy and spooking every bird a mile away. The wound fails at stopping the infected, who merely stumbles backward for a second, blood soaking what’s left of his shirt before he straightens himself again.

  Bullets are not enough, not nearly enough, but her shot gives me an opening. I stand and grab the infected by the neck, sinking my knife into the lower back of his skull. Before he can vomit blood on me, I kick him in the stomach, so he falls backward. On the ground, his body twitches and spasms for about a minute before finally stopping, mouth hanging open and dripping blood.

  I take a deep breath to stop panting, the familiar lightheadedness following it. It’s okay. It’s okay now. I repeat that mantra with closed eyes, but it doesn’t work. Things aren’t okay yet, or ever.

  “That was unexpected. I’ve never seen one of these things this far into the jungle.” I flinch at the sound of Ana Cruz’s voice right at my side. I’m still shaken by the image of her gun pointed at me.

  They all gather around the body as I hide my trembling hands inside my vest pockets before anyone notices it.

  After a quick head shake to gather myself, I step in front of Ana Cruz. “You don’t shoot an infected. Ever. Are you crazy?”

  She stares at me with an eyebrow raised. “I fail to see how shooting a highly contagious person from a safe distance is crazy.”

  My mouth hangs open. She’s never faced an infected, has she? I take a deep breath. Of course she hasn’t. No one here has. I assumed they would know how to fight them by now, but I forgot these people weren’t at Rio Alto when all hell broke loose. They were hiding from the authorities in the jungle, far from civilization.

  “You just don’t shoot them. You just don’t. The noise—they—” I inhale, noticing my voice getting high pitched. “The noise attracts them. They have very good hearing. So, next time, use your knife. We’re lucky it was just one.”

  One of the soldiers waves his hand around dismissively. He’s the youngest one of the group, looking barely over sixteen. I think Ana Cruz called him Carlos Alberto earlier. “Come on, these things aren’t that tough. Everyone knows the Army cleaned them out easy. And I’m a better shot than all those pigs.”

  I groan. Predictably, he wears a sleeveless Barcelona soccer team jersey and very little protection apart from a cross on a golden chain hanging from his neck. He still thinks himself invincible. I know the feeling, and the inevitable crash and burn that follows once real life happens.

  “The Army cleaned the streets of Rio Alto with machine guns and tanks. I don’t think we have any of that here, do we?”

  He frowns, but Diego is already talking, giving him no time to argue with me. “Isabel is the expert here, so as far as the infected go, she’s in charge.” He turns to me. “Any other tips?”

  His support is a welcome surprise. My heart rate slows down, and, now calmer, I try to speak loud and clear so the entire group hears me.

  “They react to sound and movement. They can’t see very well, but enough to spot someone close. If there’s a horde, our best chance is to hide and stay quiet. One mistake is all it takes to get overwhelmed, but we can deal with a small group if everyone stays calm. The infection is spread by saliva. That means don’t touch your mouth or any orifices without cleaning your hands if you come in contact with it. No kissing either.” The men wrinkle their noses. “If someone doesn’t know how to use a knife, I suggest hitting the infected in the head with the back of their guns. Repeatedly. Blunt trauma might crack the skull and damage the brain.”

  Ana Cruz points at the body, annoyance in her voice. “I shot him straight in the chest, but the guy kept going. Care to explain that?”

  I ignore the hostility. She should be grateful I know this much. Many people have died because they had no clue how to fight the infected. “They don’t feel pain, and the adrenaline rush will make them fight, and keep fighting until the brain stops functioning, no matter the injury. So always shoot the head.”

  “Got it. Any questions, guys?” Diego says.

  Carlos Alberto slowly raises his hand as if in the middle of a class. Diego nods at him. “Where did this guy came from?”

  Silence falls on the circle.

  Ana Cruz exhales deeply and indicates the way forward with her head. “The nearest village, most likely. The one we planned to ask for boats. I suggest we avoid it. If there was an outbreak, it’s too dangerous.”

  “There might be survivors. We could help them,” I say.

  My suggestion is received with apathy. I turn to Diego. He says nothing. I don’t know why I expected any better from him.

  “At least you have to see the merit of finding out what’s happening near Punta Franca. What if this spreads there?” I argue, hoping to appeal to logic, if empathy won’t work.

  After some hesitation, Diego crosses his arms over his chest. “And they might still have the boats we need. All right, let’s go.”

  We see no survivors when we enter the village, only a goat darting from one hiding spot to another as we walk between abandoned straw huts with roofs made of palm tree leaves. Discarded pots, fishnets, and lost, bloodstained shoes paint a grim scene along with the afternoon drizzle.

  Further ahead, smoke rises from a clearing.

  An old man stands before a burning pyre; his hands bloodied and his tattooed back to us. The overwhelming stench of rot and burning corpses cause more than one tough guy to puke.

  As the fire crackles, nobody speaks. I see a hand twitching and a leg kicking between the flames, but if anyone in there is still alive, they can’t scream anymore. I swallow and inhale deeply.

  After signaling everyone to wait, I approach the old man. An infected would’ve jumped on us already, but that doesn’t mean this person isn’t dangerous.

  “Sir? Are you hurt?” I place a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “What happened?”

  A burst of flames erupts. Our group takes a step back. The man doesn’t flinch, slowly turning to me.

  “A stranger came from the jungle, begging for our help.” His hoarse voice trembles. “He was sick. Told us it was the dengue fever. We treated him well, but he did not improve. Instead, he grew violent. He attacked my granddaughter and her mother. They became sick too.”

  His face is no longer marked only by time, but also by blood and tragedy. I recognize the expression of bitter rage, of desperation. I can see myself in his dark gaze. One spark … and he’ll ignite up into flames.

  “You killed them all?” Ana Cruz mutters, her eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Only a scene like this would break her stern mask. “Everyone?”

  “My son helped when we realized what was happening.” He clenches his hands into fists, his voice filled with emotion. “He’s gone now. He was bitten, but I couldn’t do it. He… I let him go. He’s out there, somewhere, in the jungle.”

  I stare at him, stunned. My mouth hangs open. I killed t
his man’s son. I stare at my hands, a sharp pain in my chest. It was kill or be killed, right? Like in Bonita. I had no choice. I didn’t have a choice.

  You should’ve known better by now, Isabel. You knew he was someone’s loved one. They always are. No kill is clean. It could’ve been your mother. Didn’t you learn anything from all the blood on your hands? Death doesn’t follow you—you seek it.

  But the old man isn’t looking at me. His furious glare is directed at Diego.

  “I know who you are. You’re Diego Vargas. This is your fault. You brought that man here. He was looking for you.”

  Diego steps closer to the man. “I don’t know—”

  The villager snatches Diego by the collar. “They’re dead! They’re dead because of you! My son is gone! He’s gone. You killed him!”

  Everyone tenses up. Ana Cruz takes her gun out and aims it at the villager, but I can’t bring myself to see him hurt. He’s grieving. He doesn’t deserve to die for being heartbroken. Before she takes the shot, I yank him away from Diego and do the only thing I can to stop him—I confess.

  After swallowing hard, I say, “You want me instead. We found your son wandering in the jungle. He attacked us, and I had to kill him. I’m sorry, but I had to.”

  The old man’s eyes widen, and then narrow in a matter of seconds. He strikes in a flash, closing his calloused hands around my neck as we both fall onto the ground. I’m vaguely aware of Diego yelling something, but as the man’s thick fingers crush my neck, the air leaves my lungs.

  While my mind clouds from the lack of oxygen, only one thought remains. Maybe I deserve this.

  And, for a second, I let go.

  It’s the image of my mother sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of her strong coffee in the morning, that snaps me out of my dying daze. If I abandon her like this, then everything I did was for nothing. I’m too close to saving her to give up now.