by Clare Murray
She whipped the shirt back at Russ. “No blindfolds either.”
“Wouldn’t want to hide that gorgeous face of yours.”
Abby might have come up with a reply had it not been for Cam running silky caresses up her inner thighs. As it was, all she could do was hold Russ’s gaze until he dropped his eyes—and his head. The corrugated iron ceiling blurred. She arched her back as if fighting against the pleasure, but they were ruthless with their tongues—Cam between her legs and Russ at her breasts—until she was helplessly coming.
Before the shocks died away, they’d flipped her over, and Cam entered her with a single thrust that would have sent her face-first into the pillows had Russ not been there to steady her. His bare cock brushed against her cheek, and she turned to slide her lips over its broad head. His groan spurred her on, his strong arms holding her steady as Cam pumped into her from behind. This was so far beyond anything she’d ever experienced that it felt vaguely dreamlike. Her only anchors to the real world were the two men inside her, grounding her to the bed as they demanded their own pleasure.
Russ capitulated first, warning her by half-snarling her name. She swallowed, sighed in relief as he brought the handkerchief to her mouth to catch the overspill. When her arms wobbled, Russ reached to ease her onto her elbows, toying idly with one breast. As his fingers passed over her nipple, pleasure spiked again—so hard and fast it took her by surprise. By now, her voice was hoarse, worn thin by the day’s ups and downs. She moaned softly into Russ’s lap, letting his muscular thigh support her cheek.
Behind her, Cam rode through the weaker ripples of her second orgasm until he let himself go, pressing himself hard against the backs of her thighs in a tight embrace she never wanted him to relinquish. He was breathing hard, and in this position she could feel every breath, the warmth of his skin soothing and provocative all at once.
He withdrew slowly, passing his own handkerchief between them. Did these men do their own laundry? The thought was hazy, yet amusing enough to elicit a weak, exhausted smile. Then Russ was turning her over, tucking her under the covers and pressing a kiss onto her forehead.
“Don’t leave me,” she managed to say.
“We’ll never do that.” She couldn’t tell who’d spoken, was already sinking into the oblivion of sleep.
Chapter Eleven
The solar panels were charged past the halfway point. Since they’d filled the Humvee’s regular gas tank, they had more than enough fuel to make Chicago. Still, Cam lingered next to the vehicle, waiting for the display to show sixty percent charged. Not because he particularly cared about the numbers, but because he wanted to delay returning to the Complex.
Out here, he could control life to some extent. There were variables, of course, like Barks and other humans, but none of them could give orders taking him away from Abby.
The display ticked over to sixty percent, prompting him to begin putting away the panels. He’d already prepped the Humvee for departure, stocking it with food and water and making sure there was a blanket to drape over Abby when she inevitably fell asleep against one of them. He remembered the first time she’d slumped against him and smiled, knowing he’d half fallen for her there and then.
When she emerged to stand sleepily on the steps, his smile grew. The sun burnished her hair, brightening the reddish hue in her wildly curly brown hair. He watched her bend to touch each ankle. When she straightened, her shoulders were back and her head high. She looked more confident than he’d ever seen her, a welcome change from the frightened, blustering woman they’d rescued from the ruins of that control room.
“All set,” Russ sent. He came down the steps behind Abby, carrying their luggage. Cam opened the Humvee, bracing himself to return home.
They rolled out of Fort Wayne less than twenty minutes later, having been delayed by yet more paperwork. Cam figured it was probably the first time he’d been glad to check endless boxes. It meant they were together without complication for a little bit longer.
Abby snuggled against Cam as Russ drove, her face pensive. “How come you still have to do paperwork?”
“Some of it is electronic, since there’s a paper shortage these days.” Cam shrugged. “Thing is, the government does its utmost to operate the way it used to. It’s all about sticking to the norm. Twins had to check in and out of everywhere they went pre-Invasion, so they stuck to that custom.”
“Oh. The senators never bothered much with paperwork. Even their internal emails are jumbled.” Abby sounded thoughtful. “To be fair, they probably went through and deleted a bunch of things when they realized I had full access to their system, but they never did checking in and out. They did have a wine list, though.”
“Corrupt bastards.” Russ accelerated to thirty as they left the immediate vicinity of the City. The highway ahead was clear—this close to Chicago, bureaucracy was in full effect and there were plenty of soldiers to maintain the roads.
Cam kept an eye on Abby, noticing her pensiveness growing as they neared Chicago until she was a tense little wire against his side. Even with his arm around her, she barely responded as the tops of the tall City walls came into sight.
Chicago was perhaps the most-fortified City in the world these days. Its walls were massive, rebuilt and added to over the last eleven years until some people jokingly referred to them as the First Wonder of the Invaded World. They stood forty feet high with turrets embedded at regular intervals. Solar panels studded various surfaces, wired to powerful UV beams that could scorch through multiple aliens at once.
The shame of it was that the walls were designed to keep out hostile humans almost as much as they’d been built to fend off alien attack.
“Well, here we are,” Cam began, then frowned as his commtab went crazy. “The hell?”
Russ braked, reaching for his own commtab. “Shit. They’re saying Code Platinum is back in effect.”
“How do they know that?” Cam scrolled through the three messages on his own screen. They’d arrived simultaneously. Bad satellite connection again, since each one contained increasing urgency, ordering them to report in immediately after arrival.
As if they wouldn’t report in as a matter of course. Cam typed a quick reply that gave their ETA, then stuck the commtab in his pocket and rolled his eyes.
“They wouldn’t tell us how they know even if we asked outright.” Russ began driving again. “Their last message ordered us to bring Abby with us, by the way.”
“You all right with that, sweet thing?” Cam asked.
“I don’t see that I have a choice.”
“You always have a choice.” Russ slowed, looking sideways at her. “This government might get pretty mad at you, but they won’t chain your ankles together if you disobey.”
Abby nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Russ accelerated. Although the expressway was wide, they were the only vehicle on the road. Most lanes were blocked off for defensive purposes. Cam felt his heart lighten as he spotted the exit sign for Wacker Drive, and he rolled down the window to wave at a sentry stationed at the bridge. The man nodded back, speaking quickly into a handheld radio.
To give credit where it was due, they were waved through the main gates with the barest of checks. Cam almost pitied the poor grunt who’d been saddled with the extra task of manually checking them in, but it was damn nice to cruise unhindered toward the front doors of the Complex.
At his side, Abby took it all in. He knew her well enough by now to note signs of excitement—a ramrod-straight spine, clenched hands, and a definite sparkle to her eyes told him she was more than all right being here. When they drove underneath the former Chicago Stock Exchange, her lips parted slightly.
He tried to look at the City with a newcomer’s eyes. The streets of Chicago were maintained to almost pre-Invasion level, although there wasn’t nearly as much traffic as there’d used to be. Many signs we
re shiny and some were updated with post-Invasion names. Asphalt was smooth, every window he could see was unbroken, and the remaining skyscrapers gleamed in the sunlight.
Save for the shadow the wall cast, one could very nearly pretend they were walking around in the days before.
The illusion was cracked when they had to brake hard to avoid a herd of goats. The animals ambled past the Humvee, shepherded by a young man with a stick as they headed out for a day’s grazing outside the wall. Russ steered around them, driving into the heart of what remained of Chicago. He stopped briefly at the Complex gates, which were opened so fast Cam knew their arrival had been reported ahead by the gate guards.
Someone must seriously want to talk to them.
Two soldiers saluted them as they drove into the Complex’s front courtyard, holding the doors for them as they got out. Abby reached for her bag, but the soldier on her side stopped her with a gesture.
“We’ll get it, ma’am. You need to hurry to Meeting Room One.”
Instead of observing his surroundings, Cam watched Abby. She was stunned quiet. He’d seen that amazement plenty of times on the faces of visitors—mainly younger ones—who’d never seen so many intact buildings, let alone anything so tall as the tower that soared nearby. The Sears Tower, they’d called it, although a few sticklers referred to it as the Willis. Name aside, it remained a proud landmark, not just for the City but for the United States as a whole.
In truth, Chicago was a lucky City. No motherships had landed nearby, so the initial alien attacks hadn’t been sustained or vicious enough to decimate the population. Nor had its infrastructure been damaged beyond a few low-level Bark spaceships crushing some of Chicago’s outskirts.
Small wonder the president had sought refuge here. And now the woman was in danger from, of all things, fellow humans.
A gust of wind buffeted them as they made their way toward the front doors. Inside, a Twin greeted them with a wave and a curious look in Abby’s direction. Cam moved protectively in front of her, and the other man correctly interpreted his body language, stepping back to give her space.
“Good to see you guys again. Is this Patrice’s granddaughter?”
Abby snorted. “You know Grammie? Let me guess, she’s baked her famous lemon drizzle cake.”
“Oh yeah. Everyone knows Patrice.” The man grinned. “She’ll be deliriously happy to see you’re safe. You’re all she could talk about for the last few days.”
“Better get business out of the way first,” Cam said, although they were already striding toward Meeting Room One.
“Jealous?” Russ sent.
“Yeah, a little. I just got used to sharing her with you, after all.”
“We’ll ask for some R and R, then.”
Uninterrupted time with Abby? The thought bolstered him. “That’s a really good idea.”
“Well, don’t get all excited yet. We still need to deal with this Code Platinum.”
Meeting Room One was packed to the gills. Even so, three people at the main table scrambled to make way as they entered, leaving the Twins and Abby to seat themselves under the intense scrutiny of several top brass. The fact that nobody spoke underscored the urgency of the situation.
Cam barely kept a poker face. What did these people want out of them?
The Twin who’d escorted them peeled off to a rear seat, leaving them with three adjacent chairs at the large table in the middle of the room. At first glance, Cam recognized General Coniston and General Worth, a battle-axe of a man who’d worked his way up the ranks from pre-Invasion lance corporal to General.
“We need access to the enemy’s computer system,” the latter said with no preamble.
Ah. That made sense. Cam glanced sidelong at Abby to see if she was all right with the request, but her face betrayed no distress.
“I can do that, but it’ll take me a minute. Do you have a screen larger than this?” Abby pulled out the Shadow Feds commtab and set it on the table.
General Worth pushed a laptop and two wires across the table. “Put it on the overhead too. I want to see what’s going on.”
With a minimum of fiddling, Abby connected commtab to laptop. General Worth stared up at the overhead screen as Abby’s screen was projected to everyone in the room. Several soldiers reacted with faces of mild disgust as the Shadow Fed logo—a modified version of the old presidential seal—became visible. Abby quickly went through the requisite checks, to the intense interest of several of the computer techs in the rear of the room.
“You’re the only one with root access?” one of them asked. His face was a picture of skeptical awe.
“Correct,” she said tightly. “I’m logged in. What now?”
“Thank you. Let us take it from here for a bit.” General Worth motioned several techs forward, who were only too happy to co-opt the keyboard. Politely, Abby gave them room by scooting her chair toward Cam. He rested a hand on her thigh, possessive and comforting all at once. After a second, she let her shoulder bump slightly against his. Someday he’d have to see how she coped with public displays of affection…
“Here we are, sir,” said one of the techs, drawing attention to the overhead screen. “I did a search for President but got nothing noteworthy. The search for ‘Prez’ and ‘Wright’ got multiple hits, though.”
General Worth grunted and ran a hand through his thick gray hair. “Okay. Boil it down for us. There’s over forty messages up there.”
The techs went silent while the military people shuffled a little, reaching for various glasses of water. It made Cam wonder how long they’d been cooped up in this room. Almost everyone that was someone was present—unless, presumably, they were with the president herself. The room was packed to the point of standing room-only, everyone riveted to what the techs were doing. When one of them spoke again, everyone stilled, listening.
“Sir, they know we’re evacuating the president to Fort Gumm. That’s where the Shadow Feds plan to focus their attack.”
“Give me more details.” General Worth set down his full glass of water.
“There isn’t much here, sir… No mention of missiles or other large ordnance. But we found a list of names. There seems to be at least thirty of their soldiers involved.”
“Most likely armed with submachine guns, maybe a few grenade launchers. Possibly with access to a chopper, but I doubt it’s anything we can’t handle,” General Coniston said. His voice was deeper and more gravelly in person than it sounded over Cam’s commtab.
“Then we move to Plan B, as per regulations,” General Worth said. “That’s Fort Chaucer.”
“There’s no messages about Fort Chaucer, sir,” the tech said.
“Good. I want thirty soldiers ready to form a presidential cavalcade. We roll out in twenty minutes, as per normal protocol. Go!”
In the commotion of chairs being pushed back and stomping boots, Abby’s “Wait!” went unheard except by her immediate neighbors. When she was ignored, she went quiet again, casting her eyes downward at the table.
“What’s wrong?” Cam asked. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to speak. People continued to shuffle from the room. Both generals were long gone. Still, the room hadn’t emptied yet by a long shot.
Abby looked up, met his encouraging gaze. “This isn’t—I don’t get a good feeling about any of this. Look, these people know we’re snooping. They’ve likely sussed our location by now and can see we’re operating from Chicago. I messed up their missile strike. They aren’t going to let further plans leak so easily.”
“These plans aren’t complete,” one of the remaining techs said, turning around earnestly. “We only have a vague idea of numbers.”
“But they specifically wrote Fort Gumm, didn’t they? Why would they let us see that?” Abby argued. By this time, half the room had left but people now at the door were paused and listening to
her.
“We found the reference to Fort Gumm under a message entitled Kitchen Cleaning.”
“Uh-huh, and I uncovered the command to launch the missile under the subject Lunch,” Abby said, giving the tech a look that was highly reminiscent of her grandmother, Patrice. Cam winced at that, hoping the elderly woman wouldn’t give them too much hell for not bringing Abby to her right away. Not that they’d had a choice in the matter, of course.
“Fine, so let’s say they’re aware that we’re snooping,” one of the Twins in the rear of the room, Nikolai, said. “There are only two secure places we’re able to move the president. Both Fort Gumm and Fort Chaucer are impregnable. Even to nukes.”
“Yeah, but the road to Fort Chaucer is vulnerable,” Cam said. “They could set up an ambush, roadside bombs, relying on guerilla-style tactics to assassinate the president.”
“Hadn’t thought of that,” Nikolai said. He frowned. “General Worth isn’t expecting a significant assault either. If the Shadow Feds intentionally understated their numbers and weaponry…”
“Which they likely have,” Abby said. “I mean, they tried to launch a missile at Chicago less than twenty-four hours ago.”
“Granted,” Nikolai said. “But the machine is already in motion here. General Worth is all about sticking to tradition. He heard the enemy was targeting Fort Gumm. Plan B is Fort Chaucer, near O’Hare. Protocol is to take the president to Fort Chaucer if Fort Gumm isn’t available.”
“Former protocol,” Cam corrected. “There are easily enough former high-ranking politicians among the Shadow Feds to know of Fort Chaucer’s existence. That means the president is still in danger.”
“Except there’s no mention of Fort Chaucer,” the main tech said.
“You searched for that term specifically?” Abby snapped.
The tech looked chagrined. “I thought this was the sole admin account.”
