by Toby Neal
He yanked at the metal clasp but it was stuck.
The girl’s hands were moving, too. She had a small knife and was sawing through the belt. The fabric gave and JT tried to haul her out of her seat but she struggled, still coughing, and reached for a stainless steel cylindrical case on the seat beside her.
“Leave it!” JT choked, tugging at her, but she writhed and heaved and got hold of the case, unbuckling it from the seat and wrapping both arms around it.
With a muffled curse, he hoisted her over his shoulder. She was light with a wiry build. JT staggered down the aisle, one arm clamped over the back of her thighs. She was still clutching the case and it banged against his back.
Flames had wrapped the fuselage of the plane, reaching in and finding fuel in the plastics and framing. Toxic smoke belched around them in a foul cloud. JT gathered his strength and heaved himself forward, leaping through the ring of fire at the entrance to land, running outside the burning wreck.
Momentum carried him forward, toward Pinocchio’s sharp bark.
JT slung the woman off his shoulder and lowered her gently onto the ground. She was pale and looked young, just a girl really. Her eyes were screwed shut as she tried to breathe, a messy ponytail of long blonde hair stained with blood over one shoulder. She rolled onto her side, gasping for breath, that damn metal case clutched close in her arms.
The whump of an explosion rocked what was left of the plane, and JT threw himself over her body instinctively, feeling the sting of a thousand needles of shrapnel and debris hit his back.
His hearing was obliterated and the breath knocked out of him as his brain rattled in his skull.
For a long moment he lay still, trying to figure out which end of the world was up and how badly injured he was.
The girl wriggled beneath him, pushing at him, and he heard a squeaky noise somewhere far off that was probably her voice.
Pinocchio licked his face, the dog’s warm, rough tongue bringing him around.
JT slowly levered himself off of the girl, groaning at the tight, stinging sensation from his back. He really didn’t want to see what it looked like.
At least she was alive.
JT couldn’t lie down with his back on fire, so he lowered himself cautiously onto his side.
The girl sat up, keeping her arms wrapped around the case in her lap, that ponytail cloaking a petite body dressed in workout clothing. She raised red-rimmed blue eyes to his, and her mouth moved.
“What?” He cupped a hand around his ear. The explosion had done a number on his eardrums.
She pulled a pair of translucent-framed glasses out from the front of her shirt and slipped them onto her face. She blinked a few times, focusing on him, then leaned close. Her breath tickled his cheek as she held up the metal canister. “These cells are a matter of life and death.”
JT eased down to sit on the kitchen chair where the light was strongest, leaning forward with his crossed arms on the table to take the tension off his back. The girl’s hands plucked at his shirt, light and soft. “I’m going to cut this off you.”
Her voice still sounded high and tinny from the explosion, but his hearing was gradually improving. That was something, at least.
“First aid kit’s on the quad. I took it to the plane site,” he said. “Okay if I just sit here a minute?”
“I’ll get it.” She left and Pinocchio followed her. JT looked after the Catahoula, frowning. Pinocchio had really taken to her.
Dimly he remembered that she’d told him her name: Elizabeth. What a mouthful for a little thing like her. She should be Liz or Betsy or something easier. Maybe even just E.
Elizabeth returned with the metal first aid kit and popped the clasps. It was well-stocked with gauze, antiseptic wipes, bandages, and a set of tweezers, which she was going to need.
“You can cut the shirt off me with those.” He pointed to the pair of shears stuck into the knife block on the kitchen counter.
She retrieved them. Her touch was light but confident as she lifted the shirt from his side and began cutting up the seam.
“You got any first aid training?”
“No. But I was a Girl Scout, and I’ve spent a lot of time in a science lab. I’m no stranger to needles and swabs.”
“Or knives apparently,” JT said. “That was smart thinking, cutting through your belt like that.”
“It’s easier to think smart when you’re in danger,” she responded, her voice flat.
The shears made a snicking sound as they cut through the sturdy fabric of his heavy-duty tee. When she’d cut the seams, the front of it fell into his lap. “I’m going to see how much I can just lift off. Looks like there are a lot of glass fragments, some metal and plastic.”
She didn’t sound freaked out by the blood, a sticky trickle coming down one shoulder over his pecs, and around his side, pooling in his belly button.
“So you’re a doctor?” Out at the crash site, she’d said she was a researcher working on the virus they were calling Scorch Flu.
“Not yet. I’m a Ph.D. candidate.”
She’d stowed the metal case that carried vital cells immediately in the big, deep freezer he kept for meat.
“So why are you, a student, carrying these important cells to DC? Where are the big guns?”
Elizabeth lifted the shirt, sticky with clotted blood, and it caught on something embedded in his skin. JT shut his eyes and blew out a breath.
“Hold on. I’ll get the tweezers.” He felt the tug and sting, and the sensation of heat as the site bled afresh. “There are some deep ones. This could take a while. Just try to relax.”
Pinocchio put his head on JT’s leg and he fondled the dog’s ears. “Keep talking to me about the virus. It takes my mind off what you’re doing. Help me understand. I can’t believe you’re the only one in the world with these cells.”
“There’s a lot about the world you probably wouldn’t believe then,” Elizabeth muttered. Did he hear that right? She filled him in on what had happened with her lab and how she’d ended up with the cells, though not even fully a doctor yet.
Another painful tug. JT hissed a breath through his teeth.
“I’ll make a call when I’m done cleaning you up. I can also talk to the first responders when they come for the plane. I’m sure they can help me get to DC.”
“We should have heard something from first responders out there by now. That plane broadcast its distress call loud and clear.” With his head turned, he could look up at her with one eye. She had delicate features, high cheekbones, and bright blue eyes magnified by glasses. Elizabeth’s pink and pouty lower lip was sucked between her teeth as she pinched at something in his back with the tweezers.
“Cazzo!” he growled. “That hurts. Tell me you’re almost done.”
“You took all of this for both of us,” Elizabeth said softly. “Thank you. Whatever else happens, I really appreciate it.”
He turned his head away and closed his eyes. “Anyone would have done the same.”
“No. You went into that burning plane and got me out, then you protected me from the blast. Thank you.” She was somewhere up near his ear as she breathed the words, and goose bumps rose along his arms. His body, wiped out from pain and exertion, woke up in a whole new way—it had been a very long time since a woman’s breath had stirred him.
He shrugged away from her touch, standing abruptly to get some distance. The shirt, still in her hand, ripped off of his back with the searing pain of a hot poker on flesh.
“Son of a . . . dammit!” JT yelped.
“Sit back down and let me finish!”
JT returned to his seat, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth, as she ripped open an antiseptic wipe and proceeded to torture him further with a couple of those, then stippled him with antibiotic ointment, and finally stuck him all over with gauze and tape.
“There. Done.” Elizabeth gave his back a satisfied little pat. He stood, groaning as the tape pulled on the many small wo
unds. “Here are some pain pills.”
She handed them to him and then snapped off the gloves she’d worn. He must be an awful sight, blood all over his back and his chest, all big and smelly and sweaty, looming over a little thing like her. She was filthy too, coated in soot and dirt, her ponytail laced with blood.
“Thanks. You should get cleaned up. The shower’s over there.” He pointed to the bathroom.
“You should wash first. You’re injured.”
He cleared his throat. “I’ll just wash at the sink out here, I’d get the bandages wet. I’ll find some fresh clothes that you can wear and leave them outside the bathroom for you. You can use my bed tonight.”
“Oh, no. I’ve got to get on the road. Can I use your phone?”
“Of course.”
She crossed the kitchen and picked up the receiver. Should he give her some privacy? Before he could decide she hung up.
“Busy. Those first responders should be here soon though.” She looked out the window at the field, but there was still no sign of help. She was twisting her hands: thin, long-fingered, soft hands that looked like they’d shred in minutes chopping wood or working in the fields. “Thank you for your offer to stay if I have to. I’d be more comfortable on the couch. You’ve already done so much for me.”
The couch was rough, made of heavy branches nailed together. He’d done it himself in the winter as an exercise in making furniture from scratch. The pillows were made of rabbit skins Roan had given him that JT had stuffed with chicken feathers, so they smelled like rabbit skins and chicken feathers. Truth was, the couch wasn’t comfortable for anything but the occasional foot up with a beer.
“Well. Okay. I’ll try to make it up for you, but it kind of sucks to lie on. Sorry, but I’m not much set up for guests.”
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
Her agreement irritated him. She didn’t know about the rooms below and he wasn’t about to tell her. He grabbed a beer out of the fridge, popped the top, and took a swig without offering her one. “I’m making some chicken soup. Should be close to done when you get out. You can have some or not, makes no difference to me.”
“All right.” Elizabeth walked to the bathroom. She was favoring her right leg, and he frowned at the sight. He wasn’t the only one a little worse for wear after the accident. In a moment, he heard the water running.
JT stared at the closed door. He reached into his pocket and rubbed the rings, slipping the tiny one onto the tip of his finger and squeezing it.
JT stripped down to his boxers and, using a washcloth and soap, began to clean his body at the sink.
“Excuse me.” Her voice was small, coming from the bathroom door, and he froze, washcloth under one raised arm, aware of his near nakedness and soaked boxers. She’d been a lot faster in the shower than he expected. “You were going to get me some clean clothes? I have nothing to wear. I’m sorry.”
“Uh. Yeah. Just a minute.” He grabbed the towel he’d fetched from the closet and whipped it around his waist. Every step he took tugged at the wounds on his back as he hurried to find a pair of clean sweats and one of his tees. She’d have to do without underwear.
Not that he cared, or that it was any of his business.
“Here.” JT thrust the clothing at her, seeing nothing but her bent wet head and her pale hands as she took the bundle. He had to tear his gaze off of her. JT could almost feel the slap of his mother’s hand on the back of his head.
It had been a long damn while since he’d slept with anybody but Pinocchio.
And where the hell were those first responders?
He stalked over to the phone and picked up the handset. He dialed 911, but only got a busy signal.
The shit was hitting the fan. He’d known SHTF was coming, but the reality was different.
As Elizabeth dressed, he tried to reach out to his brothers and warn them. Maybe this time they’d listen. He ran through each of his brothers’ numbers, but only Luca’s cell phone connected with voice mail.
The oldest Luciano, Luca was ex-Special Forces and currently serving as a trainer for the National Guard in Texas. There was no telling when or if his brother would get this message, but it was worth a try.
“Luca, if you can or need to get away, come to the Haven, my place in Idaho. It’s remote, fortified, got enough food and energy for you and a friend, too, if you’ve got someone you want to bring.” JT paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, collecting his thoughts. “I’m hoping Mama and Lucy will come out west, and whichever of you numbskulls will wise up and join me. So, get your ass out here.” He left brief directions.
JT hung up with a little prayer that Luca was safe, and would listen. With only two years in age between them, he and Luca had butted heads more than the rest of his brothers—and Luca usually won their tussles, naturally more aggressive and competitive than JT. The military had been the perfect place for his older brother to thrive with his ‘alpha dog’ tendencies.
But what was he going through now, in Texas?
A wave of cold swept over JT, raising the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck—Dr. Elizabeth Johnson had brought the flu right to his doorstep, and into his freezer.
Chapter Five
Elizabeth
Elizabeth took the clothing JT offered with shaking hands and shut the door quickly. She was in shock, which was to be expected after a plane crash. The symptoms of shortness of breath, trembling extremities, and dizziness reminded her to be careful. Her mind would be fogged by stress hormones for some time, activating memories and wreaking all sorts of havoc.
Elizabeth breathed in the steam-filled air, feeling its damp healing ease her ravaged lungs. A massive bruise on her left hip, a slightly swollen ankle, and a gash on her head appeared to be her only injuries.
The cut on her scalp throbbed when she washed her hair, but wasn’t bleeding anymore. Elizabeth didn’t think it needed stitches, but it was at the back of her head and she couldn’t get a good angle on it in the mirror.
She’d have to ask JT to take a look for her.
He’d saved her.
This total stranger had risked his life, ran into a burning plane, and hauled her out. Then he’d thrown his body over hers when the wreckage exploded. It was because of him that she was alive and mostly unscathed. What kind of man did that? He was a hero.
He was handsome too, in a wild and dangerous-looking way. Gruff and growly, though, which was intimidating.
Maybe he had reason to be. Elizabeth had insulted his couch and his home. What an idiot. Her mother would be horrified if she knew.
But she liked his house. She liked the wooden kitchen counters and farm sink, the peaceful view out the window and the quiet. She liked the expanse of his strong back, bare before her, the marks of heroism marring gorgeous, olive gold, sun-kissed skin.
But Elizabeth needed to get on the road. She couldn’t sleep on his couch, even if it looked like he’d made it himself with those calloused hands she’d felt on her waist as he’d helped her onto his ATV.
They’d driven to his house from the wreck with her behind him, the cryocase in front of her, and she’d winced as his bloodied back tensed with every bump they hit.
The gate and massive wall surrounding his farm, the water tower, the crow’s nest, and the stores of meat in the freezer that he’d let her put the cryocase in, all pointed to this guy being a prepper. Those crazies were convinced the world was coming to an end.
Then again, with what was happening, crazy no longer applied.
If the cells didn’t make it to DC, it really might be the end.
She had to get moving. Elizabeth instinctively looked for her cell phone, before remembering it was lost in the crash. That was at least the twentieth time she’d done that since getting to JT’s compound.
The clothing he’d handed her was just a T-shirt and gray sweatpants. No underwear. The ones she’d taken off were not only filthy but ripped, right where that bruise marked her hip. Balling up the s
imple cotton panties, she put them in the wicker trash can under the sink.
So, what if she had to go commando. Someone would be here to pick her up soon.
Elizabeth pulled on the sweats. They smelled of clean laundry and sandalwood. She rolled the pants at the waist several times until they were tight enough to stay up and she wasn’t tripping over the bottoms.
She picked up the bra she’d worn that morning, gone to the gym in, then survived a plane crash in. No way—she couldn’t put it back on. It was better to let Mr. Gruff see her without a bra than to put that filthy thing back on her body.
She pulled his soft white T-shirt on over her head. The sleeves fell past her elbows and the hem reached below her hips. Elizabeth washed her bra in the sink and hung it over the shower rail. A simple black sports bra, it was little more than a piece of stretchy cloth. There wasn’t anything sexy about it, but it still looked too feminine in this clearly male-only house.
Elizabeth rubbed her gritty eyes before replacing her glasses on her nose and slipping her knife into the pocket of the sweatpants.
She opened the door and his dog, Pinocchio, was sitting in front of it, tail wagging. The dog was silly-looking, with his patches of brown and white fur, his tongue lolling out of his mouth—but the way he had followed JT’s commands made it clear that Pinocchio was more than just a pet.
“Hey boy.” She bent down and scratched the dog’s head. He closed his eyes and sighed, scooting closer until he was sitting next to her, leaning against her leg. His presence calmed Elizabeth, helping the shaking in her hands to slow and finally stop.
JT cleared his throat and she looked up to find him watching her. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. His chin-length curls were wet, pushed behind his ears, and he’d shaved the black stubble off his jaw. Without it he looked younger, possibly kinder, less like a pirate. His hazel eyes were hard though, forbidding, in spite of his long lashes.
