Odium II: The Dead Saga

by Claire C. Riley

  “Nina.”

  I look up as Emily comes in, Alek following closely behind her. She rushes to my bedside, smiling, and leans over and kisses my forehead. I roll my eyes at her with a smile. She knows I can’t fight her off right now, and she’s taking full advantage of that fact.

  “Get off me and help me with my pillows,” I say through dry lips.

  I sit up slowly and she comes around and plumps them. I shuffle backwards as she passes me some water, and I take huge, greedy gulps of it. I can reach it for myself, but I keep forgetting to. Time seems to have stopped for the last couple of days, and I’ve finally had the time I wanted to sit and think and process everything that’s happened without worrying that someone is going to come in and torture me, or deaders are going to burst in. It feels like I’m in some sort of limbo. Though my gunshot was a straight through and through, and it was only my shoulder so nothing vital was hit, I lost a lot of blood on the way here.

  We made it to the army base, but this isn’t quite how I expected to make it. I mean, I at least expected to make it here on my own two feet and not flung over Mikey’s shoulder like an animal carcass. I shiver and pull the covers tighter around me.

  “How are you feeling?” Emily asks, perching herself on the edge of my bed and looking at me with concern.

  “Better,” I croak out. I touch my shoulder tentatively. “It’s definitely getting better.”

  “Couldn’t have gotten much worse.” She shrugs. “Could it, Alek?”

  He nods, looking uncomfortable. He always does whenever he visits me—I’m guessing he was one of those types that hates hospitals and doctors—but he seems to follow Emily wherever she goes.

  “Maybe.” I look across at James. “How’s he doing?”

  “They think he’ll be fine. The bullet hit some important stuff, but he’s pulled through the worst of it,” Alek says seriously, frowning at the prone body of James.

  I sigh. “He seemed really nice. I feel like a real bitch, like this was all my fault.”

  “It was that blonde chick’s fault, not yours. She shouldn’t be so eager to shoot innocent people,” Emily grumbles.

  “Whatever, it’s done now, and that Becky woman says it was just a graze. Nothing too serious.” I bite down on my lip. My shoulder hurts like a bitch, and sure as hell doesn’t feel like nothing serious, but I don’t want Emily knowing that. “What’s this place like?”

  “This place is great.” She waves a hand around, but she’s still pouting. “Isn’t it?” she looks up to Alek who nods and takes a steadying breath, looking like he wants to run far from this room. “You can go,” she laughs. “I’ll be fine. I know you have other things to do and I’ll be here for a while.”

  “You sure?” he asks, already kissing her on the forehead. She nods and he waves goodbye and practically jogs out of the room.

  I can’t help but smirk and turn my attention back to Emily. “Mikey definitely had the right idea by coming here, smartass.”

  “Definitely,” she agrees.

  It looks like this place was set up as a safe spot at one point and equipped with all sorts of luxuries that we haven’t been used to in a long time: showers with hot water, food—and not just MRE packs but real luxuries like chocolate cookies, and more importantly, safety. I haven’t had the chance to experience most things yet, thanks to the stupid gunshot in the shoulder, but I’m definitely attempting a shower today, and perhaps a chocolate cookie or two. Okay, definitely two.

  Of course the medical equipment is what saved both me and James—well, and Becky, of course. Emily told me how she helped Becky stitch me up, not even thinking about all the blood. She seems happy, and eager to learn, and Becky seems happy to have someone to help her—someone who wants to be here. They make a great little team.

  “Well, I’m hoping that you’re here to help me get out of bed. I want a shower and some food, and then I want to see this place for myself. I might need some help, though.”

  Emily smiles happily. “Sure.”

  She helps me up and out of bed, and carefully we make our way to some shower cubicles in another room, while she holds the back of my hospital gown together to hide my modesty. She helps me undress right down to my shabby, graying underwear, and I hear her gasp as she steps back, examining my body with a pained expression.

  I look down and see the scars and bruises across my body, marks from the fall, from fighting deaders, from fighting the Forgotten. Scars from surviving, I guess. I reach out, take her chin gently in my hand, and tilt her face up to mine.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper.

  She looks at me with tears in her eyes. “But, Nina…” Her hand reaches out and touches one of the deeper scars across my stomach, her finger tracing the jagged red line.

  I smile at her. “I remember reading a quote once. It was something like ‘your body is not ruined, you’re a goddamn tiger who earned her stripes.’ These marks,” I take her hand in mine, “these are my stripes, Emily, and these are my proof that I survived.” I turn around, tears in my eyes. “They’re the proof that no matter what or who tried to kill me, tried to take away who I am, I survived it.” I turn back to her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She smiles back, her eyes warily gazing over the burn marks on my thighs and the rings around my wrists. She looks back at me somewhat more satisfied, nods her head firmly, and steps back.

  “The water doesn’t stay hot for long. Do you need me to help wash your hair?” she asks.

  “Help me untie it. I should be able to do the rest.”

  She does as I ask and then she helps me to wrap Saran Wrap tightly over the top of the bandage on my shoulder. I wince—it stings like a bitch—but she does a good job of it.

  “I’ll be outside.” She turns to leave. “There’s some things for you near the sink.”

  I take a minute to examine the array of bottles—shampoos and body washes of all different scents—before picking the ones I want. I strip out of my dirty underwear and turn on the shower. I stare mesmerized for a second or two. It all seems so surreal: showers, shampoos. I stand underneath the water as it pounds my body, the heat barely noticeable, yet it’s the most delicious and delectable feeling I’ve had for as far back as I can remember. I even sigh loudly.

  The dirt pours away from me in rivers of black and brown; lumps of things that I don’t even want to think about drain away. I try to keep my shoulder out of the water as much as possible, even though it’s wrapped in the Saran Wrap. I grab a bottle of shampoo with my good hand, squeeze a good amount on my head, and begin to scrub it into my scalp. I rub until my fingers feel sore, and then I tip my head back and rinse the dirty suds away, taking a second to delight in the feel of warm…ish water running over my body. I grab a second bottle and squeeze the creamy orange liquid onto my hand, and gently rub it over my bruised and battered body. I rub every curve, crack, and part of myself that I can find, and as the water turns an icy cold, I quickly wash away the dirty bubbles.

  I still find it therapeutic, even with the cold water, as if washing away the past couple of years will somehow make it easier. With every body part cleansed I feel better, stronger, and more like myself. Less a victim and more a warrior—perhaps truly believing the words I said to Emily.

  When I can’t take the cold any longer, I turn the shower off and wrap a towel around myself clumsily, making sure to dry my shoulder as I carefully unwrap the Saran Wrap from my bandage. It’s a little damp, and I’m sure Becky will flip out about it, but it’s not so bad. I step toward a mirror on the opposite side of the room and stare at my reflection. I’m almost unrecognizable from the woman I was before the apocalypse. I squeeze toothpaste onto a toothbrush that was left for me, and I scrub until all I can taste is blood mixed with mint. I struggle to brush my hair; the knots—even with the help of shampoo and conditioner—are huge, and I shout Emily in.

  “What’s up?” she asks as she comes in. I turn to her and she smiles. “Wow, you look so much better.”
>
  “It’s been a while since I’ve been clean,” I chuckle.

  “It makes such a difference,” she says in amazement.

  “All right,” I grumble and frown. “I want some scissors: I need to cut this stupid hair,” I say firmly.

  “I can help get the knots out.”

  “No.” I turn back to the mirror. “I want to cut it. It’s too long for an apocalypse,” I say. “Never thought I’d say those words.” I lean over the sink, feeling tired and ready for some sleep, my body betraying me again. “Please, Em, get me some scissors.”

  I sit on a stool to rest and close my eyes as she goes to find some scissors. I feel myself ready to nod off, but she’s back before I’m fully gone. I yawn and stand, taking the scissors from her as I try and decide how much hair I want to cut away.

  Right now it’s waist length, though I haven’t worn it down for over a year, and so it’s a mass of dark knots. I hadn’t realized how long it had gotten, actually. I take a large handful of it, holding it shoulder height, and then realize that I can’t cut it and hold it at the same time because of the restricted movements in my shoulder. Emily comes over without saying anything and takes the scissors from me. She looks me in the eye and I nod once before she begins to cut away my hair. She grimaces with each snip of the metal, but me? I feel like I have a new lease on life. As if cutting away the matted dark hair allows me to breathe again.

  A part of my past falls away with each snip of the scissors, and again I feel stronger, less who I was, less a bitch with an attitude because of what I’ve been through and more a bitch because I want to survive in this new world.

  And then it hits me: I do want to survive. I want to build a home and a community and not live day to day. I want to build the world back up from what it was, because this, right now, this isn’t living, this is existing. And the two things are very different.

  And damn it, I want to live.

  *

  I struggle back from the bathroom with Emily’s help, still wrapped in my towel, feeling more like myself than I have in days—hell, longer in fact. I feel stronger and ready to take on the world. When I get back to my room, James is snoring soundly and Mikey is sitting on the edge of my bed. He looks up as I come in, and smiles. His face looks handsome and more like the carefree man I met so many months ago.

  “Hey you,” I say as I sit down next to him, letting my feet trail to the floor. Emily smiles at me and heads out, whispering a goodbye.

  “Hey.” He leans over and tentatively kisses me on the cheek. “I like this.” He tugs on my hair gently and I smile. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better. I’d like to get dressed today, see this place a bit.” I stifle a yawn.

  “If you think that you’re up to it.” He smiles again. His face is clean and clear of his scratchy beard, but a five o’clock shadow starting to grow back. His hair is still long or long for him. It suits him, but I miss his shaved head too. The shaved head seems more the man he was, not this pretense of a man.

  I run my fingers through his dark waves. “Thought you were cutting this.”

  He presses his head into my hand, obviously enjoying my touch. “I’m gonna, just not had the time.”

  “Hmm.” I watch him. “Is it busy out there?”

  “Yeah, there’s plenty to do. They have it pretty secure, though.” He nods his head across to James. “How’s he doing?”

  “Better, I think.” I look at the sleeping man that I’ve become fond of in the last couple of days. He’s pale, but gaining some color every day. “We even got to talk last night.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mikey looks up at me, pulling my hand from his hair. “He have anything interesting to say?”

  “We talked about life, I guess. Not really anything in particular.” I shrug. “He’s a nice guy, I like him.”

  “Oh?” Mikey smirks.

  I smack his shoulder. “Oh shush, you know what I mean. Help me find some clothes. I need to start helping out and earning my keep around here.” I swing my feet to the floor.

  “Your other clothes were ruined…”

  “My boots?” I interrupt.

  “They’re fine. I cleaned them up, gave them a polish, even put some new laces in them. The soles are beginning to go, though. You may need to accept the fact that they’re not gonna last much longer.” He looks at me, guilt evident on his face.

  “They’re fine,” I snap, suddenly feeling my feisty self rising back up to the surface. I swallow the bitch back down; it’s not his fault my boots have been to hell and back with me. “I appreciate you rescuing them.” I offer a small smile.

  Mikey hands me some army wear: green T-shirt, camouflage pants, and matching jacket—and best of all, thick socks. He passes me some underwear that I don’t recognize; it’s certainly not new, though. Graying bra and panties, not real sexy, but he handles them as if they are delicate silks all the way from Europe. I grin and he blushes. I don’t bother to ask where they came from. They may look old, but at least they’re clean.

  “Little privacy.” I raise an eyebrow and smirk.

  “Oh shit, yeah, sorry.” He stands and pulls a dull flowery curtain around my bed, and I slide on the ancient panties and pull on my bra. I can’t fasten it so I shrug into my pants and poke my head through the curtain.

  “Can I get some help?”

  “Sure.” He joins me behind the curtain, blushing even more when he sees my predicament.

  I turn around, showing him my back as I cover my breasts with my hands. “Never figured you for a blusher.” I chuckle.

  “It’s hot in here is all,” he mutters as his fingers graze the skin on my back, sending goose pimples dancing across my flesh. I can almost feel his fingers trembling as he tries to hook the clasp on my bra. He curses under his breath as he struggles to fasten it and I let out another chuckle.

  “Funny shit, huh?” he mutters grumpily.

  “Uh huh.” I grin “What is it that men find so hard about bras? I mean really, it’s not that difficult—you just stick the hook through the little eyelet. Women do this every day without even being able to see what they’re doing.”

  “They’re just so…fiddly. Wait, I’ve nearly got it.” I feel the bra become more secure around me. “Done.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  I turn around to face Mikey. “Ta-da,” I say with a grin. “Well done. Good boy, aren’t you clever?” I laugh again.

  Mikey’s eyes travel to my now secured breasts, his cheeks reddening further. We stand there staring at one another for a moment, thoughts colliding, both unsure and yet certain of what we want all at the same time. Am I ready for this? I think of Fallon’s men and I think of being behind the walls, and then I look into Mikey’s face and see adoration and not anger or greed. Lust? Yes, very much so, but not the dirty lust of wanting to take something that isn’t being freely given. Because I do so freely give myself to him.

  I lean in to kiss him and he meets me halfway, pressing his lips against mine. It’s sweet and soft; he’s being gentle with me, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I know I have nothing to fear from him. I coax him on, kissing him more passionately until he pulls me roughly against him. I gasp in pleasure and pain, as the stitches in my shoulder tug from the movement, but the rest of my body swells with eagerness to be closer to him.

  I continue to kiss him. My hands trail up and down his back as his tongue dances against mine, both eager and hesitant, yet this isn’t something either of us can stop. Every movement of my shoulder sends a sharp pang of pain through it, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing at him. I moan into his mouth as his hands move to my hair and grip it gently, keeping me pressed against him.

  His hands make their way down my back and to my ass cheeks and he pulls me closer, my chest heaving against his. His mouth moves to my neck, and he trails hot kisses from one side of my throat to the other.

  “Mikey.” His name slips out of my mouth for no reason other than to say it, to secure myself in the moment,
that this is him—Mikey—and it’s okay. This—us—is okay. My heart beats wildly in my chest, ready to explode, my temperature rising as the heat between us grows.

  Mikey’s hands move back to my hair, his fingers clasping the side of my head as he tips my face up to his. He looks into my eyes, the warmth radiating from him in waves of deep lust. His breath comes in pants as he presses his mouth to mine and kisses me again, gently pushing me until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed and I fall on to it, with Mikey following.

  He looks at me and smiles, and then his mouth moves between my breasts and down to my navel, leaving wet kisses in his wake. His hands find my hips, and between gasping breaths he looks up to me with hooded, lust-filled eyes. I give him a tentative smile and a nod, letting him know that it’s okay to keep going. Hell, it’s more than okay, I realize. This man doesn’t want to hurt me, would never hurt me. No matter what type of bitch-fest I throw at him, or how reckless I get, he continues to care about me.

  His fingers work the button on my pants, popping it out of the hole, and then he begins to slide my pants down my legs, his hot breath on the inside of my thigh.

  “Hello?”

  Mikey jumps, and I giggle.

  I swallow to catch my runaway breath before speaking. “You okay, James?” I call to him, feeling guilty that we were about to do the dirty while he lay in his sick bed next to me.

  “I’ve been better,” he replies.

  I hold back another laugh as we both stand back up. Mikey looks decidedly frustrated as he hands me my T-shirt and helps me slip it over my head. I hiss in pain as I shrug it down over my shoulder.

  “You okay in there?” James calls out.

  Mikey sticks his head around the curtain. “She’s fine, man, she’s getting dressed.”

  “Oh, oh right, sorry.”

  I smirk and pull the curtain back. “He was just helping me, since I can’t lift my arm yet. Damn shoulder makes it hard to do on my own.” I push Mikey and grin. “Stupid ass.”