by Eve Langlais
Still, she hesitated. Waited for the dancing spots but instead saw a last burst of bubbles gush out of Oliver.
He was drowning. She had to stop hesitating.
I have to do this.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she bit her lower lip, lowered her head, and jabbed with her horn. The first poke, lacking strength behind it, bounced off the flesh. The next attempt she rammed it, spearing the tentacle. The reaction proved immediate. The arm released Oliver and retreated through the crack to the sunken sixth floor.
Emma hooked Oliver’s sinking body with an arm before stroking up to the surface, shoving his head through first. Emerging second, she sucked in a lungful of air before orienting herself on the ladder that marched down into the water.
The flooding had happened during the explosions. She could only assume some kind of wall between the lake and the lower chamber was cracked open. What she found odd was the water didn’t rise to the level of the lake. A good thing or she would have been eking out a very meager existence in the ruins above.
Lugging an unconscious man proved a tad difficult. Not because he was heavy—she was a strong girl now, unlike before when people took advantage of her. A limp Oliver, however, proved unwieldy to move, especially when climbing.
But she managed it, lugging him to the fifth floor and then dragging him through. She continued to drag his body down the hall, leaving a wet streak on buckled tile. She brought him to her home. Ward C, cell number five. The space was untouched when she found it after making her way back to the clinic after the helicopter crash. Lacking outdoor skills and a sense of direction, it took her a bit of time. Winter nipped at her heels the days before she stumbled upon it. The destruction made her cry until she realized it was contained and affected only the topmost levels. She’d never been happier than the moment she hit her floor and stumbled into her familiar space.
My home.
Which she would not share with Oliver.
She eyed him, sopping wet on the floor, then her nice dry bed. “I don’t think so,” she muttered, reversing course. Heaving him once more, she headed back out into the hall and then proceeded to move a stack of boxes to make him some space that she might place him in the room beside hers. The bed hadn’t been used since the evacuation; however, the mattress hadn’t yet decayed and only emitted a slightly musty smell when she heaved him onto it.
Oliver hadn’t moved since they’d emerged from the water, but he breathed and shivered. His teeth clacked hard enough she wondered if they’d break. She’d already stripped plenty of blankets from other rooms, knowing she had to preserve as much as she could before the rats or nature got to it. Some of the blankets were hung over boxes. She retrieved an armful but hesitated before dumping any on him. His clothes were soaked. They really should be removed. Undressing him, though…
Stop being a ninny.
She tackled his boots first, letting them drop to the floor. Then she went after his socks, which she had to yank off inside out since they were glued to his skin. She gritted her teeth when she dealt with his pants—but left his underwear on. The shirt proved a bit challenging to get over his head and the vest she removed before that, heavy, as if it held stuff. She glanced in the pockets a bit and found a treasure trove of items: multi-tool with knife and corkscrew, the infamous saltshaker, his phone, even a reel of fishing line. She left everything in its place and concentrated on him once more.
With him mostly denuded, she couldn’t help but see him before the first sheet went over him. A decent-sized man, he possessed a fit body, lots of lean muscle, a furry chest, and a vee that led to underwear with pizza slices all over it.
Not exactly what she’d expected to see. Didn’t most men go for solid-colored briefs?
She shouldn’t be paying his undergarment choice any mind. He needed more blankets. She layered them atop his body.
Still, he shivered, a fact that brought a frown, especially since she had no other source of heat.
Yeah, you do.
Much as it pained her, she knew one other option to help warm him up. Before she could think too long about it, she stripped and slid under the blankets, snuggling her warm body to his. Aware of the fact it was skin on skin, hers always hot, his shivering cold.
She draped herself over Oliver to cover as much of his flesh as possible. Hugged him. Put her cheek on his chest and was reassured by the steady beat of his heart. As she relaxed atop him, she couldn’t help the spurt of pleasure she got out of being close to someone.
I only had to make sure he was unconscious first. Because if Oliver were awake, he’d surely shove the monster aside in disgust.
The reminder turned down her lips, but she remained atop him as a heating pad. Slowly but surely, his tremors eased, and yet, she didn’t move but rather slumbered. For some reason she dreamt of the night the helicopter went down.
Emma woke coughing, her throat tickling and parched, dry and irritated from the heat and smoke she’d breathed in. She opened her eyes and immediately blinked as the acrid air stung them. Jolts of electrical lightning crackled, lighting the area for mere seconds at a time. A nightmarish blink of the eye.
Smoke. Destruction. Even the glow of flames. Crackle, snap, flash.
Blink. It took a moment to realize through the roaring in her ears and the pounding in her skull that she heard more than the hungry licking of flames. She could hear moans, even a soft prayer. “Our Satan, who art in Hell, cursed be thy name. Save your son that I might do your work.”
Kind of disturbing but not the most pressing problem. She hung oddly in the harness she’d barely managed to buckle before the helicopter crashed on its side.
“Are you awake?” said a voice from beside her.
“Hope not because this is like a nightmare,” she muttered.
“No, nightmare, Una. We’re in big trouble. We need to get out of this thing before it blows.”
Her sluggish brain put his words together with the other signs of danger: fire, fuel… Uh-oh.
The realization snapped some focus back into her, and she ran her hands over the harness looking for the clip. Click. It took falling for her to realize she should have grabbed hold of something. Instead, she landed on the still sleeping Barry. At least she hoped he was sleeping and not dead.
She scrambled away from him and stood awkwardly. Now what?
“Let me loosssse.” The hissed request came from the guy seated beside her. Jacob was fully bound, like everyone else, but awake. Aware.
“Um, yeah. Give me a second,” she said, looking around for a way to reach him.
“Don’t really have a second, Una.”
“My name is Emma.”
“Mine will be barbecue if you don’t get me out of this contraption.”
She ended up grabbing hold of her dangling harness, hauling herself up, and then hooking one arm that the other might deal with the clips holding him in place. Poor Barry got used as a landing pillow again and grunted. She leaped down beside Jacob and began undoing the buckles of his straightjacket.
“Faster, Unicorn girl. It’s getting hot in here.”
Hot and smoky.
The moment his arms were free, Jacob removed the rest of the constraints and leapt for the door at the rear of the chopper. Opening it brought a whiff of fresh air.
And freedom.
He stood framed in the doorway. “Coming, Una?”
“Shouldn’t we help the others?” She glanced at their prone bodies.
His gaze followed hers, saw them helpless and in need of their aid, yet he managed to say, “When it comes to survival, it’s every man for themselves.” Then he left.
Left while the flames got hotter, the smoke thicker.
Emma might have followed except… She wasn’t an asshole. Which was why she began tackling those caught on the bottom first. Unhooking them and tossing them out the back, thankful for her extra strength. She’d worry about their cocooning restraints later—if she had a later.
S
he didn’t have much time. In the movies, explosions happened quickly.
It turned out Jacob wasn’t the only one who’d regained consciousness. She came across another person who was awake.
Xiu watched with those wide-open freaky white eyes. “I can help.”
The woman might appear blind, but she could unbuckle faster than Emma. She helped get those who were still breathing unhooked, making Emma’s job the one of pack unicorn carrying them out to the safer ground outside.
Although, by the time they reached the last one, it appeared they needn’t hurry. The flames had sputtered out, and yet they continued to work until every living body was outside.
Janice, another one who’d woken, didn’t stick around, claiming, “They’ll probably send a search party to round us up.”
Sounded good to Emma. Which was why, when the others woke, they found her sitting atop the wreckage watching the sky.
They called her deluded and suffering from Stockholm syndrome when she insisted she wanted to stay and be rescued. They laughed when she said she missed the comfort of her room at the clinic. All of them ran away and left her behind.
By the third day of waiting, her belly hungry and miserable with damp and cold, she realized no one was coming. She moved from the wreckage and began wandering the mountain range and forests. Scavenging for the fall berries that were overripe and few. Freezing at night when the temperature dropped. Running into a few of the others who escaped—not situations that ended well.
It took her a while to find her way home, only to discover a ruin. The sight of the rubble had her crying for days. She might have died staring at it in despair, but as winter crept in, she ran out of places to huddle and stay warm. With nothing left to lose, she dared to enter the ruins and discovered the damage was mostly on the surface. She made it down into the belly of the clinic and found out she wasn’t alone.
It wasn’t as reassuring as you’d expect. The night she woke to something heavy on her she held her breath lest she make a sound.
Don’t say a word or he’ll hit you.
That was the best way to handle it. Except, she wasn’t that scared girl anymore. She didn’t have to say yes. She could say no, and if he didn’t listen, she. Would. Roar.
“Get off me.”
“Pretttttty,” the thing hissed, tearing at her clothes.
“No.” She shoved at the heavier body. “No!”
“What the hell?”
The voice was a different one, and as she stared at the face above her, it changed, turned into Oliver, and he was under her, confusion in his face…
…because she was awake and shoving at him.
“Oliver?” she queried.
“Who else would I be?” Said in a grumpy tone.
“How do you feel?” Because, from her perspective atop him, he felt mighty fine. Warm, too. She squirmed against him, and his body reacted in a way that had her freezing.
“Emma, what the fuck is going on? Why are you naked on top of me?”
“To warm you up. You fell in the water.”
“Fell?” He snorted. “That octopus from the lake tried to kill me.”
“It did.”
“Don’t tell me you saved me again.” Said with a groan.
“Okay.”
“Okay what?”
“You told me not to tell you,” she said in absolute innocence.
“Ha. Ha. Not funny. Who helped you get me into this bed?”
“No one.”
It took him a moment before he snapped out, “Do all the Chimera monsters get super strength?”
The reminder of his feelings about her brought a frown. “That’s not a nice thing to say.”
He sighed. “No, it wasn’t. I’m sorry. Just a little out of sorts. This is twice today I’ve almost died.”
“Three if you count the blob.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” was the dry retort.
Her lips curved into a smile she knew he couldn’t see in the dark. “You’re welcome.”
“How long was I unconscious?”
She shrugged. “I don’t exactly keep time down here.”
“Here being?”
“Fifth floor.”
“Is that where you live?”
Again, she gave a subtle squirm of her body that might have brushed parts it shouldn’t have. “Yes.” No point in denying it.
“Doesn’t it get lonely?”
“Very.” Which might be why the erection he couldn’t hide didn’t send her running.
“Does anyone else live here?”
Was he seriously interrogating her?
“According to you, monsters.”
“How many?”
“Depends on the day. Some of them come and go. Others, like the blob, never leave.”
“Did you ever try and leave?”
She shook her head, the strands of it whipping his face.
“Why not leave the mountains?”
“And go where? Do what? It’s not like I can hide my horn with a wig or a hat.”
“You could have it removed.”
How to explain it always came back? It was as if her body considered it an essential limb. No matter how many times it got trimmed, by the next morning, a nub returned. Within a week, it measured several inches long.
“What’s the point? I’ll never be normal.”
“So you do regret getting the cure?”
“No. It’s still better than dying. But I wish the clinic was still here.”
“Why would you want to be a prisoner to those evil doctors?” he asked, sounding flabbergasted.
“Because they were nice to me.”
“They experimented on you.” He sounded mad.
“I get it. You don’t understand,” she huffed. “But put yourself in someone else’s shoes. Imagine you’ve been told you’re dying. You’re already in pain. And it’s going to get worse. You’re all alone. You have no one to hold your hand. No one to lie and say shit will get better. You have only pain and misery to look forward to, and certain death. Then along comes a guy who says, hey, I know someone who can help you.”
“Chimera,” he said with a sneer.
“Yes, Dr. Chimera. A man who deserves praise, not your disdain. He saved my life when he didn’t have to. He could have left me dying in that hospital. Could have walked away and never cured a damned person, but because of him, so many of us got a second chance.”
“How can you call this a life? You’re living in ruins with things that don’t even look human anymore.”
“Because people like you think I shouldn’t exist,” Emma blurted out. Then, because she couldn’t stand to be close to a man who thought so little of her, she shoved away, rolled right out of the bed. “Your clothes are drying on a chair,” she said before fleeing the room.
As if running away would get rid of him. His words followed her, ensuring that she felt more alone than ever.
Chapter Seven
Oliver regretted the harshness of his words the moment the warm naked body slipped away. What kind of idiot did that?
The kind that remained snug under the covers. He felt perfectly hot at the moment, so it wasn’t like he needed her. However, he did feel like a heel.
He’d deliberately insulted her. Called her a monster. Mostly to keep himself in check, but it didn’t work. The erection remained, and he wanted to touch her something fierce. He managed to keep his hands to himself. Given her naked body atop his was the problem, he needed her off because she hadn’t seemed inclined to move on her own.
So he insulted her until she finally got the point. He hurt her and immediately wanted to apologize. Good thing she left before he did. He was hoping her closeness didn’t infect him with what she had. Cerberus had assured him they weren’t contagious, and yet, Oliver hadn’t felt like himself since meeting her. She must have done something to him!
A thought to make even him ashamed. The woman had risked herself saving him. Told him of her sad past. Gave him a
glimpse of her loneliness.
And he made it worse.
So much for thanking her for not letting him die. Last he recalled his lungs were about to burst from a lack of air and the cold bite of the water as the octopus came back for round two.
He lived. A little bit bruised, he noticed as he began to move. His body was sore in a few places but a better alternative than being digested by the calamari he usually preferred breaded on a plate.
Because Emma saved him.
A monster to the rescue, who’d not only ripped Oliver from the clutches of another monster but somehow carried him to safety. Then got naked with him to make sure he didn’t die of hypothermia.
God, I am such a dick.
He owed her his gratitude and an apology, and he’d give it to her if he could ever find his way in the dark. There wasn’t a smidgen of light in this place. Just pure black.
How did she handle it?
Oliver didn’t think he could live in absolute darkness. Not seeing meant he tensed, wondering how close the walls leaned in on him. What if danger lurked? He wouldn’t see it coming.
“Emma?” He said her name, wondering if she’d remained close by.
A reply wasn’t forthcoming. Not from her or anything else, but how could he be sure he was alone?
The blob would love to catch him unaware. A thought that should have galvanized and yet froze him in his bed. How emasculating that he feared putting his foot on the floor.
He’d never exactly gotten over his fear of the monster hiding under the bed. In some cases, though—as he’d learned on his trip to Moscow to unearth a smuggling scheme—humans were the ones hiding.
Did the ceiling bow overhead? Was he perhaps just a moment away from triggering a collapse?
So many things could go wrong if he got out of this warm bed. Yet staying wasn’t a guarantee.
Oliver knew he lay in a bed because he could feel it under him, the mattress covered in fabric, the weight of blankets over him part of how he remained snug. Listening, he heard nothing, not even an electrical hum or the drip of water. The dead silence of a ruin long abandoned—by normal people.
Are you going to stay hiding under the sheets until the monsters come to get you?