The Undead Age Series (Book 2): Damage In An Undead Age

by Geever, A. M.

  In the end, River pronounced Miranda mentally and emotionally unstable due to recent trauma. Rocco reminded the consequences faction that if he was taking on leadership of LO, then he needed someone he trusted to take over the farming responsibilities. He also pointed out that Miranda had been a friend and an asset to the community since her arrival and made no adverse consequences a condition of taking on Smith’s job. Since no one else wanted it, that had been that.

  “Is there anything else that I should be planning for the harvest?” Miranda asked, thinking of the list that they had drawn up yesterday.

  “Not that I can think of,” Rocco said.

  “Then I’m gonna jet,” she said, standing and picking up her dish. “I know they’re leaving early. Don’t want to miss them.”

  Rocco scowled at her. “You could try sounding broken up about it.”

  “And you could try not being an asshole,” she said playfully. “See you later.”

  Miranda left the dining hall, Delilah at her heels. She nodded to a few people, some she knew, others she didn’t yet. But she would, eventually, since she was staying.

  She followed the path through the narrow strip of trees between the Boys’ Home and the housing plan, then took the first path into the Big Woods, the one that went by Otter Pond. Delilah darted ahead, plunging off the path to investigate a scent or chase some poor woodland creature. She never bothered the otters, though. They had not exactly kicked her ass but had instilled in the pit bull a healthy respect for their fierceness. It worked better than Miranda calling her away ever could.

  Miranda could smell the scorched scent that lingered in the air before she reached the remains of the Nature Center. The meager salvage and demolition effort was completed. There was nothing to do about the smell but let time pass. In the parking lot, two pickup trucks were at the epicenter of a group of busy people. Both truck beds were loaded with gear and supplies, though one had more open space than the other. For people, Miranda figured.

  Doug and Skye stood by the closer pickup. Skye was laughing at Doug. He pulled her close for a kiss, then refused to let go while he tickled her. Her peals of protest rang out.

  “Stop it!” she cried, laughing and squirming as she tried to free herself of Doug’s hold.

  “What’s the magic word?” he said.

  Miranda approached them, smiling. It was impossible not to. They were too happy.

  “I’m going to kill you,” Skye squealed.

  “That’s not it,” Doug teased.

  He looked up as Miranda drew near. Still smiling, he let go of Skye.

  “You better watch your back, buddy,” Skye said. “Payback’s a bitch.”

  Doug smirked. “Promises, promises.” He turned his attention to Miranda, his eyes flashing with merriment. “Came to see us off, huh?”

  “I did,” Miranda said.

  Skye nudged Doug’s shoulder with her own. “I don’t know if I’m going to survive two weeks on that yacht with him.”

  “You’ll manage,” Miranda said. “There are always pillow fights to pass the time.”

  “Pillow fights?” Skye said, puzzled.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Doug said.

  “I’m sorry you’re not coming with us,” Skye said. She stepped forward and gave Miranda a hug. “But,” she said, letting go, “I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad that you’ll be here to help Rocco. He acts like he’s back to normal, but he’s not. And running the whole show is freaking him out. Not that he’ll ever admit it.”

  Miranda said, “Don’t worry about him. I’ve been dealing with guys like Rocco my whole life. I’ve got his number.”

  “I know. I’ll see you when I see you. Stay safe, Miranda.” Skye turned to Doug and said, “I’ll go check on that thing.”

  “She’ll go check on that thing?” Miranda asked when Skye was out of earshot.

  Doug grinned. “Subterfuge is not her forte.”

  After a moment, Miranda said, “So…this is it, I guess.”

  “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  “I don’t need to change my mind,” Miranda answered. “This is better all around, you know that.”

  The corners of Doug’s mouth tugged downward. “I don’t. But you think so, so…”

  “Be careful, okay?”

  Doug nodded. They looked at one another, the pause in their conversation not uncomfortable. She still saw Doug almost every day, but things were different. Doug followed her lead and kept everything light, respected the emotional distance that she had put between them. He didn’t like it, but he didn’t push. Miranda wasn’t sure she liked it, either.

  It wasn’t that she loved Doug any less. She didn’t understand the new terrain of their friendship since their argument. Doug wrapped her in a hug, his tall, lanky frame comfortable and warm. Muscle memory of other hugs of affection and comfort and friendship filled her body.

  “I love you, Coppertop,” he whispered. “Remember that. We’ll figure out the rest.”

  Miranda nodded against his chest, her throat suddenly tight. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. Her best friend was leaving. She might never see him again. She didn’t know how to make things right between them, and he didn’t seem to know how, either.

  “Okay,” she said. “I love you, too.”

  She didn’t—couldn’t—let go right away. When she finally did, she saw Doug try to wipe his eye without her seeing.

  “Tell Father Walter I love him. And I miss him. And Karen, too. Make sure she isn’t wearing stupid shoes.”

  “I will,” Doug said with a smile that didn’t sit on his lips quite right.

  “And don’t get dead.”

  His smile relaxed, becoming genuine. “That’s the plan. Don’t you, either.”

  She nodded, gave his hand a final squeeze, and turned away. She knew she was right not to go with them, but she couldn’t kid herself that it felt right to stay.

  She looked around the parking lot when she reached the edge by the path but didn’t see Mario anywhere. She didn’t want to see him but knew she should. Everything about them felt like a dream she couldn’t remember the details of. That they had been together, loved each other so much, even lost a child, felt like a book she might have read that didn’t seem terribly realistic.

  Delilah raced over, banging into Miranda’s shins before flopping heavily onto Miranda’s feet. She looked up at her human, her mouth wide in a goofy pit bull grin.

  “You’re trying to cripple me, dog,” Miranda said.

  She reached down and stroked Delilah’s silky fur. As she straightened up, she caught sight of Mario on the far side of the parking lot. She had not seen him since the day she killed Jeremiah, when he had held her face in his hands and demanded to know how Jeremiah had hurt her so that he could protect her and make it right.

  He looked different, but she couldn’t put a finger on the change. His features were as handsome as ever—the dark-brown eyes, the Roman nose, the square chin and full lips, as was the way he moved, so stiffly upright yet as fluid as water. But the tightness around his eyes and in his jaw, the chilly reserve that surrounded him like the cloak of a person who didn’t want to be seen, was new, even jarring.

  Even at a distance she could feel the longing for something she didn’t have to give him rolling off his body like the gravity well of a planet. She had barely let herself feel anything about Mario one way or the other the past few weeks. Now she…didn’t. How could she have wanted him so much, and for so long, and now feel nothing?

  Mario caught sight of her across the bustling parking lot, his face both lighting and extinguishing at once. His eyes met hers. She searched their brown depths for an ember, a spark. When he spoke, she couldn’t hear his voice, but she didn’t need to.

  I love you.

  No flutter of response in her chest, just the echo of a once familiar ache. She held his gaze another moment, the feeling of one epoch ending and another beginning swirling thickly around her. />
  “Come on, Liley,” she said, tearing her eyes from Mario’s to look down at the trusty little pit bull. “Let’s go.”

  If you enjoyed this book, please do me a solid and leave a review. Reviews need not be long, the same one can be used in more than one place, and can be left at any retailer where the book is listed (whether you bought it there or not): Amazon, Goodreads and Bookbub are the biggies. Thank you.

  Click here for the Sneak Peek first chapter of Reckoning in an Undead Age!

  About the Author

  A.M. Geever lives in her hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. An avid reader of science fiction and fantasy from an early age, the only job she ever wanted—besides being a writer—was to be a Star Fleet Officer.

  When not dreaming of stories of survival in extraordinary circumstances, she spends most of her time with her family and fur babies, and loves to travel to exotic locales.

  Acknowledgments

  No book is written without the community supporting the author. As always, huge and humble thanks, and deepest gratitude, to my family, whose support and love means everything. I cannot think of any positive thing I’ve done in my life that hasn’t been influenced by the love, generosity, and general badassery of each and every one of you.

  The Beta Readers

  Sarah Lyons Fleming, who is always right about what needs to be cut, what needs to be explored, and what just won’t fly.

  Terry & Joe Hingston, for your outrageous enthusiasm, and saving me from making an embarrassing Seattle gaffe.

  Rhonna Woodie & Roseann Powell, for providing such valuable feedback from gen-yoo-ine fans of the Undead Age universe.

  The Editing Team

  Arianne “Tex” Thompson, Developmental Editor Extraordinaire. With only a written summary of Love, which she had not read, and the outline for Damage, Tex fixed the massive problem with the plot that I had not been able to resolve—in ten minutes. Ten minutes. This book would have sucked without you, Tex. Thank you!

  Kimberly at Kimberly Dawn Editing, who fixed all the crap to make the story shine.

  Darcy Prince and Scott Karavlan, nit-picky proofreaders extraordinaire.

  There will be typos, I know, despite everyone’s diligent efforts (including my own six plus rounds of proofreading), because typos are like fucking cockroaches.

  The Creative Geniuses

  I cannot say enough about the creative talents of Doug Dean, except that he’s freaking amazing. I don’t know how you raised the bar even higher, but I’m pretty sure it’s due (in part) to your willingness to keep looking every time I said, “The hand still isn’t right.”

  The Publicity Team

  Many thanks to Heather Roberts at L. Woods PR for helping me think about and tackle the big picture of being an author, not just what’s right in front of me.

  BM, thank you for the advice.

  Very Special Thanks

  Diana Gordon, Education & Outreach Coordinator for the Oregon National Primate Research Center at Oregon Health & Science University. The last minute tour you were gracious enough to take me on when I was in Portland was not only a fascinating highlight of my research trip, but contributed immensely to the veracity and originality of the story.

  Arthur Crivella, for your generous loan of Na-Wak-Wa Lodge, which allowed me to work on the first big re-write without distractions.

  Mass Giorgini, for allowing me to use your family name for Rocco. I hope he does it justice.

  Last but not least, my Three Favorite Pieces. My dad, Eamon, who lifts my heart out of my shoes. My husband, Drew, who still makes me laugh and only occasionally drives me as crazy as I drive him. And my brother, Justin, who continues to inspire me to pursue my artistic dreams by pursuing his own, and whose support and encouragement is off the hook.

  — June 6, 2020