Zombie Queen

by Mary Martel

  Maybe he’s right, and I am fucking crazy. Watching him swagger to us with that bow propped on his shoulder and knowing he could’ve just saved our lives makes me want to hug him until he picks me up and my legs wrap around his waist.

  Jesus. I’m starting to feel like the horny teenager I should be in a normal life.

  He stops to yank his arrow out of thing’s skull before he turns to us. “What are you doing out here? And letting a woman defend you?”

  The last is directed at Joseph. He must’ve seen Graham jump in front of me like he did.

  I put my empty hand on my hip and open my mouth to lay into the wild man when he rushes me. In one quick scoop, my belly is pressed against his shoulder, and he’s walking us back to the house.

  “Somebody take her sword,” he calls back to the others. “Don’t want her to accidentally poke me with it.”

  It’d be pointless to fight back, so I just let myself be carried, pointing out, “Oh, if I poked you, it’d be on purpose.”

  He chuckles, and from the top of his shoulder, the sound does funny things to my belly.

  “No doubt, crazy,” he responds.

  Noble’s voice sounds close as he asks, “Why are you carrying her? Is she hurt again?”

  I roll my eyes at the wild man’s back when he replies, “This way was quicker.”

  “She was teaching us some pretty cool stuff in the woods,” Joseph tells what I’m assuming is the rest of the group who must be now staring at my ass in their faces.

  “Put me down, wild man,” I growl, pinching his side.

  He grunts but doesn’t do as I ask.

  “Let’s go over the supplies we’ve gathered, then a few of us can hit the lake for dinner,” Noble says, ignoring my request too.

  I hear them all shuffling up the stairs to go inside, but we’re last. Kemp’s shirt lifts at the bottom on the side he’s got me propped on, and I see a flash of ink. Fair’s fair. If he gets to do whatever he wants with my body, he gets the same treatment.

  Lifting the hem up further, the first thing I notice is the strip of elastic from his underwear clearly labeled Calvin Klein. I would’ve never seen it if his pants weren’t loose, looking like he’s a size smaller than when he bought those jeans. The next thing is the freckles with a flash of skin. They’re everywhere just like I suspected. However, it’s the bottom edge of a tattoo that finally makes my lips open with a pop. It looks like the bottom portion of a lion maybe. Something with lots of teeth.

  My fingers reach out to touch his peachy skin, and that’s when he drops me. At least it’s not sideways. He does set me on my good foot none too gently before he’s crowding my space by pressing me against the house beside the front door. It’s already closed behind the last person that went inside.

  “I didn’t tell you to touch me,” he snaps right in my face.

  Nerves already frayed at the edges, I push right back off the wall until we’re almost nose to nose, “Well I didn’t tell you to touch me either, wild man.”

  If anyone asks, I’d claim pure fucking insanity for what happens next. Those topaz eyes blazing with an emotion I can’t decipher make me do one of the stupidest things of my entire life. Pushing up on the toes of my good foot and wrapping my arms around his neck, I yank his lips to mine.

  For a few seconds, I think I’ve made a huge mistake when his body locks down and turns to stone. Then he sucks in a harsh breath before those warm soft lips are moving against mine. I haven’t even gotten a chance to enjoy the feel of him as his hand finds the back of my neck. Forcing my face upward, his tongue snakes out, demanding entrance. I willingly relent, giving him full access, and the first touch of our tongues about drops me to my knees.

  I’ve kissed a boy before, but never have I ever been kissed. Not until this moment with my wild man am I able to tell the difference between the two. As if all the other sensations weren’t enough and causing a tingling in my body that starts in my belly and runs straight between my legs, but the coarse hair around his mouth scratches at my soft skin.

  When he finally pulls away, it’s with a smirk as he says, “If that’s the welcome home I’ll get every time, you’re never going on a run, crazy.”

  Before I can respond, he’s yanking the screen door open and strolling inside. I’m left slack jawed on the porch, torn between craving another taste of the wild man and wanting to give him a harsh kick to the shin. Peeling myself off the wall, it hits me that I didn’t even realize he’d had me pinned there yet again.

  Note to self: that man has the potential to be more dangerous than the fuckfaces.

  Running a hand down my hair and across my face, I try to slow the racing of my heart, hoping it’ll take care of some of the flush to my cheeks. Even if I can’t do anything about the scruff rash.

  Taking a deep breath, I make my way into the house on a hobble. Seems like Noble didn’t wait on us to start his little family meeting, which is a good thing. It would’ve only brought more attention to our absence if he had. I’m apparently just in time to catch the end of his briefing, but it doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out the supplies that were gathered. They’re all laid out on the kitchen table. More candles, batteries, some canned food, paint, and blackout curtains are all I see before Noble is calling an end to the meeting and starting to assign jobs.

  I purposely avoid looking anyone in the eye as they all begin to disperse. Dex is the closest and gives me a one-armed hug on his way outside to do whatever chore Noble gave him. The best I can give him is an awkward pat on his forearm, especially as I notice Kemp’s eyes locked on us from across the room. Noble and others file out one by one leaving me, Sam, Russ, and the wild man alone.

  The latter crosses the space between us in several quick strides. Just when I think he’s going to come in for round two, he deflects with his chest bumping into my shoulder on his way by. Which doesn’t mean he doesn’t leave my heart racing in his wake. Not by a long shot. I almost choke on the damn beats, especially as I make eye contact with Sam still sitting at the table.

  I raise an eyebrow, daring him to call me out on the past ten minutes. Lucky for him and all of his extremities, he keeps his mouth shut. My gaze flicks to where Russ still waits, expecting him to run off like the others so Sam and I can chat about the errand he was supposed to take care of for me while they were out.

  “He knows,” Sam blurts.

  Letting my scowl drop over my face, I glare at him. “You were supposed to go alone.”

  Russ jumps to his defense. “None of us should be going alone anywhere. It’s more than a trust thing right now. We’ve all got to worry about each other’s safety, and him doing what he did not only put his on the line, but mine and Kemp’s as well.”

  My stomach clenches as I realize there’s truth to his words. I start to apologize, but Russ cuts me off. “Everybody is back safe, though, so we didn’t tell Noble, and we brought you some stuff.”

  Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I try to quench the immediate dirty feeling at the thought of them going through my things. No matter how I feel about it, Russ’s words ring true.

  I shouldn't have put the entire team at risk all because I wanted to make them some bread. It's completely selfish, even if I was thinking about all of us and not just myself.

  Hobbling over to the table, I plop down into one of the chairs. Russ covers my hand with his as he says, "No harm, no foul, Em. We're all safe."

  "Besides," Sam adds, "I got all the things you asked for."

  "And then some," Russ admits a little sheepishly while lifting his bag to the table and giving it a quick pat with his free hand.

  Inhaling sharply, I let the stray thoughts of the danger I put them in leave my mind as I say, "Okay, it won't happen again. What else did you guys take?"

  Sam holds his hands out, palm forward, confessing, "I took only what's on the list and nothing more. Even though it might have been helpful for you to tell me just how tight of a squeeze there was between
those bookshelves."

  I snort, knowing he'd have difficulty getting back there and doing it on purpose as payback for stalking me.

  "Sam," Noble calls from outside, clearly irritated at having the task he assigned him left ignored.

  He shoots me a smile as he heads toward the door. If he'd been close enough, I would've grabbed his hand in passing, but I guess words will just have to do.

  "Thanks, Sam," I tell him earnestly, which gets me a nod and wider grin in return.

  Damn, that boy has a serious savior complex.

  Takes one to know one.

  Shaking my head once at my inner psycho, I turn my attention to Russ. His gaze is studious as he watches my face, almost like he's still expecting a swift kick to the nuts or something. Jeez, I know I'm an asshole, but I don't think I'm that bad.

  "I'm sorry I touched your stuff without permission."

  "Thank you for going after him."

  We speak at the same time, bringing a smile to both our faces.

  "Whatever you took will determine my anger level," I tease him.

  Apparently that's the wrong thing to say because his face blanches and I can tell he's going to apologize again.

  I point at him with two fingers then move them back toward my own eyes until his focus is back there. "Kidding. I'm not mad. I just hope that you're not going to make me regret that."

  He shakes his head once as he promises, "I won't tell them."

  "So, what'd you bring me?" I ask, probably a little too greedily.

  This time when he smiles, it brings out dimples on his cheeks that leave me more breathless than they should. Who would've known I'd have a thing for them? When he unzips his bag and brings out the book I'd been reading on top of a stack of my favorites, I have to fight the urge to jump into his lap and hug him. Then he drops a small pile of folded clothes between us and I give up fighting it.

  There's a slight moment of shock on his face as I throw my arms around his shoulders. Out of all the things he could've brought back with him, my books and a clean-ish pair of backup jeans is the best. Not that I'm opposed to wearing Dex's sweats again, but it's nice to be prepared to book it if I need to with an extra pair of pants.

  Pulling me from my thoughts, he admits, "This is your duffle, too. I didn't bring one with me and didn't think you'd mind."

  Flicking my eyes over my shoulder at it, I notice there's other stuff in there, but I don't get a chance to comment on it. Something of more importance catches my attention.

  "Did you dog-ear the page in my book?" I ask him slowly.

  "Umm, I didn't have anything else to use. I didn't want you losing your place," he confesses with a flush rushing to his cheeks.

  That cute little bit of coloring could be the one thing that saves him from a nut shot after all.

  "Are you a monster?" I prod.

  He shakes his pretty blond head, and I follow up with, "Didn't think so. Don't dog ear my pages. Please. You're better than a savage."

  My voice has dropped into a whisper, and the thought of kissing this kind man crosses my mind. If anyone asks, I'll blame it on the wild man. No, wait. I shouldn't be blaming anything on anyone or admitting shit either. Whatever the cause and effect, it looks like we're going to be taking advantage of the situation. I've just let my eyelids flutter closed when I hear booted footsteps outside the screen door.

  "Hey, Russ, I'm going to need you to come down to the lake with me--" Dex says, drawing out the last word as he comes through.

  We separate immediately, and the both of us fidget like we were just caught doing something other than almost brushing lips. Flicking my eyes up to Dex, it's to see a smidge of hurt there before he wipes it away. Double deuce.

  Thanking Russ for my things, I watch the two of them file back outside. Once they're away from prying eyes and ears, I wonder if they'll talk about what just happened. Or, well, what almost happened. I worry my bottom lip through my teeth, hoping they don't start fighting. This isn't right. None of it is. Even if they have the potential to be the last dudes in the apocalypse and me the only girl, there has to be some kind of rule saying I can't claim them all. Maybe not all of them. Just Russ, Dex, Sam, Doc, and the wild man. Ugh, who am I kidding? Joseph and Noble too. Okay, so maybe it is all of them. This is so fucked. I'm supposed to be planning an escape after all this other shit blows over, not getting attached. Stupid Emerald and ridiculous hormones.

  Trying to get my mind off the male species and the precarious way I've got one foot balanced in and out of the door, I set to work on the bread. It takes awhile to get the dough to look like it did in the cookbook, but that's okay because it gives me the distraction I'm looking for. The other shit can wait. According to that book, baking bread is a fucking science, and I'll be damned if I let Sam's hard work go to waste.

  I've just finished laying out a couple rows of dough when a loud thud from upstairs has my head jerking toward the ceiling. Since the guys ran off to do their chores, not a single one has come back inside. That's a fact because unless they crawled through a second-story window, they'd have to pass me in the kitchen to get to the stairs.

  Snatching up one of my swords from the corner by the front door, I hobble to the bottom of the stairs. No other sounds have come from above, but my trust for anything these days treads a fine line of practical invisibility. Flashing a quick glance over my shoulder to the door where I should probably be running for backup, I give that idea a boot straight through that fucker. I've managed this long on my own, and I don't need a man to have my back.

  Each twang of my ankle on the steps hits me with a shot of adrenaline, reminding me I can't make a quick run for it if things get ugly. By the time I make it to the top, I'm ready to stab the first thing to make an appearance in this hallway. The downside to that is it also fueling my imagination like gas on a fire. Everything I can possibly imagine is hiding behind one of these doors. One of the undead fuckfaces. A gang member from that crew the guys spotted. Ghosts of the people that used to live here.

  A low, pain-filled moan slips under a crack two doors down. It doesn't sound like one of the undead's unintelligent blabberings. What if these dudes took someone else prisoner with some bullshit story like they fed Sam and me? What if it's some woman they've abused and kept locked up?

  No longer hesitant, I feel the need to help whoever it is before the guys come in and spot me.

  Damn those fuckers for lying to me.

  Reaching for the door handle, I let my inner voice keep up her bitching and threatening.

  I'm going to chop off all their nuts one at a time and feed them to the fucking squirrels.

  As I get my first view inside the room, everything comes to a screeching halt, including the breath in my chest. It takes a few seconds before it all catches up to the same page.

  A super old lady is laying on the floor by the bed, reaching out a hand for me. Her pallor is immediately noticeable, and she has tons of wrinkles all over. What little bit of hair she has on her head is white and sticks up at odd angles. There isn't any kind of recognition in her eyes, but they're not milky and clouded over like an undead.

  And her hand is still between us like she's asking for help.

  Setting my sword against the wall, I hope I'm not making a huge mistake. Putting the majority of my weight on my good foot, I bend down and wrap my arms around her torso. It's a good thing she weighs next to nothing because I doubt I'd be able to do this alone otherwise. Getting her back into bed, I tuck the quilted comforter around her frail body, and she instantly shuts her eyes.

  I sigh in relief, and my eyes fall on some medicine bottles on the table side the bed. There are a couple with random names on them, but majority belong to a woman named Caroline Ross. Setting the orange plastic container back where I got it from, I grab my sword and hobble out of the room. The adrenaline is wearing off, making my ankle throb in response.

  My hobble is worse going back toward the stairs, so when I get there, I just do the ass scooting th
ing down each step. At this point, I don't care if one of them sees me doing it or the slap to my pride because someone has a few questions to answer. Whatever I find out in the next few minutes will be the deciding factor on whether or not I'm sneaking the fuck out of here the first chance I get or not.

  With my sword still balanced in my palm, I make my way out the front door, careful not to let the screen slam behind me. Just in case it wakes the sleeping stranger upstairs.

  Noble and Sam are crouched over a blue tarp several feet away from the porch. There's a book laid open to the side and a couple greasy parts lay between them. Deep in conversation, they don't even look up as I perch my right ass cheek up on the rail. Graham and Joseph, however, standing over by the table now littered with recognizable greens from the woods, do take notice. Movement at the tree line catches my eye, and I turn to find Kemp strolling out with the crossbow thrown over his shoulder. The only two missing from the group, I can still see down by the lake with fishing poles in their hands.

  Not waiting for a greeting, I blurt, "Any of you want to tell me who the little old granny is upstairs that scared the fuck out of me just now?"

  All attention turns to where I sit propped on the rail, running a hand over the hilt of my sword. I don't even have a chance to squirm underneath the pressure of all their eyes on me before Joseph is jogging toward the house.

  "Is she the owner of this place or something?" I ask. Sam stands slowly in my peripheral, and it's a safe bet to assume he's taking stock of our odds of getting out of here alive too.

  My gaze narrows as Noble stands, but thankfully I'm saved from having to neuter or kill any of them when Joseph speaks up.

  "She's my grandma," he says right before breezing through the screen door.

  "She's fine," I call after him. "I helped her back into bed."

  Now that he mentions it, I could see some of the familiarity there. Though her skin was wrinkly, the tanned complexion should've been a dead giveaway. Plus, she's got a cocktail of meds on her bedside table, meaning someone has cared enough to make sure she had them. She also didn't smell or seem dirty. That should've been flag numero dos. But, in my haste for answers to the unknown, I hadn’t stopped to think about these things. Do I regret demanding answers? Not in the least. These days, even one unknown could be the difference between life and death.