Bedlam

by Susanna Strom

She started the engine and headed back to Northumberland Heights. We drove in silence. I glanced sideways at Sunny. Yesterday life was simple. No, that was wrong. Nothing had been simple since the pandemic emptied out the world, but life had been simpler. Yesterday I believed that Sunny was off-limits. And now? Now I had to rethink my assumptions and what that meant for our future.

  You’ll stay with me?

  Of course, I will.

  I hadn’t just promised to stay in Boise, had I?

  SEVEN

  Sunny

  Mom always said that I could sleep through the Second Coming. Once upon a time that was true. For my sixteenth birthday, Jake gave me an alarm clock with pulsating lights and a 100-decibel siren alarm. Then he complained that the new alarm clock woke him, too. Well, what did he expect, with his bedroom right next to mine?

  Sleeping like the dead wasn’t a problem anymore. Not since flu survivors started breaking into vacant—or presumably vacant—houses. Now the slightest sound would rouse me from my slumber.

  A muffled cry startled me awake. I sat up in bed. Without electricity, my 100-decibel alarm clock had been kaput for months, but the old windup alarm clock with glow-in-the-dark hands said it was nearly 3 a.m. Cocking my head to one side and holding my breath, I strained to listen.

  Another indistinct shout. Half-awake, I swung my legs over the mattress and stood, trying to pinpoint its source. A mumbled protest followed by more strangled gibberish sounded through the wall I shared with Jake’s bedroom.

  Kyle.

  I stumbled toward the door, stepped into the hall, then cracked open the door to Jake’s room. Pale moonlight fell across the bed. Kyle had kicked off the blanket and lay flat on his back, one arm thrown over his head. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, and his legs twitched.

  “No.” His head thrashed from side to side. “No, Miles.” He gasped for air, then lapsed into unintelligible mutterings.

  Who’s Miles?

  I tiptoed to the side of his bed and stretched out a hand to touch his shoulder, then paused. Should I wake him or not? A psych professor told my college class once that nightmares allowed people to process painful events, and that the best thing was to let the dream run its course. Unless the sleeper looked like they were extremely agitated or like they might hurt themselves, that is. Whatever Kyle was processing, whatever memory his subconscious had dredged up, he was clearly distraught.

  Kyle groaned and raised his arms, as if fending off an imaginary assailant. “Miles… don’t… don’t…” His hands pummeled empty air. He arched his back, sucked in a deep breath, and froze.

  I stared at him, counting off the seconds.

  Come on, Kyle. Exhale. Move.

  He collapsed against the mattress, the air whooshing from his lungs. “Miles,” he choked out. The pain in his voice clinched it. I lay down on the bed, then rolled onto my side, facing him.

  “It’s all right,” I murmured, stroking the hair back from his sweaty forehead. “Nothing bad is happening. We’re safe. Everything is all right.”

  Kyle’s eyelids fluttered open, and he looked around the room in confusion before focusing his gaze on me. He jerked his head back, then raised up on his elbows. “Sunny?”

  “You were having a nightmare,” I said quickly. Despite all my lurid fantasies, unless it was an emergency, I’d never climb into bed with Kyle uninvited.

  “A nightmare? Dammit.” He sat up and shoved his hands through his hair. Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes again and squared his shoulders, visibly composing himself. “Thanks for waking me, Sunny. I’m fine now.”

  Nope. He wasn’t fine, and he didn’t get to brush me off while he indulged in a show of manly fortitude. Jake had been an overprotective big brother. The last thing I wanted was for Kyle to assume that mantle, to act like a tough guy who took everything on his own shoulders. He had to cut himself some slack. Survival in the new world required community and connection, not machismo.

  “Everybody has bad dreams, especially now,” I assured him.

  “That’s true. They’re nothing special, so let’s not make a big deal out of it.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I sat up and faced him. “Every person on the planet has been traumatized by the pandemic. Nightmares aren’t a sign of weakness.”

  He shrugged, dismissing my assurances.

  I poked him in the chest, and his eyes grew wide. Good. I had his attention, so I poked him again.

  “Cut it out,” he protested, batting my hand away.

  “Don’t act like you’re not entitled to feel bad,” I said. “Nightmares are normal; they’re a sign of your humanity. So stop with the they’re nothing special crap.”

  He opened his mouth as if he was going to argue, then snapped it shut. After a moment, he started again. “You’re right, but when everybody’s been traumatized by the pandemic, it feels whiny and self-indulgent to bitch about what I’ve gone through.”

  “You told me that you’ve dealt with seriously bad stuff.” I hesitated. “An arsonist, a cult, white supremacists.” Should I ask him about Miles? No. Whatever had gone down with Miles—whoever that was—Kyle would share the story when and if he felt ready. “You don’t get over bad stuff by pretending it didn’t happen.”

  “When did you get so smart?” he asked.

  I snorted. “I’ve always been smart, dumbass.” Jake and Kyle used to call each other dumbass when they bantered. The familiar jibe got a smile out of him, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  He sighed. “Okay. The truth is, I’ve been dealing with insomnia and nightmares for a while now. But it’s all right. I can handle it.”

  “It might help if you talk about the bad dreams, you know, drag the boogeyman out into the light of day,” I suggested.

  Kyle rested his elbows on his bent knees and studied me, moonlight slanting across his handsome face. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind; I promise.” It was a rejection, a gentle one, but still a rejection.

  You can’t nag someone into confiding in you. I bit back a protest. “Okay.”

  “You got any idea what time it is?” he asked.

  “A little past three,” I answered. There were hours to go until daybreak, plenty of time for the bad dreams to lay siege to Kyle again. He might not be willing to open up to me, but he shouldn’t be alone. I should be here to wake him if the nightmares returned. “I’d like to stay in here with you, to wake you up in case the bad dreams come back.”

  He made a face. “What am I, five?”

  “Please, Kyle.” I widened my eyes and jutted out my lower lip in the way that always got Jake and Kyle to cave when we were kids. Shameless manipulation, sure, but he’d shot down my direct approach.

  Concern creased his brow. “You scared, Sunshine?”

  “Not exactly.” I wouldn’t lie to Kyle to get my way. “But I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’d feel better if we were together.” That was the absolute truth, a truth that coincided conveniently with my desire to stand guard against the nightmares.

  “All right, Sunny, I give.” He lay down and patted the pillow next to his. “Let’s settle in.”

  I stretched out on my back next to the man of my dreams. Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands. This platonic bed-sharing was nothing like my fantasies. In my daydreams, I was an irresistible siren, desirable, confident, totally at ease. In reality? My breath caught in my throat, and my limbs locked up, my legs straight and my arms ramrod stiff at my side. God. I must’ve looked like I was afflicted with rigor mortis.

  I’m such a dork.

  “You cold?” Kyle pulled a sheet over us. “Come here.” He raised an arm, inviting me to cuddle. I sidled close to him and laid my head on his shoulder. As if it had a will of its own, my hand fell across his chest. I narrowed my eyes and stared at my wayward hand.

  Don’t you dare pet him.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  �
�Good.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Now go to sleep.”

  Seriously? Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind.

  EIGHT

  Kyle

  Sleep eased its grip on me, and my senses stirred awake. Something smelled good. Eyes still glued shut by slumber, I inhaled slowly. What was that? A citrusy aroma filled my nostrils, grapefruit with a hint of honey. Nice. I burrowed my face into the source of the scent. Soft hair tickled my nose, and somebody stirred in my arms.

  A warm, feminine body pressed against mine. We lay on our sides. Our bodies curved together to form an S shape, my arm wrapped around her waist, my hand cupping her breast, and my nose buried in her hair.

  Who was I spooning?

  Memory flooded back. My eyes flew open. I lay plastered against Sunny McAllister, her soft breast filling my palm, her bottom tucked against my groin. Beneath my boxers, I was rocking morning wood. If she woke up, no way she’d miss the erection shoving against her ass.

  How effed up was this? What kind of a perv gropes a woman in her sleep, his dead best friend’s kid sister nonetheless?

  Well, not exactly a kid, thank God. At twenty-one, Sunny was a full-grown woman, but still… I shifted, breaking contact between my cock and her ass. Sunny murmured something in her sleep and wriggled backwards, molding herself against me once again. Biting back a moan, I stilled. I hadn’t slept next to—or with—a woman since Kenzie and I broke up last spring. I missed sex, of course, but if a man’s got two hands, he can get by.

  Sex was one thing, emotional intimacy another. In a lawless world, trusted allies made the difference between survival and death. Friends kept you sane and helped you hold onto your humanity. I had people waiting for me back at Valhalla who were both friends and allies. Ripper and Kenzie. The good doctor, Sahdev. Bear, the rodeo star and rancher. The crazy-ass tattoo artist, Nyx. And a pair of lovestruck teenagers, Hannah and Levi. Good people all.

  Mom used to call me her golden boy, and for most of my life I was fortune’s favorite child. My family loved me. Friends, good grades, and athletic achievement all came easily to me. Girls, too, at least until Kenzie dumped me. And like Kenzie used to say when I flashed my Am Ex card, I had a stoopid amount of money at my disposal.

  Not even the flu pandemic could make this golden boy completely lose his luster. I had everything that mattered: friends, provisions, and a place to call home. Don’t get me wrong. I had to work like hell to get and keep what I had, but I was still luckier than most. I’d survived the flu and found my people.

  Yeah, I had the essentials, but I didn’t have this. Somebody to fall asleep with at night, our limbs tangled as we held each other close. Somebody to nudge me awake when the bad memories haunted my sleep. Somebody to be there when we woke up feeling frisky. I imagined my hand drifting lower, my fingers brushing over the soft curls at the apex of her thighs, then gliding through the slick folds of her sex.

  And this wasn’t mine.

  Get your mitts off Sunny.

  Holding my breath, I gently lifted my hand from her breast and pulled my arm back. I inched away from her again. She muttered a protest, and her eyelids fluttered. I turned onto my stomach and folded my arms under my head, like I’d spent the night keeping my hands to myself on my side of the bed.

  She stretched, arching her back, then rolled over to face me. I squinted at her, letting her know that I was awake, too.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Morning.” I yawned. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Slept like a log,” I answered.

  “A log, huh?” She smirked. “So that’s what was poking me.”

  Busted. Looked like we’d be having an awkward sorry I groped you while we were sleeping conversation after all. “Shit, Sunny. I’m sorry.”

  She laughed. “You copped a feel in your sleep. I won’t hold it against you.”

  Was that a double entendre? Not a clue. Instead of answering, I flashed a smile.

  Sunny sat up, and I got my first real look at the yellow camisole and striped shorts she’d slept in. The ribbed cami clung to the curve of her breasts, breasts I had no business touching last night. Perfect, pert nipples poked against the fabric. Balling my fists to resist the urge to touch, I resolutely lifted my gaze to her sleep-tousled hair.

  Jesus Christ, I had to get a grip.

  Sunny had always sported a chin-length choppy bob. Before the flu, we shared both a favorite stylist and a love for expensive hair products. Her chestnut-brown hair now touched her shoulders. Sleepy eyes—the same golden amber shade as Jake’s—met mine.

  “You drink coffee in the morning, right?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I’m a tea drinker, but I have a box of those instant coffee packets from Starbucks that Dad liked.”

  “Perfect.” I sat up and nonchalantly placed a pillow on my lap.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs in five,” she said, climbing out of bed.

  As soon as she left the room, I fixed stern eyes on my crotch. “Down, boy,” I growled. I counted to one hundred—that’s how long it took—then threw on jeans and a T-shirt. I made my way to the kitchen, where Sunny was bringing water to a boil on one of those alcohol camping stoves that’s safe to use indoors. A box of whole wheat crackers and a jar of peanut butter sat on the counter next to two mugs.

  Sunny pointed to a small bowl of cherry tomatoes. “Fresh tomatoes from the patio planter. Enjoy.”

  “We’re living large,” I said, popping one into my mouth.

  “You know it.” She poured boiling water into the mugs, dunked a tea bag into one, and emptied a packet of instant coffee into the other. “Although I really miss Mom’s Swedish pancakes.”

  I groaned at the memory. “With lingonberries and whipped cream. Best pancakes ever.”

  “Whipped cream.” Sunny sighed. Her tongue darted out and swept across her lips, as if the mere mention of pancakes triggered a sense memory of the experience. I stared and imagined myself licking a dab of cream from that full lower lip, tasting her mouth before pressing my lips against hers.

  Shit. I wrenched my gaze away from her mouth and accepted the cup of coffee she offered me. I took a sip. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

  “I thought we could go back to Ever’s grandma’s place and pack up all the canned food, then take it to the Haven,” Sunny said.

  “Sounds good.”

  I knew better than to mention Valhalla again. With trouble from the Nampa Boys brewing, there was no way that Sunny would pack her things and head to the ranch with me. If the meeting between the Haven and the Boys went well—if they reestablished a détente—then I’d bring the subject up again, use my persuasive skills to change her mind. If Ever was the sticking point, we could bring her along with us. And what about Mrs. B.? Could I show up at Valhalla with three new people in tow, including a child and an elderly woman? Knowing Ripper and Kenzie and the rest, I thought I could.

  After breakfast, we drove the van to grandma’s house. Ever hadn’t been exaggerating when she told us that there was “lots and lots” of canned food in the basement. Miles would have approved of the old woman’s industry. Hundreds of jars filled the basement shelves. By the time Sunny and I finished carefully packing up the boxes and carrying them to the van, it was noon. We stopped at Mrs. B.’s place to check on Ever and found her trying to teach an indifferent Fitzwilliam to play fetch. After a cup of tea and a cookie, we said goodbye, promising to return soon. A little before one, we pulled up to the Haven. I hopped out of the van and opened the sliding passenger door. Sunny rounded the front of the vehicle. I reached inside and lifted a box of canned food to hand off to her.

  Before I took two steps, Ed rushed outside, agitation stamped on his face. He waved his hands and limped toward us. I set the box down on the sidewalk. Ed clutched at Sunny’s arms.

  “I’m worried about Sara and Gavin and Rocco,” he said.

  “Why? What’s going on?” I asked.r />
  “That note you delivered yesterday. Was a request for a meeting with the Nampa Boys. This morning at ten.” A sheen of sweat covered the older man’s forehead, and his words came in a disjointed rush. “Sara and Gavin went to represent the committee. Rocco went as extra security.”

  “What makes you think there’s a problem?” Sunny placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder and spoke in a quiet, steady voice, clearly trying to calm the man down.

  “Sara said—” He gulped, then began again. “Sara said the meeting would take no more than an hour. Max. That they’d be back by 11:30. That’s ninety minutes ago. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  “Maybe the meeting ran long,” Sunny said. “Maybe they got a flat tire on the way. We can’t know for sure that something is wrong.”

  “Did you send somebody to check on them?” I asked. If the man was worried, he shouldn’t just sit around wringing his hands.

  “I’d have gone myself, but I can’t drive with this.” He pointed to the cast encasing his right ankle. He nodded at the woman guarding the entrance. “Margie is a good shot, and we need her at the door. There’re a couple of young people inside sorting food, but neither one of them ever learned how to drive. Everybody else is out scavenging. And they’re either not picking up or are out of radio range.”

  And we spent the past hour drinking tea and watching Ever play with the cat.

  “I’ll go.” I turned to Sunny. Ed was probably overreacting, but I didn’t want to drag Sunny into any potential danger. “Why don’t you stay here and help sort food while I go see what’s up.”

  She cast me a scathing look. “The buddy system, remember? You don’t go anywhere without a partner.”

  “But—”

  “Forget it.” Sunny cut me off. “I’m going with you.” She pointed at my Glock. “And if there is a problem, you can take care of it, Mr. Armed and Dangerous.”

  Sunny still didn’t take the possibility of danger seriously enough, did she? I pressed my lips together, biting back further arguments. Odds were, nothing was wrong, but if things did go south, I guess I’d rather have Sunny at my side than anywhere else. My experience with the cult showed that bad things happen when you’re separated from your people.