“Thanks,” Remy murmured, wiping at her eyes. She squeezed them shut and fought to gain control of herself. It felt like everything inside her was displaced, like her stomach was squished into the middle of her back and her heart was stuffed down by her liver. “God, what is wrong with me?” she asked. “I’m not acting like me at all.” She gave Brandt a tight smile that barely masked the tears still threatening. “Fuck. I’m okay, I promise.”
Brandt rubbed her back again and looked across the yard with a vacant expression. “You lost someone you love,” he said. “I can’t imagine how hard that is. I haven’t dealt with that in a long time.” He glanced at the window behind them. “I hope I never do, either.”
She pulled away from him and glanced at the window. “Speaking of which, how’s Cade today? Any improvement?”
He brightened. “I think her fever finally broke,” he said with enthusiasm. “She’s noticeably cooler than she was yesterday.”
Remy gave him a happy smile as relief coursed through her. They’d all been crazy with worry over Cade; Brandt had almost gone insane with the stress he’d experienced over her briefly worsened condition.
The infection—thankfully not one of the Michaluk variety—brought on by the gunshot wound to Cade’s side had raged through her body for three weeks, and they’d fought a desperate war against it. They’d pumped her full of what few antibiotics they had, given her as many fluids as they could work down her throat, constantly bathed her with cool cloths as her fever skyrocketed and her body sweated and shivered. They hadn’t been sure they were treating the infection properly, but they’d taken the baseline of information that both Brandt and Gray knew and run with it. They’d clearly done something right—Cade’s fever breaking was a very good sign.
“Got scary for a bit there, didn’t it?” Brandt asked. His voice was thick with an emotion Remy recognized immediately.
“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” she murmured. With the way he constantly glanced at the window, it was clear where he wanted to be—and it was not on the roof with her. Not that she blamed him.
Brandt didn’t look surprised by her question. He shifted his eyes to hers and nodded. “Yeah, of course,” he said, as if it were obvious.
She traced a circle over the knee of her jeans, picking threads out of a hole in the fabric. She dabbed the tissue at her eyes again. “Would you marry her? If you could?”
He looked at the shingles, considering her question. “I think if it were an option, I would,” he admitted. “But I don’t think it is. Hell knows the world’s so bad off, the chances of finding a priest in this cesspool are slim to none.”
“Oh, you’re a traditionalist,” she mused. She patted him on the arm and smiled. “You know what I think? In this world, you don’t need a priest to be married in the eyes of God, so long as you’re both faithful. I think in circumstances like these, God would understand if you just said you were married.”
He looked up at the night sky. “I don’t know. Maybe I want something more than just us saying, ‘Oh hey, we’re married.’” He made a few overly dramatic hand gestures, and Remy laughed. “I can’t explain it. Besides, I don’t even have a ring for her.”
“I don’t think Cade cares about all that,” she admonished him. “She’s never struck me as being into the whole flowers and romance and rings and churches thing.” She clapped her hands. “But I’ll tell you what. I’ll talk to Gray. He’s still—”
“No, don’t do that,” Brandt protested. She swatted his arm to stop him.
“Shush, man,” she ordered. “I’ll talk to Gray. He’s still got his family’s Bible. He might not be ordained, but I don’t think that matters. Next time you and Gray go on supply, you can hunt down some rings. I bet Gray would marry you guys sometime after you got back. When you’re ready for that, of course.”
Brandt hesitated. The dark look in his eyes had been replaced by a hopeful expression. “You think it’s a good idea?” he asked. “I mean, is it something Cade would even be interested in?”
“Don’t worry about it so much,” Remy said. “Take your time with it, okay? Talk to her about it when she wakes up, see what she thinks.”
Brandt nodded, raking his hands through his hair and staring into the darkness. As he reclined back to gaze at the stars above their heads, Remy saw a little of the something Cade likely saw in the man: the softness in his eyes, the way his hair fell over his forehead, even the dreamy quality about the way he looked at the sky. This was a man who, despite his military background and what she called his general “badassery,” was a dreamer through and through—and obviously a romantic. If Cade were smart, she thought, she’d dig her claws into this man and hang on to him for dear life, because she’d never find another one like him. Remy wasn’t certain men like Brandt even existed anymore.
Remy glanced at the window again and cleared her throat to get his attention. He shifted his eyes to her and raised an eyebrow. “I think I’m actually getting tired,” she said. “Do you mind…?” She motioned vaguely to the rooftop around them.
“Yeah, sure. Of course,” Brandt said. “You don’t even have to ask. Go get some rest, Rem.”
Remy smiled at the nickname and stood, her boots scraping on the shingles as she gained her feet. “Thanks. I’ll come get you as soon as I wake up.” She climbed a few steps up the roof’s slope before pausing behind him and dropping a kiss on top of his head. It was impulsive, but it felt like the right thing to do. Then, without another word, she crawled up to the window and slipped through it into the darkness beyond.
* * *
“I need to get out of here.”
Ethan’s breath fogged the frigid pane of glass in front of him. He stared from the eighteenth floor over the darkened city of Atlanta. It looked strangely alien, so large and yet so quiet. The infected weren’t visible from his vantage point as the sun dropped below the horizon and threw the city into terrifying darkness. If it weren’t for the lack of streetlights and traffic lights, he’d have thought the city looked almost normal.
Ethan had been at the Westin in downtown Atlanta for roughly a month; he couldn’t be sure exactly how long, because he had no idea what date he’d met his fate in the city. He worked in approximates now: approximately how long he’d been there, approximately how long the search for Brandt had been going on, approximately how long he had left to live. They were approximates he hated. But right now, the approximate he wanted to narrow down was approximately how much longer he’d have to wait until he was allowed to go anywhere.
“You’re more than welcome to go anywhere in the hotel you want to,” Alicia Day said. “Nothing is stopping you.”
Ethan slammed his fist against the window. “I mean out there,” he said. “Not the fucking hotel.” He forced his hand away from the glass and clenched his fists at his sides, struggling to control himself. “I should be helping search for Brandt.”
The scuff of boots on carpet met his ears, and pale, slender arms looped around his waist. Alicia’s reflection hovered, ghostlike, in the glass over his right shoulder. She studied his face as she rubbed her hands slowly over his sides. Despite the anger still rattling through his veins, no matter how much he fought it, Ethan was pulled helplessly toward relaxation. Alicia just had that effect on him, similar to the effect Remy always had. Thank God for that, because he angered so much more easily now…
“You still don’t remember where you and Brandt planned to take the others after Atlanta?” Alicia asked. Her hands traced over his ribs, almost distracting him from his anger. Almost. He swallowed and shook his head slowly.
The Michaluk Virus had done a number on his brain, eradicating random portions of his memory, much to his frustration. Alicia had gotten to him quickly enough to prevent the virus’s worst effects, but she hadn’t been able to do anything about the memory loss—a symptom she’d admitted to have never seen before. It drove him insane. There were things he was supposed to know, but every time he tried to drag
those things from the depths of his mind, they eluded him.
Ethan must have tensed again, because Alicia’s arms tightened around him, and her translucent reflection shook its head. “Calm down. Breathe. Don’t force it. It’ll come to you eventually. Pushing it will only make it harder for you to remember.”
“I need to be out there,” he said again. His anger slid away from him. He thumped the glass with his fist, though not as violently as before. “I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of feeling like I’m trapped. I need to find my friends. I need to help them.”
“I know, but Ethan…you can’t leave yet,” she said. “There’s the problem with adjusting your meds. And your wounds aren’t fully healed. You still move too slowly, and that’s a fast way to die out there. I’m not willing to risk you, not just yet.”
He closed his eyes and sagged against her, digging his blunt fingernails into his palms. A surge of guilt ran through him. All she wanted was to keep him safe, to keep him from getting killed. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t think of it that way. You’re right. Of course.”
“You’re not the only person who’s wanted to jump the gun and run while still dealing with the aftereffects of getting infected,” Alicia admitted. She gave him another squeeze and took a half-step back. She still stood so close that he felt the warmth of her body near his. “Speaking of which, it’s about time we changed your bandages. I want to see how your wounds are healing.”
Ethan sighed, giving in to the inevitable. He hated having his bandages changed. The tape went out of its way to hurt as much as possible when peeling away from his skin. Despite his reluctance, however, he went to the disheveled, unmade king-sized bed, sinking down onto the end of it and leaning forward obediently. He eased his white tank off, wincing as the medical tape pulled harshly at his torn skin. Then he rested his arms against his thighs, exposing his back for Alicia’s perusal.
The redhead moved the camping lantern from the dresser to the table by the bed and retrieved the first-aid supplies before she climbed onto the bed beside him. She kicked her boots off and sat on her knees behind him, smoothing her hands gently over his back; he suppressed a shiver—barely—as her fingers ghosted along his skin. She slipped a fingernail beneath the edge of the tape and peeled it up. An ache immediately coursed through Ethan’s veins, pulsing through his wounds. He sucked in a breath and dug his nails into the knees of his pants, closing his eyes and relaxing as much as the pain allowed.
“Talk to me,” Alicia requested. She pulled away the first strip of tape, folded it on itself, and set it on the bed.
“What am I supposed to talk about?”
“I don’t know. Anything.” She stripped the next piece of tape off, and he flinched as it pulled at the wound nearest it. “Tell me about your friends. Which ones are you closest to?”
Ethan bit his lip as the tape ripped away from his skin. Alicia set it and a square of gauze on the bed. He frowned as he noticed specks of blood on it. “I don’t know anymore,” he admitted. “It used to be Cade, but I’m not sure how close we are anymore. Over the months before Avi showed up, we’d started to drift apart, I think because I was spending more time with Remy.”
“And Remy was your…girlfriend?” Alicia asked. She started on the next square of gauze. Ethan tried to not cringe at the question. Instead, he studied the carpet intently and gripped his knees tighter.
“Honestly? I have no idea what we were,” he said. “Things got heated with us only in the last three months. Even then, it started by accident. We didn’t plan any of the shit.”
“What did you plan?” She leaned close to study the bandage hooked over his left shoulder, following the tape to its end against his chest and tugging at it. It peeled away easily. He felt her breath against his neck and closed his eyes, shrugging.
“I don’t know. Definitely not a relationship,” Ethan said. “We were attracted to each other. She’s way outside my age range, so I don’t know why I became so attached to her. Just…one thing led to another, and it spiraled out of control. The rest of the group had no idea, and she wanted it kept that way.”
“Think it was proximity?” Alicia suggested.
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Did you love her?” she asked. She tugged the last of the gauze from his back. A scab peeled away from the wound, and he gritted his teeth and hissed, tensing. She hummed softly and rubbed the back of his neck in apology.
“I don’t know,” he said after the initial sting of pain subsided. “I didn’t get in too deep. Or at least I tried not to. I don’t know how she felt.”
“I’m not asking how she felt,” Alicia murmured. Her fingers brushed his blond hair aside, and her lips pressed against the nape of his neck. He closed his eyes and suppressed another shiver. He wasn’t used to Alicia’s forwardness; he supposed the conditions in which they lived caused many—including Alicia and even, to some extent, himself—to do things they might not have done if uninfected. Everything moved almost too quickly for him to handle. “I’m asking how you felt,” she persisted. She moved on to his arms to unwrap the gauze looped around them.
A trickle of something wet and warm dripped down between his shoulder blades. “I don’t know how I felt,” he said. He was reluctant to admit anything so personal to Alicia. They’d shared a bed a few times over the past couple of weeks, they shared common ground and a fear of the future, and yet he still couldn’t share his feelings about Remy with her. He usually avoided discussions about his and Remy’s relationship—not to mention his marriage to Anna. He was sure she knew about them anyway; she seemed to know more about him than he knew about him.
“I guess I loved her,” Ethan confessed after a silence filled only by the sound of tearing tape. He consciously downplayed his feelings, not willing to give Alicia more than necessary. “Enough to matter, anyway, considering we did what we could to not fall in love.”
“Do you still feel that way?” Alicia asked. She turned his right arm over and peeled at the tape on the underside of his forearm. Her eyes were intent on the gauze, her hair falling into her face. He wanted to brush it out of her eyes, but he couldn’t with the grip she still had on his arm. “Do you still feel like you’re not supposed to be with anyone?”
“More so than ever,” Ethan said. The fervency in his voice surprised even him. “I’ve got Michaluk. I’m living on borrowed time. There’s no way I’d subject someone I loved to this.”
“Same here,” Alicia greed. She added the gauze to the growing pile of used gauze on the table. “It’s not worth falling in love when it won’t be long before we all die.” Ethan took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and squeezing it. She sighed and continued. “I shouldn’t be so morbid,” she said. She cracked open the first-aid kit, taking out the tapes and gauzes and wound cleansers she’d use. She followed with a small pair of scissors and tweezers. Ethan tensed at the sight. This was going to hurt. “I should think positively. I should tell myself we’re going to find Evans and be able to convince him to help us.”
Alicia started cleaning the wound on his right forearm. Ethan dug his nails into his knees again. “Do you think he’ll cooperate?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. She dabbed a stray streak of blood from his skin. “That’s something you can answer a hell of a lot better than I can.” She tore strips of medical tape from the roll and stuck one end of each to the edge of the kit’s box in a neat row. “Do you think he’ll help us?”
Ethan hesitated, thinking over the little he knew about the man. Brandt had never been open about his past; he clung to it, kept it close where no one could use it against him. He had always harbored the suspicion that Brandt was hiding something from the rest of them, and Alicia had confirmed that a month prior. As for how Brandt would react to what Alicia needed him for…
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I think so. I hope so. But I’m not sure I know much about him, considering all you’ve told me this month that I didn
’t know before. I honestly don’t know if the Brandt you knew will do it.”
Alicia began to wrap fresh gauze around Ethan’s arm. “I hope he will. Not for my sake or your sake, but for the sake of the children here. We fucked up this world. We messed around with things we had no business messing with. The children shouldn’t have to suffer because of our mistakes.”
* * *
By the time Remy took his place on watch shortly before sunrise, Brandt was exhausted. His head felt like it was packed with cotton, and his eyes were dry and scratchy. To say he was ready to crawl into bed—or, well, chair—and not move until after lunch was an understatement. It was with that thought in mind that he climbed through the second-story window. He rubbed his eyes and shuffled to the master bedroom, where he’d stayed since their arrival at the safe house.
The room brightened with the first hints of sunrise, but Brandt still couldn’t see well as he collapsed into the armchair by the bed. He slouched weakly for a long moment before leaning down to take his boots off. He managed to unlace his left boot, and he’d begun the process of untying the right one when a shift of movement from the king-sized bed caught his attention.
Brandt tensed and straightened, his eyes locking onto the dark form in the bed. It was Cade; he was well aware of that. After all, he’d spent the past three weeks sleeping in the very chair in which he now sat, constantly on alert for changes in her condition, for better or for worse. It was with a fair amount of anxiety that he abandoned his boots and knelt on the floor beside the bed. He brushed his fingertips over Cade’s blessedly cool forehead. The woman stared at him in the hazy gloom filtering through the curtains. The sight of her eyes, open and clear with recognition and relative alertness, made him draw in a slow breath of relief.
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