Apokalypsis Book Three

by Kate Morris

  “You’re pretty good at that,” he said, amazed as he watched her blend it in with the tanned tone of her skin. He liked the splattering of freckles on her shoulders. “You look better without makeup.”

  She snorted and twisted slightly toward him. That’s when he noticed a tiny tattoo on her right wrist.

  “Nobody looks better without makeup.”

  He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m pretty sure I do.”

  She actually grinned crookedly as she kept working.

  “This should be good,” she said, standing back and appraising her work.

  As she pulled her hoodie back on, he noticed she took extra care to cover the wrist tattoo by pulling her thumb through the cut, raw edge, probably homemade thumb holes. Why was she so secretive? He was just about to ask her about the little tattoo on her wrist that looked like maybe it was some sort of compass when her phone buzzed.

  “Sorry. I gotta take this. Can you not talk?”

  “Are you going to sit on my lap again if I do?”

  She scowled at him and shook her head with blatant disapproval.

  “Yeah?” she said into the phone. That was an odd way of greeting someone. “I’ll be home soon. Yes, soon. I know! Don’t worry. I wasn’t…stop. Just listen to me. I wasn’t down there. I took Hope to the festival and then after Lila came and got her I went out driving for a while.”

  There was a long pause while she listened to whatever was being said. Elijah approached her, and she stuck out her index finger and pressed it against his chest. Then she looked up at him and froze. Something she saw made her frown. She used her thumb and index finger to turn his head until he was looking in the mirror above the vanity. Whoa. He had a shiner and a lumpy bruise above his right eyebrow.

  “Not sure how…” he started, but Wren wrapped her arm around him from behind and held her hand over his mouth. She was on her tiptoes. Right. He forgot. No talking.

  “Yes! Okay. Fine. I’ll be home…what? In an hour or so. Give me some time alone for God’s sake.”

  She sure was rude and pushy with whoever she was speaking to, likely her uncle again. She was generally an aggressive person, or so he’d gotten that vibe from her. And she didn’t take a lot of crap from adults. Most kids he knew didn’t talk like that to adults because there were usually unfavorable consequences of doing so. Apparently, her relationship with her uncle wasn’t an authority-over-the-child type.

  Her uncle was still railing at her, so Elijah removed her hand from his mouth, turned, and sat on the counter. He had an idea. It was a bold move. It was more than a bold move. It was a considerable risk, too. However, he knew she couldn’t yell at him, or she’d give her location away. Her eyes grew huge as he wrapped an arm around her slim waist and pulled her between his open thighs. She shook her head in warning and glared at him. He shrugged and rose an eyebrow in challenge. She doubled down on her ability to hit him with a nasty look while her uncle kept at it. He released her waist but held fast to her with his thighs. He knew there would eventually be a good reason for leg day.

  “No, I know the rules, Jamie. One hour. Goodbye.”

  “That was tense,” Elijah remarked flippantly the second she cut the call.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked him pointedly.

  “This? What do you mean?” he feigned innocence. He was glad he dug some courage out of his gut and pulled her against him. It didn’t last, though. She jerked back and out of his grasp.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Maybe.”

  She snorted. “You need some ice.”

  “And maybe a cold shower,” he murmured, to which she shot him another nasty look.

  Wren took one of the wet washcloths next to him on the counter and pressed it against his forehead. He tried not to wince because he didn’t want her to think he was a sissy.

  “What…what do you think that was tonight?” she asked, stepping a little closer as if she were hesitant to stand too far away. He’d like for her to be a lot closer all of a sudden, wanted to put his hands on her hips again, and touch her bare skin, look at that tattoo again. He was at first intrigued by her. Then he didn’t like her all too well at all, had even rudely expressed his opinion of her. It didn’t make any sense. He hadn’t felt this way since eighth grade when he’d discovered girls. He’d even had a girlfriend here and there. Those relationships hadn’t lasted for more than a month or so each. Then last year, Alex and his coaches had discouraged girls about halfway through the season. It hadn’t mattered, either. He wasn’t that interested in any of the girls in his school anyway. Once he’d made QB in his junior year, they’d been all over him. The jersey chasers had made their social-climbing desires very clear. Girls who’d never talked to him before wanted to go out. Stuck up girls who were older than him and hadn’t given him the time of day suddenly wanted to have sex with him. That had taken a little longer to catch onto. For a while, he’d gladly participated in what was being offered. Then he caught on that they weren’t even the kind of people he wanted to talk to. They were annoying, pushy, and wanted to be going out with the most popular athlete in their school so that they could get photo ops. The parties he was invited to were out of control booze fests with more hook-ups than a strip club after hours. He’d grown quickly tired of that lifestyle. Most weekends were spent watching old Westerns with Alex over a pizza and the occasional soda. But this annoying new girl was different.

  “I don’t know,” he answered her question honestly.

  Her eyes narrowed as she thought about those people. “That was the third person we’ve seen like that.”

  Elijah understood. “I know. I think it’s drugs.”

  She nodded, trying to convince herself. “Yeah, me, too. I think it’s a bad batch of drugs. That’s probably what it was.”

  He took the cloth from her, stood up, and set it aside. “But what if it isn’t?”

  Her eyes darted up to meet his. Then she frowned slightly. “Then what could it be?”

  “That woman at the pharmacy didn’t look like your typical drug addict,” he explained what had been bothering him. Wren stared, waiting for him to continue. “It’s just that she seemed normal, ya’ know? She looked like someone’s mom.”

  “Mom’s do drugs, too.”

  “Yeah, but not her. She had on nice clothes, a designer bag, expensive shoes.”

  “You sure seem to know a lot about women’s fashion.”

  He smiled. “I had a mom, remember?”

  “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  “Why do you live with your uncle?” he asked, thinking about her own situation. “Where’s your parents?”

  Her eyes darted away. Then she said, “Just explain your meaning. She looked like a raving lunatic to me.”

  “Yes, I mean, she was. But she didn’t seem like a druggie. She was hot, really hot…”

  “Hot? Okay. So, let me see here. Knows a lot about women’s clothing, and thinks mom types are hot, too. Are you into cougars or something?” she razzed with a smirk.

  “What?” he asked, his voice going up an octave. “No! Gross. I’m not…” he groaned. “No. I didn’t mean she was hot as in sexy or something. Temperature. She was burning up.”

  “Like a fever or something.”

  “Yeah, I think so. And that guy tonight in the alley, he was the same way. I had contact with him, too. He was really hot, just like that woman.”

  “So, it’s some sort of drug that makes you super hot? Maybe that’s why they go nuts.”

  He paused and looked at her for a second. “No, I just don’t think that’s it. I don’t think it’s drugs. Surely, they’d be reporting on the news about it. Remember when drug dealers were lacing cocaine with chlorine granules?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, it was a thing last year. It was all over the news. It was lethal, killing people. This isn’t like that. These people aren’t dying. They’re hot, fevered or something. They’re attacking people. They’re violen
t and frenetic.”

  “That’s an awfully big word for a jock,” she mocked him with a cocky eyebrow.

  “Not a jock. Just an athlete who likes to read.”

  Wren stood quietly thinking about what he said about the drugs. She backed away a few feet and began pacing. Then she walked back over to him and stood right in front of Elijah.

  “I don’t think it’s drugs, either,” she admitted. “This is something bad.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Do you have a computer?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry, it takes everything we can manage to keep this place running.”

  She looked around. “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet.”

  “We probably should’ve sold it after my dad died, but we just couldn’t do it.”

  She eyes him suspiciously. “Wait, I thought you said your parents were dead. As in, both.”

  “They are,” Elijah answered uncomfortably, wishing she’d back up and give him some space. She was being very direct, which was how she behaved when she wanted information. She just wasn’t good at reciprocating.

  “So, why’d you say your dad died?”

  “You have a lot of questions for someone who won’t answer anything asked of her.”

  She tapped her toe on the marble floor and crossed her arms over her chest, waiting impatiently.

  “Fine, my mom died of cancer about six months after my dad finished this place,” he explained, wanting to be anywhere else. Remembering her that way was so painful. “And my dad died in a car accident less than a year later.”

  “Shit,” she said with sympathy. “When?”

  He frowned hard and tried to swallow, but his throat felt too tight. “Almost three years ago. Mom was three and a half, I guess. Alex was in the Army at the time. He was called home to take care of me. We don’t have a whole lot of other relatives. Most live out of state. He was twenty at the time, but he gave up a lot for me, took a shit job, and stepped up.”

  “Wow,” she replied and narrowed her eyes.

  “We had a younger brother, too,” he told her and then immediately regretted it. She wasn’t his shrink, so Elijah wasn’t sure why he was opening up.

  “Where’s he?”

  “In the same car with our dad. He was killed on impact. My dad died about a week later in the hospital.”

  “That’s…I…” Wren blinked hard and shook her head.

  “It’s okay,” he said and clasped his hands in his lap. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s tragic. It’s total crap. But it’s our story, and you can’t change your history. It’s just what got dealt us.”

  She stepped slightly closer and laid her hands on top of his. “That’s the worst fucking story I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard some real shit storms.”

  He chuffed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  Wren attempted to step away, but Elijah captured her hands quickly.

  “Your turn,” he said. “Where are you from?”

  She leaned her torso away and looked at the counter, the mirror, the floor, anywhere but at him again.

  “Not gonna happen, Golden Boy. I already told you. California.”

  “I don’t think so. Why won’t you tell me? I told you that you could trust me.”

  She shook her head with a grim smile. “No. Listen. It’s better this way.”

  “Okay, if you don’t want to tell me about your past, then why’d you want to flee that scene tonight?”

  Her eyes jumped to his. Then she tugged hard enough to get free of him.

  “Look, Brannon…”

  “My name’s not Brannon. You know that, right?”

  She apparently did not because she gave him a perplexed look.

  “Seriously? You don’t know my name? We’ve survived some weird crap together, three near murders, and you still don’t know my name?”

  “Golden Boy, just let it drop. Don’t worry about it. We aren’t going to be friends. Ever. So, there’s no sense in trying to make something happen here. I don’t need to know your name.”

  “We’re already friends,” he corrected with confidence and a broad smile. It usually disarmed girls. Lila told him once that he could charm the pants off a nun with his smile, but Wren just stared at him like he was an idiot. “You’re just in denial of it.”

  She shot him a look that should’ve made him back down, but he didn’t. It definitely would’ve made other guys cower. “Elijah,” he said.

  “What?” Wren asked with confusion.

  “My name is Elijah Brannon. Not Golden Boy. Or Brannon. Or QB or whatever else people and namely you call me.”

  She looked put in her place and almost like she felt bad, which was probably a new experience for her. “Oh.”

  “No more of this Golden Boy stuff. Or asshole. Or fuckstick, whatever the hell that even is. No more of that, either.”

  She actually chuckled.

  “Not funny. I have feelings, too,” he joked. “I’m not just a pretty face.”

  She smirked crookedly, then sighed with irritation. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t be here long. Don’t get attached, Golden…Elijah.”

  “Golden Elijah. That’s a little better,” he said and shoved off the counter when she walked over and looked out the window. “Where are you going? Why won’t you be here long?”

  He joined her, looking over her head into the backyard, which was dark and very creepy out there with all the vegetation and fencing and dark corners. His mother had wanted a fantastic backyard with a fountain, stone and brick patios, a gazebo, and lots of plants and tall, decorative grasses that provided a ton of privacy. His father had nearly finished that, too, when she got diagnosed, and now he and his brother had to maintain it all. Sometimes like now, it didn’t look so hot.

  “I’m fast-tracking my senior year, so I’ll be gone soon.”

  He felt a certain panic in his chest, “How soon?”

  His voice startled her, and she spun and nearly ran into his chest. She put her hand out against it, and Elijah wondered if her heart was pounding as hard as his. It was. He could tell by the softening of her eyes. He wasn’t stupid. He’d been with girls before. He knew what it looked like when they liked him, or at least when they were attracted to him. Also, thank God for chest day, not that that was a thing.

  “What?” she asked breathily and dropped her hand. She was going to bolt, so Elijah blocked her retreat by shooting his hand out to hold onto the window frame.

  “How soon? When are you leaving?”

  “After Christmas break,” she answered, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lower lip.

  Elijah grimaced. He didn’t want her to leave. “I don’t want you to go so soon.” As soon as he said the words, he felt a little stupid and desperate. When her eyes met his, he could tell she didn’t want to leave so soon, either. There was sadness there and something else, regret, longing, lust? No, probably not lust.

  She shook her head and ducked under his arm, “Doesn’t matter. I gotta go. That was always the plan.”

  “Whose plan? Your uncle’s?”

  “No,” she said. “Yes. I don’t know. It just is.”

  That made less than zero sense.

  “Why’d you want to leave before the cops got there tonight?” he asked in a more antagonistic tone. He was getting pissed. He didn’t want her to move away. Wren Foster was the most interesting person who’d ever stepped into his path, and he didn’t want her to leave. Suddenly everything changed. He didn’t want to play ball anymore or go to college or take that scholarship. He just wanted to spend time with her. It was a strange, all-consuming, but somehow comforting feeling that hit him hard and at once. Even if she did piss him off. And Elijah couldn’t afford to feel that way about anyone right now. He reminded himself of that and decided to stick her in the friend zone. Maybe.

  “I… I just had to,” she evaded, spun in the other direction, and collected her discarded clothing items from the counter.

  “Wait
, don’t go yet, Wren,” he said and grabbed her upper arm.

  It caused her to jerk slightly toward him, and something fell out of her leather jacket. It clanked to the marble floor loudly.

  “Sorry,” he said and bent to one knee, almost colliding his head into hers.

  “No, no problem! I got it!” she said, squatting at the same time and reaching for the lost item at the exact moment his hand reached out.

  They both froze. The thing that had fallen out of her jacket was a gun. And it wasn’t that little revolver in her kitchen cupboard. This was some sort of semi-automatic, what looked like a .45. It was compact, had black rubber grips, and probably a magazine that would hold a lot of rounds.

  “What the…” he said softly.

  She grabbed it and took off.

  “Wren, wait!” Elijah recovered and tore after her.

  She fumbled a moment with the locked bedroom door but got it open before he could stop her. Then she was running. And she was fast for a girl. He knew that from fleeing the scene in town an hour ago.

  Her feet sprinted so quickly down the winding staircase, he wasn’t sure how she didn’t fall. Elijah was ten steps behind her and closing in. Unfortunately, she opened the back door just as fast as she ran and was gone before he could catch up. Her tires actually peeled out in the driveway backing up. Then she was gone, her headlights disappearing down the street.

  “Dammit,” he swore to the empty backyard.

  Elijah stood there a few minutes contemplating whether or not he should go after her. Then he heard an odd scream somewhere in the distance. Was it a coyote? Sometimes they ventured into town, and someone would call the cops.

  In the distance, he could still see the lights from the festival illuminating the night sky above their town. Usually, it would look neat. Not tonight. That turned out to be a festival of terrors. Now, something was out there somewhere in a neighborhood or closer.

  He backed into the house again and shut the door, locking it. Then he shivered and felt like a total girl. He reached out and also latched the chain.

  She was so scared, even more terrified than that night so long ago when she’d actually urinated on herself. She’d only been thirteen, so it wasn’t an unusual response to what she’d seen. This was worse. This was a million times worse. If they didn’t find a way out of this situation soon, they’d be in a bad position. Getting out of the city was what they wanted, but it didn’t seem like the only answer to her. She wasn’t sure everyone else agreed. Their food was nearly gone. The water pressure wasn’t so hot anymore, either. The city was collapsing. Society had already collapsed. They only had a few more bullets. Certainly not enough to ride this out here forever. They had to go somewhere, but where?