Deadrise (Book 5): Blood Moon

by Siara Brandt

  “You want to tell me now where you’re headed?”

  Just like last night when he’d asked the same question, Law had watched the very same reaction. She had been reaching out to pick up another book. Her hand froze momentarily, but she picked up the book, cleared her throat and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Then she turned to face him, but she was clearly stalling again.

  Trapped by the man’s silent scrutiny, Sidra looked down at her hands as they held the book. Distracted for a moment, she frowned. Once her nails would have been carefully manicured and polished. And clean. Now they were broken, chipped and caked with dirt. She was also aware of the dried mud on her shirt and jeans. In a different world . . . Once upon a time . . . she never would have allowed herself to be seen like this.

  She knew she couldn’t avoid giving some kind of answer for much longer. With the book now held against her chest like a shield, she finally looked at the man and forced herself to meet his gaze squarely, but she was still carefully weighing her answer and its possible consequences.

  She opened her mouth but closed it again, frowning when she noticed a small red puncture mark on the back of his left hand. There were teeth marks higher up on his wrist. Of course she knew that he had been hurt last night from the barbed wire, and the teeth marks were from her, but he hadn’t complained about any of it, so she assumed he hadn’t been hurt that bad.

  Her eyes flickered to several more small dark spots on the camouflage. Was that blood? If it was, he had born it all in silence, not complaining even once. Webb would have never stopped complaining and looking for sympathy. Not that this man was her idea of a knight in shining armor, but she had to admit, if only silently, that he had come to her rescue. And she had definitely been in distress. Scared out of her mind was more like it. After spending an entire night together, he had not violated her in any way. Surely that meant something. Surely he had earned some measure of trust from her. If only he didn’t look so uncompromising, so dangerous. She focused on the jagged scar that began just below his right eye and ended near the corner of his mouth. It must have been a terrible wound to make a scar like that. She wondered how and when he had acquired it. Before or after this zombie apocalypse? Either way, it made him look even more threatening.

  The dark face cloth was now draped negligently around his neck. She still didn’t know if he was a Mulada soldier. In that case, no matter what she did, whether she showed fear or not, whether she gave him an answer or not, she was definitely not in a good position. But whoever he was, he was still waiting for her answer. She had to say something.

  She swallowed. “Uh, I- ”

  She was interrupted by a sound outside. Her gaze flew to the window. “The dead,” she whispered, remembering that disgusting sprout growing out of its eye.

  “It’s gone,” he answered her without taking his eyes off her face, but he jerked his chin slightly in the direction of the sound. “That was just a tree scraping the side of the house. The wind is picking up.”

  How could he be so sure there was nothing out there? she wondered. Had he already been outside?

  She was still hedging, so Law tried again. “So you’re on your way home. Where’s home?”

  She cleared her throat. “To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not sure I should give you that information. I mean I don’t know you- ”

  “My name is Lawton Quaid. Just Law.”

  Sidra stared at him blankly. Was he waiting for a formal introduction of some kind on her part? Did he think that telling her his name was going to make a difference? Finally she made a decision and took a chance. “I’m Sidra. I’m trying to go home, which is south of here.”

  “How far south?”

  “Lacombe,” she finally admitted. “It’s a small town maybe twenty-five miles- ”

  “I know where it is.”

  “I’ve been wanting to go home ever since this first started.”

  “Are there people waiting for you there?” That was usually the case, he knew.

  Actually it was more of a hope than a belief. But Sidra nodded.

  “And you think they’re still there?” he asked.

  She drew in a deep breath. The very same question had occurred to her time and time again and tormented her often enough. “I hope they are.”

  He nodded, thinking that over. “And if you reach Lacombe and you don’t find them?”

  The truth was that she had not thought about anything beyond finding her mother and her sister.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do if- if that turns out to be the case,” she admitted quietly. “But I’m still going Lacombe.”

  He stared at her for the space of several heartbeats, then asked, “Has anybody told you what it’s like there?”

  She shook her head, but his unexpected question worried her. Did he know something that he wasn’t telling her?

  “I’ve been there.”

  “What’s it like?” she asked a little breathlessly, not at all sure she wanted to hear his reply.

  “Same as everywhere,” he said. “No better. No worse.”

  After a long silence, she heard, “You’ll never make it.”

  Law saw her back straighten again. He saw her chin raise a little. And then, as she watched his face closely, she asked, “And you know this because?”

  “Because you’re not even close to being prepared for what you might run into between here and there.” It was a simple statement, one that brooked no argument. “There aren’t just scavs out there. There are thieves, rapists and murderers, not to mention Mulada soldiers, prowling everywhere.”

  “And you’re not one of them? A Mulada soldier?” she couldn’t help asking.

  He shook his head. “No. But whether I’m a Mulada soldier or not, I still don’t think you’re going to make it on your own.”

  Her chin lifted a few more notches. “In spite of that, it’s my decision to make.”

  “You’re right. You have every right on earth to make any foolish decision you have your heart set on.”

  Obviously she wasn’t used to being talked to like that, but she stood her ground. “Still, it’s my decision, foolish or not.”

  He tilted his head slightly to one side as he considered her. “So if you confront any of those threats I just mentioned, what are you going to do? Fight them off with your knife? If you’ll recall, that didn’t work out so well for you last night. Or maybe you’re planning on using that pepper spray you have in your pocket.”

  Pepper spray? How did he know about that? Even she had forgotten about it.

  It didn’t matter. No matter what she decided, she didn’t owe him any explanations. Webb hadn’t been able to stop her. This man wasn’t going to stop her, either. “I made it to the river and then across it on my own,” she informed him because he obviously didn’t know that. It had been a big accomplishment, whether he thought so or not. “And when I reached the other side, I- ”

  She stopped when she saw one corner of his cynical mouth twitch. It both annoyed and angered her, for it seemed to her that there was a trace of sarcasm in the subtle gesture.

  “Yeah, I saw how that was working out for you.”

  “I was getting away from that man. Until I ran into you,” she informed him coldly. “I would have gotten away from him.”

  “I was the one who stopped him from shooting both of us. For whatever reason, he was obviously dead set on doing murder without asking any questions.”

  She had to make an effort to keep herself from visibly flinching. The cold-blooded murder of that woman last night was still fresh in her mind.

  “I can take care of myself,” she assured him, although her voice didn’t carry as much conviction as she might have liked.

  “Bull.”

  She blinked and stared back at him. Had he really just said that?

  Law wasn’t trying to scare her. Well, maybe a little. What he wanted was for her to face the reality that she couldn’t make it out there on her own. Still, h
e felt a prickling of guilt when he looked more closely at her. It wasn’t just that she was wounded and ragged looking. Those beautiful, moss-green eyes were already ravaged with weariness and uncertainty, and there were dark shadows beneath them that made her look even more waif-like.

  As for Sidra, she was seething under the surface and she wasn’t exactly sure why. Of course she didn’t like being told what she could, or couldn’t, do. But this man brought up something else inside of her, something she found herself immediately rebelling against.

  “You’re assuming that I’m helpless why? Because I’m a woman and I can’t possibly defend myself the way that a man can?” No one could convince her that men were more capable of surviving than women were. She had seen plenty of helpless, cowardly men since this had all begun.

  “Yes, you do have some specific disadvantages,” he said, holding her gaze. “Though not just because you’re a woman.”

  Sidra bristled even more at that. Who did he think he was anyway? She was already on the verge of- something. All the stress and the worry and the anxiety of the past few days had been building until she could barely keep it all inside anymore. “You don’t even know me,” she burst out. “You don’t know a single fact about me at all.”

  “I know that you didn’t get any practical training in basic survival wherever it is you came from. That, lady, is a fact.”

  Sidra drew herself up to her full height. She stood there breathing heavily, trying to come up with some kind of a comeback, something that would put the macho jerk in his place. But before she could do that, he said calmly, “I’ll take you to Lacombe.”

  It was the finality of his statement that irked her the most, she believed.

  “You don’t have to do that. I’ve already told you that I’m perfectly capable of making it there on my own.”

  His answer was a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a laugh.

  Sidra stared back at him from beneath her lashes. It was at that moment that Law wondered if he had misjudged her.

  “I’m going to Lacombe. Without you. And despite your doubts, I will make it,” she assured him, though she didn’t have the faintest idea why she felt like she had to convince him of that. And she didn’t know why his doubt made her even more determined to prove him wrong.

  Their stare-down continued. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you’re too stubborn to ask for anything.” His look dared her to deny it. “We both know you didn’t even see me coming last night,” he went on. “So I’ll just go along to make sure you don’t run into any other unexpected problems along the way.”

  He wasn’t asking her. He was telling her. As if she didn’t have any say in the matter.

  “Were you already planning to go to Lacombe?” she asked in a brittle voice.

  “Nope.”

  “Then don’t feel you have to go out of your way for me.”

  “It‘s not out of my way, honey.”

  Honey? The endearment was a mocking one, of course, but it set her nerves even more on edge. He had no right to insinuate himself in her life this way. Unless he had an ulterior motive. One she should be worried about.

  “You want to get home in one piece, don’t you?” he asked her.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then why wouldn’t you accept my help? Most women would be glad to have it.”

  Most women? What was he implying? Just what exactly did he have in mind?

  “Just exactly where did you stay before this?” was his next unexpected question. “I know you haven’t been on your own very long.”

  “I was with a group,” she admitted, but that was as far as she was going to go. She absolutely wasn’t going to give him any more personal information than that. Demanding answers from her, he would soon see, wasn’t going to work.

  “So how’d you end up alone?”

  “No one else wanted to go with me.”

  He suspected there was more to her story. But it was her business.

  “Why are you doing this?” she wanted to know as he got to his feet.

  He shrugged. “I have nothing better to do. And I’ve always been a sucker for putting helpless baby birds back when they fall out of the nest too early.”

  “I’m not- like that.”

  “Oh, but I think you are.”

  “Maybe you’re not giving me enough credit,” she said tightly.

  “That may be the case, but are you willing to risk the chance that I am right?”

  Chapter 6

  Reeve Madsen had a plan. It was necessary to have a plan at all times. His plans used to be all about stocks and dividends and corporate mergers. Now they revolved around a single, simple goal. Staying alive.

  He had decided on the plan shortly after he had entered the house. He would retreat to the attic if it became necessary. It had become necessary. He was pretty sure he’d be safe up here. At least he hoped he would be safe up here. He had already checked the attic out earlier to make sure that it was unoccupied. It was. In addition, there was a good sturdy bolt on the door. Luckily, the bolt was on the attic side. He had already slid that bolt soundlessly into place behind him, and now he stood in the center of the attic, trying to be as quiet as possible.

  There were two windows, big ones, at either end of the attic. He stared at one of them for a few moments, then he looked over his shoulder at the other one. A good amount of daylight was filtering in through the windows, but the day was dreary and dismal and there were no signs that the rain would be letting up anytime soon. He shifted his gaze and stared up at the dark beams and rafters of the ceiling, listening to the rain pelting the roof above him. On the plus side, the rain might drown out any accidental sounds he might make.

  Hunger-driven, he had kept on in spite of the rain. He hadn’t slept much in the past few days, either. Given the way the day was going, he would consider himself lucky if he could hide out here for a while. Even the attic wouldn’t be so bad, he told himself. At least he had a roof over his head. And a good lock on the door. Locks could give you a definite edge. It was definitely better than some of the places he had sheltered at. And he had found two cans of soup on the top shelf of the cupboard downstairs. They had been tipped over and hidden way in the back. It was a lucky find. Now if he could just stay hidden here and have some time to himself to actually eat a meal in peace and quiet . . .

  He squeezed his eyes shut for long moments as he waited, as if in that way he could stop the images that persisted in crowding his brain. Images of the many feral, flesh-eating ghouls he’d had to fend off in the past few months. And of the living who could be just as savage and sometimes even more dangerous. Of that door crashing in and having to fight for his life. One more time. While he was exhausted. And almost faint from hunger.

  He opened his eyes and slowly blinked at the contrast of light coming through the window before him. No sense imagining the worst. That wouldn’t do him any good. He had learned a great deal over the past few months about survival. He would handle whatever came along. He was relatively safe here, he reminded himself.

  Safe?

  No place was completely safe. The best you could do was to be prepared for anything that might come along. Because the unexpected was what you learned to expect, you had to have 360-degree thinking to survive. That’s what life in this world was all about. Being prepared for the unforeseen.

  He didn’t know what was downstairs. He didn’t want to know. He would wait it out up here until it was gone. He had a good vantage point. Whatever it was, he’d be able to see it when it left the house. If it left. He just wasn’t up to any kind of life and death struggle at the moment. He was too worn out from lack of sleep and too weak from hunger.

  There was no doubt in his mind that something was in the house with him. He had been in the act of retrieving the cans of soup when he had heard the front door slowly creak open
. He’d immediately gathered up the food and then headed up here.

  The bolt on the door was a massive one. Nothing would get in unless they broke the door down. And he was prepared for that eventuality if it came to that. He just didn’t want it to happen.

  Hoping to get a better view of the yard, he tiptoed across the old, mismatched wooden floorboards very slowly, praying that they would hold under his weight. You never could tell about these old houses. Rotting boards were common. More common than not. The noise of the storm, which was building in intensity at the moment, would hopefully drown out any creaks. Old houses always creaked. He had found that out a long time ago. But they had more hiding places, too.

  There were boxes stacked everywhere and lots of loose junk scattered around. There were two old mattresses shoved under the eaves. Both of them were water stained and covered with bird droppings. He wouldn’t be able to get any rest there. Who knew what kinds of diseases the birds carried.

  He stopped a few feet away from the window. His reflection was mirrored in the glass for a moment as a flash of lightning crackled nearby, startling him. It had been close. Damned close. It was followed by a tremendous crash of thunder that shook the big old house down to its foundation.

  Lightning flashed again and he saw a brief image of his dark hair, still damp and matted from the rain. He hadn’t shaved for weeks. He looked kind of sinister himself, he decided. Almost piratical. The people he had known in his past probably would not recognize him if they saw him now. If any of them were even alive. He had lost the excess weight he had carried around for a decade. He was leaner now with more muscle than he’d ever had. With life as physically demanding as it was now, you had to stay in good shape. It could mean the difference between staying alive or ending up like one of those who weren’t and yet were still walking around like aimless, undead fiends looking for flesh and blood.

  He didn’t have his glasses anymore. They had been in his car when the truck had crashed into it, sent it airborne and made it disappear into the creek. It was a definite disadvantage to be without them. He was so near sighted that there were times when something would be right on top of him before he knew it was there. So he had to be extra vigilant at all times and use his other senses to make up for his less-than-perfect sight.