by Lori Whitwam
“Okay, I’ll give you that.”
No room for modesty, I stripped off my t-shirt and stuffed it in the large zippered plastic bag I’d brought along. It was gross, but I thought it would be fine after a good soak. My jeans and bra appeared to be gunk-free. Rebecca started cleaning her sword, while I stepped down to the water’s edge and splashed my face and arms before picking up the rag and sliver of soap Rebecca had left sitting on a fallen log.
Once I was as clean as I was going to be without a hot shower or a long soak in a bubble bath—neither of which I anticipated any time soon—I headed back up the bank and plopped down beside Rebecca. She was putting her sword back in its scabbard as I retrieved a clean white tank top and pulled it over my head. When I looked up again, she was staring over my shoulder at something in the direction of the boat ramp.
“What?”
She blinked slowly then resumed staring. “Sweet Georgia Brown, it’s Thor,” she said.
I shifted around and followed her gaze, freezing when I identified the target of her attention. Ty stood, shirtless, wringing water from his hair. He was leaning slightly forward, so as not to get river water on his rolled-up jeans, I assumed. As he straightened and started to tie back his damp hair, I might have gaped just a little.
That was definitely not the body of a gym rat, somebody who spent hours every day sculpting individual muscles for the sake of vanity. No, this was the body of a very big, broad man who worked hard, swinging a hammer, moving large hunks of metal, and wrangling animals many times his size. The wide span of his shoulders led to a narrow waist, lean but not artificially defined. His biceps flexed with each movement.
When he finally unrolled his jeans and put on a royal blue sleeveless t-shirt and I could tear my eyes away, I cleared my throat to verify I had not lost the ability to speak. “Um, Thor?”
Rebecca nodded. “Yeah, Thor.”
My brain wasn’t yet completely back online, like when you wake up from an intense dream and can’t quite ground yourself in reality right away. “The Norse god?”
She stood and offered me a hand, pulling me to my feet. “Well, that, but I was thinking more of the Marvel Comic character, from the movies.”
We started walking back toward the parking lot and I pondered Rebecca’s comparison. “I was thinking more like the guy from that biker TV show.” I sighed a bit at the memory of the character, as well as the thought of the hallowed days of binge-watching television shows before such technology became a thing of the past.
Rebecca disagreed. “No way. Thor. He has a hammer.”
I chuckled. “Fine, you win.”
With a sideways glance, she said, “But that’s beside the point.”
“And the point is…?”
“That you are out of your ever-lovin’ mind if you don’t make a play for that.”
“Wait.” I was confused, and hoped my brain was planning to re-join the party soon. “I thought you told me not to get ahead of myself.”
“Changed my mind. Obviously.”
I started to speak, choked, and tried again. “Uh, don’t we have more important things to worry about than hooking up with the new guy?”
“Girl, I’m not saying to jump him in the middle of an attack. But in case you haven’t noticed, available men are thin on the ground, and ones who look like that are pretty damned near extinct. You can’t exactly sign up on some ‘hot guys of the apocalypse’ dating website.”
I’d have been lying if I said I hadn’t given the idea a thought or two—or ten—already, but given my history, I wouldn’t have the nerve to ‘make a play,’ as Rebecca said, if I even had a clue how to go about it. I could see it now. If I actually succeeded in attracting his attention in that way, the first time he tried to touch me, I’d most likely have a panic attack and run for the hills. That’d make a great impression.
Rebecca was studying my face and probably getting a good reading of my inner turmoil. When I didn’t comment, she said, “I’m just saying, if he comes to you, don’t shut him down. I’ve seen him with you. The man is interested, so get used to the idea now.”
“Jesus, Rebecca, we’ve known him for a day.” I gave an exasperated sigh.
“Today is all we have. Live like there’s no tomorrow, Ellen. Because these days, a lot of times there isn’t.”
I didn’t say anything else, but did think about the intense events of the time since we’d found Ty. Potential exile, some battles, skewered zombies, imminent death…not exactly courtship-related activities, but it did do a lot to cut through the bullshit and get a sense of who a person really was. It didn’t really matter anymore if a guy had good table manners and remembered your birthday. It was far more relevant whether he treated you like an equal and had your back.
Deciding I’d think about this in more depth later, I threw my stuff in my pack and walked around the lot to see what was going on. Melissa was in the livestock truck, and Neil was handing up buckets of water for her to give the animals, who were fairly quiet and seemed to have recovered from the earlier stress. Nearby, Faith and Cooper Merriweather were using filtering hand pumps to fill water bottles.
I heard someone call, “Ellen,” and swung around to find Jocelyn coming toward me with something in her hand. “You need to eat.”
I stepped over to her and accepted a peanut butter and jelly biscuit. “Thanks,” I said before biting into it. I chewed twice, then stopped as a glorious flavor exploded on my taste buds. “Holy hell,” I mumbled, spraying crumbs. “What is this?”
Jocelyn laughed. “That would be some of the strawberry jam we found at the farmhouse yesterday. I figured everybody needed a treat after this morning.”
I continued chewing, swallowed, and chased it with a sip of water from the bottle Jocelyn gave me. “Wow,” I said around another sweet and savory bite. “Whoever made this, I hope they’re alive and well somewhere and still making this stuff. I don’t want to live in a world without this jam.”
Jocelyn smiled and walked off toward Faith and Melissa with her bag of deliciousness. I shoved the rest of my biscuit into my mouth and headed back to the van. As I arrived, Marcus was concluding a conversation with our escorts, Monte and Phil.
“Load up!” he called, and others echoed the order around the area.
Melissa appeared at my side, licking jam from the corners of her mouth. “Wonder where we’re stopping tonight. I hope we can unload the goats. Wilhelm looks sad.”
I doubted the goat could look sad. Malicious, conniving, condescending, or malevolent, maybe.
“We’re gonna put in some miles, make sure we’re well away from all the commotion, but we figured out a place to overnight. It’s not ideal, but if everything goes smoothly—and I’m sure we all agree it better—we should be there in two or three hours.”
There were pleased comments from most of the team. We definitely needed the rest. I hoped the location was secure enough to drain some of the tension from my neck and shoulders.
“Hey, boss,” Anton said. “When do we get to know where we’re actually going?” His body language was relaxed, but I heard an edge of a challenge beneath his tone. Marcus looked at him, but didn’t reply right away.
“Yeah,” Gil added. “We gotta be at least half way. What could it hurt?”
“Is it because of him?” Anton shot a sharp glare in Ty’s direction. “He…”
Marcus didn’t let him finish. “That is enough. You—all of you—are members of this team, and I am the team leader. I have reasons for keeping that information classified for now, and it is not your place to question it.” He stared Anton and Gil down until they nodded, conceding the point. “As it stands, we should arrive midday, day after tomorrow, and I will inform everyone of our destination that morning before departure, and not one blessed minute before.”
Anton gathered himself for one last try. “But what if…”
“What if what?” Marcus interrupted. “What if we get separated, what if me and both escorts get eaten,
what if pigs fly out of my ass? If we get separated, the last safe place we stopped for the night or for a pit stop is the rendezvous. With escorts at the front and rear of the column, odds are slim you’d be left without someone who knows the fallback location, and if all three of us are dead, you got bigger problems on your hands. And if pigs fly outta my ass, somebody better round ’em up, because I could really go for some bacon.”
There were some nervous chuckles, and Anton raised his hands in surrender.
“Look,” Marcus said, “I know the curiosity is eating at you. But, people, knowing now won’t get us there any faster. And for the record, my decision not to give up the location has nothing to do with Mr. Garrett. We’ll vote tomorrow night on whether he stays with us or not, just to make it official, but I’ll tell you right now, after what he’s shown us since the minute we crossed paths, I’m going to campaign strongly on his behalf.”
That more or less clinched the win for Ty. Anton, Gil, and a couple of others might vote contrary to Marcus’ opinion, but not enough to matter. The fact was we trusted Marcus with our lives, and if he said Ty belonged with us, the majority vote was all but tallied.
Our mini-briefing and bitchfest concluded, everyone boarded their rides, settled in, and our road trip was back on track.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The seating arrangements had reverted to the morning configuration by some unspoken agreement. It was as if we’d rejected the chaotic flight from the morning’s battle in favor of the sense of order with which we’d started the day.
Ty seemed introspective, not engaging in any conversation other than a few brief comments. Before long, he dozed off in his seat. Seeing his face relaxed, temporarily spared the emotional rehash of the rush to repair the truck in the midst of a zombie attack, I envied him. I knew I wouldn’t sleep until we stopped and I was—I hoped—safe behind some strong fencing and locked doors.
I fed Skip and Nilla some venison jerky, and when they curled up together under the rear seat, I took some supplies from my pack and cleaned my machete and dagger, letting my mind drift. If I occasionally thought about my earlier discussion with Rebecca, I gave myself points for not dwelling on it.
No further disasters befell us, and just under two and a half hours later we pulled into the inner courtyard of a county impound lot. Skeptical faces peered out windows, but I had to admit that with our sudden change of plans, the sturdy, ten-foot chain link fence topped with coils of razor wire was somewhat comforting. It was just a rural impound facility, well beyond the outskirts of a miniscule town I’d glimpsed from the top of a hill, but people tended to be testy when their cars were towed, hence the security fencing.
Ty woke and scrubbed his hands over his face, then reached for his hefty backpack as we all exited the van. He joined me as I looked around, the rest of the team milling about while waiting for Marcus to come and lay out the evening’s game plan.
“Ellen, about earlier, I wanted to…”
I couldn’t do this right now. “Tyler, listen. If everybody has a long post-battle deconstruction and analysis after every near death experience, that’s all we’d ever do. Seriously, it just is what it is.”
He sighed and might have rolled his eyes. I wasn’t sure, because I was trying not to look. “I know that, but you have to admit your last-second save was kind of exceptional.”
I snorted. “You and Daisy were in the middle of saving all our asses at the time, you might recall.” The truth was I was still trembling inside from the whole ordeal. And even more importantly, I was trying to avoid the intensely turbulent emotions that bombarded me every time I was around this man.
“Fine. But you can’t stop me from saying thank you. Again.”
“Welcome. Again.”
He gave me an amused smirk, set his pack beside the van, then looked around the area and nodded in the direction of a small cement block building near the middle of the enclosure. “Guess that’s the office. Not much in the way of accommodations.”
“Nope,” I agreed. Then I gestured around the lot at the eighteen or twenty cars, pickups, SUVs, and a couple of RVs, representing a wide range of condition from fairly new to derelict. “I think we’ll be roughing it, but at least the fence looks strong.”
Marcus showed up then and confirmed my suspicions. We checked the entire enclosure, and I was delighted to find not a single zombie in need of killing. Chores were assigned, and the preparation for a hopefully peaceful evening got underway. Really not wanting to spend the night in the bed of a pickup truck, I corralled Melissa and told her to go claim a place for us to sleep. She and Faith raced off, returning a few minutes later to announce they’d laid claim on a medium-sized, rusty Airstream.
“It can sleep five,” Faith informed me. “And it’s not too gross inside.”
I smiled. “Yay for not too gross. Go tell Rebecca you found us a place.”
“We already did,” Melissa said. “I’m going to go help Neil, but Faith and her mom are gonna go air out the trailer and clean it up some before dinner.”
They hurried off to their chosen tasks, and Ty and I headed to the office, where Marcus was taking stock. Anton stepped out of the building and touched Marcus on the shoulder. I heard him say, “All I’m sayin’ is I don’t trust him.” Ty stiffened beside me, and I knew he’d heard it too.
Marcus shook off Anton’s hand. “I’ll take that under advisement, Lindahl, but you know I think for myself.”
Anton nodded and brushed by him, noticing us as we closed the last few feet to where Marcus stood. He grimaced and muttered, “Wasn’t talking about him,” as he walked away.
I didn’t believe him. Who the hell else would he be talking about?
I caught Marcus’ attention and said, “Came to see what you need me to do.”
He shifted his gaze from Anton’s retreating back to me. “Right now, not a thing. I want you to take it easy for once.” He turned to Ty. “But I’m glad you’re here. I’m thinking we can put five or so here in the office. I figure me, you, Gil, Cody, and John. Sound good?”
The corner of Ty’s mouth quirked up. “I don’t know. I had my eye on that rusted-out hatchback over there.”
“Well, consider it a show of solidarity,” Marcus said with a chuckle. “Go get your gear, son.”
Ty went to do as he was told, and I gave Marcus a wave as I went to see if I could remember what relaxing was about. In the end, I sat on the hood of an old Pontiac, took in the surroundings, and thought. I was glad Marcus asked Ty to stay in the office. It showed he trusted him, since the radio would be in there, even if Anton didn’t.
If he hadn’t been talking about Ty, who else could he have possibly meant? John and Gil were the other two trained and authorized to use the radio—after Marcus’ information embargo ended, of course—and John had ridden with Marcus most of the trip so far. Gil was a late addition to our team, after his fighting partner, Isaac, was injured in the zombie skirmish, but surely Marcus wouldn’t have named him to the team if he weren’t trustworthy. And Cody, also newer to our community, well…with his shy, quiet demeanor, I couldn’t imagine a less threatening person.
Personally, I didn’t trust Anton. He had a twitchy trigger finger and was prone to snap decisions, which was a dangerously unstable combination.
I abandoned that train of thought and watched Melissa bustle about, happy as always when tending to the animals. The yard that didn’t have long-unclaimed vehicles on it had some grassy areas, and I knew she was giving careful consideration to where she could make her furred and feathered friends most comfortable. There were a few trees scattered here and there, and she, Neil, and Patrick tethered the horses under one of them, giving them some hay and grain and filling a plastic storage bin with water hauled from the big container in the back of the cargo truck. The goats, as always, were a bit more challenging, but they were soon tied out under another tree, Wilhelm with a length of thin, flexible, plastic-coated cable since he’d undoubtedly chew through the lightweight
rope used on his harem. Still, I wasn’t laying odds that he’d be where we left him in the morning.
After placing the chicken cage in a suitable spot, removing the tray from the bottom so they could scratch in the grass, and giving them some grain and a pan of water, Melissa and Patrick emerged again from the livestock truck, each carrying two cats. Seeing them together, I wondered how much of Melissa’s bright mood had to do with working in such close proximity to Neil’s handsome young nephew.
They approached me, and Patrick handed me two squirming cats, which I took a moment to subdue. “What am I doing with these?” I asked.
Patrick grinned. “I’ve gotta go check in with Marcus.” He tilted his head toward where Marcus and Ty were inspecting the repaired cargo truck, and I saw Daisy’s feet sticking out from under it.
“And you’re going to help me set up the cats in the office,” Melissa added. Ah, that clarified things slightly. “I asked Marcus, and he said I could put them in the bathroom, since it doesn’t work, anyway. It has a window, and I’ll put some water in the sink for them.”
Patrick gave Melissa a shy smile as he left, and we turned to take the felines to their home for the night. We stepped into the tiny reception area, passing a few chairs with peeling chrome and split vinyl seats, rounded the counter, and located the office.
As we entered, Gil popped up from where he was bent over the radio. “Oh, hey, Ellen. Just checking the battery.” He scooted around the table and toward the doorway. “Looks like it’s low. Think I’d better go find one of the mobile charging packs.” And he was gone before I could even return his greeting.
I shrugged and glanced around the room, determining where the kitty-bathroom was most likely located. The impound lot must have been open twenty-four hours, since the olive green sofa in the office appeared to be a pull-out. A battered wooden table and two chairs sat beneath the single window, and a desk, on which the radio rested, was against an interior wall, a wheeled desk chair snugged under the knee well. One creaky door revealed a tiny closet, a threadbare flannel shirt dangling on a wire hanger. The other door was, indeed, the bathroom. We quickly deposited the cats inside, then Melissa went off to get their food, water, and sandbox, while I went in search of more of that jam.