by Mark Tufo
"You're fucking kidding me, right?" he growls at me as he rolls over onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. "You do realize we have to be on the road in, hmmm, let’s see...three hours or so. And now...now you want to be a chatty Patty?"
"I think it's called a chatty Cathy--"
"I don't give a fuck what it's called! It's 2 a.m., Bix. Go to sleep."
"I can't," I whisper in a broken voice, my heart jack-hammering in my chest. "Amy told me I was going to die and...I'm afraid."
In all the time I’ve known Luke, in all the time we’ve been sleeping together, I’ve never admitted to being afraid of anything. I've always kept this wall between us. A barrier between the sex and the friendship. I've always treated him with a cool arrogance, most times downright bitchiness. Anything to keep him from getting too close. Admitting any kind of emotion, even fear, would be opening me up to letting him in. And I’m in no way ready to let anyone that close again.
Maybe it's because I'm overtired. Maybe it's because I'm still in shock from the events of the past few days, but here I am, fessing up to being afraid of a stupid dream. I’m about to open up a whole new can of worms here and I can't help myself. I think my confession shocks me just as much as it shocks him.
He pushes himself up on one elbow, nearly blinding me as he snaps on his bedside lamp. In the harsh glow of the lamp, I immediately regret my words and I try to roll out of bed. To run away. But he doesn't let me. Flipping me over onto my back he pins me, his thick arms planted firmly on either side.
"Oh, no, you aren't going anywhere. Not after a statement like that. Amy told you that you’re going to die? Why would she say such a fucking crummy thing?"
I squirm and try to get away again, but he pins me tighter. His demanding eyes bore into mine.
"Talk to me, Bix. Why would she say that to you? Why would she even think it?"
"It was just a stupid dream, okay," I hiss. "Just a stupid freakin' dream. And I'm letting it get to me way too much." I try to laugh, but I'm horrified to hear it come out more like a sob. Oh, great. Now I'm going to blubber like a baby in front of Luke as well? I bite my lip, trying to hold the craziness in.
His eyes soften; reflecting the glow of the lamp and making them look like they were lit from within. I never noticed before, but in this light, his eyes remind me of velvety, melted chocolate.
"A dream? Come on, Bix. When have you ever been scared of a dream?"
"I know, right? I know it sounds crazy. But she made it sound so real. She said Sam came to her in her dream and told her I couldn't go on this outing because...because I wouldn't come back. She has herself convinced it's true."
He chuckles softly. "Amy also has herself convinced Cookie is a wonderful and giving person, and we sure as hell know that’s a crock of buttered shit."
I snort at his use of my words but turn away from him. I'm scared he's going to see the tears forming in my eyes.
"Hey," he says, gentle fingers trying to turn my head back. I fight against the pressure, but his hand grips my chin more firmly and twists my face to meet his.
"This outing is going to be no different from any other outing we've ever been on. We’ll do our job and come back, same as always. Nothing is going to happen to you, Emma Bixby, not as long as I’m around. I won't let it. And that's not a promise, that's a guarantee. Got it? So dream Sam can take his dire warning and go fuck himself."
Horrified, I can feel the tears starting to leak out of the corner of my eyes. I can't help it. That’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me in a very long time. Impulsively I raise my lips to his. The kiss is gentle at first. A slow and lingering thank you. But it soon heats up, fueled by my heightened jumble of emotions. And as if Luke understands that this is the only way for me to express my feelings fully, he takes what he can get and round two begins.
Chapter 41
Morning comes way too soon. Whoever made this decision to be on the road at 5 a.m. should be shot. I’m not a happy camper as I watch the sun rise, bringing to light the metal wasteland below us.
The forty-foot embankment we’re standing on overlooks the eastbound lanes leading out of the city. Wrecks and pileups litter the road as far as the eye can see. Burned out husks of cars and minivans and tractor trailers block the highway for miles. What had once been a cornucopia of supplies is now simply an abandoned jungle of rusting metal.
The tractor trailers had been the first to be looted, anything of value already claimed. And the dead inhabitants of the wreckage long since rotted away. Mother Nature had tried to repossess the once intrusive asphalt and metal, covering the ruins in weeds and tall grasses. But still, the sight of the vehicle graveyard spooks me. A chilling reminder of an era that no longer exists.
This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this stretch of highway. We’ve salvaged here ourselves more than once. But today it has an ominous vibe about it. The cold shiver that passes over my body is not caused by the cool north breeze alone. It's helped along by the thought of traversing this breeding ground for disaster.
The city we know like the back of our hands. We've already pretty much explored and memorized every shortcut and alleyway and safety zone. This...this is whole new territory. This is outside our comfort zone. A wasteland of unknown space. Hiding spots for the enemies we know nothing about. This highway terrifies me almost as much as knowing what waits for us on the other end.
My companions don't instill much fucking confidence either. It’s bad enough Cal and Badger are missing. Cal's broken ankle and Badger's messed up head made it impossible for them to go with us as much as they wanted to. So we have new additions--ones I don't like at all. Kingsley and Kelly are alright, but having Wentworth with us makes me uneasy. Ever since the way he reacted to me at St. Joseph's, I don't trust him. He and Dom suddenly seem to be thick as thieves, and that worries me...a lot.
Add to that troublesome fact, we also have the little blonde doctor in tow. What did she call herself again? Jenny Lynn or Jessie Lee. Something stripper-ish like that. I call her a liability. I don't care that she’s a doctor, or that she was part of the extraction team that helped bring the “infected” back to St. Joseph's, or that she can guide us straight to the warehouse. I think having her with us is just asking for trouble. I was surprised as hell when she insisted on going with us. Even more surprised when Cooper agreed.
I watch her now, standing in Luke's shadow as he surveys the highway below us. She barely comes to his chest; she’s such a petite little woman. Older than what I had at first thought. I mean, she would have to be. Apparently she’d been a resident when the world went to shit eight years ago, so that has to put her in her early thirties at least. But still, so damn cute. Ugh. I've always hated tiny women. At my height they always make me feel so gangly and awkward. I suddenly want to rip every shiny hair out of her perfectly formed ponytail and shove it right up her cute little button nose.
Christ. What is wrong with me today? Why am I in such a mood? I'm sure the lack of sleep last night isn't helping. Although Luke didn't get any more sleep than I did, but he doesn't seem to be the crank-ass I am. Maybe I can lay blame to the injury on my shoulder blade. It's itching and burning like crazy this morning. As much as I told Luke last night there was nothing to worry about, I think I busted a couple of stitches during our first romp. Or maybe it had been during the second. Not that it hadn't been well worth it, but perhaps I shouldn't have been so...physical. Too late to cry over spilled milk and all that shit. I’m just going to have to suck it up. There’s no way I am asking blondie to look at it.
I shift the M16 hanging on my back so that it rests against the backpack more than the injury. It doesn't feel right carrying the weapon but after witnessing the hybrids in action, I know knives alone are useless. If we come across any more of those bastards, my plan is to blow their damned heads off, plain and simple. Taylor's decapitation still burns in my memory, and there’s no way in hell I’m going to let those things get close enough to let that hap
pen. As much as shooting a gun makes me become that terrified little girl cowering in the corner waiting for her monster dad to rip her apart, it was preferable to losing my own head. Push comes to shove; I will use the damn thing. I'm not that crazy.
"Okay. All clear," Luke's comment elicits a groan of relief.
This is the part of any run that I hated the most. The waiting. I know it’s a necessary precaution, but I’m anxious to get on the move. At least it will take my mind off of my discomfort.
"So you're positive this is the right way, Jessica?" Luke questions the tiny blonde.
She nods. "One hundred percent. I recognize that Mr. Christy truck. We took shelter in it from a wicked thunder storm. I'm not sure how far we traveled this highway, but I’ll know the turnoff when I see it. It was quite a walk; I remember that much. Sorry, I'm not much good with directions."
I snort loud enough that she hears me. Luke, too, I take it, since the scowl he sends my way tells me I'm not helping. I give him my most innocent "What?" look back in return.
He chooses to ignore me. Instead he addresses the group.
"We'll travel along the median. That's our safest bet. The tall grass and trees lining the highway are too risky. Leeches, ravagers, anything could be hidden in there, and we wouldn't see it until too late. We stick close to the median, that way we'll have plenty of warning if anything tries to sneak up on us. Bix and I will take point--Jess you stick with us. Kelly and Dom, left flank. Wentworth and Gordon right flank. Kingsley and Mike will bring up the rear. If Jessica's info is correct, we should reach our destination before nightfall. Get ready to move double time. We don't want to be stuck on this highway in the dark. Any questions?"
There aren't. Simple enough plan and we all know what we have to do. Get to the warehouse without becoming leech fodder and blow those hybrid bastards to hell. How hard can it be? Like Luke said, best scenario we get there before nightfall.
Getting down the embankment is the hardest part. It had rained the night before and the saturated ground is slippery as hell, leaving us on our asses more so than our feet. Once we hit the highway; however, it gets easier. The foliage growing along the median isn't as deep and thick as expected. Pretty easy going actually and we soon find ourselves falling into a quick pace.
The first few hours go by in complete silence. Other than a few barked commands from Luke, we keep our eyes and ears peeled for the slightest sound or movement. Knowing those hybrids may very well be out there has put us all on edge. But eventually the monotony of the walk and the endless sea of wrecked vehicles force us into being a little more talkative. The blonde doc had first stuck to us like glue but has now fallen back some. I can hear her faint comments and slight giggles as Dom and Wentworth flirt with her, vying shamelessly for the attention of the new chick on the block.
My backpack shifts slightly, causing the gun to bump against the bandage on my back and I grimace at the sharp jab of pain. Luke, attentive as always, notices my discomfort.
"You okay?"
I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got a little too rambunctious last night is all."
He grins but plays dumb, pretending to have no idea what I’m referring to. “Oh? What were you up to last night?"
I chuckle softly. Two can play at this game. "Not much. Went downtown, had a few drinks, picked up some random dude in a bar. Had a one-night stand."
"Really. Sounds like you had a fun night."
"Meh, it was alright. Guy was a bit of a tease, but he had some decent moves."
He glances at me sideways. "Just decent?"
"Yeah, decent. I mean he wasn't bad and all, but I think he was a bit of a novice. I don't think he's had too much experience. Maybe he needs a bit more practice when it comes to pleasing members of the opposite sex, since I don't think the use of one's right hand counts as experience."
His laughter rumbles from deep in his chest. "You are such a bitch sometimes. I didn't hear any complaints from you last night while I was curling your toes."
I respond with a very unladylike snort at his choice of words. "Really? Curling my toes? Did you pick that out of some fucking Harlequin romance novel? You crack me up, Luke Whitman."
"Ohhhh, I crack you up and curl your toes. Am I starting to see a hairline fracture in that hard exterior of yours, Emma Bixby?"
"You're gonna see my knuckle right between the eyes if you ever call me Emma again." I scowl at him. "You know I hate that name. Makes me feel like I'm five years old again for Christ's sake."
"And here we go with the threats again," he sighs dramatically. "You know I would offer to curl your toes more often if you were nicer to me."
I snort a little louder at the look of bullshit innocence on his face. "Thanks for such a generous offer. I'll keep that in mind the next time my toes need 'curling'. Good of you to put yourself out there like that."
He shrugs at me. "Hey, what can I say? I'm a nice guy."
"And you know what they say about nice guys?"
"Yeah, they finish last. I proved that last night, didn't I? That's my code of honor; ladies first." He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I can't help the cackle that rips out of me. Sometimes I tend to forget how funny Luke can be. It feels good to laugh. He joins in, our quiet laughter a soothing balm to our raw nerves.
Eventually the laughter fades away and we walk in silence a bit more. Last night's events are swirling about in my brain, and I feel a little embarrassed at having shown Luke that emotional side of me. Sam had been the only man to have ever earned my trust enough to see that. Having shown it to Luke feels like a betrayal somehow on my part. Betrayal mixed weirdly with gratitude.
"Luke."
He looks up at my quiet use of his name.
I glance around; making sure no one is paying attention. "About last night..."
He shakes his head at me. "Don't say it, Bix."
I stare at him in puzzlement.
"I know what you’re about to say. You’re about to say it was a mistake and that it shouldn't have happened. Last night was a milestone as far as I’m concerned. I saw a side of you I’ve never seen before. A vulnerable side and I'm flattered you chose to share it with me. So don't you dare say you regret it, because I sure as hell don't. Why do you think you have to be this tough, unfeeling bitch all the time?"
"Luke," I try to interrupt, but he cuts me off.
"No, let me finish. It's only human to be scared. And it's only human to want companionship, to have someone tell you everything’s going to be okay. You don't have to go about this alone all the time, Bix. It was damn nice to see you letting those walls down and letting me in. So no, last night was not a mistake and I don't want to hear you say otherwise."
"You done?" I ask when he finally pauses for breath.
"For now," he snaps.
"Good," I say, the laughter evident in my voice. "Because all I wanted to say about last night is thank you. Even though your opinion of me is less than flattering. Tough, unfeeling bitch, huh?" The look of consternation on his face is priceless. "Always such a drama queen," I cluck at him as I walk ahead, chuckling to myself.
All that's left of the sun is a red fireball in the evening sky by the time Blondie pipes up.
"This is it. This is the turnoff to the warehouse."
Sighing gratefully as we pull to a stop, I drop the backpack and rub my aching shoulder. The off ramp she gestures to is blocked with vehicles and trucks, just like every other one we had passed these past few hours. And looks just the same.
"You sure?" I question, squinting down the road that leads through what was once a sturdy chain link fence. Now the fence is barely recognizable through the foliage of vines and flora that have grown over it. She nods at my question.
"Yes, I recognize the sign."
She points to a sun faded billboard, half of it broken off. The remaining piece has the barely legible words, Gateway Industries. No wonder their hunters had been out this way. Gateway Industries had been a national medical supply chain, pre-invasi
on. A virtual smorgasbord of supplies could be found here. Unfortunately, those warehouses of supplies also came along with warehouses full of workers. Workers that were now leeches. And trust me, being caught in a building full of leeches that haven't fed in a while and having nowhere to run, is something you want to avoid at all costs.
"A fucking leech nest," I mutter to Luke, but Blondie overhears.
"It's just two warehouses. Our group had the first one cleared before they even noticed the activity going on with the second building. That's when they discovered the...people."
"The hybrids, you mean," I mutter as my eyes scan the shadowed tree line, expecting any minute for those creatures to pop out of the brush and rip our heads from our bodies.
Luke eyes the setting sun, and although he looks as calm as always, I pick up on his concern.
"How far in are the warehouses?" he asks.
"Not far, from what I remember. Maybe thirty or forty minutes."
He glances at the red sky again, and I can read his mind. Thirty or forty minutes would put us in darkness. Darkness on a wooded road we know nothing about and no escape routes or safe zones mapped out. He turns to the silent group.
"Okay people, this is how it is. We’re close to our destination, but completing it tonight would mean traveling through unknown territory in darkness. I'll let you guys decide. You want to do this tonight, not knowing what could be lying in wait for us? Or you want to take shelter in one of these trucks and do this at daybreak? Your choice, people."
At first there’s no response. But then Kingsley pipes up.
"Don't know about the rest of you, but there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing a warehouse of those creatures sits so close by. If I’m going to meet one of those bastards in the dark, I'd rather do it standing on my own two feet then have it take me out in my sleep."
I agree. So do the others I'm guessing, since the echo of grunts and murmur that follow his words raise no objection. No one’s happy about the choice, but we do agree on how it has to be done.