Hardy

by Theresa Beachman

  Mathew nodded, his face serious and thoughtful. “I wondered what all the excitement was yesterday. I couldn’t see the bridge, but I saw Chittrix filling the sky like locusts.” He suddenly pointed at Georgina, his face animated. “This is fate. I should take you to them. Seriously, it would make me happy to do so.” He gestured out the front windscreen. “They haven’t waited. Where they headed?”

  Georgina hesitated. Trust had to be earned nowadays. She wasn’t stupid. “Um….”

  Hardy’s neck whipped round so fast his vertebrae should have cracked. His eyes were wide.

  What was a generic answer? “West, I think.”

  “West?” Mathew’s tone was measured, as if he was mulling the idea over. “What’s there?”

  Hardy’s eyes were narrow slits of distrust while his hands clenched around the SIG in his lap.

  She ransacked her memory, she had to say something. "We agreed to meet in Kill-something. Welsh names are tricky.”

  “I see.” Mathew appeared satisfied with her answer and Hardy’s shoulders lowered a notch.

  Awkward questions temporarily fielded. She closed her eyes for a second of respite but that only amplified how her pants were digging into her crotch, the wet fabric itchy against her back. She leaned forward. “Can we stop and find some dry clothes?”

  Mathew inclined his head in acknowledgment and took a left off the main road into a housing estate, driving till he reached the bigger houses at the back. He pulled up in a driveway next to a flat-tired BMW and jumped out the front cab, removing his handgun from the back of his waistband.

  Georgina rose to follow, but Hardy gripped her wrist tightly, restraining her. Their faces were only inches apart and for an instant, he was close enough to kiss her.

  His voice was low and harsh. “I don’t trust him.”

  Georgina pressed her lips together as she considered her words. “Let’s get some dry clothes and—”

  “We know nothing about him.”

  “I barely know anything about you either.” Her words shimmered in the air, the accusation slicing at the fragile connection between them. She bit her lip, wanting to take the words back, but it was too late.

  He regarded her for a second, his dark eyes calculating, but he said nothing and released her wrist.

  “Sorry. That was uncalled for.” She took his hand and spoke in a rapid whisper. “But, he hasn’t shot us, and he could have if he’d wanted to. It’s a calculated risk, but we need dry clothes before we freeze to death. And he got us away from those things.” She wiped her hands on her damp thighs. “I get you don’t trust people. Neither do I, but this also might be okay.”

  She stopped then, unsure anymore if she was talking about him or Mathew.

  She rubbed her eyes. Had it only been a few hours since this morning? It already felt like days. “We need to give him a chance. Take a risk.”

  He stroked her wrist with the pad of his thumb, his voice level. “All I do is take risks lately…”

  Georgina reached forward and cupped his chin, her insides melting as he dipped his face into the curve of her fingers, his eyes closing for a sweet second. This. This she loved. The real man, under all the bravado and fear. She bent forward and kissed his closed lids, his lashes soft under her lips. “Let’s do this,” she whispered.

  The rear handle rattled, and Hardy jerked out of her grasp as the rear doors swung wide, revealing Mathew with a grin plastered on his dopey face. “Street’s quiet. Shall we get you guys some dry clothes?”

  Georgina smiled and took Mathew’s proffered hand as she climbed out the van. “That would be great.”

  She scanned the silent gardens, waist high with grass and peeling paintwork. When Hardy’s boots hit the road, she turned. He wore the Sweeper and his pulse rifle, and he was checking the clip on his SIG. Ready for war. But she’d seen the other side of him now. The soft, furry underbelly of the mountain lion.

  Mathew left them to walk up the path to the house.

  Hardy’s scarred knuckles tightened white around the barrel of his SIG. He fired her a hesitant smile. “Let’s be careful together.”

  37

  Hardy lagged behind Georgina, searching for anything out of place. The green scent of new growth filled his nostrils. Everything was as it should’ve been, but also not. Whatever it was, it evaded him.

  Mathew smiled over his shoulder and gestured for them to follow. Hardy grimaced. He wasn’t buying it. That smile didn’t touch Mathew’s eyes. Something dark glinted in them, he just hadn’t worked out what it was yet.

  He cut across what had once been a lawn, the grass parting in his wake. He gave the ground more than a cursory glance, but he was only treading on hard-packed mud. Nothing with wavy tentacles was trying to grab his boots. A shiver of disgust made his skin contract at the too-recent memory of the millipedes. He wiped his temple with his forearm, trying to cleanse the memory of them rupturing from the ground. It was going to take a while.

  Taking one last look at the ominously silent street, he followed Georgina into the house.

  The front door opened into a huge, double-height foyer with a curved staircase that rose to the upper floor in a curve of gilt and cream plasterwork. Day and night to the pokey, one-bedroom apartment he’d lived in before the invasion, tiny portable TV propped on a crate in the corner of the room.

  His footsteps were loud and echoing on the tiled floor. Shadows were everywhere, triggering a wave of prickles along his forearm. Suddenly, he wanted to be in a smaller house. Something more manageable, where he could easily check every corner was safe before Georgina went near any of it. His grip on his SIG hardened at the idea of something lurching out of the shadows at her and his gut twisted with acid.

  She was climbing the stairs with Mathew, who was prattling. Still. A tiny muscle blipped in Hardy’s temple. Holy fuck, didn’t the man ever stop talking? He put Foster to shame with the non-stop garbage. How had he survived this long? Chittrix would hear him coming a mile away.

  Hardy jogged up the stairs behind them, catching the tail end of the conversation.

  “…so, whereabouts in Kill-something?”

  Hardy coughed loudly, and Georgina glanced over her shoulder. He glared. Don’t fucking say anything.

  She wrinkled her brow. “Um, the town hall, I think.”

  Did Mathew hear the whisper of hesitation in her voice? Hardy exhaled noisily though his nose and stepped closer.

  Georgina gave a faltering smile and rubbed her upper arms.

  “This must be the master bedroom.” Mathew appeared unaware and gave a dramatic sweep toward the doorway. He took a few strides into the room.

  Georgina craned over her shoulder at Hardy. He gave her a tiny nod. Let’s keep playing along. Her mouth tugged up into a smile, then she followed Mathew into the bedroom.

  Hardy gripped his SIG, giving the poky hall a final once-over before he did the same.

  The bedroom was dim, the drapes drawn. When he tweaked the corner of the fabric back, the street outside was deathly still. Nothing out of the ordinary but still, an itch at the back of his skull told him he was missing something.

  He turned back to the room, coming face to face with Mathew. He regarded Hardy with blank eyes, his fingers steepled, playing at appearing ordinary.

  Like hell.

  A door creaked, and Georgina swore softly. Hardy dragged his scrutiny from Mathew. She’d opened a walk-in wardrobe with rows of clothing under polythene protectors on one side and more shelves than Hardy could count on the other. The shelves were crammed with rows of women’s shoes in every color, size, and heel height imaginable.

  Mathew made a bowing flourish and took a step backward. “I think this is our cue to let you get changed in private. Mr. Hardy?” Mathew gestured at the open bedroom door and left.

  Hardy hesitated. “I don’t like leaving you on your own.”

  Georgina put her hands on her hips. “Well, unless you’re going to track me while I go for a pee, at some point y
ou have to leave me alone.” She turned to the wardrobe and sighed. “Why didn’t I get to experience this until the world ended?” She picked up a pair of killer heels. “Like I have any use for these now.”

  She flicked her fingers at Hardy. “Don’t you have dry clothes to find?”

  * * *

  Hardy dug jeans and a sweatshirt out of a dresser in the corner of another bedroom. They were a bit snug but serviceable. He kept his shorts on. Wearing a dead man’s underwear was too much. He fastened his bio armor back on and headed downstairs.

  Mr. Hey-diddly-doody was in the kitchen, methodically going through the cupboards one by one. He’d already piled up some packets of biscuits in faded wrapping and two cans of soup.

  He stopped when Hardy came into the room.

  “Happy fish sticks, I found us some food.”

  Hardy glanced at the food and his stomach rumbled.

  Mathew placed a final tin on the counter. His face shifted into a thin smile. “We eat tonight.”

  Hardy ignored him and checked out the kitchen window. The garden was overgrown with weeds and a trampoline floating on waving grass at the rear. A few more months and it would be gone, swallowed by nature.

  “You don’t trust me, do you?”

  Hardy snapped his attention back to Mathew. The man placed the tins in a cloth shoulder bag.

  He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth searching for a neutral answer. “It’s not personal.”

  Mathew gestured in the direction of Hardy’s shoulder arsenal. “I’ll prove you wrong. People can still be trusted. Not everyone’s out to roll everyone else over.”

  Like fuck.

  Hardy cocked his head, studying the other man. Mathew stared right back, unblinking. Either he was a pathological liar or he was telling the truth.

  Hardy wasn’t buying it. Everyone who’d survived this long had done so by sheer brute force and a survival instinct that trumped everything else. You didn’t survive fucking Chittrix driving round saying fish sticks. He rolled his shoulder, ignoring the crunch of his muscles as Georgina stepped into the kitchen.

  She’d changed into a pair of dark jeans that hugged her ass and a red long-sleeved t-shirt under a matching sweater that showcased her curves. His mouth went dry.

  Mathew clapped his hands. “Lovely.”

  Hardy crossed the room in a second, hooking his hand possessively into the crook of her arm. “We should get going.”

  She glanced from him to Mathew. “Everything okay?” Her tone was tentative.

  Mathew lifted his bag and the tins clonked together. “Fabulous,” he said. “We can share a meal tonight!” Just like that. As if they’d all been invited to an upmarket restaurant. He turned sideways to exit the room, smiling at Georgina and ignoring Hardy. Dick. Hardy stared at the ceiling, counting the pulse of his blood in his ears waiting till Mr. Hey-diddly-doody was out of fucking earshot.

  Georgina frowned at the empty doorway. “What was that all about?”

  Hardy shook his head, unsure of what to say. All he had was his gut feeling that something was wrong, but those same feelings had saved his life more than once. He scrubbed his hand across his face and took her hand. She’d cleaned her face of river mud and her cheeks glowed. Protective male instinct welled up in his belly. “Something’s not right.”

  “With Mathew?”

  He hesitated. “I don’t trust him.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “Shall we leave? We have dry clothes now.”

  Hardy shook his head. “If we take off abruptly, he’s going to get even more interested in where we’re going and might try to follow us.”

  Georgina glanced at the dark doorway. Outside the van door slammed. “Tomorrow then. We play along and leave tomorrow.”

  He blew out a breath. “Okay, but if he asks any more about where we’re going, keep it vague. And if he says ‘fish sticks’ one more time, I am going to kill him.”

  38

  Georgina stood in front of the cave and sniffed the air, licking sea salt from her lips. The crash of the waves was audible even though they were thirty feet from the shoreline. Mathew had driven them straight here after they left the house. He’d said it was how he’d stayed alive, avoiding all the human habitats the Chittrix still patrolled, searching for survivors to pick off one by one.

  Hardy came up beside her breathing hard. He’d insisted on scouting the area before he’d even stuck his nose inside the cave. The rise of his shoulders and the flinty edge to his gaze told her he still wasn’t comfortable.

  She rubbed her arms and shivered. She’d been grateful for the lift away from the millipedes but Hardy’s agitation was rubbing off on her. Morning couldn’t come fast enough.

  “Well?”

  Hardy stared at the horizon. The sun was sinking low in the sky on their right. The quarter equinox hadn’t arrived yet, and the days were still measurably shorter than the nights.

  He rocked on his heels. “There’s nothing for miles but scrub and gorse. If there were Chittrix nearby, I would’ve seen them. Or scavengers. There’s nowhere to hide.” He sighed. “That goes for us too.”

  “It’s just one night. Besides, there’s two of us and one of him.” She cradled his jaw, wanting to ease his anxiety, but tight lines of tension edged his eyes.

  Muscles worked along the line of his jaw as he considered her words. “I don’t know. Everything about this feels wrong. His name’s familiar…”

  “How?”

  He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  The scent of tinned soup wafted out on the breeze making her mouth water. She smoothed her fingertips across his worried brow. “We’ll think better on a full stomach. It’s been a long day.”

  He captured her hand. Kissed the inside of her wrist. “Tomorrow is too far away,” he growled.

  Her breath faltered and desire flared, her temperature sparking from cool to molten in an instant. She pressed her mouth to his, kissing him hard. Wanting him to know that she was his.

  When Hardy severed the kiss, his chest was rising and falling, his eyes dark and a little wild. Damn. Last night and this morning had not been enough.

  With a slow breath, she gathered herself, tugged her cuffs over her wrists. “Let’s eat. Take it from there.”

  * * *

  Sitting close to the cave’s rocky entrance, Georgina extended her hands, soaking up the warmth of Mathew’s fire. He’d suspended a beaten saucepan over the flames on a makeshift tripod of wooden sticks. Thick brown soup plopped with heat bubbles. His bag rested at his side and he’d produced the pan and some spoons from a dark recess, but other than that the cave looked uninhabited.

  He ladled portions into plastic camping bowls and handed one to her along with a teaspoon. Georgina took the bowl gratefully and blew on it. When she raised her head, Hardy had accepted a steaming blue chipped mug. Mathew chipped his spoon against the side of the pot. “Eat up then.”

  She took a sip. It tasted of monosodium glutamate and salt. It was freaking amazing. She closed her eyes, focusing on the hot liquid slipping down her throat. When she opened her eyes for another spoonful, Mathew handed her a brown lump. She turned it in her hand in amazement. It was a bread roll.

  “Where the hell—”

  He tapped the side of his nose and beamed indulgently before dipping his own lumpy bread into his bowl. Georgina split the roll and gave half to Hardy. She took a tentative bite. It was solid and chewy. Heat flooded her body, as she polished it all off.

  She finished by wiping out the bowl with the last nugget of bread. Her stomach had clearly shrunk over the last few days. She was pleasantly full and sleepy too, as if she’d eaten too many carbs and her brain was slowed by the influx of sugar into her bloodstream. She settled back against the rock wall and closed her heavy eyelids.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I can’t even remember when I last ate bread.” She licked her lips. Maybe Hardy was wrong? Mathew had helped them escape the
millipedes and now he’d fed them too. Her mind drifted, loosened by a full belly and warmth from the fire.

  Mathew hummed under his breath. China clinked against metal.

  “Did many of you make it out after the explosion?” His voice was liquid velvet.

  “Um. We don’t know yet. I think so. They’re a tough bunch.” Her brows knotted and she struggled to bring her waltzing thoughts to heel. Stars imploded on the inside of her lids. Wait. How did he know about the explosions at the base?

  Metal rattled nearby and there was a soft grunt to her left. Hardy. But when she tried to open her eyes, they remained resolutely closed.

  Suddenly, her belly was no longer comfortably full but rock hard.

  “What about the tall one with the crossbow and the connection to the Chittrix? What about him? Did he make it out? Darr?” Mathew’s voice was close to her ear. Too close. His breath brushed against the hairs on her skin, scattering ripples of apprehension through her muddled consciousness. She willed her mouth to open, to speak, but the only sound that came from her lips was a soft sigh.

  “And his bitch with the red hair. The flower. Violet. She’s a fighter, that one. Makes it twice as much fun. I’m looking forward to seeing her again when we all catch up. Proper reunion.” Metal crashed against metal once more.

  What was he doing? Her heart battered in her chest. But there was no escape.

  Mathew’s voice floated down from somewhere high above her. “Go with it, lovely. Don’t fight it. Much easier that way.”

  Sit up, Georgina.

  Blood punched into her arms and legs and at last, she sat up and forced her eyes open.

  Hardy was slumped across from her, his head hanging at an awkward angle, his hands tied at the wrist, limp in his lap.

  Mathew dropped to a squat in front of her, blocking her view of Hardy, filling her vision. “You’re going to tell me exactly where we’ll find all your buddies. Then, we’re going there together because they’ll be much happier to talk to me if you come along too.”