Surviving the Dead (Novel): The Hellbreakers

by James N. Cook

  “Hahn called you.”

  A nod. “She’s concerned about you.”

  “Horseshit.” The words came out bitter, sharp, and harsher than I intended.

  “She is. She’s worried.”

  I kicked a pebble under my boot. “Then why does she talk to me like I just pissed on her children?”

  Cary laughed. “She talks to everyone like that.”

  “I don’t care for it.”

  “Yeah, well, I think she gets that now.”

  We sat in silence a few moments. Finally I said, “Why does everyone treat me like I’m the enemy? I don’t get it. It’s like they all forgot I saved them from dying of dehydration. I’m an uninvited guest in a house full of assholes.”

  Another laugh, louder this time. “Alex, what do you want them to do? How do you think they should treat you?”

  I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The air went out of me like a popped balloon.

  “I uh…I don’t know.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What?”

  “You don’t know how to deal with people anymore, Alex.”

  I scoffed. “Sure I do. I’ve been dealing with people my whole life.”

  “Yeah, except the last six years of it. When was the last time you spoke to another person?”

  I thought about it.

  “That was, uh…well, about six years ago.”

  A nod. “And before that, you were famous; people treated you with respect. They wanted pictures and autographs. Women wanted to be with you, and men wanted to be you. And one day it all came crashing down. Nobody gave a shit who you were anymore. The next thing you knew, you were fighting for your life. That sound about right?”

  I rubbed my arms. My hands made rough scraping noises against the darkened skin. “I just did what I had to do. Everyone I met tried to rob me or kill me or both. I figured my only shot was to go it alone.”

  It came out quick and raw, like a child’s gasp after ripping off a painful bandage. Cary didn’t say anything. My fists had balled up without being ordered to do so. A trembling began in my shoulders. I leaned on my knees, crossed my arms, pressed my wrists against my elbows, and heard teeth grinding in my head.

  “Alex, it’s all right. The way the world is now, we all do what we have to do. It’s the only way to survive. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Her hand touched my shoulder. I unballed one fist and reached up to touch her fingertips.

  “This is hard,” I said.

  “I know.”

  “I guess I got used to being alone.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s like…like a steam pipe with no pressure valve. Like something inside me is swelling and swelling and wants to bust open.”

  “Come here.”

  A calloused hand tugged at my bicep. I slid from the chair, went down to my knees, and let Cary lay my head in her lap. Her fingers swam through my hair and massaged the tension in the back of my neck.

  “Just stay here awhile, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  I stayed. The sun went down. My knees hurt and my back went stiff, but I didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was Cary’s hand on me, the warm springiness of her muscled thigh beneath my cheek, and the occasional muttering of comforting words. Like I was a spooked horse and she was trying to talk me down. Maybe that wasn’t so far from the truth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said after the moon had risen. Its silver light bathed the camp where the glow of fires and lanterns did not reach. I stood up and put my chair back in the wagon and grabbed my things.

  “I need to get back.”

  Cary stood up. Before I could react, her arms had encircled my waist and her head rested against my chest. She squeezed, and I tried to recall how long it had been since a woman had touched me. I stood frozen, unsure what to do. Then she stepped closer until our hips and waists met, and I remembered what it felt like to be a man again.

  The gun and the axe made a lot of noise when I dropped them. I didn’t care. Cary looked up and I leaned down and our lips met and suddenly there was a whirlwind of heat where my brain should have been. Its fuel spread to my chest, caught fire, and lanced out into my arms and hands. My knees felt weak. I couldn’t pull Cary close enough. One of my arms was around her back, fingers threading through her thick hair. My other hand found the firm curve of her ass and squeezed.

  “Mmmm…”

  Cary’s mouth opened and her tongue found mine. I had a flash of recognition when her feet left the ground, and I wondered if maybe I was holding her too tightly. But then her legs wrapped around me, the kiss became urgent, and all thought vanished.

  “Take me to my tent.”

  Her breath was hot against my ear. I felt myself stiffen below the belt until it was almost painful.

  “Okay.”

  I spoke no more. There was only the enveloping darkness of Cary’s tent, the feeling of her lips and tongue against mine, the hurried peeling off of clothes, and then finally the warm press of skin against skin. In seconds we were naked, she was beneath me, and I wanted her to engulf me. I kissed her hard, and she made wonderful little moans against my mouth. Nails scraped my back as her hands pulled at me. Her sun-browned skin was as soft as I had imagined it would be. My hands found her breasts and she gasped when my fingers found the hardness of her erect nipples and gently squeezed.

  “Do it,” she breathed. “Fuck me.”

  I was pressed hard against her, hips grinding, gently rubbing myself against the swollen mound of her clit. My hips came back and then went forward, pushing myself as deep inside her as I could go. When I bottomed out, I angled my hips up and ground away in hard little circles, legs straining to stay as tight against her as I could. She was warm and wet and tight and I didn’t know how long I could take it before I caught fire and burned away.

  My hands went under her shoulders and pulled until she was folded beneath me, her legs open and her heels digging in halfway up my back. I sealed my mouth around the side of her neck and kissed hard enough to leave a bruise. She let out a cry and sank her teeth into my shoulder. I slowly pulled out and prepared to thrust back into her.

  “We have to be quiet,” she whispered.

  I answered by covering her mouth with mine.

  The rocking and thrusting was slow at first, then became faster and faster until we were both struggling not to cry out. I did not slow down or let up the intensity, and neither did she. The rhythm grew quicker until I could hear our skin slapping when I buried myself inside her. Cary’s breath came in pulsing grunts, a small, strong exhale forced from her every time we slammed together. Her nails dug into my skin until it bled. I knew I was bruising her, but she did not seem to mind.

  Soon, the world fell away and nothing existed but the heat building between us, searing and burning and consuming me alive. Her back arched and I couldn’t push deep enough inside her even though I could feel her pubic bone digging into my lower stomach. I kissed her neck again, then traced a trail down to her chest, lifted her hips in the air, and leaned over until I could kiss her breasts while I fucked her as hard as I could. My hands pushed her legs almost to her shoulders. Her breath came in small, moaning bursts. She was nearly upside down, and I had a flash of thought she might be uncomfortable. So I lifted her up and leaned backward, suspending her in the air. I was deeper inside her now, her weight pushing us together more firmly than ever. She clutched my shoulders and begged me to fuck her harder, harder, harder. I wrapped my hands around her flared hips and bounced her against me as fast as our position would allow. The taste of her sweat and the pulsing of blood under her skin was intoxicating. Cary gave up trying to be quiet and lapsed into clutching, gasping incoherence.

  Outside, the desert wind picked up and howled through the assault platforms and tents and shade-canopies and fueled the camp fires until they roared and threw sparks against the roaring night. The militia tightened dusty scarves over grim faces and huddled closer to the g
uttering flames. Together, they waited with grim resolve for the glimmer of another dawn. Some sat close, hands clasped, seeking comfort and strength among the pervading darkness. Others retreated to tents as Cary and I had, seeking what comfort remained in the broken emptiness.

  And just for the night, Cary and I had each other.

  She was all I needed.

  TWENTY-TWO

  A foot of dust had piled up in the night on the eastern side of Cary’s tent. I woke up before she did, just as the sun crested the flat line of the eastern prairies, and went outside to clear it away. The noise must have woken her. She stirred and moved aside the flap and stretched. I stopped what I was doing and watched. Her thin shirt came up nearly to her chest, revealing the line of her waist, the width of her hips, and those two adorable little dimples in her lower back. When she turned, I could tell she was not wearing a bra. I had a strong urge to pick her up, take her back into the tent, and give her an encore performance.

  “Look at you, up with the birds.”

  I smiled at her. “You look beautiful.”

  She blushed a little, and my heart sang. “I need to clean up. So do you. Come on.”

  I had seen the shower area before, but had not had time to visit. I told Cary on the way I had no soap. She said they would have some at the supply tent.

  A young woman with a large baby-bump greeted us, gave us each a towel, a washcloth, and a little bar of hotel soap, and motioned us inside the perimeter.

  After passing the line of pickets and a thin rope that passed for a fence, I looked at the shower stalls. They were simple constructions of canvas and wood, just big enough for a tall man to shower in privacy. At a quick count, there were twenty of them.

  “Where’s the water?” I asked.

  “Just go inside,” Cary said. “Someone will bring it to you.”

  I stepped inside the nearest stall and removed my sandals and shorts—the only clothes I had on at the time. A minute or so later a young girl’s voice announced I had water. By the time I opened the flap she had turned a corner and walked away.

  The water was warm from sitting in the sun. I wet the cloth, soaped up, and scrubbed away several days’ worth of sweat and grime. The long hair and beard were more of a challenge. When finished, I rinsed the cloth out and used it to wipe away the soap. At the end, I dumped the bucket over my head and then toweled myself dry.

  The shorts were filthy, and I did not want to put them back on. So I tied the towel around my waist and emerged. The same wind from the night before continued blowing unabated. It felt wonderful on my still-damp skin.

  “Almost as good as air conditioning, huh?”

  I looked to my right. Cary looked edible with a towel wrapped just high enough to cover her breasts. Her legs were long and supple and not well covered by the towel. I could not have stopped staring if I had wanted to.

  “Almost.”

  “Come on, let’s get you some clothes.”

  I carried the shorts with me. At the supply tent, the pregnant quartermaster took them from me and handed me a pair of shorts that looked hand-sewn from some kind of tough fabric. I put them on, tied the waist cord, and then handed over the towel.

  “How do they fit?” Cary asked. She had disappeared around the other side of the tent to dress. A few other people showed up and, to my surprise, simply stripped naked, handed over their clothes, and walked into shower stalls. Cary saw my consternation.

  “It’s normal,” she said. “People aren’t exactly modest anymore. At least not in the field. In their own homes it’s different, but out here, well, people understand. Modesty just makes life harder.”

  “Duly noted.”

  I stepped into my sandals and followed Cary back to her tent. When we arrived she put a stool on the ground and pointed at it.

  “Sit.”

  I sat. She rooted around in her wagon for a moment and produced a small box. When she opened it, I saw it was a barber’s kit.

  “What’s that for?”

  “I’m going to cut off your split ends and trim that beard.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled, and her eyes twinkled in the gentle morning light. “Because I think there’s a handsome man under all that scruff.”

  I had no will to argue.

  The comb moved in short strokes and the scissors clipped away. Cary kept at it for around twenty minutes before wiping my neck and shoulders with a damp cloth. After putting her kit away, she came back with a mirror.

  “Take a look.”

  My hair was still long, but the ragged, tangled couple of inches at the bottom were gone. She had combed it back so my face was visible. The beard was much shorter. If I did not know myself better, I would have said I looked distinguished. But the most striking thing was my face.

  The man I had been before the Outbreak was young, fresh-faced, and handsome. I’d never had trouble with girls, and achieving fame and fortune did nothing to hurt that. But before coming to the desert, my face had been clear and smooth, the skin unblemished except for the diagonal scar that started an inch over my eyebrow and went all the way up to my hairline. Now, my skin was hollow-looking, stretched against the bones of my skull. There were little crow’s feet at the corners of my eyes and deep parenthetical lines around my mouth that the beard could not hide. My pallor had gone from light olive to the color of polished mahogany. The beard was thick and full and framed my jawline like the bust of some ancient patrician.

  “I look old,” I said.

  Cary smiled and ran a hand along my cheek. “You look handsome. Your beard is very becoming. Now come on, I better get you back to your squad. Hahn probably thinks you took off last night.”

  I looked at Cary and watched the way her bangs fell over her forehead, the lean muscles in her shoulders and arms, the line of her neck, and the flawless symmetry of her face. Her lips were full, her eyes bright and alive, and the thought of how she had felt making love to me the night before made me shiver. A pervading warmth began to bloom in my heart, and knew I wasn’t going anywhere without her.

  Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

  “You’re right. Let’s go.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Hahn and the others looked up when I arrived. They noticed Cary holding my hand. Cason gave a knowing smile and winked at me. No one said anything about it.

  “Good to see you back,” Hahn said, walking over to stand in front of me.

  “You look good with a haircut,” Elena, the Hispanic woman said. She swiveled her stern, dark eyes toward Cary. “Your work?”

  “Yep.”

  “Hmm. Might hit you up for a trim sometime.”

  Cary smiled. “Hope you got something to trade.”

  A frown. “What the fuck, man? You gave the new guy a haircut.”

  I exhaled through my teeth. “Alex,” I said, my voice a low rumble. “My name is Alex. Not new guy, not hey you, not what’s-your-name. It’s fucking Alex. None of you are deaf, right? You can all speak English? You understand what I’m saying? A-L-E-X. That spells Alex. Anyone need another lesson in how to pronounce a goddamn four letter word with two syllables? Anybody too stupid to figure it out?”

  I got surprised stares.

  “Damn, Alex,” Hahn said. “That’s the most you’ve said since you got here.”

  The squad laughed. I glared for another moment, then something inside me broke loose and I found myself laughing too.

  *****

  Cary had work to do. I kissed her goodbye and missed her before she was even out of sight. Cason walked over and stood beside me.

  “You worked that one out pretty quick,” he said in a low voice.

  “Don’t hate the player, man. Hate the game.”

  I got a gap-toothed smile and a light punch on the arm.

  Hahn was busy cleaning her carbine. When she noticed me looking she motioned me over.

  “Have a seat.”

  I grabbed a stool and sat down. “What’s up?”

  She loo
ked at me appraisingly. “You good now? Got that case of the fuck-its out of your system?”

  A wave of embarrassment hit me. I clasped my hands and looked down. “Yeah, I guess so. Sorry about that yesterday. Things just kind of got to me.”

  A quiet nod. “It happens to all of us, Muir. Next time, try talking to somebody about it. Me, Elena, Cason, whoever. If something’s bothering you, you have to talk it out. Don’t let it fester. That shit will drive you nuts. Last thing I need is a section eight on my hands.”

  My eyebrows came together. “A what?”

  “Section eight. Military speak for a troop that loses his shit.”

  “Oh. I’m not crazy, Hahn. I just got pissed off is all.”

  “Fine. But from now on, try to handle it a little better.”

  I held out a hand. “Fair enough.”

  We shook on it.

  “So what did I miss?” I said. “Everybody seems to be getting ready for something.”

  “Supply drop today.” Hahn reconnected the upper and lower receiver of her carbine, pressed in the retaining pins with her thumb, and set the weapon across her lap.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means we’re gearing up for an invasion.”

  My heart beat faster. I was not sure if it was from dread or anticipation. Maybe a little of both.

  “When does it start?”

  “Probably tomorrow morning.”

  “That soon?”

  One corner of Hahn’s mouth tilted upward. It looked cute, although I never would have told her that. “You’ll find that things happen pretty quick around here, Alex. Pays to be ready to go on a moment’s notice.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “See that you do.” Hahn stood up. “Go talk to Elena. She’ll give you your instructions. Whatever she tells you to do, just do it. She’s one of the toughest, most capable people I’ve ever met. She’s survived shit most people wouldn’t. If anyone can keep you alive out there, it’s her.”

  The skeptic in me wanted to say something about being able to take care of myself, but I thought better of it. Working as part of a team was going to be something new for me. The idea of not taking on danger alone made me nervous, but at the same time, it came with a sense of relief. Maybe having someone around to watch my back would not be such a bad thing.