Nadia looked down at the tray on her lap. It was dusty, but an effort had been made to wipe it. A chipped plate filled with mush took center stage. A glass of orange juice and a salt shaker stood to the side. She picked up the fork with clumsy fingers and poked at the bland mess in front of her.
“I hope it's all right.” Logan shrugged. “I'm not much of a cook.”
Nadia took a bite. It was a mix of instant noodles and canned sardines in tomato sauce and tasted horrible. A knot formed in her throat. Nobody had ever gone to this much trouble for her. Except for Brandon, and he was gone. “It's wonderful.”
A tear rolled down her cheek, and she sniffed.
“Does it hurt?” Logan asked, confused. “I've got painkillers here.”
“No, it's not that.”
“What then?”
“It's just that I've been alone for so long, I've forgotten what it's like to have someone look out for me.”
“How long have you been on your own?”
“A few months.”
“What happened?”
“It's a long story.”
Logan was silent for a time. “Well, I'm no angel, but you won't get hurt on my watch. That I can promise you.”
“Thank you.”
He gave an embarrassed cough and stood up to go.
“Wait,” she said. “I'll have those painkillers now.”
Logan handed over two, and she smiled. “Only two?”
“I think it's time you cut back a little.”
She snorted. “Yeah, okay.”
His face sobered. “No, I'm serious. You're messing with stuff, and you've got no idea how bad it is for you.”
“Says the alcoholic determined to drink himself to death.” The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could take them back.
A shadow, deep and dark, flitted across Logan's face. He walked out without saying a word. Nadia stared at her plate, her heart like lead. Her appetite had fled, making way for guilt, instead.
With methodical bites, she forced the food down and drank her juice. She needed her strength. Once finished, she got up on wobbly legs to carry her plate to the kitchen.
The house was charming in a rustic way. The ceilings were high, the walls painted a plain white, and the wooden floors creaked beneath thick carpets. She padded down the hallway and passed two more rooms and a bathroom.
She noticed all the windows were boarded up, leaving only a slit for light. The entrance opened into a small formal sitting room. The type that was called a parlor in the old days. This led to a larger, open-plan living room, dining room, and kitchen. Nadia put her dishes in the washbasin and looked around. Logan was nowhere to be found, and she surmised he was outside.
Her full bladder called to her, and the prospect of a wash hastened her feet. She reached the bathroom and paused, stunned. On the counter, next to the basin stood a large jug of water and an array of toiletries.
Nadia ran her fingers over the items. Soap, hand cream, shampoo, nail clippers and file, toothbrush and paste, hairbrush, strawberry-scented chapstick, razors, and even tweezers. Next to the toilet, was a bucket of water. On the lid lay clean towels and an array of clothes. When did he get these?
Guilt overwhelmed her. He'd gone to all this trouble for her, and all she'd done was hurt him. But wasn't that what she always did? Hurt people?
She went to the toilet and did her business, flushing it afterward with the bucket. Almost unnoticed, tears streamed down her face. She stripped off her clothes and wound a towel around her body. Her hands made it tough, every movement sending a twinge of pain through her fingers.
It was nothing compared to the agony inside, though. The dreams had reawakened the crushing guilt, worsened by the hurt she'd caused Logan. She needed an outlet. Without truly registering what she was doing, her hands found the razor and broke open the plastic.
“Just this once,” she whispered.
Her hand moved, and the skin of her inner arm split open. It burned, and drops of ruby red spilled across the smooth flesh. It wasn't enough.
She cut again.
Longer.
Deeper.
Her nerve endings screamed as hot blood leaked onto the floor. She closed her eyes and sank to the tiles. The inner turmoil grew distant. The loneliness receded to a faint roar.
A fist hammered on the door. “Nadia. Nadia, are you all right? You’ve been in there a long time.”
She shook her head and willed the distraction away. Not now.
“Nadia.”
“Go away.” A sob escaped her lips.
“What's going on?”
“Just leave me alone.”
“Nadia!” A pause. “I'm coming in.”
The door opened. “What the....”
Firm hands took the razor blade from her shaking hands. A towel was wrapped around the cuts. Nadia didn't resist. She had no fight left in her.
Logan looked at her. “Why?”
She had no answer for him.
“Do you want to die?” he asked.
She blinked, confused. “Die? Maybe. I don't know.”
He lifted the towel, examined the shallow cuts and frowned. “This wasn't a suicide attempt?”
She choked out a laugh. “Suicide? Please. That'd be too easy.”
His eyes found the scars and a rough fingertip traced across the ridges. Dozens of lines crisscrossed her arms, some faint, others still raw. “What's this?”
She shrugged, head lolling on her shoulders. “I cut. It lets the pain out.”
“I don't understand.”
“I don't expect you to.”
Silence.
Nadia leaned back against the wash counter and closed her eyes. “Do you have a cigarette? I could really use one.”
Logan wrapped the towel around her arm again and placed it on her lap. After lighting one for each of them, he sat down next to her. “Here.”
Neither of them spoke, each lost in their thoughts. Next to the curtain, a gecko ran across the wall chasing a mosquito.
After a while, Logan cleared his throat. “So the cutting...”
“I know. I shouldn't do it, but I can't help it. It makes me feel better.”
“How long?”
“Years.” After a moment, she added, “I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I didn't mean it.”
“It's okay. Forget it.”
“Are you running from something?” she asked.
“Maybe. Are you?”
She shrugged. “I don't have anything to run from.”
“Have you been alone all this time?” Logan asked, remembering the wild woman.
“No, I had people. A boyfriend. Other survivors.” She looked at the ceiling, voice hoarse. “They're gone now.”
“I'm sorry.”
The gecko caught the mosquito. In a flash, it was gone. That was nature. Eat or be eaten, and now people were eating people too.
“Did you have a group?” she asked.
“I used to. I mean, I do.”
“I don't understand,” she said.
He shrugged. “They stay in a camp far from here.”
“Really? How many of them? Are they safe? Are there other teenagers?” Excitement filled her at the thought. It would be nice, living with other people, having friends. Then it faded. I'll just end up killing them too.
Logan laughed. “Look, I'll tell you all about them if you're interested. I'll even take you there. At least, you'd be safe.”
She stared at him. “What about you? Why don't you stay there?”
Logan flicked the remains of his cigarette into the toilet and stood up. “I can't. That’s all there is to it.”
He reached out a hand and helped her up. “You okay now?”
“Yeah, I'm all right.”
“I'm going to patrol the area. See you in a few.”
“Okay. I'll be out now.” Nadia turned to the mirror and caught a glimpse of her pale face.
“Oh, there's plasters underneath the...w
hat the hell is that?”
Her head whipped around. Logan's eyes were fixed on the back of her shoulder where a crescent scar showed, the skin raised and shiny. She glanced at it, and cold fear wormed through her gut. “It's nothing. Just an old injury. I...I fell and...”
Logan squared his shoulders, and his hands clenched into fists. “Don't lie to me, Nadia. That's not nothing. That's a bite mark.”
Chapter 8 - Julianne
“What's taking them so long?” Julianne asked.
She grabbed another carrot from the growing pile next to her and chopped it into tiny bits with ferocious intensity. From her vantage point in the kitchen, she had a clear view of the inner gates and parking area. Every few seconds, her eyes would wander in that direction as if they had a will of their own.
“Them? Or a certain handsome Captain?” Elise replied.
Julianne blushed a deep beetroot red and shook her head. “Them.”
Elise flashed her friend a knowing smile. “I'm sure they'll be back soon.
Several minutes passed in silence as the two women worked at their respective tasks. Preparing supper for an entire camp full of people was no easy feat.
“So what's on the menu tonight?” Julianne asked, more to pass the time than out of any real interest.
“Chicken soup.”
“Sounds yummy,” Julianne answered. “But isn't it too early in the season? I mean, it gets chilly at night, but winter hasn't hit us yet.”
Elise shrugged. “I know. I'm just in the mood for soup and as I'm the cook around here...”
Julianne grinned. “True. Very true.”
“We like soup too,” Anne chirped from the washbasin where she and Meghan washed vegetables.
“I know you do, pumpkin,” Elise answered.
The two girls whispered to each other, their blonde heads bent together. Julianne looked at them, and her heart clenched. She looks so much like John at times. The way she laughs.
“How long has it been Elise?” she asked, waving a hand around. “You know, since all of this.”
Elise looked at her then back down at the chicken carcass she was chopping into chunks. “I don't know. Seven-eight months maybe?”
“Is that all? It feels longer.” Julianne looked down at her hands. They were rough, work-hardened hands now, stained with carrot juice. No longer the hands of a lady.
“I know. It feels like forever sometimes,” Elise replied.
Do you ever miss your husband?” Julianne asked.
“Dirk? Yes, I do. Especially at night.”
Julianne was silent. Elise was right. The nights were the worst, lying in your bed, frightened and alone, wondering if you'd live to see the next day. Wondering if your children would. That was when she missed John the most.
“I'm here if you need to talk,” Elise said. “You've been through a lot, I know. More than most.”
Julianne swallowed hard on the sudden knot in her throat. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“May I ask why you and a certain Captain haven't hooked up yet? You know he's crazy about you. It's clear as day.”
Julianne laughed, but her voice was tense. “It's complicated.” After a tense minute of silence, she continued. “He's a good man, and I care about him, but he's not John, and he never will be.”
“I get that, believe me, I do, but...”
“What?”
“He's not supposed to be John,” Elise said. “Breytenbach is his own man, and I think he could make you very happy.”
“Maybe.” Julianne stared at her hands. Her chest ached with unshed tears until she could stand it no longer. On impulse, she grabbed a carrot top and threw it at Elise. The piece of vegetable hit Elise on the forehead. She stared at Julianne, stunned. Julianne grinned, one hand reaching for another handful. “Incoming!”
Elise ducked and scooped up discarded chicken innards. She threw them at Julianne, hitting her slap bang in the face. Julianne gasped. Bloody juices ran down her cheek, and a piece of intestine clung to her hair. She cast around for a weapon, and her eyes landed on the flour bowl, set aside to dust the boards when kneading the dough.
A second later, a fistful of flour coated Elise's head and shoulders. She shrieked and stormed Julianne with another blob of chicken. Julianne tried to duck but ended up with a mouthful of raw gizzards.
“Ack!” she cried, gagging. She grabbed a handful of Elise's shirt and dragged her down to the floor, dousing them both with the rest of the flour. They sputtered and tried to clear their eyes of the fine white powder.
“What in hell's name is going on here?” a voice boomed.
Julianne and Elise stopped laughing and blinked up at the figure silhouetted in the doorway.
“Christo?” Julianne asked.
“The one and only. Were you expecting someone else?”
“Um, no.”
“From the looks of you, you weren't expecting anyone at all.”
Elise sputtered. “Hey, we're just having a bit of fun.”
He suggestively waggled his eyebrows. “Mind if I join you ladies?”
Elise and Julianne stared at him with raised eyebrows.
He raised his hands. “I'm just joking.”
Meghan and Anne snickered while Breytenbach reached out a hand to help Julianne and Elise to their feet. They’d been watching the entire show with happy smiles dimpling their cheeks.
Julianne wiped a hand across her face, removing clumps of flour and chicken guts. “Glad to see you're back, Captain. Unharmed?”
He smiled and raised a bandaged left hand. “Just a scratch.”
The tight knot of worry she'd carried around all day loosened up, allowing her to breathe freely. “I'm glad.”
Captain Breytenbach's face sobered. “Are you?”
His gaze made her uncomfortable, and she looked away. “Of course.”
He sighed. “Anyway, I'm here for a different reason.”
“Oh?”
“We've got guests, and they need a room to stay in.”
"I see. How many?” Julianne asked, dusting off her hair and clothes with the damp cloth Elise handed her.
“Three. Two men and a girl.”
“I think we can make a plan,” Julianne replied, her demeanor all business now. “Can you spare me for a while, Elise?”
“Of course, go ahead. I'm expecting Joanna and Dave any second now. They're helping out tonight,” Elise answered. “I'll watch the girls too.”
“Thanks, Elise. See you later.”
Julianne followed Breytenbach outside, curious to meet the newcomers. What she found wasn't at all what she expected.
She spotted the girl first, likely in her twenties, with shy doe-like eyes. Next to her stood a man of robust build with eyes like onyx, hard and unforgiving. He hovered over an older man in a lab coat who sat on the ground and stared into space. He looked like he'd lost all reason to live.
Julianne recognized the look. “Introduce me, Christo.”
Breytenbach obliged and gave her a shortened version of what had happened at the hospital.
Julianne stared at Dr. Lange in disbelief. “You were working on a vaccine?” The scientist didn't reply, and she cleared her throat. “Anyway. Let's get you settled in for the night. You look like you could use the rest.”
She plastered on her most reassuring smile and ushered the trio away. “See you at the office?” she called over her shoulder.
“I'll be there,” Breytenbach answered, staring at her receding form. “I always am.”
***
An hour later, Max, Julianne, and Breytenbach sat around the table in the office. Breytenbach had filled them both in on the details, and now each of them considered the implications.
“A vaccine,” Julianne said, shaking her head. “I can't believe it.”
“It's amazing,” Max agreed.
“Not anymore,” Breytenbach said. “Thanks to us, anyway.”
“What if we clean out the hospital? Get him his facilities back? Co
uld he do it then?” Max asked.
“What you're asking is astronomical. Not only would we have to deal with his dead colleagues, but also the entire university. The place is flooded with corpses by now.” Breytenbach replied.
“But think about it,” Max protested. “Can you imagine how much it would mean to us? To everyone?”
“Of course, but even with the right facilities, it could take him years, decades even, to develop it. If he ever does.” Breytenbach shook his head. “Retaking the hospital will cost lives. Is it worth the risk?”
“Maybe,” Max huffed.
“And who would you ask to die?” Breytenbach replied. “Joseph? Ben? Me? Kirstin even?”
Max slumped down in his seat and shook his head. “No, of course not. I'd never ask that of anybody.”
“So we've hit a roadblock.”
“What if we get the equipment and bring it here?” Julianne asked.
“Just as dangerous, if not more so. People would be exposed as they carried the stuff out.”
“Can't we get it from another hospital?”
Breytenbach shrugged. “We could, but once again, people will likely die. I was willing to take the rest for Erica and Tumi, but that is no longer a factor.”
“I guess that's it for now. There's nothing more we can do,” Max said. He looked defeated, a feeling mirrored in each of them.
“Let's give it some time,” Julianne suggested. “We can discuss it at the next meeting. Perhaps someone else can come up with a better idea.”
“That seems to be our only option at this point.” Max stood up and leaned on the table.
“In the meantime, Dr. Lange can help Jonathan in the clinic. He looked pretty upset earlier. Working might take his mind off things,” Julianne said.
“Good idea,” Breytenbach said. “I'll speak to him once he's settled in.”
Max hugged Julianne and left. She followed, flanked by Breytenbach. In silence, they crossed the grounds toward her room. Every fiber of her body was aware of his presence. Silent. Warm. Comforting. I've grown so used to him being around.
“I'm glad you made it back in one piece,” she said. “You and your team.”
Dangerous Days (Book 2): Fear Another Day Page 7