Stay with me.
She buries her face in my neck. Weeps against my skin. Her tears are salty against the fresh water of the shower.
I reach my hand. Hold the back of her neck.
Support.
Both of us. Broken.
What we can call our kids off murdering to save our wretched species. Jade and Athena. The both of us so goddamn fuckin broken that the only thing we’re good at anymore is killing and murdering.
So broken that loving, human contact can send us into fits of misery.
Fuck this planet.
Life is a terrible thing to do to an animal.
I feel DeVille’s soaked hair. Stand up in the shower. Turn. Pull her up. Pull her up so she’s eye-to-eye with me. My hand always at the back of her neck.
We’re bloody.
I clap her cheek. Grin. “You still gotta outdrink me.”
She laughs. Smiles. “Fuck you, Marcus.”
“Fuck you, too Jessica.”
DeVille sidesteps outta the shower before I can get a look at her. She wraps herself in her own towel.
I point at her. At her towel. “That? That is some bullshit.”
She dries her hair with my towel. Possibly outta spite. Keeps hers up around her curves. Says, “You had your chance.” She nods to my dick. Tosses me my damp towel. “On the other hand, I know what you’re bringing to the table.”
“What?” I grin. “Too big?”
DeVille bursts out laughing. “Oh, yeah, that’s what it is, twinkletoes.”
I grumble. Tie my towel around my waist. “Har-dee-har, Miss Jessica.”
We march to the kitchen island.
DeVille pours shots. She eyeballs me. “You think I’m attractive.”
I rub my face. “I have no idea...” I do my shot. “Yeah, you’re gorgeous. You’re ridiculously attractive. I mean, what am I supposed to say here?”
She does her shot. “Take off your towel.”
“You just made fun of my dick, but okay.” I toss my towel on the ground. Put my hands on my hips. “Happy?”
My body still looks like it’s been through a deli slicer.
DeVille watches me. Stares at me. Does another shot. Steals one of my American Spirits. Lights it and leaves it on her lips. She smokes for a second. Examines me. Then hands the cigarette off.
I inhale.
She says, “You’re sure?”
Of what, I don’t know.
So I say, “Of what?”
She shouts. “That I’m fucking attractive.”
Cuz I’m a damn idiot to not follow her train of thought.
She drops her towel.
I see her for the first time.
Her feet are crooked from broken bones. A dozen deep scars run up her legs. Calves. Thighs. There are stretch marks from when she was pregnant with Jade. Faint white stripes over a taut belly. More scars mar her round breasts. Her dark nipples. The top of her left breast, near her collarbone, is almost gone. Torn away by some horrid thing. The scar there is a thick, striated nightmare.
I tell DeVille what I feel: “You’re beautiful, Jessica.”
She is.
She blinks at me. Doesn’t bother pouring a cup. Slides the Jameson bottle to me.
I take a mouthful. Slide it back.
She does the same.
I walk around the island. Toss the cigarette into the sink. I hold DeVille’s shoulders. Brush her cheek with my hand.
Our lips part. Press together. Slow. We share a breath. Two.
She guides me to the bed. Locks her fingers around the back of my head.
I kiss her scars. Run my hands over her body. I lose myself between the swell of her breasts. Between her thighs.
She moans. Pushes me over. Straddles me.
DeVille kisses my forehead. Lays her lips against mine.
I caress her shoulders.
She sits up. Slides backward.
She tugs on me. Takes me inside her.
My hands glide to her breasts. I touch the tough tissue near her collarbone. The tips of my fingers tease her skin. Goosebumps rise on her flesh.
She shivers. Leans in against me.
Pushes against me.
She grabs my hair. A fistful. Holds my head down. Gyrates.
I grab her hair. Pull her face into mine.
We lock our lips together.
Shudder.
I hold her neck. Toss her on her back.
DeVille laughs. Grunts.
I grunt.
I push myself inside her.
She wraps her legs around me. Locks her ankles. Pulls my head down into her chest. I kiss and suck. Push. Kiss. Suck.
She reaches her hand down. Rubs herself. Unlocks her ankles and lays her calves on my shoulders so I can go deeper.
I feel her tighten.
I pump harder.
She rakes my back with her nails. Draws fresh blood.
Her eyes glisten.
I grab her thighs. Pull her closer.
We spasm together. Climax.
She smiles. Laughs. Grabs the sides of my head.
I roll off to the side of the bed.
We intertwine the appendages of our naked bodies as the sun begins to set outside. Kiss and chuckle.
She holds the side of my head. Nuzzles her nose against mine.
I look into her eyes. Grin like an idiot.
Do not let this woman die.
11. Plausible Deniability
I wake up the next day to DeVille poking me. Fingers jab my shoulder.
She sits beside me. Legs crossed. Topless. She’s got the holographic datapad in her hands. An Asimov.
I grunt. Reach for her. Rub the small of her back. “What time is it?”
“Ten-thirty.” She flops to her side on the bed. “You’ve been passed out for almost twelve hours.” Smirk. “Lazy sonuvabitch.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I was just real busy having sex with this chick. Maybe I should introduce you.”
DeVille whacks the side of my head. “Watch it, little man. Caleb, Jack and Catarina are summoning us.”
“Shit, what for?” I wrap my arm around DeVille’s waist. Kiss her stomach. Her breasts. Stand and wobble toward the bathroom.
Much as I’d like to say my boner’s from ongoing arousal, that ain’t the case.
Man needs to pee.
DeVille shouts after me. “All it says is ‘Rule Five.’”
I drain my bladder. Shake the droplets of piss off. “What the fuck is ‘Rule Five?’“
“How the hell should I know?”
“You’ve been here for a month. I was in a coma.”
DeVille arches her eyebrows. “Fair point, but I still don’t know what it means.” She eyes me and my nakedness. “So what do you want to do?”
I slide back into bed. Kiss her stomach. Rub her thighs.
She says, “Yeah, they can probably wait another seven seconds.”
I laugh. “Fuck you.”
“Please do.”
* * *
DeVille throws on her clothes. Runs to her apartment across the hall. Tosses a four-foot-long duffle bag to the floor near my kitchen.
She unzips it. It’s got all her equipment. BDUs.
She looks at me. “Hope you don’t mind.”
I light a cigarette. Dick to the wind. “Actually, I’d be pretty fuckin happy if you moved in.”
She grins at me. Undresses. Fits a sports bra over her curves. Panties. She climbs into her flight suit. Cinches the straps. Buckles her Sig Sauer around her waist. Checks the magazine in her pulse rifle. Pulls back the charging handle.
Eyeballs me like I’m an asshole.
I only just got my carbon mesh suit around my ankles.
/> DeVille says, “You’re gonna have to work on this.”
I breathe smoke. “I got distracted.”
“There a shiny thing nearby?”
“No. Boobs. Much more dangerous.”
* * *
We stomp through the streets.
People gawk.
Woulda thought my fifteen minutes of fame were up, but I did drive a knife through an asshole’s jaw yesterday. Haven’t exactly kept a low profile.
We wade through a march of school children.
I don’t make eye contact with any of em till one grabs my carbon suit. A little boy with sandy hair and blue eyes, about ten. Which means his parents must’ve been trying to survive the early days of the infection.
It would’ve been a nightmare.
He tugs at my clothes. Says, “Hi!”
I meet the ten-year-old’s eyes. “Hi back.”
Then all the other fuckin kids stop at the sound of my voice.
They surround me. A swarm of tiny humans.
Their voices ring out:
“My dad says you’re the Choose...Choben un.”
“My mom says you’re fulla crap.”
“Are you...you’re gonna...you’ll kill the monsters?”
“Sar-jent McIntosh was...why did you hurt him?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Sergeant McIntosh was a fuck who got what was coming to him. Don’t be like that guy.” I put up my hands. “I have to go.” I kneel in front of the little boy who tugged at my armor. Tap his nose with my finger. “Be brave.” I tell the others, “If you listen to your teachers, I promise I’ll come by and explain everything, okay? I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
The sea of small children, Oooh.
I turn. Keep walking with DeVille.
She says, “Y’know, you’re good with kids. In a weird way. I’m shocked that they listen to you.”
“I’m basically an overgrown child, myself. Takes one to know one.”
She smiles. Takes my hand in her own as we walk to the eastern corner of the camp.
DeVille says, “Would you—”
I cut her off. “Yeah. I almost did...” I stop. Cup DeVille’s cheeks. “Would you? Again?”
“With you? Gonna have to think about it.”
I scoff. Drop her hand. Keep walking.
She grabs me. Turns me so I face her. Says, “Don’t be an asshole.”
We lock eyes.
She says, “Yes. Of course.”
We kiss.
Long and hard.
Some of the children catch a glimpse and let out a prolonged Ewwwwww.
* * *
The eastern tip of the fort’s star houses the security offices. A single floor at ground level with apartments on top and floor after floor below.
We take the elevator to the fifth sublevel after a series of annoyed-looking people check our cards, thumbprints and retina scans.
I don’t do the Do-You-Know-Who-I-Am? thing but it’s very tempting.
I’m not sure these people were born with any sense of humor.
I say, “Never really changes does it?”
DeVille says, “No, but I wish it would.”
“Think I can poop in a corner of the elevator real quick and then we watch the monitors to see who freaks out first?”
DeVille giggles.
The doors open. We step out into a hallway with polished metal floors. Walls that look like recycled wood. A ceiling of plaster and metal crossbeams and buzzing lights.
Catarina’s there waiting for us. A wry smile on her face.
Plissken hovers by her side.
Other people and robots strut with a purpose.
I say, “Mom. Plissken. How’re you guys?”
Plissken bobs in the air. “I’ve been scheming and murdering parasites. So, the usual.”
Catarina pats the bot’s side. “We’re good. Trying to maintain the safety of what remains of the human race. Y’know. No big deal.”
DeVille grunts.
I say, “What’s with the stiffs upstairs? They all got rods up their asses?”
Catarina says, “Bureaucracy.” She nods. “I’m not a fan either. Believe it or not, filing papers is what those fuckers do for fun.” She smiles. “Caleb did his best to make sure people who were good at something before the world ended...kept doing what they were good at.” She shrugs. “Against all odds, we did find ourselves with some bureaucrats.”
“Lucky you.”
“I hate paperwork. If those schmucks wanna do it—” she waves her hand. “Come on. Madison and Gunnar are already in the war room with Jack and Caleb.”
Madison and Gunnar? Interesting. “What for?”
“Your uncle’s got himself an idea.”
“Anything to do with ‘Rule Five?’“
“Yeah. ‘Rule Five.’” Catarina rubs her forehead. “You realize your dad and uncle are huge nerds, right?”
* * *
Madison and Gunnar offer us curt nods as Catarina ushers me and DeVille toward the big, circular war room table. Like everything else, it’s made from scrap. I think it’s part of the scoreboard from Fenway Park.
There are a dozen or so technicians around the perimeter of the room. Each one typing frantically on digital keyboards in front of holographic screens—though there are a few analog leftovers too.
Jack looks up at me from a cloud of smoke and his own datapad. “Hey bud.”
“Hey dad.” That’s never gonna feel totally right. “Can someone please tell me what this ‘Rule Five’ bullshit is?” I plop my ass on one of the old office chairs around the table.
DeVille sits next to me.
I hear Caleb laugh in the hallway. “Rules of the Internet, man.” He walks into the room. Sets a bucket full of ice and beers on the table. Green bottles but the labels are all missing. “Rule Five: We don’t forgive and we don’t forget.”
DeVille cocks an eye at me.
I light a cigarette. Say, “Who are we not-forgiving and not-forgetting?”
DeVille says, “And why? I don’t mean to alarm you folks, but when we were leaving Sikorsky, we picked up a big goddamn signal. A, uh—” she looks at me. “What’d you call it?”
I click my tongue. “Wall of flesh.”
“Yeah. And it’s eating its way east.” DeVille grabs a beer from the bucket. Twists the top off. “Call me crazy, but shouldn’t we tackle the giant monster thing first?”
Caleb says, “We’re aware of the wall of flesh. We’re, uh, we’re working on a plan. Some way to deal with it.” He chugs his beer. “But I think you all need to realize the unpleasant truth of our situation here: Earth is lost.”
His words hang in the air.
DeVille furrows her brow.
I reach over and squeeze her hand.
Catarina’s eyes flit back and forth between us. A slight smile plays across her lips. She says, “That doesn’t change our situation at the camp. It’s just a fact now. Something everyone needs to keep in mind. We aren’t saving the world. That’s not an option.”
Jack blows smoke. “It’s something we noticed—well, Caleb noticed it when he started building here. There’s a weird psychological effect when people think they’ve gotta save the world.”
“Too much pressure,” Caleb says. “Makes people crack.”
“So it’s better if everyone here understands—all the way down to their balls—”
Madison rolls her eyes. “Watch it.”
Catarina smacks Jack.
Jack says, “Shit. Sorry.” He winces. “It’s better if everyone really understands that survival is the only goal. Survival is the closest thing to winning we’ve got.”
Gunnar grunts.
Madison grabs a beer for herself and Gunnar. Says
, “That’s really cheerful and all, but I still don’t understand what I’m doing here. I have no problem fighting if I need to, but I’m a nurse. I’m better at patching wounds than inflicting them.”
I wiggle my eyebrows at her. “And changing out my pee jars. Don’t forget that.”
Madison chuckles. “Shut up and as a side note: fuck you.”
“Any time.”
DeVille delivers a swift kick to my shin under the table.
I yelp.
Catarina points to Jack and then me. “These two are charming, huh?” Nods to DeVille, “At least now you know where he inherited it from.”
I massage my shin. “Geez, mom, gimme a break.”
Madison says, “Caleb, we need an answer here.”
Caleb’s eyeballs go wide. “Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry. I got distracted.” He clears his throat. Takes another sip of beer. “As we’ve said, surviving is the name of the game. The biggest threat to our survival right now—other than the obvious: zombies and monsters—is a man named Remy Wilson. He’s a real fuckbag.”
Plissken projects a hologram down onto the table. Says, “And lo, the fuckbag in question.”
The image of a pudgy balding dude in his early fifties flutters to life. What hair remains on his head grows in a weird random pattern of brown sprouts to match his brown eyes. He wears a brown suit jacket with patches on the elbows. Brown slacks pulled up to the bulge of his belly.
Basically, he looks like a fuckin used-car salesman.
Jack says, “At first he was just sort of a dipshit, which we were fine with. Gambling was Wilson’s thing. But we regulate the camp’s vices.” He shrugs. “He didn’t become a serious pain in the ass till he started pushing for a regime change and a few people started listening to him.”
Caleb nods. “Camp stability is crucial. No stability, no survival.”
I say, “This is that whole dash-of-fascism thing you mentioned, I guess.”
“It is. We need Wilson gone.”
Gunnar crosses his arms. Grunts.
Madison says, “Yeah, I still don’t get it. Why don’t you just use your army of robots to take him out?”
Plissken says, “Well, first, every robot in this camp takes its orders from one of us.”
Blood God (The Hroza Connection Book 5) Page 9