Eternal Refuge

by Annabelle McInnes

  The tussock, knee-high grass scraped against the fabric of his dry pants with a soft rasp. They were brittle in the winter. Yellow and dry. But the green around the edges of the base told him spring was not far off, if not here already.

  His boots squelched in the mud and slipped on the running weeds. When he found a dip that gave him a sense of privacy, he pulled the waistband of his pants down and fumbled in his briefs for his dick. His fingers were cold and he winced when they touched the warm skin there as he quickly did what he had to do, staring out in the mountains.

  Mickey-O’s army was out there, whatever was left, hiding in their fortress, waiting for them.

  ‘They call themselves the Valiant.’

  Lily’s words came to him on a wisp of memory. They were Valiant. They were brave and strong and chivalrous. They were well-armed and well-trained. They had named themselves after a quote Euan had scrawled on a shit-smeared bathroom wall in his honour. With Mickey-O blowing up in a cloud of fire and smoke, Nick knew that they would follow Euan without hesitation. Then they could take Parker and his band of bastards down.

  He just needed to get him there.

  The wind picked up and he righted his pants. He pushed his hands into his pockets and turned towards the farmhouse.

  Death was written in every rotting wooden door, every broken roof tile, every shattered pane of glass and crumbling brick. The house seemed to almost sag in on itself. A starving corpse, its skeleton visible through the tightening of its skin and the decay around it. As Nick approached, birds squabbled and squawked at his intrusion. This husk was their home now. It would never house the intelligent apes that had learned to make fire, wheels and biological warfare.

  The door was closed. When he put his hand to the cold brass doorknob, it came off in his hand. When he pushed the timber, it splintered. He snorted while he wound his hand in and around and twisted the knob from the inside. It opened with a terrible squeal.

  Nick waited. Belatedly, he thought to remove his gun from the holster at his hip. The weapon was warm where he gripped it.

  The light was weak and so were the floorboards. They groaned as they took his weight. His boots echoed. He flinched as a bird took flight and fluttered above him and out the door behind. It was only after it had escaped did he realise both hands were palming the grip of his gun and the finger brushed the trigger. He took a deep breath.

  Time and the weather were all that had touched the room and furniture since the last occupants had closed that front door. The floral sofa was dusty but whole. A Persian rug immaculate under a fine layer of dust. When his boot pushed the mat from its location, the timber underneath gleamed gold.

  It was cold. A television was in one corner, and Nick’s fingers itched to touch it. Not because it would ever work again, but just so he knew it was real.

  So many memories.

  His sisters fighting over a remote. His father leaning back against the soft-padded cushion of a sofa, his legs spread wide, his one and only beer a night held lazily in his hand. Nick could even remember the heat of his body when he rested against his side, the gentle way the tips of his father’s fingers had touched the fine hairs on his head. The scent was there too, cedar wood, grease, and male body odour. His father had worked hard as a mechanic to provide for his large family.

  Nick blinked back the vision and moved to the kitchen. The cupboards were closed, the dust untouched. A coffee maker took pride of place. Nick felt a touch of regret for the loss of their own.

  ‘I’ve got coffee?’

  Jesus, she had been so beautiful then. Wild, delicate, incredible. His heart had honestly convulsed. He couldn’t fathom something so precious being so real. She had made his knees weak and his head question every reality. They had survived a plague, violence, betrayal, a modern Thunderdome and the death of someone they had sworn to protect. When she had stood in front of him, he had managed to remain standing and not fall to his knees in astonishment and thanks.

  Thanks to whatever force had led them to her door and not anyone else.

  The thought that Rodgers or Parker might have found her first …

  She still did that to him. But the impact was stronger, more severe. Today in Euan’s arms she had gone from brave warrior to vulnerable woman and everything in between. The amazing thing was, it had made him love her more, appreciate, understand her. She was woman. She was warrior. She was theirs.

  Opening the cupboards, he found everything untouched. Like the rest of the home, it was a relic to those last days before society fell. He picked up a can of peaches and smiled. The can was heavy in his hand. The label still glossy. Scrolled letters described them as the sweetest in the country. Nick suspected they would be right.

  He ran his hands through the dust on the benchtop and thought of his mother. Her short practical haircut, her green eyes, a mirror to his own. A smile that was so beguiling it would stop his father in his tracks. Blue eyes would soften, a tilt of firm lips and he would approach as though he were a predator, focused on his prey.

  There was a reason why he was one of four children.

  The smile that stretched Nick’s lips was not his mother’s. That had been reserved for his sisters. His father had his hands full there too.

  Gun back at his hip, he rolled the can in his hands as he moved back through the house, following his footsteps in the dust. The sun was bright when he emerged, and he squinted against the glare. They needed to convince Euan that their goal was the mountains, to the fortified hotel that Nick had only witnessed a glimpse of before he had followed twelve men into the wilderness in search of Euan.

  The brittle grass crunched under his feet as he moved back to the barn. The wind was still there, but the morning sun was warm against his back, a comforting heat that filtered through the fabric of his clothes to touch his skin. He was looking forward to removing his boots when he heard them.

  Soft, escalated breaths, little mewls, the crackle of straw, the rustle of fabric.

  ‘They need us. They need you.’

  ‘Kiss me and I’ll think about it.’

  ‘All you want is a kiss?’

  ‘You don’t realise how much your kisses are worth.’

  Nick’s gut clenched. A tight pinch, low and uncomfortable. He made his steps loud and he thumped over the concrete. The can of peaches was cold in his hand.

  The stall wall was high, but the door was shoulder height. He was able to see them before he entered. Still dressed, Kira sat astride Euan, her knees lost under the blankets but her movements evident in the slow gyration of her hips as she rocked them against him. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted, her hair a tangled mess about her shoulders. Her neck was bent to offer what was asked.

  Euan gazed at her as though she was an impossible vision. And she was. Glorious in her ardour, he was enraptured by her, utterly possessed by her sight, her sounds, her breath.

  A fire burned under Nick’s skin. A flame that licked and tormented, a heat that sizzled and seared. His belly was full of snakes, his chest was made of constricting iron. A clamp that wound tighter and tighter against his heart.

  ‘Come here,’ Euan rumbled.

  At first, Nick suspected that Euan was speaking to Kira. But when that dark brown eye swung his way, boring a hole through the handle of the iron clamp to loosen its hold, Nick realised that Euan had been speaking to him.

  He shook his head. He didn’t really know why he did it, just because the anger was there still. The hurt. Kira’s eyes were locked on him now too. Her cheeks flushed, her hands balled into firsts at Euan’s chest.

  ‘Not gonna ask again.’

  Nick’s feet moved. He squeezed the can before holding it out. An offering, a sacrifice, a deliberate donation to their cause.

  It hovered between them. A can of food, of peaches no less, was the shield Nick used to delay the inevitable. Euan’s eye narrowed. The scar below his eyepatch twisted. Nick was stuck where he was, his arm ached as he held the can out. His other hand f
ormed a tight fist for no other reason than because he could do nothing with it.

  Long moments past. The wind whistled through the timber slats, the birds squawked as they flew past. The stall smelt of crushed straw and damp.

  ‘Put the can down.’

  He obeyed before he realised his body had moved. The can on the concrete at his feet. The edges were not even rusted. They gleamed in the daylight that shot through the broken roof tiles.

  Euan said, ‘Take off your shirt.’

  Nick’s gaze snapped up. His breath was even and deliberate. Holding Euan’s stare, he shook his head. It was a gentle sway. Kira’s lust waned and her eyes sharpened. She cocked her head as she waited. One fist opened to lie flat on Euan’s pectoral muscle.

  Nobody moved.

  Until Euan ran his hands up Kira’s thighs. He reached the clasp of her pants and undid them without breaking eye contact with Nick. Kira gripped his wrist. Her tiny white fingers in contrast to Euan’s thick forearm.

  The ache was there, painful and acute. So was the anger, a boil inside his chest that he couldn’t escape. It gripped him like it had the night in the bunker. He said, ‘No.’

  Euan said, ‘Yes.’

  Nick moved. He took those few steps to reach them and towered above the two. He was a mountain before them. Angry, hungry and confused.

  ‘I want—’ he started. Stopped. No more words came. The pressure in his chest had crushed them.

  ‘I know what you want, Nicky.’

  He couldn’t. He just … couldn’t.

  So, he turned instead, stepped over the can of peaches and walked alone into the growing morning light.

  Chapter 10

  Kira

  Exasperated and aroused, Kira marched across the grass with the volatile mixture thrumming through her veins.

  It sizzled and popped, burned brilliant and combative inside her. Her muscles vibrated with it, her heart fluttered and her tummy pitched and swayed. She was inundated with the sentiment that she was sick of trying to contain. Kira was over placating, attempting to wheedle and coerce him into forgiveness with kindness and kisses.

  She was angry, and Nick would know about it.

  There he was. A blond, lean tower of anger and confusion, of hurt and misery. His despondency was striking. The conflict within him was palatable. Kira’s heart stuttered when he scrubbed his face to rid the tears that had wet his cheeks. Along with them went her fury and her aggression. Nicky’s sadness broke her.

  She put her anger aside. ‘You can’t be angry at him forever.’

  ‘Yes, I can.’

  She remained silent as his body shuddered through his own lie. His shoulders tense, his weight evenly distributed on his spread feet. Arms now across his chest. His attention wasn’t on her but on the sun. His brow furrowed from both his internal thoughts and the blinding light.

  The walk to him was short. Despite his crossed arms, she wrapped herself around him, absorbed the tension, savoured the heat. His muscles loosened within her clinch and after a few nervous moments, he unlocked himself and pulled her closer. Wordless, she held him, even as her thoughts clashed. Her heart, her head, her stomach all accumulated into her instinctual response. She loved him, so very much, and he needed her support because he was tearing himself apart.

  They wanted so much, everything. But they wanted it all with Euan.

  His words were in her hair. His arms tightened. ‘I can’t just wipe the slate clean.’

  Her fingers slipped into the waistband of his fatigues. He flinched when her cold fingertips brushed warm skin. His scent was in her nose. Under the smoke and the horse, he smelt of rain and man, earth and musk. ‘You don’t have to forget, but you do have to forgive.’

  He snorted at that. It jerked her, and she smiled.

  ‘What if I can’t forgive?’

  Her smile slipped from her lips. She pulled back from his embrace to look into those green eyes. A straight nose, high cheekbones, a square jaw dusted with gold whiskers. Jade flecked with amber as well as resentment, and pain. They sparked in the sunlight. So much unnecessary pain.

  Her hand moved from the small of his back to his cheek. Her fingers played with the young beard. The muscles at his cheek were hard, his jaw still clenched. She touched his lips. Soft, pliant. They opened at her gentle probing, and a slight tilt had her returning the gesture. She had to stand on tiptoes, but at least with Nick, the bend down to meet her was only a dip of his head.

  Their lips met. It was gentle as dry lips passed back and forth as they accustomed themselves again with the presence of another, with the texture of another.

  They breathed the same air. Noses slid against sensitive skin. Kira’s hands were on Nick’s shoulders, her nails embedded for balance and for sensation. Nick opened his mouth simply to taste, the wetness on her lips a reminder of what Nick had said.

  She understood. Honest to goodness, she understood him.

  Throughout Euan’s infirmary, there had been no thoughts of affection for each other, simply endure, ensure that Euan survived. They had swapped the role of nursemaid only when the other was too exhausted to go on. They had slept in a chair for nights, weeks, spines constantly warped from uncomfortable wooden seats as the sheets were sodden with sweat. Through Euan’s hallucinations and fever, his arms flailed and his body thrashed. They had survived as Euan had survived.

  Then Euan had begun to heal, and the fear of death had dissipated. They’d won the battle, only to realise they were yet to understand the war.

  Anger had come hard, swift, from both of them. Even as Kira had tried to rationalise her emotions, she couldn’t shake the worm that wrapped its way around her heart. It consumed that muscle and replaced it with ire and resentment.

  Until Euan had squeezed her hand.

  Then all the fury had fled, run and disappeared as if it had never existed. She felt exasperation, frustration, sure. But the anger? Gone.

  But it wasn’t so for Nick.

  Kira licked her lips, tasted Nick there. She knew she should say that she understood because it was true. But so was something else. Forgiveness was all they had. Forgiveness was what they needed. Forgiveness was the only thing that would see them move forward as a whole again. ‘You must.’

  He broke eye contact, hung his head. His hands were on her hips now, holding her, long fingers digging into her skin through the fabric of her pants. ‘I can’t,’ he said.

  If only she could make him understand. ‘He needs us, just as much as he needed us before. Just as much as we need him. I know you can’t see it, Nick, but he’s so broken inside. Everything he was is destroyed. He can’t protect us like he used to. His body fails him. I can’t imagine how he is managing.’

  ‘If he had just stayed home—’ Nick attempted.

  Kira cut him off. ‘You know as well as I do that he never would have stayed home. Not with that boy with us. He wanted to save us, save everyone. The human race. We can’t punish him for that. He’s probably the only hero humanity has left.’

  Nick shook his head. Blond hair streaked with gold brushed his shoulders. Kira’s fingers itched to touch. ‘Humanity doesn’t need a hero.’

  Kira’s face fell, the muscles loosened. She knew her eyes were soft and sad when she said, ‘Oh, Nick, you know that’s not the truth. You wouldn’t be here if that were the case. We’re going to find what’s left of Mickey-O’s men, no matter what Euan says.’

  Nick’s eyes flashed yellow fire. His lips were now curled. ‘The whole point of this journey is to survive,’ he hissed.

  ‘You don’t believe that.’

  Nick broke from her embrace and took two steps away from her. The dew still beaded on the grass, the blades green and glossy. The sky had turned from gold to blue. Clouds were on the horizon. His fists clenched, then unclenched. His shoulders rose and fell. His hand was in his hair, raking the mass back from his face. His gaze was on the clouds.

  ‘I’m not going to forget.’

  Kira had to tak
e three steps to reach him. She laid her cheek on his spine. His heartbeat through the fabric was rhythmic, the easy whoosh of his breath in his lungs. ‘Nobody is asking you to.’

  ‘But you’re asking me to forgive?’

  ‘They’re two, mutually exclusive things.’

  She felt him shudder with sardonic laughter. ‘You just want to fuck him.’

  There was still a gentle heartbeat between her thighs. ‘I want to fuck both of you.’

  A bark of laughter then and he turned. ‘You need that mouth washed out, Pix, girls don’t swear.’

  ‘Women do,’ she told him, her eyebrow cocked.

  He nodded as he grinned. ‘Women do,’ he chuckled. ‘Women do.’

  Kira reached up, cupped those bristled cheeks, held his green eyes as they twinkled. ‘I’m serious, Nick. I want both of you. I need it, you need it, Euan is desperate for it. We all need the connection. Please, we can’t do it if you don’t forgive.’

  The breath he blew out was long. It scattered the hair at her cheeks. ‘Fine.’

  ‘You have to mean it, Nick, we can’t go on without it.’

  He mirrored her gesture. His hands were warm at her jaw. ‘I do.’

  Kira smiled, and Nick blinked.

  ***

  They heard the crackling of the straw as they approached. The heavy sigh, the grunt. Morning light brightened the stall, somewhere close, a mouse skittered across the concrete, little tiny claws scratched the impenetrable surface. When they rounded the stable wall, there he was.

  His shirt was gone, pale skin, bisected with scars and ink greeted them. A great starburst in black ink followed the bumps of his vertebrae to explode in a thousand shards of light against his shoulders. They glittered as he shifted, his muscles rippled under the skin. Beside him was a bucket of water that Kira has used to clean herself. He drew a wet cloth over his body, a functional reprieve to remove the dirt, the smoke, the stink of horse.

  Kira’s mouth was dry. All that skin, all those muscles. All those tattoos. He knew that they were there, he had to. And yet, he continued to slide that cloth up over his shoulder and under his arm.