The tinkling of wind chimes, strange and ethereal, filtered through the mist. We both stared into the abyss. Not much could be seen outside of a circle of daylight. A flutter of movement made me jump back.
“Did you see that?” I asked.
Chris shouldered his gun and climbed down into the rubble.
“Maybe we should wait,” I used a theatrical whisper. “Let him bump into us like Ahmed said.”
He descended slowly, testing every step as he went. “The sooner we find some gas, the sooner we’re out of here.” He reached the garage floor and waved me down. It was impossible to trace his steps, so I slipped and slid through concrete dust and pebbles. Strong arms reached up and caught me.
He held me so close our helmets bumped. “Hey, baby.” He bumped my helmet again on purpose. Tilting his head, he closed in on my lips.
I returned his kiss and hugged him tighter. “More,” I whispered.
“More later.” He moved me behind him. “Stay close, and check our rear every so often.” A white beam of light shot out from under his rifle barrel. Brighter, with more range than my Maglite.
A hundred feet into the structure, we found another blast hole and a circular chamber surrounded by bars, or empty cells. One by one, Chris pointed his gun into the small cubicles. Nothing—no zombies, no prisoners. Heavy chains hung from the ceiling attached to manacles. The chains swayed gently with any movement of air, tapping against cell bars. We’d found the source of the high-pitched tinkling.
“What is this place?” I asked.
Chris shook his head. “A holding tank for hostages, or maybe a black site.” He shined his light into an adjacent space. Nothing but a simple table and a few overturned chairs. More chains with hand and ankle cuffs hung from the walls.
I poked my head in the door. “Interrogation room?”
“Most likely.” He stood the chairs upright. “Might as well hang out—give the man a chance to make contact.”
I removed my helmet for a better look around. “This place gives me the creeps.”
Chris finished circling the room. “A whole lot of misery happened here.” He piled his gear on the table.
“Enough to give a person the heebie-jeebies.” The gruff voice came from behind us, and we both jumped. A human-like figure stood in the doorway blocking our exit. Chris swung his gun around.
Sensitive to the light beam, the man shaded his eyes. Pallid skin color and bulging eyeballs were common symptoms in refugee camps. Tent city residents often suffered from the after effects of starvation, including serious vitamin deficiencies. This man appeared to have all the above.
Fierce, bloodshot eyes rolled in their sockets. “The Jordanian government remained cooperative with our war on terror right to end.”
Chris lowered his gun. “You’re CIA?”
He leaned against the door jamb. “Perhaps the last of my kind.” The wistful smile made him strangely compelling.
Chris had guessed correctly. We were standing in the middle of a secret military black site. He lowered the M4 and gave up his name, rank, all the regulation military stuff.
The more I observed this new character, the more I wondered if he could be infected. I stepped up beside Chris. “Lizzy Davis, and you are?” I reached out hoping he’d shake, so I could feel a pulse. Or not.
He ignored my hand. “Ivan Ivanovich.” His gaze roamed up and down my body like he had x-ray vision. “I don’t always remember if it’s Ivan or Ivanovich—so I use both.” He seemed to find his memory loss amusing.
Before either Chris or I could respond, Ivan launched into a heated argument with himself over the lack of military air support—apparently the holes in the parking lot roof weren’t enough. According to Ivan, this black site should have been bombed into oblivion.
After about five minutes of his one-sided ramblings, it became clear Ivan’s attention span was limited. He had trouble staying on topic—even his own topics—causing brief fits of temper.
He also had motor control issues. Tics, sudden body jerks, crazy eye rolls for no reason.
His brain, however, was on fire—in an Aspergers kind of way. He recited by name and serial number every ghost detainee kept at the site over the last couple of years.
“We’re looking for petrol.” Chris interrupted. “Know where we can find some?”
Bulging eyes rolled back and forth between us.
I reached out and he flinched. “Do you mind? I’m a doctor—I might be able to help.”
He reluctantly let me palpitate his face. “Before the invasion, I was assigned to a hospital at Zaatari Refugee Camp. A patient there became infected, but never turned.” I swallowed hard. “Have you any idea why you’re still alive? Were you given any drugs, or medication?”
He stared me down. Finally he made a sound halfway between a human sigh and a zombie growl. “If I knew I was going to live, I would have bargained my way out of here weeks ago.”
His mood shifted suddenly, and he snarled. “Why are you here in my parking garage?”
Chris pulled me back and stepped between us. “Petrol, remember? Guess not.”
A strained smile crinkled red-rimmed eyes. “Let me rephrase. What brings you to scenic southern Jordan?”
“I was a part of a special ops team sent to evac the doctors out of camp. We were late to deploy, and by the time we arrived, the compound had been invaded. The team didn’t make it out.”
Cynical eyes narrowed. “Except for you, Captain.”
“The bird I was piloting got hit by an RPG and came down outside of the tent city. Somehow, Lizzy made it out alive.”
I nodded. “I had no idea Chris was just outside the compound. We met up later.”
Ivan’s lips twitched “So you two lovebirds just happened to find each other in the middle of the Syrian desert.”
Pretty obvious he’d seen the helmet bump and kiss, earlier. I cleared my throat. “A few clicks north of here.”
“Ripleyesque, wouldn’t you say?” The man’s head flopped backwards before he regained control. “Why would the U.S. Military send a team of Night Stalkers to evac aid workers?” Milky gray eyes sparked to life. “Unless…”
I checked in with Chris and he shrugged.
“They wanted the zeta-interferon.” I confirmed the zombie lord’s suspicions.
Ivan recited like he was consulting a medical dictionary. “Interferon. A protein released by animal cells, usually in response to the entry of a virus, that has the property of inhibiting virus replication. The medication is the same as the interferon protein your body naturally produces.”
“There’s a cabinet full of the stuff in a transport vehicle north of here. If you want the drug, you’ll need to beat the hordes.” Chris checked his watch. “I figure they’ll be closing in on the vehicle within the hour.”
“And why should I risk my neck any further?”
“The hospital received a large shipment of interferon and a cable with instructions from the CDC before we were overrun.”
His eyes vibrated wildly as disjointed thoughts spun into high gear. “A cure?”
I gave him a noncommittal head wag. “The data suggests that given early enough, interferon stops the progression of the virus and in some cases can reverse it.” Fascinated by all his quirky ticks, I crept closer.
“Petrol,” Chris pressed. “Enough to get us to the border.”
Bug eyes blinked and his head lolled a bit.
As fast and stealthy as a rattlesnake, a hand whipped around my neck. Ivan grabbed my pistol and pressed the muzzle against my temple. “Get your hands off me—Jeezus—” I gasped, afraid to wriggle much.
“Let her go and you can have it all.” Chris raised his M4.
“Put the gun down or I’ll—” Ivan twitched, inadvertently cocking the trigger. Fuck! The man was so impaired, a neurological spasm could blow my head off.
“Or what?” Chris moved forward.
I struggled against a brittle body. Apparently Ivan was zo
mbifying in slow motion. His internal workings were starting to mummify. In a few days he’d lose his brain, in a few weeks, the fragile body would begin to crumble apart.
“Or all this fine pussy is over.” Ivan rubbed his face into my hair and sniffed. “You smell good. If I could get this dick up, you’d be screaming for mercy.”
Chris lowered his weapon. “Forget the fuel, just let her go.”
Ivan tightened his grip until I choked. “How far? Give me a marker.”
Chris narrowed his gaze. If looks could decapitate, Ivan Ivanovich would be wandering around in search of a head right now. “The supply truck ran out of gas around K 29.”
Ivan moved toward a cell. “Get in there—” He pushed me forward with more force than I would have imagined. “You—Roterhead—put the gun down.” He waved the pistol. “Hands in the air—get in the cell.”
Chris rested the carbine on the table, and moved slowly.
“And take your girlfriend with you.” Ivan shoved me into Chris and rolled the cell door closed. He threw a latch and appeared to have to think for a moment before he got out his key ring and locked us in.
“Better move fast.” Chris advised.
“No worries. I’ll be home for Christmas.” Ivan grabbed the M4 and disappeared.
Chris glared through the cell bars. “Fucking CIA zombie fuck.” He kicked the bars. “Fuck you, Ivan.”
A car engine started, followed by the squeal of tire rubber.
Chapter Seven
RAW EMOTION FLOODED my senses. For the first time in days, I was on the verge of tears. “Is it really Christmas?” I whispered.
Caught off guard, my whole body swayed. For a moment, I was back in the refugee camp. The hospital tent groaned, then collapsed onto the ground. Strings of colored lights twinkled, trampled in the dirt by zombie feet.
More flashbacks.
Running through the compound, a soldier pushed me forward. “Take these and don’t look back.” I’m alone, sprinting down a narrow alley with a set of keys in my hand. I can just make out a transport vehicle up ahead.
I muffled a cry.
Chris moved up behind and pulled me back to reality. Strong arms, pulsing with life, drew me against his body. “Can you see my watch?”
He tilted his wrist, and I squinted at the glow-in-the-dark numbers. December twenty-fourth. “Christmas Eve,” I whispered.
I suppose I had an excuse. When you’re fighting for your life, caught in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, there’s a tendency to forget important dates and holidays.
His lips brushed the small hairs of my temple. “What do you want for Christmas, Lizzy?”
Deck the Halls. Joy to the World. Jingle Bells.
The yuletide caroling side of me wanted to whimper or scream. Maybe throw myself on the floor and sob uncontrollably. Instead, I turned all my holiday spirit into something lusty.
“All I want for Christmas is another look at that cute ass.”
Chris rubbed my back as if he could knead all my fears and sorrows away. Make me forget that I was locked in a fucking black hole in the middle of the Syrian desert on Christmas Eve.
Fuck—too late.
I was already thinking about home and family and about to lose it. Were they alive or undead? My brother, Chase, had just started his dream job at SpaceX in Hawthorne, California. Mom was home alone with her amazing cottage garden and Weeble. For some odd reason, the thought of our adorable handicapped rescue dog being zombified made me teary-eyed.
Dad might be alive, if he was still at sea.
We all have preservation instincts, but there are moments when the question of survival becomes iffy. And the possibility of happily ever after resides in a place called Neverland. I felt my will to go on slip away…
Then my lizard brain kicked in.
Stay alive. Stay human.
Four days ago, I’d survived a vicious attack, something no human on earth should ever have to witness. A frenzied tsunami of undead had trampled their own just to get to live prey inside the camp. Another grim snapshot flashed before my eyes. Buried under a pile of corpses, a macabre blood feast. A zombie gnawed on a leg bone, its human host still alive. The creature’s milky-white eyes had rolled back in ecstasy.
I shivered head to toe.
“Hey, hey,” Chris whispered. “I’m feeling kind of optimistic. We might even make it to Valentine’s Day.”
I leaned into his solidness and strength. Images of heart-shaped candy charms, greeting cards, the innocent blush of pink roses instantly lightened my mood. “Are you a romantic dinner and slow hot sex kind of guy? Even if you’re not, say yes.”
His soft chuckle tickled my ear. “Yes.”
I was in danger of forming an attachment to Captain Chris Oakley. Special Ops Ranger, Night Stalker pilot, and manipulator of amazing orgasms.
This kind of closeness must be what happens to soldiers in combat—without the orgasms. “How long have we known each other?” I counted the hours in my head. “Less than a day and we already…I don’t know…”
“Act like an old married couple?”
“We don’t fuck like an old married couple.” I stepped out of his arms. “Drop your pants, Captain.”
“You just like to stick me with needles.” The glint in his eye was pure tease. Fiercely protective, drop-dead sexy, with a dry sense of humor. A potent combination and Chris owned all of it.
Plus, his kisses made me crazy-hot for him.
I was fighting an attraction that went beyond his amazing body and mesmerizing gaze. Overnight, Chris had become my survivalist companion and lover. Even his occasional bout with male crankiness was cute. And—as he was so fond of reminding me—our time as living breathing humans was limited to hours, days, or weeks. And neither one of us was taking bets.
I reached inside my jacket and pulled out my syringe kit. “Time for your shot.”
He ripped the tabs on his body armor and pulled his field shirt over his head. Then he spread the shirt over the cement slab. “Keeps the chill off.”
“Concrete bed. A hole in the floor for a toilet.” I inventoried out loud. “Manacles and chains hanging from the ceiling—kinky touch.”
“Skylight.” Chris nodded upward.
A metal tub, the kind used for washing clothes, had been placed below the hole in the ceiling to catch rainwater. I inched over to take a look at the sky above and the water below. “I wouldn’t drink that, but we could give each other a sponge bath.”
He stared at me. “Great. All we need is a bar of soap.”
“I’ve got something better.” I unzipped a pocket and removed a slim plastic package. “Towelettes impregnated with Castile soap.”
When it comes to disrobing, men are superhero fast, especially when there’s a strong possibility of sex. Chris winked at me as he hopped out of a pant leg.
I admit I enjoyed looking at him. He had a body worthy of a sculptor. Sinewy biceps, tensor and rectus muscles—beautiful glutes. I swabbed his buttock cheek with an alcohol wipe and gave him an injection.
“You must do a lot of squats and lunges.” I mused aloud, admiring his backside.
“Free weights three times a week. I run the base perimeter every morning.”
He sat down on the cement slab and removed boots and socks. He glanced up at me. “What’s your routine?”
“In camp, I played a lot of pickup basketball. I’m not big on treadmills or lifting weights.” I tore open a towelette.
He stood up in all his naked, penis-jerking glory. “You like to play with the boys.”
My gaze traveled up long sinewy legs to his erection. Right now, I wanted to play with that handsome cock—bring him some pleasure.
“Stand in the tub.” I dipped the washcloth in tepid water. “This should feel cool and refreshing.” I washed arms knotted from fatigue, then worked the towelette over his chest and abs. Muscles that were harder and more well-defined up close.
Rain drizzled through the hole in the ceil
ing, and he leaned back and wet his hair and face. I drew the cloth down his torso, and he sucked in air. “I could do this myself, you know.”
I worked slippery palms over his buttocks. “You’re not complaining, are you?”
“Nope.” He closed his eyes and settled into his sponge bath.
“I didn’t think so.” I used a fresh towelette to soap his hair and massage his temples. He opened his eyes for a moment. “You are a goddess.”
I tilted his head back, and the rain rinsed the suds off.” With his body balanced over one hip, he looked like a Greek statue. “You’re gorgeous, but you already know that, don’t you?”
Adonis opened his eyes. “I like hearing it from you.”
Whenever the soapy cloth drew near, his penis twitched and jumped. I washed the inside of his thighs, and gently soaped his balls. Round and large, they drew up into his body, ready to ejaculate.
One hand soaped his body scruff as the other slipped up and down his cock. I took long, slow pulls, making sure to run my thumb up and over the head. He had a beautiful cock, large and thick with a sleek, smooth helmet.
His water buffalo groan made me smile.
“I think I’ll do that again.” I gave the impressive cock in my hands plenty of time and attention, and when I looked up, his eyes were dark and glittery.
“On your knees, Lizzy.”
I dropped down and licked my way up and down the shaft.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth.” He held my head and pushed in. “Relax your throat so you can take more of me, that’s it.
“Oh baby doll,” he gasped, as I followed every one of his raw, rasping instructions. “Give me a long, slow suck down the shaft.” I listened to his groans and drew him in deep.
My arousal had reached belly-fluttering levels just from pleasing him. I wiggled the tip of my tongue into the cleft and sampled a pearl-sized drop of pre-cum.
Chris groaned. “Fuck yeah.”
His gentle, persistent dominance excited me. Made me want to do bad things to him, and have very bad things done to me. “Use your nails, baby.”
EAT, SLAY, LUZT: A sexy wild ride through the dark heart of the zombie apocalypse. Page 6