by Pam Godwin
Roark leaned against a tree twenty yards away, but the bounce of his Adam’s apple and his hard-staring eyes, purposefully directed away from mine, meant he’d heard the exchange. Did he want children, too? But he was celibate!
Beside him, Elaine’s doll-like face held way too much interest.
Michio loved me, but I wasn’t so arrogant to believe that was enough. That I was enough.
I turned back to him with lead in my stomach. “Will you turn to another to bear your children?”
Shifting his gaze to Elaine, he didn’t answer. Which was the answer I didn’t want. I waited for him to look away from her, silently pleading him to give me his eyes. Every second stabbed like a sword through the heart until the hurt roared into burning rage.
My elbow connected with his windpipe. He shuffled back, gasping. Elaine shrieked, and the approach of Roark’s boots landed behind me.
I lunged at Michio again. A prickly bush caught our fall, and my thighs caged his ribs. I freed a dagger from my arm sheath and angled the blade across his throat, the hilt burning in my palm. “You don’t need my permission to fuck her.”
The woman who—just that morning—announced she wanted babies and smiled gleefully when Jesse told her the Lakota would gather more men while we were gone. Men to protect her and father her children.
Good for her. The lucky bitch didn’t carry memories of the cruelty the virus inflicted on children. The butterfly-printed sheets soaked in bloody vomit, tiny hands contorted in pain, their struggling, heart-wrenching, final gasps of air…
My grip tightened, aching to punish Michio for bringing this shit to the surface. The memories, jealousy, resentment, none of it would keep us alive.
Roark’s broad shadow hovered, his mouth uncharacteristically silent. Maybe he was disappointed in me, too. I released a staggering breath. I was a fighter, but I didn’t want to fight them.
Truth was, I knew why Michio had picked this moment to rile me. He was no longer distracted with healing Elaine, and in a few days, we would be out of the quiet mountains, our full attentions zeroed in on new dangers. This was the lull before the storm, and he was taking advantage of it.
Or maybe he was second-guessing his future, with me.
Cold sweat licked my palms. I relaxed my fingers and forced the words. “Stay with Elaine and share her bed with countless others. Or come with us and try your luck with the women we save. Either way, you will be sharing the mother of your children.”
The days of monogamy were gone, the ratio of men to women fucked to hell. Stand in line. Take a number. How would that work for a man who refused to share? And with others rutting before and after him, what were his chances for fatherhood?
The answers didn’t soothe and instead thickened in my throat. I ached for his happiness, and denying him filled my gut with loathing and shame.
My hand shook, and he reached for it, holding the blade against his neck and clamping down on my fingers as if to stop the trembling. His arms were free, yet he wasn’t fighting me. Hell, he was a master martial artist. I only bested him because he allowed it.
Pulling from his grip, I moved the blade from his throat and stabbed it into the dirt beside his head. I’d chosen three men, the three I trusted with my life, but maybe I hadn’t made that clear. “My body and my heart belong to my guardians. There will be no others for me.”
“Evie.” My name floated off his tongue like a prayer. His dark eyes searched my face, the compassion there as soft as the finger he now brushed across my lips. “I have no interest in Elaine or anyone else. I want you. Only you. With or without a child.”
I wanted to believe him, to forget this conversation ever happened. Would he still love me years from now, despite my refusal to give him children? As I pushed up from his chest and returned the knife to its sheath, doubt chewed at the edges of my mind.
His lips flattened and his face tightened as if he could read my thoughts. He touched the lock of hair that had fallen from my ponytail and brushed it away from my eyes. The sharpness in his gaze missed nothing, but it was the flex of severely-honed muscles beneath me that reminded me exactly how determined he could be.
I shifted to stand, but he gripped my thigh, holding me in place.
“Don’t run.” His voice was stiff, commanding.
“Running isn’t my thing.”
“Shutting us out is your thing.” His hand clenched on my leg. “Don’t.”
Us. Interesting word choice. I looked up at Roark and found him scratching the stubble beneath his jaw, his scowl directed at me.
And here came Jesse, gliding on silent feet despite the fury in his eyes. Great.
He dropped a knee beside mine, his low voice a thin edge. “Do I need to remind you what is prowling in these woods? Only takes one aphid to smell a cut, hear a branch snap”—he glanced at the broken bush beneath us—“and we’ll be fighting off dozens.” He leaned toward Michio, forearm on a bent knee. “Next time you decide to piss her off, wait till our perimeter’s in place.” He rose. “Stay here. And be quiet.” Then he was gone.
The arrogant ass was right. I’d lost my cool and put the entire group at risk.
I climbed to my feet and adjusted the carbine sling on my shoulder. “Go ahead, Roark. Say what you’re thinking.”
“Ye both need a good kick up the arse.”
Michio brushed off his pants and stepped beside Roark. “Some more than others.”
I scanned the trees for Jesse, waiting for whatever bizarre Irish insult would tumble out next. “And?”
Roark lifted his chin, his eyes as green as the glowing landscape. “Ye love us.”
More than they knew. “I never said that.”
He tapped my lips. “Your heart belongs to your guardians.”
Well, he had me there.
Darwin jumped out of the brush, tongue flapping and ears twitching. Seeing him so carefree replaced the lingering burn for a fight with a gentle kind of warmth. The virus only mutated humans, but aphids fed on all mammals. Darwin had escaped every aphid that ever came at him, but he couldn’t dodge a bullet. I hated it, but it was safer for him to stay behind with the Lakota.
Jesse emerged next, glancing at each of us before turning toward the trail. “Found tracks. The camp is near.”
By nightfall, we united with the only survivors of the North Dakota reservation Jesse grew up on. The Lakota elder, Akicita, and the brothers Naalnish and Badger, all three of them were there. When they tackled me in hearty hugs and wide smiles, the knots in my shoulders began to loosen.
I received the same warm welcome from Tallis and Georges. The three duffel bags they’d filled with medical supplies energized all of us. I felt the excitement in the air, despite the long day of hiking.
As roasted rabbit wafted from the campfire, Elaine retired to one of the nearby tents. I stood by the warm blaze, my clothes soaked with sweat, and itchy grit crept into crevices I didn’t want to think about.
Two years ago, my hair had been a shimmery blonde. The clumpy strands that now clung to my chest… Ugh. Still shiny, in a greasy, brown-with-dirt way. But there were no rivers or ponds to scrub in.
Jesse squatted over his maps, his reddish-brown hair just as filthy as mine. But man, he pulled it off like a rugged savage warrior. I bet he smelled manly, too.
The others walked the perimeter. Except Tallis. He perched beside Jesse, as if waiting for whatever orders a hired gun waited for. His short hair spiked in tufts on his head, bronze, like his complexion. I wanted to touch his face to see if I could feel the Australian sun there, evidence of his life on the reef. Instead, I plucked the leaf-wrapped cigarillo from his lips and took a drag. He lit another.
I waved the smoky treat at the map. “So, where we headed?”
Tallis’ eyes glinted. Then he screwed them shut, cocked his head and belted the chorus from U2’s “Where The Streets Have No Name.”
I grabbed his imaginary microphone and switched the song to “I Still Haven’t Found What
I’m Looking For.” Thankfully, he joined in because...good God, I was tone-deaf.
We stumbled through some verses until we were choking on laughter and smoke.
I cleared my throat. “Think Bono survived?”
Tallis shook his head. “Nah. I heard the mate led an aphid relief campaign. Bet the bities got him.” A quirk pulled his lips. “Think he can sing ‘Wake Up Dead Man’ with mutated vocal cords?”
Jesse closed his eyes and swiped a hand over his face. Then he looked at me. “We’re going south. Gives us the most coastline and a milder winter.”
Made sense. Water repelled aphids. Since the August heat didn’t grant us much rain, we could stick close to the gulf shores and run for the water if we were ambushed.
“Okay, what’s left to do?” We still had to find transport, fuel, say our good-byes. I puffed on the cigarillo, paced, puffed again.
A hand on my shoulder stilled my movements, as did the soft baritone of Jesse’s voice. “Get some sleep.”
He quickly pulled away, as if the contact had burned him, and shoved stiff fingers through his brown hair. But his eyes stayed on me, rich and coppery, flickering in the firelight. “Doc and Father Molony are due in from patrol. We’re heading out before sunrise.”
“I’ll take a shift tonight.”
“We’re covered, and you’ll need your strength.” The fullness of his pouty mouth didn’t soften the tension there. “With any luck, you’ll be donating blood soon.”
Yeah, with luck indeed. The amount of blood needed to cure a nymph was nominal. A blood-tipped arrow would do, but injuring them defeated the purpose. So Michio used a tranquilizer gun filled with my blood.
Movement rustled behind me. I turned to find Elaine standing at the entrance of her tent, wearing only an overlarge shirt. The hem hit her thighs, and the neckline hung off her slender shoulder. Evidently, she’d rifled through Michio’s backpack again.
Tallis and Jesse stood, both facing her, and Jesse asked, “What’s wrong?”
The peaks of her nipples pebbled beneath the thin cotton. She laced her fingers in front of her chest. “I don’t have to sleep alone tonight. If you guys want to…umm…” She gestured at her tent.
My vision clouded in red, and my hand twitched to punch her face. But the sudden and unequivocal attention she’d wrangled from Tallis and Jesse gave me pause. They stood side-by-side, bodies frozen, jaws rigid, and eyes bright and firmly fixed on her.
Neither man had been with a woman since before the outbreak. Two years without sex. And we were leaving in the morning to travel however many weeks, months—years?—before encountering another woman.
If Tallis’ cock wanted at her, he should jump on the opportunity. But Jesse—
A tremor took hold of my legs, and my stomach caved in. I walked to the far-side of the campfire, grabbing a stick along the way, and sat beside the hearth. The position would require me to turn around to see Jesse’s face, which I would not do.
“Just to be clear, you’re offering us sex?” Jesse asked, slowly, with way too much interest. “Both of us?”
I jabbed the stick into the fire and tried to keep my expression blank, despite the godawful burn in my throat. Jesse abstained from me. Didn’t mean he had to abstain from sex.
“I just thought…” She stared at her hands, shyly, awkwardly. “You’re leaving tomorrow, and it’s been…a long time since a woman…umm…held you.” Her voice danced softly around the words, her chin tucking as she spoke.
I sank my teeth into my lip, fighting the urge to tell her to go fuck herself. But she was right.
Her black hair rippled around her pretty face, her long legs pale in the moonlight. She shifted from foot-to-foot, peering at them from beneath her lashes. Christ, she seemed so young.
Because she is young. Only twenty-three. Twelve years my junior.
Where her hands were soft with youth, mine were calloused from throwing blades and climbing cliffs. While I spent my days fighting aphids and cleaning weapons, she used that time to keep her hair clean and her body groomed. She depended on men to care for her, and I argued with them every step of the way. Her tits were perky, and mine were scarred. She was gentle and docile. I was jaded and difficult.
She wanted children, and I didn’t.
Tallis approached her and raised her chin with his hand. “Are you sure?”
She nodded, smiling, that smile growing wider, shakier, as Jesse walked toward them. His gait was slow, his eyes on her and nothing else, as if floating like a bug to a bug zapper.
I jerked my gaze away, toward the ground, and pulled my knees to my chest. I couldn't watch him follow her into that tent. And I wouldn't tell him not to. He deserved the pleasure of a woman, something I was already giving two other men.
But goddammit, what was this pain inside me? It seared my chest and burrowed into my bones, building a horrible pressure in my sinuses. I felt helpless, rejected. So fucking betrayed.
And hypocritical.
What would his touch feel like? Would he fuck as passionately as he kissed? Would he groan as he slid his cock inside her? My fingernails dug into my jeans, and my teeth sawed together. I couldn’t accept this, couldn’t just sit here and pretend I didn’t care.
I jumped up and slammed into the brick wall of Jesse’s chest. My heart raced. Did he turn her down?
He stepped back, hands on his hips, and just stared at me. Always with the staring and glaring and watching.
God, I loved that about him.
He canted his head. “Gonna tell me the same thing you told Doc?”
Oh. My chest tightened, and I closed my eyes, whispered, “You don’t need my permission to fuck her.”
I kept my eyes squeezed shut as his woodsy scent slipped away with his presence. Wrestling through a silent moment, I measured my breathing and relaxed my hands, but nothing could calm the firestorm inside me.
When I opened my eyes, he was sitting on the ground a few feet away. Legs bent, forearms resting on his knees, he watched the flames spit sparks into the black sky.
Elaine’s tent was zipped closed, whispers drifting from within.
A torrent of relief washed over me. Why walk over there if he didn’t intend to bang her? Did he change his mind? Sometimes I wondered if he did this shit just to fuck with me. Every time I got all self-righteous and worked up, he was right there to mock it.
I sat beside him, close enough to feel his warmth without touching. Maybe his head games were payback for having to coexist with me and my relationships with Michio and Roark?
Swallowing a few times, I found my voice. “It makes me sick imagining you with her.”
“She’s not my type.”
Some of the pressure in my head and muscles released. I tried to let it drop, tried to just enjoy the heat from the fire and the company of the man who didn’t choose Elaine.
But I had to ask. “What’s your type?”
Please say thirty-something, stubborn, and fierce with a blade.
If our impending mission was successful, there would be other women. How was I going to deal with that? Everyone would be competition.
He watched the fire, not a single hint of his thoughts in the sharp lines of his cheek bones, the relaxed part in his lips, or the soft blinking of his eyes. One would think he was so lost in his head he hadn’t heard the question. But he was always listening, always watching. He simply chose not to answer.
Without looking in my direction, he finally said, “You’re staring, Evie.”
Oh, now that was funny. I might’ve called him out on his own staring problem if I didn’t love it so much.
As I sat there beside him, my skin felt alive, electric, thrumming with heat. Before I could stop myself, I leaned toward him and placed my lips on the bare skin of his bicep. He didn’t jerk away, so I held the contact long enough to relish the goosebumps skating across his flesh.
He’d told me once that he desired me, yet he couldn’t tolerate my touch. But what he gave me toni
ght was better than a touch or a kiss or sex. Maybe there would be another woman along the way who was his type. But tonight, he chose me by not choosing her. In return, I accepted his abstinence. Truth be told, I was happier than I’d been in a long damned time, sitting beside the fire, not quite touching Jesse at my side.
It took a week to hike out of the mountains and three days to find a set of wheels large enough to fit Tallis and Georges, me, my guardians, and our weapons. I leaned against a truck, which held some promise for quicker, safer travel. Parked on an abandoned highway in some small town, it wasn’t smashed up like the others we’d encountered, but the damned thing wouldn’t start.
I squinted through the sunlight that reflected off the windshield. Would our six person team return to West Virginia someday? Would we bring back victorious stories to share with the three Lakota we left behind? Or would we come back with our heads hanging and fewer in number?
If Georges managed to resurrect the truck’s motor, we’d be underway. He’d been cursing the hood for hours, dicking around with injectors and system pressure and who the hell knew? Half the shit he said was in French.
What did an airline pilot even know about trucks? A delivery truck, to be specific, plastered with decals of a woman pulling steaming loaves of bread from an oven.
My stomach grumbled. What I would've given for a can of spray paint to cover the taunting smile on the bitch's face.
Metal gleamed on the four lane road. Roll-overs. Abandoned cars. A few vans we passed up because we didn’t want to scrape out the mummified occupants. In those final days, no one knew where to go. No safe destination. After the virus killed the children and elderly and transformed the women into nymphs, the surviving men fought, killed, hid, and stole what they needed to stay alive.
Men who once obeyed laws became vicious predators, wandering traumatized, pissed-off, and completely ungoverned to spread their septic misery. Unpredictable, with nothing to lose, they posed the biggest threat.
I could only hope there were still men out there as decent as the one jogging up the highway.