by Pam Godwin
Tallis slowed as he reached me, gas can in hand. “This is the last of it until the next town.”
“Thank—” A pinching sensation ripped through my stomach. I wrapped an arm around my waist and breathed through it.
After two years, I should’ve been used to the ripples of discomfort, but I was still figuring out my evolving DNA and my predatory link to the mutated. The sensations were a sort of communication with them, a language I didn’t understand. When they got stirred up, so did my insides.
Which meant more lurked nearby. We’d already cleared the area and killed dozens. I held the carbine to my chest and scanned the landscape, shielding my eyes from the sun, as my gut vibrated with chaotic signals.
Georges grumbled beneath the hood. Suitcases and rifled supplies had long ago exploded from hatchbacks and scattered the blacktop in both directions. Jesse and Roark squatted on this side of the road, studying a map.
Where was Michio? I clutched my abdomen and concentrated. A single pulsing thread, a sound wave, whatever it was, strummed inside me. Straining. Rabid. Howling without sound.
The surrounding wreckage, my companions, the distant tree line, nothing moved.
I looked at Tallis, who was still standing at my side. “There’s another aphid…somewhere. Where’s Michio?”
He turned and pointed down the road, toward the last of the abandoned vehicles. Michio jumped from the bed of a single-cab pickup truck, too far away to yell, but I could make out his arm waving me over. As I cautiously walked to him, tremors coiled low in my belly, growing stronger, the silent warning of a single aphid.
I slowed a few feet away from the truck, and an ear-grating screech rattled inside the cab. Michio stopped me with a hand on my chest. The look on his face said, It’s okay. Then he glanced at the truck.
A human-sized figure blurred within the cab and slammed against the window. Pincers scraped across the glass, and spittle flung from the snapping mandible.
The internal sensor in my stomach reverberated in sync with its screams, sending shock waves to my teeth. Why hadn’t Michio killed it? I sidled around his arm and raised the carbine.
Tight black curls covered its head, its flannel shirt bloody but not worn with dirt, and its brown skin had yet to turn green.
I moved my finger off the trigger. “It’s newly mutated.”
“Yes.” Michio pressed down on the carbine’s barrel, lowering it to my side. “I want to show you something.”
With a hand on my waist, he turned me toward the bed of the truck. A small deer bled from a fresh wound in its flank, its lifeless body surrounded by a bundle of arrows, a bow, canned goods, and bags of clothes. Michio shoved a hand in one of the bags and held up a flower-printed dress. And another woman-sized dress. And another.
I opened a second bag and found more frilly garments, hair ties, earrings, and…fingernail polish? I shared a look with him and stepped back to the window.
The aphid’s bulbous head swung side to side, the sharp tip of its humanoid mouth ripping the hell out of the dashboard and seat. A scruff of hair dusted its distorted jawline, and a large silver belt buckle flashed beneath its mutating abdominals, the skin there hardening with scales as I watched.
Distress wasn’t just apparent in its wide eyes. I felt its confusion and pain shuddering through the link between us. “He was man not too long ago.” It only took a couple hours to mutate after a bite. “He must’ve been overrun by the aphids we’d just killed.”
Michio braced an arm against the truck beside me. “A man gathering food and women’s clothing.”
Tiny pupils flickered as it opened its mouth and bared the insectile mouthparts in its throat. The man might’ve escaped to his truck, but not without a puncture wound in his neck. The bloody hole no longer leaked, and it would solder completely closed by nightfall thanks to its new healing abilities.
“Take a look at the photo.” Michio pointed at the picture taped beside the gauges on the dash.
Unable to see it from this angle, I jogged around to the driver’s side. Jesse strode toward us, his bow gripped in the hand at his side, but I kept my attention on the aphid as it skittered to the other side on double-jointed legs and arms. When I reached the window, it smashed its head against the glass, splintering a crack through the pane.
I flinched, and my fingers tightened on the carbine. Another good whack, and it would break through. But there was a reason Michio hadn’t killed it yet.
The photo on the dash showed a man and woman, arms around each other, her head tilted up and her smile pressed against his whiskered jaw. Both had dark skin and black hair, but it was the silver belt buckle at his waist that confirmed the aphid in the truck was the man in the photo.
If she was still alive, caged somewhere as a nymph, he must’ve been protecting her, feeding her, and collecting pretty things for her. It was kind of sad. And hopeful.
“What are we looking at?” Jesse mirrored my lean, his face inches from mine as he took in the aphid and the photo.
“He was either a cross-dresser or he was gathering supplies for a woman.” As I gestured toward the bed of the truck, I had a panicky thought. “All the aphids we killed on this road were fully-mutated, naked, and hairless, right?” A freshly-turned female in clothes would’ve stood out amongst the monstrous faces we’d slaughtered our way through. Fuck, if we’d killed her by mistake—
“None were recently turned.” He glared at the aphid and cocked his head. “Let’s say he’s holding a nymph somewhere. How do you propose we find her?”
Michio tapped on the side of the truck, where a logo was airbrushed in faded paint. PINE MOUNTAIN ANIMAL SAFARI.
Okay, but the man could’ve stolen the truck. If he hadn’t, we didn’t know the area, didn’t have the luxury of Googling the addresses of local safaris. Besides that, he might’ve traveled half the country looking for supplies.
Michio gripped my hand. “Command the aphid to take us to the nymph.”
Uh huh. I could control the aphids with simple orders and a lot of concentration, but I didn’t know how to direct them beyond Stay, Come, Go. And did new aphids even understand commands? This one seemed torn between its humanity and its mutation.
He pulled my carbine from my grip, leaned it against the truck, and nodded at Jesse, who smirked and nodded back. What was this? Some kind of silent bro code? I’d spent enough time with them to know when they were ganging up on me. As Jesse nocked an arrow and trained it on the aphid, Michio stepped behind me.
His bare arms wrapped around my mid-section, sliding beneath my tank top, his skin warm and soft against my belly. “Try.”
My stomach clenched, the dread of failure taking hold. But it was worth a shot. I relaxed my back against Michio’s chest, pressed my cheek against his, and closed my eyes. His heat, his breaths, his exotic essence flooded my senses. I opened my mind to it, to the bright light I could feel but not see, to the weightless energy creeping down my spine with purpose. He called it Yang. It felt like fire and blood, electrifying every point of contact between us.
The energy coiled through my belly, wrapping around the invisible thread to the aphid. I mentally latched onto it, following it out of my body like a breath of air, and pushed my soundless transmission. Home.
A bang crashed against the door, and I opened my eyes. A spider-web of cracks spread over the window. The aphids eyes grew impossibly whiter, its pupils shrinking to nonexistence as its deformed face focused on me. A foot away, Jesse didn’t move, his arrow aimed and his stance stiff.
I reached under my shirt and rested my forearms against Michio’s. “I don’t know what command to give.”
His lips brushed against my cheek. “Ask about its girlfriend, wife. Try to get a reaction.”
I wrapped my thoughts around the ethereal connection, holding tight with imaginary fingers as I focused on the woman in the photo. Female. Nymph. Wife. Where?
A powerful hum slammed into my stomach, pulsing and stretching my insides. I b
uckled over Michio’s arms, gasping for air and losing strength in my legs. Tremors ricocheted through my body, and the connection strained, pulling with painful vibrations. Then it snapped.
Glass exploded from the window with the ram of the aphid’s head. Jesse let the arrow fly, and the aphid slumped against the car door with the feathered shaft protruding from its skull. The pulsing in my stomach instantly vanished with a whoosh.
“Shit.” I straightened and wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Well, we got a reaction.”
Michio untangled his arms from around me and kissed my temple. “With more practice, you’ll get better.”
I couldn’t argue against the possibility of it. The Drone, the monster who created and spread the virus, had commanded armies of aphids and sent messenger bugs on missions. If I could harness that kind of power, we would be unstoppable.
Jesse pulled the aphid to the pavement, collected the arrow, and rifled through its pockets. “No wallet.”
Which meant no address, no confirmation this man…aphid was even from around here.
Jesse gathered the bow and arrows from the truck bed and dropped them in my arms. “’Bout time you learned how to use a real weapon.”
Oh no, he didn’t. I carried a carbine on my back, four throwing knives on my arms, and a USP .40 handgun on my thigh. If I added any more weapons, I wouldn’t be able to walk. “I’ll stick with the guns—”
“The noise endangers us and ammo is difficult to find,” he snapped, dragging the deer to the tailgate.
It wasn’t what he said—arrows were easier to make than bullets—but how he said it. His pretentious tone made me want to fire an arsenal of middle fingers at his face.
“I use the knives—”
He put his palm up and closed his eyes. “Can you just”—he turned back to the deer—“not fight me one goddamned time?”
Was he peeved because I couldn’t control the aphid? Or was this really about my guns? I hadn’t fired a shot since we left the mountains.
I looked at Michio, who crossed his arms and shrugged. This, from a guy who fought with his bare hands?
Jesse hauled the carcass over his shoulders and strode toward the delivery truck. “I’ll check the maps, see if I can find that animal reserve.”
For the next three hours, we cut what we could eat from the deer, roasted the steaks on the side of the road, and filled our bellies. And Georges still didn’t have the motor running.
I sat on the hood of a smashed up Ferrari GTO, keeping guard as Roark rummaged through the glove box. My fingers drummed on the carbine, my patience thinning. “We’re going to have to keep walking and find another truck.”
Or several cars to fit us all. Which would delay our search for the nymph. How long could she go without food?
He shut the car door and stood by the front tire. Ropes of muscle outlined his shoulders and biceps, his bare chest hairless and broad, tapering to the carved V that vanished beneath the waistband of his black fatigues. He’d shed the cassock that morning, and though the sun had dipped below the horizon, I could still cut the humidity with a knife.
“Georges will get it running.” He loosened the belt and unzipped his pants, his eyes focused on his hands.
My pulse picked up. The others milled around the delivery truck in earshot, but no one was looking in our direction.
I grabbed his forearm. “What are you doing?”
“Having a piss.”
Yep. His cock was out, spraying a yellow stream at the tire below my dangling boots.
I spun my legs toward the front bumper, but my eyes remained glued on the thick, gorgeous girth in his hand. “Why do you do that?”
He looked at me, at his cock, back to me, and grinned. “It’s just piss—”
“You’re a fucking tease.” I looked away and skimmed the shadowed tree line for movement.
Loose pebbles crunched beneath his boots as he rounded the car and wedged his hips between my knees. “So I have to be modest around ye now?” His accent clipped with aggravation, reflecting my frustration.
“Civilized people don't just pull it out and piss where they’re standing.”
“Oh, we’re civilized? I didn’t realize.”
Was his dick still out? I rubbed my head. “I know what you’re doing, troublemaker.”
He dropped his brow on my shoulder, sliding one hand around my back, the other trying to right his pants and fighting with the weight of his scabbard and sword.
“You’re not just torturing yourself.” I reached for his belt and knocked his hand away. “You’re torturing me, too.”
Damn, he was still hanging out, his warm length overfilling my hand. I tucked him back in the pants but let my fingers linger, tracing the soft skin. How could I not? He was a beautiful temptation, and I wasn’t the one with the damned vow.
His mouth found my neck, and his hands clenched on my hips. But when he hardened against my palm, I released him.
He buried a groan in my shoulder. “Evie.”
“I need to keep watch—”
“Tallis is on it.” He nodded his head behind me.
Craning my neck, I found Tallis standing down the road with his back to us.
I zipped up Roark’s pants and buckled his belt, fully aware the action contradicted my words. “Doesn’t have to be like this, you know. Don’t you think, after all the suffering you’ve been through, God would be forgiving of this? Us?”
He closed his eyes and made a stubborn expression.
I struggled to understand his idea of God, but if I were I believer, I’d be questioning the hell out of my faith. “You made your vow to God in the old world. In a world where God made promises back. Promises he didn’t keep. I mean, he told Noah he’d never destroy the world again, right? But the Drone did, and God didn't stop it. Instead, he let us suffer and perish, and here we are, trying our damnedest to start again.”
His thumbs stroked the indentations in my hips. “Genesis 9:11 states ‘And I will establish my covenant with you; neither shall all flesh be cut off anymore by the waters of a flood; neither shall there any more be a flood to destroy the earth.’” He drew a long breath. “The earth is not destroyed. Humanity is. And it wasn’t because of a flood.”
Note to self. Never use biblical references when arguing with a priest.
“I’m afraid…” He cupped my face, his throat bouncing with a swallow, as he lowered his brow to mine. “Our first shag was massive and brilliant. We do that again and…I’ll lose myself inside ye. I’ll lose me love for Him.”
Wow. Okay. Unsure what to say to that, I fell back on one of our favorite jokes. “Voodoo vagina?”
He grinned, but it faded quickly. His palm warmed my cheek, guiding my face to the hard bricks that defined his chest. “Do ye know wha’ I would do if something happened to ye?”
“Yes.”
“No.” A fierce rejection. “Ye den’ know. Wha’ I went through when the Drone took ye from me, ripped ye from me arms…” Steel bands wrapped around me and stole my breath. “In that moment, I lost me faith. Why would God send ye to me only to rip ye away?”
“Why would God send the only woman on the planet to a virile, celibate man?”
“To tempt me. I would’ve sold me soul to get ye back.”
Not a comforting thought considering he was the guardian of my soul. I wiggled my arms free and hugged his neck. “But I am back. You freed me.” In more ways than one.
He made a noise low in his throat. “Ah sure. But when the Drone had ye, I was off me nut imagining brutal, desperate things.” His brogue thickened, the whole accent coming from the front of his mouth. “I couldn’t get to ye. Didn’t know wha’ that sick tosser was doing to ye—”
I silenced him with my lips on his, and he bathed me with a shuddering exhale. Maybe his dwelling on bad memories was an indication we’d been idle on this road too long.
I leaned away and he followed, chasing my mouth and catching it. His tongue dragged against mine, a
nd his hands curled around my neck, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. The way he ate at my mouth, the sheer and intense focus as he licked and sucked, showed exactly how much my captivity on Malta had tormented him.
When his brow touched mine, I moved my lips along his whiskers and paused at his ear. “I’m here. We’re fine. And we’re going to stay that way.” Unless Michio strangled us over this display of affection.
I risked a glance over Roark’s shoulder, and sure enough, Michio stood across the street, jaw hard as stone and eyes full of fire. Seeing him like that both turned me on and filled me with guilt.
Roark kissed my cheek and nuzzled my neck. “Is Doc cheesed off?”
“You could say that.” I gave Michio Are you okay? eyes with a lift of my brows.
He nodded once, but his jaw remained rigid.
Blocking my view, Roark kissed my lips, opening my mouth with his.
I pulled back. “Don’t taunt him.”
“He needs to learn, love. Ye both do.”
“I don’t—”
“Ye love three men.” He lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. “That’s a big deal, considering when I first met ye, ye didn’t even love yourself.”
He’d saved me the night I stumbled into that bar, my belly and soul empty, my chest ripped open from an attempted mastectomy. I’d come a long way since then. With his help. But he was right. “Loving three men is…” Foolish. Selfish. Impossible to balance.
And certain.
“Love us equally.” He placed a hand over my left breast. “And I vow to guard every portion of your heart with the whole of my own.”
This…this was why I loved him. Maybe it was because he struggled with the dichotomy between me and his god, but when he looked at me, he saw me. And what he saw, he accepted.
“Thank you.” For believing in me. For protecting and understanding me. “For being such an amazing man.”
As his thumb brushed over my lip, the delivery truck roared to life, filling the street with a hearty, hopeful echo. I bit my cheek, waiting for it to sputter and die.
But the purr of the engine grew stronger, revving every cell in my body and tingeing my inhales with exhaust.