by Jody Wallace
And it had forced her to confront the fact she’d progressed beyond physical attraction. She’d developed a dumbass, inconvenient attachment to Adam Fucking Alsing. Of all fucking people. She’d been worried for Will, too, but it was her worry for Adam that had twisted her into a knot.
“I didn’t authorize you to try blaster bands,” she growled before charging away from the garage. “Come with me.”
They followed. Hurst had been nagging her to visit the scientists in their compound all day—said they’d had a breakthrough with the new pod, but she told him she was too busy. First, she’d been trying to get all her people to safety. Now, she had some asinine lawbreaker crap to handle. She could school Adam and Will at the same time.
Multitasking saved lives.
Elizabeth’s system of having neighbors check on neighbors in a specific pattern had served them well today, more conclusive than trying to drum up everyone on radio. They’d activated the network, spread the word, and called everyone in after the latest shade deaths had been discovered.
The network itself had come across the second luckless household and a few more pods. The farmsteads hit were miles part—nowhere near each other as the shade crawls. She dreaded the discovery of more sites, more pods, because they hadn’t accounted for all their citizens yet.
Ten minutes ago, that had included Will and Adam. She’d been about to name-drop Niko and hijack one of the Shipborn soldiers to check on them because she’d feared the worst.
Not only that, but the presence of pods practically screamed they were connected to the untraceable shades—which meant Adam was, too. The shade deaths had been accelerating for six months, causing ripples of fear throughout the whole buffer zone, and now?
Three entire settlements had been destroyed, and Chanute was under the gun.
Her town. Her people. And it had started with Adam.
Claire thrust her trembling hand into a pocket. The sensor array she’d grudgingly inserted whispered reports and updates to her, none that required a response at the moment.
“Here’s the deal,” she decided. “Anytime Adam goes outwall, whoever he’s with has to wear a sensor array. Including me.” The panic she’d experienced when thinking Adam might be dead was driving her, but it wasn’t entirely personal. “If the scientists can figure out where he was, or if he remembers on his own, he may have answers for us. We can’t afford to lose him.”
“You can cage me, but you can’t break me,” Adam said.
Fucking Guy Lassiter. Claire growled.
“Can it with the movie quotes when she’s like this,” Will warned Adam.
“Was that a quote?” Adam grimaced. “What I mean to say is, I hope you don’t plan to keep me from fighting entities.” He and Will kept up with her, which wasn’t always the case with others. She was tall, long-legged, and inclined to speed-walk, but they were taller.
“I’m reserving judgment after this stunt. Will, report to the armory and tell whoever’s there to beat your ass and give you an assignment. As for you, movie boy, you come with me.”
“She hates being worried about her people. Don’t take the profanities she’s about to heap on you personally,” Will told Adam before heading off in another direction.
“Shut up, punk,” Claire called after him. Her boots crunched on the snow, which was dirty and trodden slick from the extra people they’d brought into Chanute. The evacuees were scared, and some were confrontational. “I’ve got eleven more dead people in my little fiefdom and not a single damned shade to show for it. Just more fucking empty pods.”
“Nobody in the pods, I take it?”
“Not that we found.”
Adam’s tone was gentle. “We made it worse. You shouldn’t have had to worry about us on top of everything else.”
She wouldn’t look at him—at his stupid, beautiful face and green eyes. He’d gotten enough sun in the past week that he was no longer corpse pale. An improvement on something that had needed no improvement.
“I wasn’t worried,” she lied. “I was annoyed.”
“I would have been worried about you,” he said softly. “Yell at me all you want, but you can trust me. I’m not dense, Claire. We messed up. It won’t happen again.”
His understanding melted the edge off of her temper, yet her fear lingered. As did her frustration—with herself—for letting her feelings torque her efficiency.
She and Adam hadn’t so much as kissed. That element, after the first few days, seemed to have disappeared from their relationship. She found herself talking to him like she did her sister and Dixie, her closest friends. She wanted his thoughts and opinions. Since he wasn’t fraught with a loaded history like everyone else, his viewpoint had such clarity that it increased her clarity, too.
She didn’t want to need help to increase her clarity, her composure, least of all from some amnesiac Hollywood type already fending off women who wanted to screw him.
She continued stalking along, passing out of the well-lit area around the garage and heading toward her office. Breathing in the chill air, letting it settle her, she released a deep, steadying breath in a cloud of fog.
He was safe. Will was safe. It was going to be okay.
“Look, I know you want to be like everybody else, but you’re not, Adam. You were the Chosen One. People outside Chanute are starting to hear about you, and it’s a big fucking deal that you died and came back to life, right in the middle of some kind of shade infiltration in half the country. Or some shit—who knows? I’m not being a dictator. Nobody wants you put at risk before we figure you out. That’s part of the deal for you staying in Chanute.”
“Is that why you won’t tell me whether or not I’ll be allowed to fight?” He paced her so well, so naturally, that their steps crunched into the snow in unison, as if they’d practiced. “Because of what they want—or because of your own doubts? Claire, I’m good. I’m fast and I’m strong. You saw that.”
“It doesn’t matter what I know about you.” Again with the clarity. Dammit. She deflected. “What matters is them not sending you off to some post-apocalyptic Guantanamo Bay because I can’t keep you safe.”
“That’s hardly fair. Nobody’s safe on this planet.” He pointed at the sky, which had faded to black with few stars visible. “Did I see Shipborn soldiers flying around?”
She ran with the change in topic, sealing off her feelings and choices with regard to him. “This time we brought in the big guns. Angeli. Got a patrol crisscrossing the area, scanning for shades.”
“And?”
“Nothing yet. Not a trace. Not a daemon. Just dead bodies and the silver pods, which the scientists hauled off.” In her pocket, her fingers had ceased to tremble, so she withdrew the snack she’d been saving. She ripped the wrapping off the old granola bar and bit into it viciously. “I don’t even have time for dinner, so I’m eating this nasty-ass, antique cereal bar.”
The dried-out bar was like gnawing on a tree, but it was more portable than homemade yogurt, and she hated walnuts. They’d traded for a truckload or two of them, and now everything was walnuts, walnuts, walnuts.
“Is it safe for the Shipborn to be here? I thought that was against regulations.”
She thought about offering Adam half of the granola bar, but it was too gross to inflict on anyone else. “We got approval to bend the rules because these killings are escalating too fast. Everywhere, and everyone knows it. We’re all in danger.” The primitive conditions in some parts of the globe, not to mention segments of the Terran population who refused to cooperate with the Shipborn, prevented them from getting a full picture of what was going on. “We’re hoping the Shipborn can locate evidence we can’t before it fades. With wing packs, they move faster and scan a larger area than helicopters.”
“Is it a good idea to clump everyone in the same place while we wait?” he asked. “Does that make us a target?”
She stomped along, chewing, swallowing. She needed some water to wash down the granola lump in h
er throat. “Having our people in Chanute means more of us to defend each other and fewer barely-protected farms. If any shades show up, we’ll kill them. If any daemons show up, we’ll kill them harder. There’s no way Riverbend will be replicated here. I’ll fucking arm the kids if I have to. The ones who can walk, anyway.”
They reached the sheriff’s office. Raised voices rang from the back. Instead of dealing with it immediately, she went to her office for more weapons.
“We’ve got a few people locked up,” she told Adam when she noticed him peering toward the cells. “Caught them trying to steal guns.” Caught them being complete assholes. “The stupid thing is, we have enough guns to go around for anyone over eighteen who can pass the tests, but these bozos were trying to lift more than their share.”
The loud, hateful voice of Jay Quentin quarreled with her deputies. It didn’t sadden her to have that troll behind bars. She’d heard through the grapevine about his attack on Adam, but since she hadn’t been able to prove anything, he’d gotten away with it. That wouldn’t have been the case if he’d given Adam more than a few bruises.
Either way, it was time to take out the trash. Should she let Adam come? It would rile Quentin up more, and she’d have more of an excuse to bust him out of town. Bonus.
Then again, Adam might not want to confront the guy. She supposed she’d better give him the choice.
“I don’t know why someone would steal guns. Attacking people who are already under attack is a low blow,” Adam said. “We have to work together to survive the entities.”
Claire drank some water from a random cup—hopefully hers—and grimaced because it tasted like bullets. “I know, right? I don’t understand people sometimes.”
“If you can’t understand them and you have all your memories, it gives me hope that I’m not simply clueless,” he joked.
Adam got it. He just got it. He had an instinct for how to deal with people, how to appreciate them, how to provide what they needed. She admired it. Envied it. Right now, she was well aware he was using it on her, but the thing was, he meant it. It wasn’t fake. He wasn’t placating her like others did when she was on a tear.
He understood.
She found herself venting to him. “My people should be patrolling and bringing in outwallers, but we gotta have someone here to look after these turd-for-brains.” She unlocked her gun safe, studied him a moment, and tossed him a blaster band. Hopefully, he’d realize it meant all was forgiven and she trusted him without her having to say it. “This is my spare. How much more accurate are you with a band?”
He smiled. God, she loved his smile. His fucking dimples weakened her knees until she quivered like homemade yogurt. “Enough.”
“Hm.” She caressed a few Terran weapons in the gun safe—a couple of favorite M16s and a hunting rifle with a polished wooden stock—before locking it up. “Niko said you weren’t bad back in the day. I officially declare that you pass the weapons tests.”
“You don’t want me to prove it?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Maybe later. Right now, I have to fix something that could either be enjoyable or horrible.”
Claire paced to the half open door of her office, listened down the hallway to the arguing, and paced back. Adam leaned against her desk, watching alertly. He wasn’t one for interrupting, but if she remained silent long enough, he’d ask exactly the right question to get her talking. Again.
She wondered if Dixie, Tracy, and the others, the usual recipients of her colorful confidences, noticed she hadn’t come to them for what they called her rant therapy since Adam had arrived.
“I’ve got Jay Quentin in there.” She gestured toward the back of the building where the rooms had been converted to cells. “He and his buddies are the ones who tried to steal guns. I’m tired of hearing his mouth and so are my deputies, so I’m going to go shut it.” She paused, but his expression hadn’t switched from mild interest. “I’ll understand if you want to stay out of sight.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said, which was her preferred answer, so she smiled at him.
He grinned back.
Her stomach got a butterfly when their gazes connected. Just one. She didn’t have time for a whole gutful of the distracting little bastards. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
With Adam right behind her, she strode down the white hallway. The tile was chipped in places, scuffed and dirty in others. In the back of the building, the hallway widened into an area with filing cabinets where two deputies, Tonya and Randall, stood guard. Quentin and his scumbag cohorts were locked in the big holding cell.
Quentin hung on the barred door, ranting at the deputies. “Suck my dick, whore. You know what real men do to sluts like you? We teach ’em manners, and they make us sandwiches.”
The other guys in the cell laughed, which taught Claire everything she needed to know about their IQs and character.
Tonya noticed Claire, and the relief in her expression was obvious. “Sheriff, the prisoners have asked to speak with you.”
“I heard.” Claire faced Quentin, arms crossed. The past week hadn’t been kind to the man. His eyes were bloodshot, and several bruises decorated his face. He had one hell of a shiner. “What’s the problem, asshole?”
“Your whore deputy won’t suck my boner,” Quentin said with a cackle.
Tonya rolled her eyes, but Randall fondled his blaster band. They were a good team, except when Randall got overprotective of his female partner. He was kind of old-fashioned, so Claire enjoyed pairing him with females who could outshoot his ass.
“Get one of your friends to do it,” Claire recommended. “What else?”
Quentin seemed disappointed she didn’t take the bait. She wasn’t known for being easygoing, but she’d just vented to Adam, so she was feeling stable.
“You stole our weapons,” he tried next. “We have a right to those guns.”
She shook her head. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “You know the rules, Quentin. You opted to stay in Chanute after you heard them. Your guns were added to the armory until you passed our competency tests. Gotta pass driving tests to drive, gotta pass weapons tests to shoot. You signed on the dotted line the day we saved your ass in Riverbend.”
He clenched the bars and bared his teeth. “A man has the right to protect himself, and you dykes in charge are trying to emasculate us.”
She couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Good God. Seriously? Emasculate? Who taught you that word?”
“Fuck you,” he said. “I’m not a sheep willing to live under your Nazi communist regime.”
She, Tonya, and Randall had other things to do, but here they were, spinning their wheels, because even in times of crisis, assholes like Jay Quentin wouldn’t cooperate. “Here’s some real deal. If you stay in our town, you go by our rules and you pay our tariffs. Or you get the hell out.”
Quentin spat on the ground. “Bet your pet Chosen One doesn’t have to pass gun tests and pay tariffs. You fucking him yet?”
“Who actually says crap like that outside of movie villains?” Adam said. “You can’t just—”
Claire interrupted him, holding up a finger. Adam’s outrage lightened hers enough that she might be able to wrap this up without killing anybody. “It’s cool, Adam. I mean, it’s not cool, but I’ve got a quick fix. Since good choices don’t seem to be part of Quentin’s repertoire, I’ll make this easy. He and his friend are leaving Chanute tomorrow.”
Unsurprisingly, Quentin didn’t respond well. “Fucking communists. I can live wherever I want.”
“You can live almost anywhere you want.” His actions in the next few minutes would determine if he left tomorrow in one piece with supplies, or if she airdropped him somewhere dangerous with a rude gesture. The trick was ensuring agitators like Quentin didn’t sneak back to eke revenge or whatever dumb shit they thought they needed.
“I can? Then I pick this whore’s room.” He pointed at Tonya, laughed, and rattled the bars.
Claire bit the inside of her cheek until it hurt. It was like he’d been prepped to push her hot buttons. Racism and misogyny were her Achilles’ heels of rage. And rape. And child abuse. And…
“I’ll give you some say in the matter, Quentin. Where do you want us to take you that’s at least two hundred miles from Chanute?” It was a lie—she’d be taking him wherever she wanted, but whatever. “I’ll schedule a transport tomorrow.”
“You don’t own this land.” His beady gaze flitted between her and Tonya, ignoring the men. Probably thought she and Tonya were the weak links because they had vaginas. “You can’t make us do whatever you want like some kind of Nazi tyrant.”
In her calmest voice, she said, “True, I could quit being a tyrant. I could let chaos reign…and lots of people will die, including you, because I’ll kill you first.”
“What?” he said, his big mouth gaping at her.
Claire moved swiftly, suddenly, and grabbed his gnarly, hairy throat through the bars. She may or may not have had the bars specially placed to allow female hands and arms through but not most men’s. She jerked forward, hard, and his face bashed against the iron.
Oh, yeah. That felt good.
She did it again.
“Claire, is this a good idea?” Adam asked. He’d seen her deal with all sorts of people this week. They’d discussed her challenges. Her temper. He’d thought he was being sly, offering tips for handling the mayor, joining various conversations that were veering toward heated and chilling them out. Since he had good ideas, she hadn’t called him on it.
He was so charming, he could connect with people determined to hate him and turn them into fans. But Adam hadn’t seen her cut down someone like Quentin. Was he shocked? Disappointed?
Adam slid his hand around her shoulder. A thumb found her bare neck and rubbed.
Claire stilled. Every nerve ending in her body was suddenly focused on her neck.
He hadn’t touched her all week. She’d kept her distance physically, but whenever she looked at him, a tiny part of her wished he’d kiss her senseless like he did the love interests in his movies. Just grab her up and let her know how badly he wanted her. God.