Strain

by Amelia C. Gormley

  “I brought you here because you need to start standing up for yourself.” Titus held up his hands as targets as Rhys tried to aim for them with his fists. “I get why you don’t. I bet Houtman hid behind his daddy back there at the monastery, got you in a lot of trouble. But things have changed now. Here’s the thing, though. You can’t just attack him the way you did that day at the water pump.”

  “Why not?” Rhys grinned when his fist hit Titus’s palm with a satisfying smack. He tried one punch after another, at first missing more than he hit.

  “Because you did that in a blind rage, which is a stupid way to fight. It’ll just make things worse. You do that, people might start listening to his claims that you’re trouble, that you’re unhinged. So you gotta be smart about when, where, and how you draw the line.” Another hit, square in Titus’s palm. “Good! Do that again. You gotta make sure you got provocation, make sure you got witnesses—and he’s smart enough to give you most of his shit when there’s no one around, so that could be a problem. But when you finally do cut loose, you make that son of a bitch wish he’d never crawled out of his mama’s cooch.”

  “How can I do that? He’s a Jug now!” Rhys swung harder, missing more as he lost focus.

  “Concentrate, recruit!” Titus shoved Rhys back, forcing him to charge forward to get more blows in. “Fight smart! He’s a bully, and you’re his favorite victim. Long as the two of you are anywhere near each other, he’s going to try to make your life miserable unless you find a way to put the fear of God into him.”

  “How am I . . . supposed to do that?” Sweat trickled down Rhys’s temple as he threw punch after punch, landing enough that Titus began to make it a little more difficult by dodging. “Even if I get infected . . . he’ll still be . . . bigger than me.”

  “Sure, he’s taller and he’s got a bigger frame than you, but you think anyone’s teaching him to brawl just now? Put your body into it.” Titus gave him a tight grin, pushing Rhys away again with what must have been relatively gentle force for someone with a Jug’s strength. Rhys waded back in with a savage grimace, trying to actually move Titus’s hands as he swung at them harder, throwing more of his weight into each punch. “Even a civvie can get the advantage if they take a Jug by surprise. It’s just a lot harder to do.”

  “Didn’t . . . you just tell me . . . that was a stupid way . . . to fight?” Sweat started to blind him, and his arms were beginning to tremble with effort.

  “Stupid to do it without planning for it,” Titus corrected. “Spread your feet. Ground yourself. Keep your balance. You pick your time. Pick your place. Pick your limit of just how much shit you’re going to take from him. Then, when you finally take him down, you make fucking sure he does not get back up. Bullies like that, they’re cowards. It’s why they poke at your weakest spot, where you have no defenses. If he knows you can hurt him, he’ll leave you the fuck alone. If he needs to die, you leave that to us. In the meantime, you make him fucking terrified to look at you sideways.”

  Rhys swallowed hard, dropping his trembling arms, unable to hold them up any longer. He stood there sweating, trying to catch his breath. Something inside him quailed at what Titus had suggested. His knuckles bore too many thick scars from Father Maurice’s cane. It was never Jacob’s fault for provoking him, always his own for reaching the breaking point. But here was Titus, giving him explicit permission to set Jacob down and assuring Rhys there would be no repercussions if he did so.

  As his breathing slowed, Rhys realized he was calmer and more clearheaded than he had been since learning of Jacob’s altered status the day he fell into the river. He finally felt capable of rational thought, less mired down in the helplessness that had set in when Jacob became a Jug. Titus waited, watching him impassively, as resolve took root in Rhys’s chest.

  Rhys began to grin. Titus grinned back.

  After the fighting lesson, Titus told Rhys to go see Xolani, who was waiting for him inside their apartment.

  Rhys approached the open screen door to see her sitting on an armchair with a drink and knocked.

  “Hey, you just missed dinner.” She looked up and smiled, gesturing him inside. “I think I can scare up some more rations, though, if you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “No, thanks.” He felt a bit nauseated after his exertion, especially on top of working in the warehouses all afternoon. Now that he’d been with Delta Company a few weeks, he understood just why so many of them stayed behind at the fort rather than going out on patrols. Those people were tasked with reclamation and inventory. Any nonperishable food, clothing, and medical supplies they found that were still in usable condition were brought back to the warehouses at the fort. Most of Luis’s job was to oversee the distribution of these supplies among the soldiers or the civilians they had recovered, particularly making sure they had adequate supplies for the journey back to Colorado Springs.

  Like Gina, several of the soldiers were skilled hunters, and unused meat was preserved and added to the rations. In addition, the company had reclaimed and refurbished farm equipment. What had once been the parade grounds and an airfield at Fort Vancouver now yielded crops as summer approached its end, and each duplex and barracks had a kitchen garden. Rhys had spent a few days working in the fields as well as the warehouses. It was far more familiar labor after so many years of tending the garden at the monastery.

  Xolani gave Rhys a sharp look when he declined to eat but didn’t press him. “It’s only been a few weeks, but I think you’re starting to fill out a little.”

  He sat on the sofa at her invitation. “How much longer until we know whether I’ve been infected by the Alpha strain? I mean, with Jacob already—”

  “It could be another two to three weeks, maybe longer.” She took a drink and set her glass aside, leaning over the coffee table to pack a pipe. “You won’t necessarily manifest on the same timetable as Jacob. The original Project Juggernaut cases took anywhere from three to eight weeks before physiological changes, such as increased strength and stamina, confirmed infection. Since we don’t have the facilities to test by other means, that’s the best indicator we have.”

  “Why does it take so long?”

  “Virus was designed that way. If the physiological changes that come with the Alpha strain happened too fast, it would be too much for a body to handle and kill the carrier.” A shadow passed over Xolani’s face, and Rhys wondered just how long it had taken them to figure that out. “And if the onset of Beta symptoms had started soon after exposure, it would have been easy for hostiles to figure out the source of the virus and quarantine anyone who had been exposed to us. So it acted slowly, to guarantee the infected victims spread it around so it could do its job and incapacitate them. Unfortunately, that also made it impossible to combat when it got into the general population, because people were spreading it long before they were symptomatic.”

  “Oh.” Rhys tried not to sigh in disappointment.

  “Still struggling with it?” Xolani put the pipe to her mouth and lit it, taking a long drag. The oddly sweet, sharp scent of marijuana smoke wafted across the coffee table toward him.

  “I guess.”

  She lifted an eyebrow and passed him the pipe. “Have some.”

  “You didn’t offer me that the other night at the party.” Rhys accepted it and took a cautious drag, holding his breath as he’d seen her do.

  “The other night I thought it’d be better for you to be in control of all your faculties.” She reclaimed the pipe for another puff, then returned it to Rhys before leaning forward to fill the bowl of another. “But since there’s no one here waiting in line to bone you, no harm in it, is there?”

  “I guess.” They fell silent for some time, smoking until the pipes were finished. Rhys leaned back against the cushions of the sofa, feeling pleasantly relaxed, with a slight buzzing in his ears.

  “So what’s eating at you?” Xolani reclined in her own chair with a sigh. “Darius really isn’t that bad, is he? I mean, he’s a bit too
alpha male for my tastes, but most of the people he’s been with in the company have good things to say about him.”

  “What? No. Darius is great.” Rhys’s tension level was hovering somewhere around spaghetti al dente. Which sounded really good. He hadn’t had spaghetti since he was a child, before they’d left Bozeman. “I just don’t want people doing things they don’t want to do to help me.”

  “Who the hell is doing that?”

  “Everyone.” His stomach rumbled, and Xolani tossed him an apple. The scavenging crew must have found an orchard somewhere. “Darius. Luis. None of them want to be doing this.”

  “Someone told you that?”

  Rhys shrugged, chomping into the apple as Xolani grabbed a few strips of jerky and some fresh milk for him. That had surprised Rhys—to discover the Jugs had wrangled up some dairy cows. With no refrigeration or pasteurization, though, the milk was always warm, fresh each day, and rich with milk fat. None of that watery skim stuff he remembered from when he was a kid. They even made butter from the cream by shaking it forever in sealed jars—and had Rhys’s arms ever hurt after spending an afternoon doing that. Xolani smeared some of the butter onto a thick slice of coarse bread for him. “You had to talk Darius into it. And Luis said he just wanted to get it over and done with.”

  Xolani blinked and blew out a breath. “Damn, Luis. That’s cold.”

  “Why?” Rhys chewed the apple noisily, deciding its tart sweetness was the best thing he’d tasted in years.

  “Well, no one wants to be treated like someone is doing him a favor when he screws him, no matter what the circumstances. It’s degrading. Bravo Company tries to make it about welcoming people to the team.”

  “It’s nice when they do that, but . . . never mind.” Rhys grimaced, too relaxed for any genuine bitterness, and set the apple core aside. The jerky was even better, the salt of it stinging his tongue, the savory flavor of the dried venison urging him to gobble it hungrily.

  “That’s it.” Xolani watched him eat with a wry smile. “I’m prescribing a bong for you before every meal until you’re back up to weight.”

  As he ate, he thought of the shower he’d taken after Luis and how filthy he’d felt. So much filthier than the things that actually were filthy. He hadn’t felt that way after those faceless men had fucked him and welcomed him as their brother while he was blindfolded. “You know, you’d think after what Toby and Joe did, I wouldn’t care.”

  Xolani frowned, looking confused. “What did Toby and Joe do to you?”

  “Not to me, really. Just the way they are with each other.”

  She refilled a pipe and passed it to him. “Keep smoking. I like it when I don’t have to drag explanations out of you. You got a problem with the way Toby and Joe act with each other?”

  He inhaled deeply and held it, closing his eyes. “Toby hurts him.”

  “Ah. And you’re put off by that because Father Maurice used to beat you, is that it?”

  Rhys blinked, staring at her. “No, that’s not it. I know what they do is different. I mean, Joe seems okay with it, but that’s . . . Well, it’s a little sick, isn’t it?”

  “Oh, is it?” He heard a tight, irritated note in her voice, but his brain seemed to have grown a layer of fuzz that was filtering out the reason for it.

  “I didn’t like Toby thinking we had anything in common. I’m not like that.”

  “Nobody says you have to be.” She leaned forward and took the pipe from him, and Rhys pivoted to stretch out on the sofa. “But being a self-righteous prig and calling the people who are trying to be nice ‘sick’ isn’t going to do you any favors, Rhys. So I’d really recommend you rethink your attitude.”

  He sighed. “Sorry.”

  “You don’t seem to get how badly Delta Company wants to make this work for you. To make it so it’s not traumatic. They’re good guys, and you being ambivalent makes them feel like rapists.” Her frown deepened, pulling on her scarred cheek. “I thought it was getting better. The guys haven’t been complaining about feeling they’re forcing you anymore.”

  Rhys felt too mellow even to flush. “Well, no, that’s because Darius—well, he found a way to make it better.”

  “Yeah, I heard something about that, too. Wanna know where he found that way?”

  “Where?”

  “Toby and Joe.”

  “What?”

  “That day we got back to base, Darius was just about at the end of his rope figuring out how to handle you. So he went to them for advice. Guy like Darius doesn’t ask for help much, so you think about it for a while, what that means, what it took to make him do that.” Xolani’s tight smile looked more like a grimace. “Toby’s not the only one who thought you might have something in common with him and Joe, apparently.”

  Rhys sighed again. “It’s just . . . I spent years imagining how, if I ever had the chance, I’d prove Father Maurice and Jacob wrong. Show them that just because I liked men didn’t mean I was . . . abnormal. Deviant. Immoral. Whatever. I was just a guy who wants the same thing everyone else wants. To care about someone, be happy with someone. Now look at me. At what I’m doing.”

  “Rhys . . .” Xolani hesitated a moment, and he cracked open an eye to see her run her hand over her braid. “Do you honestly think they would have cared?”

  “Guess not.” He let his head loll drowsily against the arm of the sofa. “Maybe I just wanted to know it myself, that they were wrong. But they weren’t. They were right about me. I just wanted to know I was a decent guy.”

  Xolani’s lips buzzed as she blew out a tight, annoyed breath, leaning forward in her chair. “Yeah, well, news flash, Rhys. Who you fuck and how you do it has jack shit to do with whether or not you’re a decent guy. It never did, but before the plague, assholes like your Father Maurice didn’t get the memo on that. But, hey! Now it’s a new world, and you can fuck the whole damn company. You can get off on slapping people around and calling them cum-guzzling gutter sluts, or you can get off on being slapped around. Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter if you’re doing it to survive or just because that’s what gets your rocks off. As long as they’re all of age and capable of consenting, you still get to call yourself decent, and most people are too busy trying to survive to give a damn. So there. If you’re waiting for permission, you have it. I give you my blessing. Go forth and fuck whomever you want, however you want, and you’ll still be an okay guy. I promise.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you rant too much, Xolani?” Rhys mumbled sleepily, rolling onto his side.

  She laughed. No, giggled. Xolani was giggling. What?

  “All the damn time. It could be the Gospel According to Xolani is better reserved for a kid who isn’t stoned off his ass, but there you have it.”

  “Mm, I hear what you’re saying.” He felt sleep tugging at him, but he didn’t want to be rude. “I just don’t think I’m like them. Can’t be. Jacob’ll make my life hell.”

  “Well, since their advice clearly worked, maybe you’ve got more in common with them than you think. Sick or not.” Xolani shrugged. “And you don’t have to worry about Jacob anymore. But out of curiosity, what is it that’s got you so bothered?”

  “Because I got off when Darius gave me to Toby.” Rhys thought he should rise from the sofa and return to Darius’s quarters before he fell asleep, but his limbs seemed to have melded with the cushions. “When he talked about Darius hurting me. I shouldn’t have liked that. But Toby was so nice to Joe after what they did. Darius isn’t like that with me, ’cept when he has nightmares. But then, he’s only doing this because he wants me to live. Just like Luis . . .”

  If Xolani replied, he didn’t hear it. Sometime later, at the edge of his awareness, he heard Darius’s low voice and Xolani’s sharper one, replying in that frank way of hers. Rhys thought about telling her she was ranting again, but he was too damn tired to speak. And then strong arms lifted him, carrying him out of Xolani’s quarters and to the ones he’d begun to think of as his.

&
nbsp; He came abruptly awake sometime in the night to the unmistakable feeling that something was missing. Then he felt Darius’s cock rocking against his ass and realized he’d forgotten to replace the plug. Darius didn’t appear to care. His slick fingers sank into Rhys, and then his cock replaced them, hard and thick. It no longer hurt, save for the initial burn; Rhys had finally learned how to make it easier on himself, how to push back and bear down. He did so now, arching his spine. He bent forward, curling almost into a ball on his side, drawing his knees to his chest. He opened to Darius, offered himself, too heavy with sleep to consider protesting even if he’d wanted to.

  Without the plug, he’d tightened, and it was more intense, more like it had been those first few times. It was good, so unbelievably good. Relaxed with the peace of slumber, he rode the sizzling line between intensity and pain. Stretched and stuffed full, so close to the edge of endurance, Rhys groaned with each jolting impact of Darius’s hips against his ass. He wriggled and begged and pushed back greedily into each stroke, angling to help Darius drive against the swelling knot of his prostate. He rode that line until Darius shouted into his hair and shuddered against his back. He seized Rhys’s cock and brought Rhys to his own orgasm with little effort.

  Lassitude began to overtake Rhys almost immediately, while his cum still dried on his belly. He mumbled a protest as Darius retrieved the plug to insert it again, and Darius paused.

  “You don’t want it?”

  Too sleepy for discretion, Rhys answered, “Like it better . . . when it’s harder to take . . .”

  Darius went still behind him and something brushed Rhys’s shoulder before Darius put the plug aside. Not Darius’s lips. Couldn’t be. Darius kissed him sometimes during sex, but nothing like that. No little sweet, fond gestures.