As I stood and walked away from the bench to face off against Chris, I made sure to add a little extra sway to my hips. Little girl, my ass.
Date: December 21, 11:55 PM
From: Danielle O’Connor
To: Zoe Cartwright
Subject: You’re not alone
Zo,
I’m sorry that it’s been a few days since I wrote. Jason and Chris are working me extra hard. It’s just ‘cause they’re worried and want me to be able to protect myself…but now I’m always pooped!
They were both with me yesterday as we searched Gold Hill. I appreciate their support and protection, but it kind of reminds me that half the group hates me right now and that I’m a weakling of a partner. I’m trying my best to believe what you said, but it’s hard not to feel responsible for so many deaths, especially when I’m surrounded by people who think the exact opposite.
Today, I was with just Jason. We scouted for gas but found little, only in cars locked in garages. What use will cars be when the fuel’s completely gone? At least the garage shopping led us to some other useful supplies. We found a stockpile of MREs—those totally disgusting military meals that stay good for like a million years—and some guns. They were locked up, but that didn’t stop Jason. We stocked up on enough weapons for everyone in our group several times over and enough ammo for all of us to get in plenty of target practice. I’m working really hard on learning how to use my little handgun. It’s funny…I always hated guns or was at least afraid of them, but now I sleep with one.
To update you on the Cece situation...we’re avoiding each other like the plague (ha). I honestly think Jason would kick her to the curb except he’s worried about losing the bodies that would go with her (and supplies too). Seriously, a bunch of the guys worship her now…they’re like her own personal harem of dutiful slaves. It’s creepy.
Anyway, tomorrow we head out again to continue our insanely slow journey to Bodega Bay. I’m pretty sure we only have one more stop until we get there. Will we be too late? I’m trying not to let myself dwell on that thought. I haven’t been very successful.
BTW, Dave is a weak asshole. Forget him. I’m really sorry that I encouraged you to tell him about your superpower. I feel kind of responsible. Sad face. Hug.
I know you’re totally freaking out about what’s happening to you, so I thought this might make you feel better. I think it is happening to other people too...like, it’s a mutation caused by the virus or something. See, Chris, she’s sort of able to make people feel better. And I don’t just mean giving a hug and talking it out. She sits down with someone who’s about to have a meltdown, and five minutes later they’re fine. She’s done it to me a bunch of times. I think it’s the reason I’m handling Cam’s death so well. Because, really, I’m handling it too well. Like, unnaturally well. Plus, this guy in my group is pretty sure he can feel when bad things are about to happen…in fact, he feels it all the time around Cece. The point is—you are not alone (cue the Michael Jackson song).
So you’re going to Fort Knox? That’s sort of hilarious. You should take a bar of gold just for fun. Ha! But, wherever you are, stay safe, okay? I miss you.
Ciao,
Dani
18
ZOE
It took us seven excruciating hours to drive to Fort Knox. Luckily Biggs and Harper had found a fuel-filled police cruiser, making our journey less cramped. Unfortunately, any potential silence was interrupted by the sound of the police scanner clicking in and out of range. If it hadn’t been for Harper’s friendly smile and his seductive, throaty laugh, Dave’s sulking probably would’ve driven me mad.
“Hopefully we’ll hear another broadcast today,” Harper said as we neared our destination. He looked back at Dave and then up at me, sensing the tension between us. I’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to ignore my memory of the horrible conversation I’d had with Dave two nights earlier. I’d originally offered to ride with Sanchez and the others in Dave’s truck, but being around her was equally unnerving, so I’d opted to ride in the same car as my fallen-out friend.
Dave had made himself right at home in the uncomfortable backseat, stretching out his legs and folding his arms behind his head. He was pretending to be unfazed by my presence, and I didn’t mind—I really didn’t want to have a confrontation in front of Harper. I did, however, allow myself a smile every time Dave repositioned himself on the vinyl seat. There was something satisfying in seeing him behind the metal cage separating us.
Finding fuel had been difficult, but Biggs and Harper’s resourcefulness had resulted in just enough gas to transport us to Kentucky. But what about to Colorado?
“What makes that base in Colorado so special anyway?” I asked and cleared my throat—my voice was hoarse from disuse. “I mean, I’m surprised the Colony isn’t in D.C. or in Virginia by the Pentagon…someplace that makes a little more sense.” I looked at Harper. “Any idea?”
He shrugged. “We heard the same broadcast as you.”
I tried not to grow hopeful. “Maybe they’ve created an anti-Virus.” Maybe they can fix whatever’s wrong with me.
“Yeah, maybe.” Harper squinted skeptically, but the rest of his expression remained unchanged.
I looked out the window, watching the abandoned town outside of Fort Knox pass by as we wound our way through the deserted streets. I imagined its lonely storefronts crowded with people—eating at the quaint cafes, waiting at the bus stops, and walking in and out of the little shops. Instead, the sidewalks were desolate and littered with garbage. I tried not to think about the rotting corpses and the Crazies that surely haunted the dark corners of the town, instead taking inventory of what supplies the town might have to offer.
I pointed to a large, boxy building behind a taco joint. “There’s a hospital over there.”
“Good eye,” Harper approved. “We’ll have to check it out later when we have the whole team…I’m sure there are a few Crazies waiting for us in there.”
Dave barked a laugh but said nothing as he pulled a bottle of Tequila out of his pack and brought it to his lips.
I twisted in my seat. “Where’d you get that?” I asked angrily, knowing nothing good would come of him drinking again.
“Don’t worry about it.” Dave’s voice was snippy, and he still hadn’t blinked an eye in my direction.
Trying to control my temper, I rolled my eyes and faced forward again.
Harper glanced over at me sympathetically, but I pretended not to notice. “What’s going on with you guys anyway?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just a lover’s quarrel,” Dave joked caustically. “We have a history. Some sort of connection, if you will…”
“I’ve noticed,” Harper said, keeping his eyes on the road. “You shouldn’t be drinking.” He glared into the rearview mirror, and I could feel his disappointment. “Not with all the pain meds I gave you.”
Dave scoffed. “I’m not the one you should be worried about,” he muttered under his breath.
“Dammit Dave! You’re such an asshole! Get over yourself, and stop pouting!” I shouted. “It’s like we’re in fourth grade.”
“If you two are finished…” Harper pointed at two imposing tanks flanking the entrance to the base. Welcome to Fort Knox, the sign read.
Ignoring Dave, who was humming circus tunes in the back of the squad car, I took in the lifeless scene around me. The landscape was mostly barren except for the woods that crept up behind the towering brick buildings ahead.
Harper hunched over the steering wheel to get a better view through the windshield. “This place is so old. I’m surprised it’s still standing.”
We followed Dave’s truck along the winding roads in search of the location the broadcast had identified as the makeshift command post—the civilian barracks. “They said there were Survivors, but it doesn’t look like it,” Harper said, putting the car in park.
As we sat in front of a large, gray building, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. A su
dden wave of wretchedness washed over me when I stepped out of the vehicle.
I don’t like this place.
Date: December 21, 5:15 PM
From: Zoe Cartwright
To: Danielle O’Connor
Subject: Something’s not right...
D,
We have arrived! We’re at Fort Knox, and I’m completely creeped out right now. Captain Jones and Second Lieutenant Taylor (they seem particularly attached to their titles) are the officers in charge here. In fact, they appear to be the only military people left. I don’t like the way they’ve been looking at Sarah and me. There’s an unquenchable thirst in their eyes. It’s really disturbing. Since we arrived, Harper and Sanchez haven’t been away from Jones, so I haven’t had a chance to tell to them about my bad feeling.
At least I have Harper to talk to amidst this whole fiasco. Sarah’s lost to her swooning heart, and Sanchez and I aren’t really on friendly terms. Dave is deplorable. Harper though, he seems to have befriended me.
As for my weird powers, I’m definitely comforted to hear that some of your people are experiencing something like I am. It makes me feel a little less...crazy. However, I’m not so comforted by what your friend said about Cece. I reiterate…BE CAREFUL. Please.
Jones is walking toward me. Great…he looks like he wants something. I’ll write again soon.
Hasta,
Zoe
19
DANI
“LEARN.”
It’s him. Turning in circles, I attempted to peer through the endless, gray mist. It was everywhere, dense and warm. I tried to escape it by running a dozen steps in a random direction, but the mist remained. It was oddly comforting, like soaking in a bubble bath with only candles for light.
“LEARN.”
Where is he? I looked up, but there was still only mist. Embracing, soothing, caressing—the foggy gray substance surrounded me. It seemed to exist in all physical states at once. It was gaseous, allowing movement and breath. It was liquid, pressing against every inch of my body. It was solid, brushing against my stomach and tickling my neck.
“LEARN.”
Is he doing this? He’s not even real! So, am I doing this? My body grew warm. My pajamas became uncomfortably tight and itchy. Brushing sweaty palms against my cotton shorts, I drew a ragged breath. My fingertips had grazed the bare skin of my thighs, causing a burst of fiery pleasure. What the hell?
“LEARN.”
“Learn what?” I rasped. The fog brushed against my ankles, then my knees, and then my thighs, creating unbearable tingles. I licked my lips and groaned, overwhelmed by the sensation. It was too much. I cleared my throat and screamed, “LEARN WHAT?”
“LEA—”
Suddenly the mist disappeared, and I floated in a sea of soothing, white nothingness.
“Dani, wake up,” a man whispered.
In bed, I lurched into a sitting position as I opened my eyes. In the faint dawn light I could see Jason’s face, tensed with a hint of concern, inches from my own. He was sitting on the edge of the bed with his hip pressed against the outside of my thigh. His hands gently gripped my bare shoulders. Everywhere he touched me, my skin burned with pleasure. Everywhere else ached for his touch.
“You were moaning,” he murmured. “Bad dream?”
Closing my eyes, I took a shuddering breath. I desperately needed to regain control of my body before I did something embarrassing. “Not exactly,” I breathed.
When I reopened my eyes, Jason’s iris’s shone with such intensity they seemed to be composed of burning natural gas. Slowly, like falling feathers, his hands slid from my shoulders to my wrists.
I looked down at the quilt, overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. “Please,” I whispered, unsure of what I was requesting. My body hummed in anticipation of where he might touch me next. At the same time, a small seed of doubt took root in my chest. Is he just teasing me?
“Please what, Red?” he breathed, the words brushing against my neck like a caress. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see one side of his mouth quirk up in amusement. So he was just teasing me. He probably thought my infatuation with him was just one big decades-long joke.
“Please stop touching me, Jason,” I said, proud of the steadiness of my voice.
His hands closed around my wrists, and his thumbs stroked the sensitive, transparent skin. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
No. You are such an asshole. “Yes,” I snapped, ripping my wrists from his grasp. Using my go-to maneuver, I clambered across the empty bed, my escape only slightly hindered by the sheets, and fell off the opposite edge. At least I was running from humiliation rather than a crazy girl with a terrifyingly sharp knife.
“Get over yourself. You’re not that amazing,” I spat. I stomped across the hall to the bathroom and slammed the door.
“I’ll meet you on the lawn in fifteen minutes,” Jason called through the whitewashed wood. He was laughing. Dick.
What the hell kind of dream was that? I wondered grumpily while I glared at my reflection in the mirror. My vibrant curls stuck out in all directions. Evidently it was a French braid day…again. I pondered chopping off the whole frizzy mess, but I figured a short, red afro wasn’t really my look.
As I deftly braided my hair, I studied my face. How long has it been since I wore makeup? Two weeks? More? The thought was equally shocking and reassuring. I wasn’t just girly Dani anymore. I’d become survivor Dani, equipped with sore muscles and a practical fashion sense.
After washing up, I returned to my room to dress and arm myself with my usual shoulder holster and pistol, assured that my nerve endings were back to normal. I tore open a peanut butter and chocolate chip protein bar as I exited the bedroom, tripping over my dog on the way out.
Jack wagged his tail happily while I righted myself. “Good morning, Sweet Boy,” I said between bites.
He yawned dramatically and bowed, earning the last nugget of the tasteless bar.
As I lumbered down the stairs, a plan of revenge formed in my mind. I waved at Chris and Ky, apparently the only other people awake at such an ungodly hour, as I neared the front room’s largest window. I peeked around the heavy tan and green-striped curtain and spotted Jason standing on the lawn—he was staring off into the woods. Smiling, I led Jack to the back door, and we silently slipped out into the damp morning chill.
Pausing on the back porch, I clicked my tongue, and my dog watched me intently. “Okay Jack,” I whispered, kneeling down in front of him. “You’re going to go that way.” I pointed to the left side of the house, and his eyes followed. “Find Jason. You need to be happy and loud.” I scratched his neck with both hands. He licked my cheek in return.
“Go find Jason,” I commanded quietly and stood. Jack instantly trotted away, barking every few steps.
Stalking in the opposite direction, I made my way around the house and found Jason watching Jack frolic like a month-old puppy. The grass muffled my steps as I snuck up behind him. I crouched, gliding the last few steps, and held my breath. Revenge is so sweet!
I raised my foot and jammed it into the back of Jason’s leg, making his knee buckle. Before he could regain his balance, my arm snaked around his shoulders and yanked him to the ground. On his way down, he grasped my wrist and pulled me to the grass with him. I used the added momentum and sat heavily astride his abdomen.
He grunted. “Ow,” he said once he’d regained his breath.
Smiling down at him ecstatically, I bounced and proclaimed, “I win!”
“You think?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Ha! I know!” I slapped his chest with both hands, hoping for another grunt. It didn’t come.
Instead his gloved hands found my thighs and slid up to rest on my jean-covered hips. I was suddenly very aware of the fact that I was straddling him. Without warning, his hands tightened, and he flipped me over onto the cold grass. He grabbed my wrists and held them together above my head.
I squirmed, atte
mpting to dislodge his hold on me, but I might as well have been fighting against iron restraints.
“Oh, Red. You’ll never beat me,” he whispered near my ear.
In all of my wriggling, I’d managed to maneuver my right leg between both of his. I’d expended quite a bit of energy flailing about, but I had just enough left. With a grunt, I brought my leg up against his groin—hard.
Groaning, Jason rolled off me and curled into the fetal position on the lawn.
Jack ceased his enthusiastic prancing and jumping to crouch in front of Jason’s face. He sniffed and nuzzled the man until he received some weak pets.
I sat up and reached out to touch Jason’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jason! But…you told me that’s what I’m supposed to do if a guy has me pinned to the ground.” He didn’t respond.
“Jason, I…Are you mad at me?” I asked weakly.
When Jason finally sat up and faced me, he was smiling, if a little sickly. “No. That was perfect. I wasn’t sure you had it in you to really hurt someone, but now I know.”
“Oh. Um…thanks?”
Jason stood, brushing off stray bits of grass. I did the same, still breathing heavier than normal from the exertion—and, possibly, from the excitement.
The Ending Series: The Complete Series Page 14