by Toby Neal
“Okay.”
“You ready? Take a deep breath. Be ready for a big boom.”
She nodded.
JT stepped back. His hands left her body, and cool air made her miss his nearness. “Go ahead.”
Elizabeth pulled the trigger. The weapon pistoned backward into her shoulder as the birdshot exploded from the barrels, and the noise was tremendous. Elizabeth stayed loose, her footing steady, as she rocked back with the force of the discharge.
The tree was pockmarked with pellets, and leaves tore from its branches. Her ears rang, but a grin spread across her face. “That was fun.” She turned to JT, who ducked.
“Don’t ever point a gun at someone you don’t plan on shooting.”
“Oh, sorry.” She aimed the barrel toward the sky. “It’s not loaded, though, right?”
“Good to develop the right habits.” JT took the Remington from her, breaking it to reload. “Here. Slide in the rounds and get it ready.”
She did so as he watched closely. She fired another round, hitting the tree again, and handed it back to him. The noise and kick took some getting used to, but she knew what to expect when she fired it. “Can I try more of a target?”
JT smiled. “You really want to?”
The pistol was still tucked into the back of his jeans. The matte black grip protruding from his waistband and the rough stubble covering his jaw made him look like a rogue, an outlaw, but his grin was pure sexy.
“Yeah, I really want it.”
JT’s dark, hooded gaze dropped to her mouth.
Elizabeth stopped breathing as attraction crackled between them. This couldn’t just be one-sided? Could it?
JT handed her the shotgun and walked over to the trailer, where he found an old tin can. He waggled it at her with a grin. “Small enough for you?”
“I can blow that away, no problem.”
JT set it up on a stump and returned to her. “Shut one eye and sight down the barrel.” JT ran his hands over her biceps toward her hands, positioning her as she squinted at the can. She twitched as his fingers reached the bare skin of her elbow. Who knew that was an erogenous zone?
“Steady,” he whispered in her ear, his scent filling her senses. “You’re a natural.”
“I am?” Her heart was pounding.
JT’s chuckle vibrated against her back. He was pressed against her, their pelvises aligned. She wriggled a little, trying to get comfortable.
“What are you doing?” His voice went tight.
“Finding my footing.”
“Stay loose, just like before.”
Her body was tingling. How could she stay loose with him so close?
“Take a deep breath.”
Elizabeth filled her lungs.
“Hold it. Eye on the target.”
She focused.
“Squeeze the trigger.”
The weapon bucked in her hands, the report intense. She recoiled into JT, who didn’t budge at the impact even though a casing hit him on the shoulder as it expelled.
The can stayed steady on the stump. Her shot was wide.
“I missed. Damn!” Elizabeth tilted her head up to look at him.
He was staring down at her. Their lips were inches apart. Elizabeth stopped breathing, her chest constricting with painful anticipation. Would he kiss her? Her heart picked up its already rapid pace, and she swayed with sudden lightheadedness.
“Your eyes are . . .” his voice trailed off. Elizabeth blinked, waiting for him to continue. Color rose on his cheekbones. “Your eyes are really blue.”
That ballooning feeling returned, lifting her off the ground. She was lost in the smile he gave her, laughing at himself—at the cheesy line he’d just said, a line that she loved.
“Yours are . . . always a different color.”
He nodded, his lips coming closer to hers. “They run in the family.”
He leaned forward as if magnetized, as if he couldn’t stop himself—and his supple, sculpted mouth met hers. Elizabeth’s eyelids fluttered shut and she gave herself up to sensation.
His lips were soft, warm, and firm. JT’s tongue touched hers, teasing and light, and she leaned in for more. He gave it to her.
She was getting kissed and liking it.
The feeling of his big body surrounding and supporting her from behind was intoxicating. She wanted more, to turn around, take him in her arms, to feel so much more . . . the shotgun was unbearably heavy, and she lowered it. The Remington bumped into JT’s leg and he jumped, breaking the kiss.
He cleared his throat. “We should get back on the road.” JT took the weapon, slipping it from her hands, his fingers leaving a trail of fire on her wrist. Another new erogenous zone.
He straightened away, turning to stride back to the truck.
Elizabeth followed, her body vibrating—everything was so new. She felt disjointed, out of place, but safe.
JT’s kiss made her feel safe.
“I want to check our weapons. Make sure everything’s in top shape.” JT’s voice had gone businesslike. Clearly he needed to get some distance, and that was fine—in fact, it made her feel even safer. Was it possible he was as affected by her as she was by him?
Impossible. JT was obviously experienced with women, if that kiss was anything to go by, and his hands weren’t shaking like hers. But he’d kissed her. So, he had to be somewhat interested, right? That’s how it worked.
Elizabeth wished she could call Melody for one of her man consultations. Melody knew how to read all the confusing signals guys sent.
The first time she’d ever wanted to be kissed had just happened, and Melody couldn’t be reached. That totally new fact made racing across the ravaged nation on a life-and-death mission somehow real again—she and Melody were seldom out of touch for more than a day. A weight of fear and responsibility that she’d been able to forget for a few hours landed back on Elizabeth as she watched JT sort through his arsenal.
He pulled a large black plastic gun case holding his weapons out from the back seat, then shot the magazines on both Glocks, checking that they were full of ammo and pulling out several loaded spares. He named the weapons and their parts, holding them up to demonstrate, but far too quickly for her to ever replicate on her own. He gave the guns a quick rubdown with a cleaning cloth, ending with the Remington, making sure it was loaded and setting it beside Elizabeth’s seat. His movements were elegant and capable. “I think it will be good to have everything close to us in the front.”
“Sure, but my aim is pretty terrible.” She rubbed at the knife in her pocket. “I really hope we won’t need any of that.”
He glanced over at her and she turned away—she couldn’t look at those changeable eyes, not right now. “You’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat. “Everything will be just fine.”
Her gaze jumped to his face and their eyes locked. Elizabeth’s body lit up, but she kept her voice skeptical. “You really think so?”
JT swallowed and shook his head. “No, I don’t.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I appreciate your honesty.” It was refreshing to hear someone tell her the truth. “It’s kind of strange that we’ve driven this far and hardly seen any other people.”
“I know. But whatever happens . . .” He turned away from her. “I think you’ll be fine.”
She smiled at his back, the weight that had enveloped her moments ago easing. She wanted to say something flirty and funny, but she’d never been quick that way like Melody was. JT took the big gas can out of the locked carrier on the roof and drained all ten gallons into the tank. As Elizabeth watched the gas pour out of the container, the heaviness returned. They had to find more gas. Ten gallons wasn’t going to get them across the country.
Chapter Ten
JT
“Here’s lunch.” Elizabeth tried to hand him an open can of cold chili with a spoon in it as he drove. She seemed so refined, but so far hadn’t flinched from anything
that came at her.
JT shook his head. “Gotta keep at least one hand on the steering wheel.”
“I’ll feed you.”
He took the bites that she fed him from the spoon. His body’s hunger was satisfied, and yet fueled. He’d never imagined that eating cold chili from a can could be sexy, but Elizabeth feeding him sure was. He moved uncomfortably, trying to ease the erection that he’d had since their kiss.
“I thought this would be gross but it’s kind of good.” Elizabeth’s cheeks bulged as she chewed her own bite. In the back, Pinocchio crunched dog chow along with their meal. “I saw you used up that tank of gas.”
“Yeah. I have another twenty gallons or so, but keep an eye out for a big farm. They often have their own tanks for filling up their farm equipment. At this point I think hitting up a farm and offering to buy gas from them is a better idea than trying to go into a town and find some. What’s coming up ahead on the map?”
Talking to her was getting easier now that they were all business.
He could do this. He just needed to keep his head in the game and out of his pants.
Damn it! What the hell, with the girl rubbing up against him while they were shooting. It just wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t she have been an old, bald college professor? Getting involved with her was just plain stupid. They were from different worlds, on their way to different places. That kiss, her clumsy innocence, the way she vibrated in his arms—there was no way she could be one of his dalliances, a quick lay to take care of his bodily needs. He wanted her body, sure—she was a pretty young woman, and he was a red-blooded male—but his instincts toward Elizabeth were different. He hated her anxiety, the haunted look she got sometimes, the thing that made her rub that pocket knife like a lucky penny. There was a story behind it, and he wanted to hear it when she trusted him enough to tell him. And he wanted her trust more than he wanted her body.
Stupid. That’s what it was. He was a sentimental fool, always had been. He needed to stay away from Elizabeth Johnson.
“Make yourself useful and find us some news on the radio,” he barked.
Elizabeth jumped in surprise at his tone and shot him a glare. “What's up with Mr. Gruff's return?”
“What?"
“That’s what I call you when you’re being mean for no reason.”
He glanced over at her. There was chili on her cheek. She looked adorable, and there was a smear of chili next to her lip. He wanted to lick it off. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“Forgiven.” Elizabeth leaned forward and turned on the radio. Her long hair fell over her shoulder and he got a whiff of her scent: the soap from his own shower, and warm girl. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably again, trying to make room in his jeans without being obvious. It was a damn long way to Philly, and they still had the night to get through.
Elizabeth cycled through the stations, shaking her head as nothing but static came through. He bent and reached under his seat, withdrawing the handheld radio. “Try this one. Maybe we can pick up some trucker chatter at least.”
She went slower with the dial. They both leaned in to listen to snatches of trucker talk—and that was helpful. I-80 was bad, snarled with traffic, accidents, and something the truckers were calling “pirates,” gangs on motorcycles that were forcing vehicles off the road and robbing them. The police were overwhelmed, their ranks decimated by the flu, and criminals were coming out of the woodwork to take advantage.
JT clenched and unclenched his hands on the wheel. “How long until we need more coolant?”
“Three days. But I want to get it before that, to be safe. I think we should be able to get to Cloverdale before then—it’s a small city, and has a medical supply store that stocks liquid nitrogen. I did an internet search before we left.”
“There’s a high school I know about six hours from here that might have some. Can we pick up early? I’d like to avoid going into populated areas.”
“That could work.”
They reached the high school at Bear Creek just after nightfall. JT had given a talk at the public school when he worked for the EPA. It was a long, low building whose decorating scheme was early twentieth century penitentiary. A Bear Creek Bears cheer sign flapped against the high, chain link fence surrounding the place.
JT pulled the Range Rover up to the main gate. “If any law enforcement comes we can try to explain our situation,” he said. “But I don't think they will show. If no one came all day to deal with a plane crash and a couple of bodies, no one's coming for an empty high school's burglar alarm."
Burying those bodies. Just the mention of it took JT right back to the carnage in the potato field.
He and Roan, gloves on, had rolled the mutilated corpses into plastic tarps, wrapped them in duct tape, and put them on the quad’s trailer. Then JT had used his mini-Cat with the backhoe blade to dig a big hole in the bushy corner of the Haven where he buried dead farm animals. They’d rolled the bodies in, covered them up, and JT had said a rosary while Roan stalked off to sharpen his Buck knife.
They’d probably said three words between them the whole grim afternoon.
"Let's get going.” JT grabbed a Glock from under his seat and started to get out of the Rover.
“Why are you taking the gun?”
Her glasses had slipped down her nose, and she pushed them up as she held his gaze.
“Just in case.”
“If the cops do show up, we are a lot more likely to get shot if we are armed.”
“Who knows what we are going to find in there?”
Elizabeth turned to look at the darkened building. “Bring your knife. If we break in with a gun that’s a much more serious offense.”
She had a point, but the Sight prickled at JT, urging him to stay armed. There was a .22 in his ankle holster and he decided to leave the Glock so Elizabeth wouldn’t worry. He didn’t want to risk her having another freak-out—though that wasn’t fair. JT might have had a panic attack too after almost dying in a plane crash and being charged with an almost impossible, yet vital task.
And her panic attack had gotten him on the road, which was a good thing.
They left Pinocchio in the Rover and slipped through the fence, jogging up to the building and circling around to a low window. JT kicked out one of the frames, the crashing glass loud in the quiet night. He reached in and unlocked the window, then pushed it open to climb in first, dropping down into a darkened classroom. It was cool, and the smell immediately brought him back to his own high school days—when he’d met Mary. Before the memories could swamp him, Elizabeth was scooting through the window. JT reached up and held her waist, lowering her down gently.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
JT clicked on his flashlight and navigated through the classroom to the hall, using his hazy memories of the layout to navigate to the science lab.
They reached the end of the hall and the light from his torch illuminated signage—the science wing was to the left.
They found the labs and JT led the way to a big, square white freezer.
Elizabeth pushed the freezer’s lid up. It was warm. Her shoulders sagged. “No power,” she said, pointing out the obvious. Elizabeth stood straight and closed the lid. “I guess we just have to get it in Cloverdale.”
JT nodded, agreeing despite the sharp stab of intuition telling him that Cloverdale was a bad idea. That sensation needled him as they started back toward the Rover. As they backtracked, taking a different hall that appeared to be a shortcut, the sound of coughing reached them.
They both froze and Elizabeth’s hand grabbed onto his forearm. Her fingers were warm and soft, but her grip was strong.
They both held their breath.
The coughing continued and was joined by the shuffle of steps and soft voices. A sign hanging from the hall ceiling cheered on the Bear Creek Bears. “I think it’s coming from the gymnasium,” JT whispered.
Elizabeth started to back up, but there was coughing behind them, t
oo. JT pulled Elizabeth close as he twisted to face the threat.
A man sagged against the lockers, his body a silhouette in the darkened hall. JT brought the flashlight beam up to the man’s face. The stranger raised his hand to block the light but JT could see he was flushed with fever, and his body shook with the strength of his coughing.
“Water,” he wheezed.
JT reached for his canteen but Elizabeth stopped him. “We can’t get near him.”
“He needs help.”
“I know. Throw him the water. But don’t touch him. Don’t get close to him.”
“He’s dying.” His mother’s call at the Haven had been to tell him that Nando was sick. That phone call in the night that had sealed his decision to get on the road to Philadelphia. Was Nando suffering the same symptoms? It was one thing to know about the Scorch Flu from a distance—it was entirely another to see what it wrought up close.
“Please,” the man gasped, falling to his knees. “There are more of us. But we’re all sick. There is no one left to help. There are bodies. We don’t have the strength.” Coughing overtook him again before he could finish the sentence.
“We have to help them,” JT said.
“No.” Elizabeth’s voice was choked and he glanced at her. “We can’t afford to get sick, JT. Our mission is too important.” Her eyes were swimming with tears.
She was right, but it felt dead wrong.
“Please,” the man rasped.
JT tossed the canteen. The metal container clattered onto the linoleum floor and the stranger grasped at it, his fingers shaking so badly JT feared he wouldn’t be able to get the lid off. How could they just leave these people here surrounded by dead bodies?
“I know it feels wrong,” Elizabeth said. “But it’s the right thing to do.” Her voice was low but firm. “I have to get those cells to DC. It could save other lives.”
She pulled at his arm, trying to move him down the hall—her weight against him negligible. The dying man managed to get the lid off the canteen, and he poured the water into his mouth, then immediately choked on it, coughing the liquid onto the floor. He fell to his hands and knees, the canteen tipping and spilling the water across the floor, forming a puddle that caught the flashlight beam.