Savage

by Jade C. Jamison

  Parts of me responded as though cold, however—my nipples turned hard, with desire, yes, but they felt cold too, as I shifted under the covers, wanting and needing to be closer to him but also wanting to touch him more. I ran my fingers down his chest and then down to the bottom of my t-shirt, pulling on it while shifting my body to remove it. As soon as I’d done it, I felt cold again, a shiver rippling through my torso. I felt his hands move up my stomach to my breasts and he nestled them both in his cupped hands—they were hot, unlike the cold surrounding us.

  My lips crashed into his again, demanding that he make love to me. My mouth was violent, devouring his kiss, relishing his taste, and, as though I were a desperate animal, my fingers began tearing at the button to his jeans. I sensed that he wanted to slow down, but I couldn’t, didn’t dare. He didn’t say a word—it was just a feeling I had. But as I moved my hand inside his pants, I knew his cock was ready, no matter how his mind felt, and as I gently squeezed, he responded, letting a soft sigh out of his mouth as he gave in to his basest desires, just as I already had.

  In seconds, my pants were completely off so that I could take him, take all of him, wrapping myself around his body like a second skin. In that tight space under the heavy covers, we struggled, but we managed. I wanted to be free, though. Even in that wilderness, I’d felt somehow trapped, and the bed was becoming a physical manifestation of that thought. All my life, I’d been trapped by my circumstances, caged by the house I’d built unknowingly, and that sensation had followed me here. I needed to be free, wanted to be unshackled, and—as though this symbolic act could make it happen—I moved with that thought. Joined at the hips, we moved until I could straddle him. The cold air stung my skin but also made me feel alive. Every nerve felt the prick of the frigid air, but Kevin’s body heat radiated into me, gave me the strength to continue.

  Warmed me when there was no warmth to be had.

  I arched my back against the air, my hands splayed on his chest, feeling the heat of his hands on my back and ass, and I let it go, let it all go, unable to stop my primal cries, unable to think of anything but the freedom I experienced in that one shining moment.

  Somehow, Kevin Savage had set me free.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  “O.C.D.” – Suicide Silence

  FEELING TRAPPED BY the snow and cold in a house that felt dark because the sun hadn’t been out in days was starting to get to me…so I knew it was also getting to my companions. Making my daily trip to the creek with Kevin wasn’t enough to shake that feeling. It was funny that, just as my soul was beginning to feel free, my mind and body were feeling hampered by walls.

  We tried to alleviate the anxiousness by playing board games or reading books or even sleeping more, and I suppose those activities helped some. It made me realize how little I’d appreciated what I had before. I had taken having a car and a heater in that car for granted. It was easy enough (snow, cold, ice, rain, hail—bring it all on) to just get in the car and drive, weather be damned.

  If I had to guess the time of year, it was late February. Outside was cold most of the time, and if I’d thought we had lots of snow before, I’d been clueless. The snow just wouldn’t stop coming, and the frigid temperatures ensured that what fell to the earth wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

  We were all going a little stir crazy, and Vera and Larry started snipping at each other off and on. I even caught myself snapping once in a while until I forced myself to cool off. Getting grouchy wouldn’t help anyone.

  When the snow would let up for a day or so, Kevin and Larry would head back to the woodpile, splitting more logs for our fire. My hope, though, was that we wouldn’t have reason to need all of it. Something in my blood and bones told me warm weather was just around the corner…and we’d be able to leave, come hell or high water.

  Vera was in a slump again—morose and withdrawn, curled up in the chair, and she refused to leave except to use the bathroom. She slept a lot, and her behavior reminded me of the way she’d been shortly after we’d arrived here. I could understand why she took medicine, because if it helped her function, if it saved her from moments like those, it was worth it. I wouldn’t want to live like that either.

  As much as I hated cooking under those circumstances, I’d taken to doing more of it, because it was something to do on my own. I needed an excuse to be away from the group, and not just during bath time or bathroom time…and they usually left me alone when I was working in the kitchen unless I asked for help.

  Of course, just as I’d thought that, they proved me wrong. Kevin asked me if I needed help, and I had to tell him no and shoo him off more than once.

  I wanted to get creative with what little we had. I’d mostly made soups and stews and occasionally a pot of beans, because they were easy and they were a great way to use the things we had on hand. They also tended to be filling and warming, and my aunt’s Dutch oven was perfect for that kind of meal. We’d long ago used up anything that went well with a soup, like crackers or bread, but we’d grown used to it. Food wasn’t as big a deal as it had been in our more civilized previous existence; without variety, we found that we didn’t eat for pleasure anymore. We ate merely for sustenance and warmth.

  With little to do anymore except bide our time, I decided I wanted to try to make a meal like I used to. As a young woman, my goal had been to be a good cook, wanting to make dinners as tasty as my mother had. It was all in the seasonings and how she prepared the food, and I’d studied her techniques and asked her questions until I’d developed my own style. I tried unusual recipes and experimented with exotic spices, learning more of what I liked and didn’t like, what worked and what flopped.

  Of course, life prevented me from further culinary exploration once the figurative shit hit the fan, but by then, I was a decent cook and could put together a palatable meal with inexpensive ingredients, as long as I had the right spices, tools, and a little time to plan.

  What I was missing here was an oven and stove. I seemed to have everything else, but I still had to think outside the box. I was now limited by my ingredients. I couldn’t make chicken piccata, for example, because we had no fresh lemons. I couldn’t make macaroni and cheese, because we had no dairy products. I still seemed to have plenty of spices, though, and we had lots of winter vegetables.

  I decided to see what all was stored in the big freezer. I’d only been in it a few times. There was no real reason why I hadn’t; I’d simply used the pantry for food more often. I knew Aunt Lou stored a lot of meat out there as well as frozen veggies from her garden, but I didn’t know what else I’d find. We were fortunate that it was cold enough in the garage to keep all that food frozen, but come spring—if the power wasn’t restored—that food wouldn’t make it.

  I hoped I wouldn’t be here anymore to witness it firsthand.

  I was bundled up in my heavy coat and gloves, planning to explore the freezer and hope inspiration would hit me. I needed to eat something that reminded me of home—I didn’t know what that was, but I needed to find something, anything. I needed a taste of normalcy.

  I had just lifted the top of the freezer when I realized the flashlight would help me see inside better, so I went back in the house and found it in the living room on the end table where I kept it during the day. Then I went back into the garage on a mission.

  As I rifled through the right-hand side of the freezer, I marveled at my aunt’s sense of organization. The way she’d arranged the meats (and they were all contained on that side) was nothing short of brilliant. I’d never had the time nor the inclination to even appear half as organized as she or others like her. That didn’t change the fact that those souls impressed the hell out of me.

  I settled on a pot roast that I could try slow cooking on the fire. With a little beef bouillon and a few savory spices, I could make what would taste like the best pot roast we’d ever had. I knew we had all the veggies I’d want downstairs—potatoes, onions, and carrots—but I wanted to check out what else was
in the freezer for future reference, maybe even move a few items to the top for easy access, even if it did ruin my aunt’s organized space. The big freezer had been the one place I hadn’t inventoried, so this had been a new adventure, one that was sure to pay off.

  I turned to set the roast on the hood of the car, and that was when I realized the gasoline smell had finally dissipated somewhat. I drew a deep breath in through my nose to confirm when Larry walked in the doorway. I forced a smile, trying to figure out what he was doing in there. “Hey,” I said, hoping to determine if he was there to talk to me or if he had other business. I paused and finally added, “I’m going to make something special for dinner.”

  I didn’t like the way he approached me. Something told me not to turn back to the freezer, so I kept my eyes focused on him. I felt something inside cringe, but I also heard an old voice in the back of my head telling me to not avert my gaze, not look away, not back down. It was a survival technique I knew I needed to use. I made sure my voice was steady when I said, “What’s going on?”

  He made a noise in the top of his throat as he raked his eyes down my body and back up. It was then that I really took him in for the first time since we’d settled here. Larry wasn’t a bad-looking guy but he was probably ten years older, and he’d always had a cheesy law-enforcement vibe about him. He’d had a full mustache, one that reminded me of how Burt Reynolds had always worn his. Now, Larry’s mustache was just a large part of what had become bushy facial hair overall. The hair on his head and his face had been black back at home, but now it was peppered with large amounts of gray. What got my attention, though, was the steely glint in his eyes—that look that told me the gloves were off. Whatever had kept Larry a civilized, decent guy at home wasn’t with us anymore.

  “I find it kinda funny,” he said, moving his body so that it flooded my personal space. I refused to budge, though, because I was afraid that giving into that instinct could be perceived as weakness, and something inside me continued to scream that I needed to look and seem strong. I maintained eye contact as he continued. “You and Savage didn’t seem to take long to set up housekeeping.” I knew exactly what he meant, and it angered me. What was happening or had happened between Kevin and me was none of his business. It didn’t affect him, so why did he care? Ah, but something deep down inside me knew. Part of it was this strange psychosis he seemed to be becoming more and more—infected with. It was as though the virus that none of us had contracted was maybe affecting Larry in a different way…because he certainly didn’t seem like my neighbor these days.

  I could feel that I was lifting up my shoulders—to what end, I had no idea. “What do you care?”

  His voice grew dry. “It’s distracting.”

  “Sounds like that’s your problem.”

  “No—it’s distracting both of you.”

  How I managed to keep my voice calm, I had no idea. Maybe it was a general lack of belief of what I was hearing. “Distracting us from what?”

  “The end game.” I raised my eyebrows as he continued. “We should be out there fighting the infected, doing our part in this war.”

  “War? Larry, I’m not interested in killing a bunch of undead shells. I want to get home. Let the military take care of the infected.”

  “What military? You see any soldiers wandering around these hills I don’t know about?”

  It pissed me off that he had a point. But then I thought of a counterpoint. “Just how many infected have you seen?”

  He lowered his voice to a deadly pitch. “Lots more than you two. You see, it takes focus.” He bent his head so that his eyes were even with mine and he got even closer, making me want to squirm—but, still, I refused to shift even an inch, although he moved to the side of my face until his lips touched my ear.

  Inside, I was shaking.

  “There’s something you need to realize, Nina. This war is gonna separate the strong from the weak. The survivors from the losers. The living from the dead.” His voice became a whisper. “Which one are you?”

  Although it was cold in the garage, I was wearing a coat, and it was his voice, rather than the chill in the air, that sent a shiver up my spine. I pulled away then so I could look him in the eye. “I’m alive, Larry. I think that’s more important than anything else. And I just want to get home and find my kids.”

  Then, for a brief moment, I saw understanding register in his eyes. Just as quickly, though, his dark brown orbs clouded over once more, and I knew that any chance I’d had to get through to him was gone. “That kinda attitude?” He stood up straight once more and grabbed me around the neck, tilting my head so I had to look up at him. “Makes me wanna go all medieval on your asses, bring the hammer down.” He bent his head forward so his face was all that was in my line of sight, and I couldn’t look away because he was holding me tight. “Maybe go all alpha male, claim what’s mine.”

  The sharp air stung my nose as I breathed in, but that wasn’t what pulled my focus. It was his words and the intent behind them. It was too ugly for me to even acknowledge on the surface, and yet I had to. Before I could address him, though, I heard Kevin’s voice from the living room. “Larry? You in here?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not one word. Got it?”

  That told me he knew fully well what he was saying and doing, and I got the feeling that he might hurt Kevin if I said something right this minute. Oh, I’d definitely tell Kevin, but I’d wait till we were alone. The problem was I was afraid of him being alone with Larry right now. I scanned Larry’s eyes but didn’t know if he got the message from mine that I’d keep my mouth shut—for now. I didn’t trust him anymore, hadn’t in a while, but this solidified it. I didn’t know that I’d ever trust him again.

  Larry then shouted, almost making me jump. “Be right there!” He lowered his voice once more and asked, “Is that roast?” It took me a few seconds to realize he was talking about the package of meat I’d set on the car’s hood. I nodded slowly as he let go of me and started walking off. He paused in the doorway to the house and adjusted himself. I let out a slow air of disgust. Had that little display of power really gotten him off?

  That made me feel dirty—in a way a bath would never help.

  I grabbed the roast and took a few steps toward the doorway and I heard Larry’s voice somewhere in the vicinity of the living room. “Helping Nina decide dinner. We’re having roast. You know that’s one of my favorites.”

  “Sounds great.”

  And then I was inspired. I rushed back in the house, grabbing the Dutch oven off the dishrack where it had dried earlier that morning and poured some water from one of the jugs into it. I quickly unwrapped the roast and put it in the pot, grabbing a few bouillon cubes, garlic powder, and pepper and hurriedly throwing it all together.

  I didn’t want to waste any time.

  I took it and set it on the edge of the fire and noticed as I walked there that Vera still hadn’t returned to the living room. I pulled my gloves back on and marched out the door.

  I’d been outside earlier that day and noticed that the temperature had dropped. The sky wasn’t as clear now, either, and so I lifted the hood of my coat up over my head to trap in the heat and made my way behind the house.

  Until I could talk to Kevin and warn him that Larry had gone completely over the edge, I wasn’t going to leave them alone. But I’d never helped them before and the realization that my move was obvious hit me when it was too late. They’d already spotted me heading over. I thought fast. “Looks like another storm might be moving in. Can I help you guys get your work done?”

  I hadn’t been sure how Larry was going to take it, but a smirk covered his face. “So nice of you to bless us with your company.” He looked over at Kevin, who was wielding the axe. He’d just set a log on top of the chopping block and was getting ready to drive the axe into it. He looked at me and that instant filled me with a giddiness I hadn’t felt since I’d been a teenage girl in puppy love. He looked so masculine, so rugged at tha
t moment. And then I realized how dangerous that might be, for Larry to see me with those obvious feelings running through my mind. I looked over at Larry, and he too was glancing at Kevin. “I’m not sure there’s anything she can do that we don’t have covered. You?” Kevin brought the axe down, splitting the log in half, and Larry looked over at me, grinning. “Maybe you could pick up the split wood and add it to the pile and I’ll supervise.”

  Yeah, this guy wasn’t the old Larry, and I wondered which one was real—this guy or the guy from home? I was trying to think of a response, because I knew from their arrangement that one chopped while the other stacked the pieces, and that would leave an odd man out. Ordinarily, that might have been a funny response to that situation, but because of our earlier interaction, I interpreted it the way I thought he wanted me to—that supervising me (or us) would be nothing but pure domination. Before I could put any words together, Kevin beat me to it…and his response was sincere. “She could bring logs over to me so I don’t have to keep moving the block or getting them myself. It’ll save a little time.”

  I could see it in Larry’s eyes—Kevin had bested him. And that made me pretty damn sure the danger factor of Larry had grown in that moment.

  Chapter Fifty-three

  “Cry of Achilles” – Alter Bridge

  WHAT I’D THOUGHT was going to be a small storm turned out to be several storms that dumped on us in epic proportion. That first night, it came down hard, and we enjoyed the pot roast and a hot fire. It snowed all the next day and so Kevin and I skipped our trip to the creek. The next day, the snow had stopped, but it was ridiculously cold, so we waited until midmorning to make the trip. The following day, we got hammered with snow again…and it was like that for over a week—a small break of a day or half a day and then more snow.

  That first night afterwards in bed, I told Kevin about what had happened with Larry. I didn’t mention the sexual overtones, but I wanted Kevin to know that Larry had crossed some weird line and I didn’t feel like any of us were safe with him, but Kevin even more. I said I wanted the two of us to stick together no matter what, and he said he could take care of himself, that he was aware and that was enough. When I told him that Larry had managed to get me alone even while he and Kevin were supposed to be working together, then he changed his tune.