Assuming Room Temperature (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 3) (24 page)

Jake was short of breath. While the statement had been ridiculously overused, it was still true: Fireworks had gone off behind his eyelids when she’d kissed him.

“Um. Yeah. Definitely.” He didn’t have the first clue where to go from there. “I, uh, don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m didn’t say any of that only thinking I could get in your pants. I really—”

Kat moved against him and O’Connor’s mental process began to lag like an overloaded server. “I didn’t either.”

“Didn’t what?”

“I like the way your mind works too. Most of the time. When you’re not doing something monumentally stupid.” Cho’s eyes glittered in amusement. “So it’s not that I’m trying
just
to get into your pants either.”

He swallowed. “Alright?”

“But I won’t complain if that’s where we end up.” There was a high level of heat coming his way from behind Kat’s eyes. “In each other’s pants, I mean.”

Okay. Okay. Now, be smooth,
his back-brain advised him firmly.

He wrapped his free arm around her as Kat moved from her knees to sit beside him on the cushion, feet stretched out behind him and hip pressed to Jake’s own. Smooth shouldn’t be too hard. “I don’t think I could fit into those leathers.”

Oh... my... God. This is what I have to work with?
His brain threw its mental hands up in resignation.
You’re hopeless.

Cho moved closer, lightly nuzzling his nose with her own. “I think you’d fit just fine.”

See? See?
His brain screamed.
That right there is what I’m referring to when I say smooth, moron! Maybe you should just, not talk? At all?

She went on as his brain berated him. “I’d know, since I was one of the people taking care of you after you got stabbed. Two words: sponge baths?”

“Really? I don’t remember...well, anything about that time.” For which he was grateful. Talk about embarrassing. “Everything’s just a blur, until the soccer field.”

“What changed?” She breathed the words into his mouth.

Realizing any answer he gave would sound like an attempt to schmooze, Jake took his brain’s advice and laid his best ‘curl-you-toes-to-your-ankles’ kiss on Kat’s lips.

At least, he hoped it was his best. If not, there weren’t any copies of
Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus
in Langley’s library for reference.

He’d looked.

On a side note: He hadn’t seen any copies of
The Kama Sutra
either.

* * *

Now it was Kat’s turn to see fireworks. There were definitely a few detonations going off in her head
somewhere
, because very little was taking up space in the ol’ cranial cavity at that very moment. Including (but not limited to) where she was, what
day
it was, or even what color the underwear she’d put on that morning was. Truth be told, she really wasn’t concerned over the last. It likely matched. She’d check, once they started removing clothes.

Leaning back until she was cradled over his lap, Kat decided right then and there anyone in sight of the pier was shortly going to get a show. That damn tac-vest O’Connor wore needed to go first though, and she undid the trio of clasps holding it closed over his chest to pull it away. He didn’t want to let her go long enough for her to get it over his shoulders, so she ended up yanking his arms away until the vest got tossed to the dock. That enabled her to get her hands under the CBGB’s t-shirt he was so fond of wearing and against his flesh.

His arms tightened around Cho slightly at the feel of her fingertips trailing over his waist, and she moved them up along his ribs to circle firmly behind his shoulders. This tugged his shirt higher, allowing for the tingling sensation of skin-on-skin as Kat utilized the gap between her own waistline and the cut-off shirt she wore to press their lower torsos together. That set off a whole new set of impulses that boiled down to
Get Clothes Off, Now,
and made her slightly fumble fingered as she tried to remove the offending shirt. Finally yanking it away over his head, Kat sent her hands—closely followed by her tongue—along the lines of Jake’s chest. Up where the cords of his pectorals met at the middle of his sternum, along the arch of his collarbone, and finally over the melted patch of skin on his right deltoid where Rae had seared his gaping stab wound closed. She bit the rough spot cautiously not wanting to hurt him, and his fingers tightened into the fabric of her shirt.

That had to go. Taking one hand reluctantly away from his flesh, Cho reached back across her shoulder and worked the cut-off tank top over her head.

* * *

O’Connor had just time to think, ‘
Purple!’
before she dove into the embrace again. Kat’s touch was working its maddening brand of magic and it was becoming impossible for him to focus on much of anything, save the determined woman in his arms. She pushed against his chest, rolling them backward and-

They fell off the edge of the dock into the lake.

Once he rose to hit air again, Jake sputtered and tried to clear his eyes. Lake-water might
look
pure, but there were all kinds of things floating in it. Leaves, bits of plants, sand and dirt.

Oh, and—most certainly—fish poop.

Cho surfaced laughing, not at all resembling a pissed-off tabby with her short hair plastered to her head. “Wow. That was agile.”

“It’s
your
fault,” he countered, attempting not to laugh himself.

“How do you figure?”

“You distracted me.” Jake snorted as he tread gritty water.

Reaching behind her head, Kat used one of the dock pylons to anchor herself as she pulled him closer. “You know, normally felines don’t like getting wet.”

“Yeah, I’m aware.” Her thighs came up, encircling his waist to support him at the surface, and Jake took hold of the pylon behind her with one hand. The other he slid down her spine to the small of her back, causing Cho to shiver, even in the warm waters. “They usually go berserk. Latch on to anything within reach, trying to keep dry.”

She smiled and used her free hand to scrape light nails diagonally from his left shoulder down across his ribs. “There are always exceptions to the rule though. People used to post videos on YouTube all the time of giving their cats baths. Some of the furry, little buggers
loved
the water.”

Jake’s sent his mouth along the side of her throat. “So you’re saying I’m safe from feline retribution?”

Kat let go of the pylon and—using her hand not currently making its way down O’Connor’s stomach—gripped at his hair as his lips brushed their way along her jawline. She closed her eyes when his tongue found the hollow where her collarbones met.

“Oh, you keep on doing that and you’re gonna get all
kinds
of
clawed up.” Her voice dropped an octave. “Might even have a nice set of fresh scratches when you go update Mooney about the buses.”

“Maybe. But that’ll be later.” Jake murmured and his hand slid lower to cup her right leather-clad buttock.

Kat sucked a ragged breath then rolled her hips against him. Her mouth fell open, and she took a gulp of air before mashing her lips to his again. O’Connor’s hand moved north up her back, undoing the first hook on her bra and she lightly bit his lip. The second popped open while her lower hand worked at the buckle on his belt, and the last—

Raised voices could be heard from the treeline. The two of them halted mid-caress and froze in place.

“Are we sure they’re down there?” That was Leo.

“Are we?” And Elle.

“Yes!” And Rae. “Hurry up! We need to find the pier!”

Jake’s face took on a long-suffering expression.

“Maybe if we keep quiet they’ll go away?” Kat didn’t let go of his belt buckle.

“Are you kidding?” he mumbled. “With our luck, they’ll decide to grab some scuba gear and start searching the bottom.”

Running footsteps approached along the deck planks.

“Oh, man.” Kat put her face against Jake’s neck.

Rae’s voice came down to them. “See? There’s a blanket and their stuff.”

“Maybe they’re on one of the boats?” Leo wondered.

“We can look.” Elle sounded highly amused over the prospect.

Rae piped up again. “Start checking! Boy. I knew Kat had a massive lady-boner for him, but I didn’t think Jake would cave
that
easily. She must’ve pulled out all the stops.”

“I’m going to kill her,” Kat said calmly.

Jake shook his head. “Tempting, but no. We might need her big brain and intellect down the line at some point.”

“Better be the only ‘big things’ of hers you need.” Kat grumbled under her breath as he let go and pushed away.

“What?” O’Connor moved through the water from beneath the dock.

“I said we need to find out what’s going on,” she said quickly, re-hooking her bra.

Using the opposite pylon for leverage, O’Connor pushed himself higher in the water and took hold of the plank at the docks end. He levered himself over, lay prone on the weathered boards, and reached back down to pull Kat up as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes. The pair swiftly donned their respective shirts and retrieved their weaponry (still thankfully dry upon the blanket) while listening to their friends search a nearby single-masted
tub.

“Nothing in the aft cabin.” Elle called.

“The bathroom and kitchen space are clear too.” Jake smiled wryly at Leo’s warbling statement. Young Salizar—once a student of the culinary arts—was turning into quite the soldier under his blonde Sergeant’s tutelage. “Should we move on to the next boat?”

Rae’s voice dripped sarcasm when she replied. “Check the master cabin. I’m sure if they were in there we’d be able to hear Cho shrieking, but check it anyway.”

The
Stop Me Before I Kill Again
look on Kat’s face prompted Jake to call out to their friends, before any further statements assured Rae’s swift and painful demise. “Hey guys! We’re up here!”

The trio hurriedly climbed deck-side and filed down the boarding ramp onto the dock.

“What the hell were you guys doing?” Elle looked at their soaked pants and Kat’s haphazard, still-wet hair.

“Spelunking.” Cho was glaring daggers at Rae.

The ample-chested woman rolled her eyes—foolishly Jake believed—at the ninja-girl’s irked expression. “Whatever. We need both of you back at the east barricade. Right now!”

They began trotting back along the dock and Jake called up to Rae as he and Cho followed in their wake. “What’s going on? Maggot-heads?”

“No, but you’re not going to believe it!” Leo panted from beside him. “It’s survivors! Other survivors found us!”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Foster didn’t look pleased.

Jake noted that as he climbed the barricade. The aged fixer wore a decidedly unhappy frown, and he still held his Long-Arm rifle tight to his shoulder ready to fire. Looking out over the edge, the writer saw a trio of odd-looking army green vehicles waiting fifty yards from the wall with their engines off.

“What the heck are those?” Kat was right behind O’Connor as he reached the top of the impromptu wall. “They look like the bastard children of a monster truck and a Volkswagen...”

Rae shook her head. “While ridiculous, that statement isn’t far off the mark. Those are Unimogs; 416’s, unless I miss my guess. They’re Mercedes-made all-terrain transports that rival our American Humvee.”

“Rival hell,” A chuckle rumbled from George’s chest. “A Mog is what a Hummer wants ta’ be when it grows up. 5.6 liter engine that ya’ can get 125 horsepower out of—if ya’ upgrade the fuel injectors—high wheelbase, all ridin’ a standard bulletproof drive-train. Plus it’ll take all
kinds
a’ hydraulic implements. You could use ‘em as backhoes, front-loaders, even snowplows like these three.”

As Foster pointed out in his own unique way, the ‘Mogs’ outside Langley’s barrier had been heavily modified. Plate steel had been used to reinforce their primary cabs, leaving only a six-inch horizontal strip across the front and side windows for the driver to see through. By no means enough room for even the most determined zombie to enter. The metal rear beds were entirely enclosed as well, but that looked to be something done via the manufacturer and not an after-market addition. All three had snowplow blades over their front grills, which displayed varying amounts of use and—for lack of a better word—zombie schmutz.

“Really? That’s pretty impressive.” Jake said. “What about
fuel?”

Rae was giving George a dirty look for daring to insult her Humvee. “Normally they take diesel, but can run using regular gasoline. You could even use motor or vegetable oil as a fuel source in a pinch, but I’m not sure what effects doing that would cause long term, if any. The downside of the vehicle is that it’s noisy as
hell.
Both inside the cab and out. Those things are like driving around ringing a dinner bell for the maggot-heads.”

“Like your baby’s quiet?” George grinned.

“At least she’s not bright, fucking
pink!”

The day wasn’t even half over yet and Jake was already getting a migraine. “Alright! Shut it! God.
Worse
than children, the pair of you. Can someone give me the low-down here?”

With the exception of the four assigned to Langley’s western barrier, the entire population—nearly seventy people, not counting the crew of the Mimi—began filtering past Pistol Pat’s to see what all the commotion was.

Mooney was at Foster’s shoulder. “We heard their approach a ways off. Came around the curve out there like they were on a Sunday drive. Thought for a minute they might try to crash the gate, but they’ve just been sitting out there.”

Jake pulled the mini binoculars from his tac-vest and scanned the convoy. To his surprise, he saw the passenger in the lead vehicle had a pair of spotting glasses held up before his eyes too. The man lowered the optics and waved, raised a pistol into view, laid it on the dashboard, then opened the passenger door.

“Nobody start nothin’,” Foster called to the others along the wall. “At least, not unless they turn out to be hostile.”

The man began walking towards the barricade. As he approached, O’Connor saw he wore flame-retardant ACU’s (Army Combat Uniform) in the old “MultiCam” pattern—used during Operation Enduring Freedom—under his combat armor and fully loaded tactical vest. He carried no rifle, no handgun, and raised his hands as he spun to show no hidden weaponry before striding forward. That was a good thing. While Jake had no worries about any of
their
party taking a pot-shot at the new arrivals, he wasn’t so sure about the good people of Langley. Eleven members of Mooney’s security force were on the wall with them, and it would be a Very Bad Thing if one of them happened to shoot potential allies.

Not wanting to immediately see if the confident soldier had a sniper placed down the road somewhere by calling out to him, Jake continued looking over the small convoy as the fellow approached the anti-zombie barrier. Once within thirty feet of the truck-and-plate steel wall, their visitor came to a halt and looked up along its peak.

“Hello,” he called up, “May I speak to the person in charge?”

Foster and Jake shared a look, then they both turned to Mooney. The owner of Sunset gave a sigh and raised his arm. “That would be me.”

The soldier nodded and gave an easy smile. “Good to meet you, sir. My name is Lieutenant Randal Kirk. The men in the vehicles with me are Bravo Platoon. Would you folks be interested in a rescue?”

* * *

In short order, Mooney had one of his people move the dump truck composing Langley’s eastern-most gate to allow Lieutenant Kirk and his men entry. The three Mogs rumbled inside the barricade and lurched to a halt in Pistol Pat’s tiny parking lot to the cheers of Mooney’s people. Many even embraced the soldiers as they offloaded from the rear of the armored Mogs, teary-eyed at the thought of their long exile coming to an end. Most hadn’t ventured from the town proper in months, fearful of the awful dead things roaming the now vacant landscape beyond, and cabin fever had been rearing its ugly mug before Jake, Kat, and their friends had shown up weeks prior.

O’Connor and Foster moved determinedly through those gathered with Mooney, intent on speaking with the good lieutenant as news spread through-out the fortified town. Even other members of the Mimi’s crew began to show up. Elle and Leo came running from their Post Office refuge, followed closely by Gwen and the hulking Sampson, clearly wanting to see the newcomers first hand.

That was when the surviving half of the Barbie Duo went all to pieces.

While jogging around the far Mog towards Jake and the others, Gwen passed a tall Corporal just leaping from the bed and skidded to a halt. Her jaw dropped and the pretty blonde’s eyes went wide in shock.

“Mark?”

The man turned in response to her voice, evidently calling him by name, and did a double-take. “Oh my God... Gwen! You’re alive!”

If it hadn’t been for the combat sling supporting his carbine, the battle-scarred M4 would’ve hit the ground as the corporal rushed forward to meet her. A whoop of joy burst from his throat as he lifted Gwen bodily from her feet and spun her around, easily supporting her weight with his arms locked below her hips. Jake noted the brilliant smile on her laughing face as the soldier did so and, though curious, kept pace with George and Mooney. There was sure to be a story there, but it could wait until after they spoke with Kirk.

Mooney waved to the lieutenant and moved slightly away from the cheering, weeping crowd so they could speak normally.

“You’ve done well here, sir,” Kirk marveled, watching the townspeople still all but smothering his men with hugs and even a few kisses here and there. “I won’t ask if you folks have had a rough time of it. Everyone still alive has. These people look damn good for being on their own, sans supplies or defenses save what you could muster, for months though.”

“It’s been a challenge, I’ll tell you that for nothing.” Mooney waved the complement off and pointed to Foster, then Jake. “This is George Foster, ex-navy, and Jake O’Connor, the head of our supply team. They’ve been godsends over the last weeks.”

Kirk nodded and shook hands with them both. “Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of questions, so why don’t we take a walk? I’ll leave my men here, that way you won’t think I’m trying to pull a fast one, and I’ll give you a full information dump. Our commander will be very eager to meet you, so I’m sure you’ll want some specifics. Our numbers, our intentions, those kinds of things.”

“You might say that.” George replied amicably in flawless, polite English, causing Jake some surprise. He didn’t know the Chief new how to speak any languages except Rude, Crude, and Utterly-Fucking-Offensive. All in a “Neu Joysey” accent, of course. “It’s been a while since we saw anything but Maggot-heads outside the walls.”

“You mean the creatures?” When George nodded Kirk gave a chuckle. “Well, that’s a new one. Creative. Most survivors we’ve come across have taken to calling them ‘eaters,’ or ‘rotters,’ or ‘biters,’ or even just plain ‘zombies’. Maggot-heads, huh? I like it.”

“One of the women came up with it,” Mooney explained, turning towards the far side of Langley where the Sunset Bar and Grill sat. “Want a drink?”

Kirk grinned. “I’d kill for a Coors Light right now. We’ve been on the go for nearly six days this time to get here and, while Mogs are great all-terrain vehicles? They’re decidedly lacking in the air-conditioning department.”

Mooney shook his head. “That’s the truth. I think climate control is a thing of the past. Let’s get away from the crowd and we’ll talk. I’ll send a few of my people back from Sunset with some drinks and stuff for your guys.”

“I’d appreciate that.” Kirk told him. “MREs will keep you alive, but fine dining they’re not.”

“That’s the gods’ own truth.” Jake mumbled, earning himself a dark look from George.

“Well, we can do something about that.” Mooney went on. “Hope they like mushrooms and canned chicken. We found a pallet full of whole, boned chickens this week in an Aldi’s stockroom and I started them cooking last night. They should be done in about an hour or three. You and your men are more than welcome to join us for eats.”

Foster tapped Jake’s arm and nodded slightly, hanging back as Mooney and Kirk continued up Beach Drive. Once there was a small distance between them and the preoccupied men, George gave him the “worried” look.

“Thoughts kid?”

Jake glanced towards the Sunset as Kirk and Mooney entered. “Well, they don’t seem to be hostile. I’m not sure if that’s due to having so few men compared to Mooney’s numbers, or if they’re the real deal. If these guys were anything like Pool and his little band of Purifiers butt-buddies, I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have come calling politely.”

“Maybe. But my danger-klaxon is going off. I think feeling the lieutenant out would be a good idea.” Foster pulled a stogie out of his breast pocket and lit up.

“Your danger-klaxon?”

George nodded. “Yup. Sits in the rear of my back-brain, just below the beer sensor and right of the pussy detector.”

“Okay, let’s see what Kirk has to say.” Jake snorted at the image of Foster wearing a ungainly helmet full of cobbled together gadgetry, like Doc Brown in
Back to the Future.
“If they’re not on the up-and-up, we’re only a few days away from having the buses finished, right?”

Foster puffed his Cuban. “Yup. Seventy-two hours, max. There’s not much left ta’ do since we don’t have them freezer doors Rae wanted. Just finalize the additions on the front grills an’ attach the secondary generator ta’ the top of Bus Two. I’ll tell ya’ boy, fer’ bein’ such a pain it the ass I gotta admit: that woman knows her way around an arc welder. Great rack on her too.”

Since it was just the two of them there, and none of the extremely dangerous members that composed the female portion of their little group were present, Jake had to agree. “I’ve noticed. Remember her in those Daisy Dukes when we reached her cache? I was pretty sure Allan’s eyes were going to bug out in two different directions. He didn’t know where to look first.”

“Got a hell of a mouth on her though. Piss her off and she’ll cuss ya’ out like a squid.” George clumped up the stairs to the Sunset’s front door.

Jake snorted. “I’d have thought you’d be alright with that.”

“Ah, I don’t mind the smart-lip. Tells me she’s got more between her ears than fluff, unlike that Nichole broad
you
were pokin’ for a bit there.” Foster pushed into the lobby, leaving O’Connor to follow in his trail of fragrant tobacco smoke. “What were you thinkin’ with that one anyway?”

“That it had been a year between meeting her and my last date. And she was hot. Crazy as a sack of rabid ferrets, as it turned out, and scary besides, but hot.” Jake admitted. “Not my finest moment, by any means. And fuck you very much for bringing that up.”

Mooney and Kirk were sitting at one of the many tables in the dining room when Jake followed the grinning old fixer into the room. The lieutenant was telling Charles about the potential help coming their way and, in Jake’s opinion, it would be substantial.

“We’ve managed to organize a workable battalion-sized force, just over eight hundred, all told. Granted that’s a mixture of all four branches of the armed forces, but we have no air arm. So far, we haven’t come across anyone qualified to pilot so much as a hang-glider, let alone an Apache. Or even a Blackhawk. That makes it damn hard to get any real-time Intel about what’s going on in the surrounding area.”

Mooney’s face displayed surprise. “Holy shit. We didn’t think there were that many living people
left.
At least, nowhere nearby. There’s—”

“What brought you here?” Foster cut in, intentionally not noticing he cut the Sunset owner off, mid-sentence.

Lieutenant Kirk didn’t seem to notice. “We’ve been based out of Fort Leonard Wood for some time now. The surrounding area is fairly remote and the location has been defensible—even though it’s only about one hundred miles from Saint Louis proper—after we cleared Lebanon. At least until recently. Hordes out of Saint Louis have been coming west more and more often in the last month.”

“What size hordes are we talkin’ about?” George asked.

Kirk sipped at the cup of coffee one of Mooney’s people brought him. “Once we put the things down we managed to take a count. There were over four thousand of them. That was the largest group we’ve managed to quash yet, and it was a near thing, let me tell you. It took every soldier, tech, and mess-cook we had to hold out. In no small part due to lack of proper training. Don’t misunderstand, our soldiers are battle-hardened at this point, but drilling ‘Aim for your opponent’s
head
as opposed to the center mass’ has been difficult and—as we all know—destroying the brain is the only way to stop the creatures. It’s made for some tight moments. They nearly breached our fences during the last attack.”