The Dead Saga (Book 3): Odium III (27 page)

A soft tap on the door made me jump, and I looked away from my deathly morbid reflection and opened the door. Mikey was standing there looking confused. His dark eyes found mine and he crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“Does Joan…sing in her sleep?” he asked.

I grinned. “More than likely. What song is it?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure, I can’t make it out.” He looked down at my new clothes, eyeing my choice of footwear with a tilt of his head and a smirk. “Sexy.”

“Not trying to be,” I said haughtily, shouldering past him, already feeling like enough of a dork in my getup without him confirming it any more for me.

I went to the joining door and pressed my ear against it, grinning even more. Mikey joined me, pressing his ear to the door also, and we stared into each other’s faces as we listened to Joan singing quietly in her sleep.

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer,” I said quietly, getting lost in Mikey’s intense gaze.

“Make it ninety-eight. I haven’t had a beer in far too long.” He grinned back.

His tongue ran along his lower lip, and I wasn’t sure if it was a subconscious move or if he had done it on purpose, but the sight of that one small movement had my stomach tensing and I swallowed loudly. I pulled away from the door.

“You need to get some rest,” I said quietly, my words holding no conviction.

“I do,” he replied, but made no attempt to go lie down.

“I’ll stay by the window,” I said, making the decision for both of us.

I slipped past him and stood by the window, pulling the curtain back a crack, and stared out into the rain. It was still quiet outside, barring the deluge of rain, of course, which continued to beat down on the world in heavy sheets. No shadows moved promising us the threat of a deader attack. The bodies of the dead that littered the ground remained still and silent. They were finally dead and at peace, and I was insanely grateful for that, though I was worried about the little boy that had run off, wondering what his story was and if he was somewhere safe and dry for the night. But for the time being we had no choice but to wait out the storm.

“Nina,” Mikey’s gravelly voice rasped from behind me.

I turned to look.

“I’m not tired,” he continued, watching me unfalteringly.

There was so much longing and heat in that look that I found myself taking a steadying breath. I knew exactly what he meant. The tension was coiled around us like vines, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his. That was a lie; I could have, if I’d wanted to. But I didn’t want to. I wanted this—him. I liked the way he made me feel—the way he seemed to recognize the stranger I was becoming to myself—and I needed it. I needed to know who I was now, to be reminded of this very thing by his confident touch and sinful stare. I gave him the smallest of smiles and he moved forward, his hands encircling my waist and tugging me harshly against his body. He stared down at me with a craving that seemed to be buried deep down inside of him.

I tipped my chin up, raising my mouth to meet his, and he leaned down, pressing his lips against mine. I opened up to him, taking each forceful, experienced kiss, and giving my own back full of even more heated desire. Our tongues moved together and we took small steps backwards, our moves never leaving each other’s until the back of his knees bumped the bed and he spun me around abruptly, laying me flat upon the old mattress, and then lowered his body over mine.

Trapped under him, his arms a protective cage on either side of my head, I felt safe and away from the cruel, hard world that we lived in. The room was darkening, the storm building to its full crescendo as lightning streaked across the sky and the room flashed brilliantly before draping us back into darkness again. It was perfect—a combination of mystery and shyness swallowing me whole. His mouth found my neck, placing soft kisses along my collarbone and then back up to my mouth, sending tingles across my body. I was breathless and we hadn’t even done anything yet. His hands moved under my clothes, finding a soft breast and hard nipple, my skin still chilled to the bone but heating up with every second that passed.

My own hands moved over his neck and then down to his back, feeling muscles and strength where I was only skin and bone, and I couldn’t help the small amount of jealousy that raised inside of me. I was wasting away yet he seemed to be thriving. His hands found my belt buckle, and moments later the sound of my zipper interrupted our heavy breathing. My own hands worked the three buttons of his fly, and once they were undone, he stood and deftly slid the pants down his legs, and then removed mine. A chill ran through me from the cold, but then he was back on top of me, arms on either side of me, wrapping me in the heat from his body in moments, his kisses hungrier and more urgent than before.

Mikey stopped kissing and looked down at me with a smile, his eyes shining in the moonlight. Even with his now thick beard I could see his pronounced dimple, and I smiled back at him. I nodded and he gripped my thighs, parting my legs more as he gripped my hips with experienced hands and pushed himself inside me. I gasped loudly before he swallowed both my gasp and his own groan with a forceful kiss. Mikey closed his eyes as he rocked into me, and I moved my hips to meet his every demanding thrust.

Our skin was slick with a light sheen of sweat despite the cold. My hands slid from his shoulders, his beard rough against my face and neck as he ruthlessly kissed me. His tongue flicking against mine in familiarity, as if we had been doing this for months and he recognized every part of my mouth and body. I lost myself in time, thinking only of the moment, because really, when did we ever get to be lost in a moment anymore? When was it okay to think only of the moment, the singular, unfaltering process of desiring pleasure from something or someone? I needed this, I was famished for it—for him and the attention that he showed my body and my soul.

He rocked into me over and over, our bodies slapping together as I fought to stay in control and not let my orgasm escape. I wasn’t ready for it to end yet, but it did, and I turned my head to the side, pressing my mouth to his forearm as my knees squeezed his waist and my body trembled. His movement slowed to something tenderer and he leaned down and nudged my cheek with his nose, nuzzling me until I turned to face him again. I looked up at him through lust-filled eyes, and his mouth turned up in a smile right before his muscles tensed and he thrust into me over and over, pulling out of me as he found his own ending.

Mikey moved off me, lying down at my side before pulling the blanket over the top of us. I moved into him, resting my head against his chest, and listened to the sound of his heart beating frantically in his chest, eventually slowing to a more steady rhythm. Neither of us moved for a long time, both of us trapped in the moment, and both of us willing participants in the capture.

There weren’t enough times like that, where you could appreciate your life and the fact that you were still breathing. Every day was a battle to survive, a new obstacle and new threat that promised its vengeance upon you. So I clung to this moment—clung to Mikey—letting the peacefulness absorb into my flesh and soak into my memory. Because who really knew when we would have this time again?

Life was short and precious, and while I didn’t know when my end would come, I knew for certain that I wouldn’t make it to the end. I wanted the tough, bitchy me to come back, but she was gone. She had left me when I had first remembered that not everyone left in the world was bad. She had begun to ebb away when I had met Emily. Emily, who had restored my faith in other humans and shown me that there was still innocence out there, that there was still hope to be had. Mikey had put the final nail in my coffin with his unapologetic feelings for me. He had sealed my fate with his smile and his warm eyes, and his strength that rolled off him in heavy waves, forcing me to look inside myself and begin to heal.

Soft snores left his mouth, and I leaned up on one arm to look down into his face. He was relaxed, his mouth open a little as the snore left his throat. I slid out from under the covers and dressed, feeling ridiculously embarrassed when I realized that I’d worn the T-shirts wrapped around my feet the entire time.

I took my seat by the window and stared out into the night, wondering what the time was, what month it was, and what day it was, but knowing that I probably wouldn’t ever find out. Time used to rule my life, and in some ways, even after all this time, I was still getting used to the fact that it didn’t anymore. It had been a long time since the initial outbreak, but it was only now that I felt I was back in the fight. Being behind the walls had been scary, but nothing like what it was like outside of them. Yet I thrived on it, enjoying each sunrise for what it was…the real possibility that each day could be my last.

Morning came, light streaming in through the small gap I’d allowed in the curtains. I had been staring through it for hours, but it was as quiet outside as it was inside. I had left them all to sleep, my mind still too active to drift off when it had been Mikey’s time to take over watch, and by the time it was Nova’s turn I still hadn’t been ready to sleep. As if I’d been guzzling on cans of Red Bull all night, I felt pent up with energy and ready to face today.

The joining door suddenly swung open and Nova stood in the doorway looking dazed and bewildered, and, if I’m honest, slightly hilarious. Harsh red pillow lines were etched down one side of her face, and her hair jutted out at bizarre angles. She stared at me bleary-eyed as she tried to vocalize her thoughts. She moved over to the chair facing me, took one long look at Mikey lying on his side still snoring, a blanket wrapped over his large frame, and hefted her feet onto the table. She pulled her cigarettes out of her pocket and lit one, taking a deep lungful before finally remembering how to speak.

“You didn’t wake me,” she observed, her throat sounding dry.

“I tried to, but you wouldn’t wake,” I said.

She stared at me, her eyes wide in disbelief. “You lie!” But I could tell she wasn’t so sure about that. “I have never not woken up for a shift.”

I put her out of her misery with a small smile. “I do—lie, that is. I wasn’t sleepy, so I left you to it.”

“I think I needed that,” she said, pulling a hand through her ratting red locks.

I nodded. “You all did.”

“What about you?” she asked, taking another drag.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I replied, turning my attentions back out the window.

“You shouldn’t tempt fate.”

“You’re right.” I laughed darkly. “I’ll sleep later today.”

It was still raining, but sunshine was gleaming through the clouds, fighting its way for space in the sky. It was also warmer than yesterday, and I was more than happy about that. A small figure flitted at the edge of the tree line, and my body tensed and froze as I stared intensely at it. There was a small waist-high fence surrounding the entire parking lot, and beyond that, trees. I saw the movement again, and even though it was some ways off, I gripped my machete tightly.

Nova dropped her feet from the table and pulled the edge of the curtain back before peering out. We both stared in silence, and as a small child’s face came into view, Nova jumped up from her seat. Her feet stomped across the room, startling Mikey awake.

“What the hell?” he mumbled, scratching at his beard and staring around the room accusingly. “What time is it?” He glared over at me. “What day is it?”

“That little brat is out there,” Nova whisper-shouted, standing behind the door and peering out through the peephole.

I watched from the window as the kid made his way across the parking lot, avoiding the dead bodies all around him. His eyes skittered across all the windows, checking for movement, before he ran to the side of the building.

Nova cracked the door open quietly and slipped outside, and I was pulling on my still-damp socks and pushing my feet into my boots as quickly as I could. Mikey stood up, his towel dropping to reveal his nakedness, and for a moment we both just stared at his morning… presentation…both of us a little embarrassed about the surprise entrance. It wasn’t until Joan wolf-whistled in the doorway that Mikey hurried to hide himself and I snorted out a laugh.

“I’ll be right back,” I said, and quickly left, clicking the door quietly shut behind me.

I’m sure Mikey yelled not to go at my retreating back—either that or he was begging me not to leave him alone with Joan—but I was already out of the door and moving along the side of the building in search of Nova and the little boy.

A scuffle back around the front of the building had me running faster, and I rounded the corner, my front hitting Nova’s back with an “oomph.” She had the little boy in her grip again, and while he kicked out, his mouth snapping at her hands, he never made a sound. I wasn’t entirely sure why. Yesterday he had been vocal about our presence, but today it was like he sensed to keep the noise down—though the light drizzle would drown out any small noises he might make anyway.

I moved around the front of Nova, grabbing the kid’s ankles as he tried to kick me like he had yesterday, and I laughed in his face.

“Not this time,” I bit out, keeping ahold of his ankles as he thrashed around. “Will you chill out? We’re not deaders, you’re safe.”

He stopped fighting, his lips pulled back into a snarl, his eyes cold and lifeless. “What’s a deader?”

His voice made him sound younger, and where I had initially thought ten or eleven I now thought maybe eight or nine. He looked cold, and I realized guiltily that he must have spent the night outside. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, and though his face was still covered in dirt, I knew it was much better than it had been last night.

“A zombie,” I stated, watching the fear cross his face.

“The biters,” he stated, his words devoid of emotion.

I nodded. “Yes, the biters. I call them deaders, because they’re…dead, but biters works to.”

“Because they bite,” he whispered, his voice hollow.

I nodded again. “Yeah. Because they bite.”

We fell into silence, and I think even Nova was confused about what to do now that she had him. Obviously she didn’t intend on harming him, never mind killing him. Her grip, however, stayed firm and tight on him. Now we were just three people, standing in the rain, getting wet and cold once again. I hated winter.

“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.

“We have a group of friends that are hidden and safe, we’re going to find them,” I said, trying to keep my story short and to the point. “Are you alone?” I asked, because that was what I was the most curious about.

He hesitated a fraction of a second before nodding once, but he didn’t look the smallest bit sad by that fact. His gaze stayed locked on mine, devoid of any emotion now that the anger and fear were ebbing away.

“How long have you been alone?” Nova asked, almost reading my mind at my next question yet to be voiced.

The boy didn’t answer the question, but instead answered another question I hadn’t yet voiced.

“My name’s Adam.” He said it almost proudly.

I looked over at Nova, who raised an eyebrow. “Hi, Adam. My name’s Nina,” I replied.

“Nina’s a bitch,” Nova snorted out.

I scowled. “Takes a bitch to know a bitch.” I scowled at her and then looked back at Adam. “That’s Nova. She’s also a bitch. But you’re safe with us. We won’t hurt you.”

He blinked once and then again, his small forehead puckering in frustration. “You shouldn’t say the B word,” he said, and I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the sweetness of his words. Adam, however, sounded offended by my laugh. “It’s not funny. That’s a bad word.”

“I’m sorry, you’re right. It is a bad word.”

“My birthday party was no fun. Mommy and Daddy were scared of the bad people knocking at the door. Daddy used the B word lots of times.”

My throat closed up and I struggled to breathe, much less get words out to reply to his sad statement. Luckily Nova filled in for me.

“How old were you at your birthday party?” she asked carefully.

“I don’t know.” He blinked again, his big brown eyes burning into me with sadness.

I looked up at Nova again, who only shrugged at me. “How old are you now, Adam?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said with such innocent earnest that it hurt me like a physical lash to my heart.

“How long have you been on your own?” I asked cautiously, not sure if he was going to lash out angrily again, or perhaps even burst into tears. But he did neither. Instead he answered me in his calm little voice.

“A really long time. Mommy said to wait for her, but I don’t think she’s coming back. Daddy was hurt, she said she was taking him into the woods for a rest and she would be right back.” Adam looked away, his dirty shoes snagging his attention. “But she never came back. I waited and waited for her, but then I got hungry.”

I had heard many sad stories since this all began, but this was the one that I found the most heartbreaking. He was just a kid—a little boy. I put the missing pieces of the story together in my head. His father must have died, and the mother was taking him into the woods so as not to upset Adam. I was guessing that the father—once dead—had turned, and attacked the mother, and neither had ever come back for Adam. How the hell had he survived all this time on his own? How had he kept himself fed and watered, and safe? It was mind-boggling.

I shook my head sadly. “Nova is going to let you go now, but please don’t run. I promise that we won’t hurt you.”

I looked up at Nova and gestured for her to let him go, and she did without question. I could tell from the look on her face that his story had cut her deep, too. Adam was short, and his long, scraggly hair looked almost black—but that could have been due to the fact that it was thick with dirt and grease from years of being unwashed, or that it was soaking wet from the rain. His face was thin and pale but his cheeks still held that cherub look that all kids had. But his eyes were far too grown up for his young face. They told too many dark tales for a boy his age.

“Let’s get back to our room and get you something to eat, Adam.” I spoke as if I knew what the hell I was doing.

I wasn’t a mother, and I had never aspired to be one previously. Certainly in this lifetime I never wanted to be one—not with the way things were. What would be the point? This world was not for children. I could only hope and pray that someone at the mall would take him under their wing and care for him, because I really didn’t want it to be my job. I thought about Jessica, realizing that this little boy might be the perfect solution for her. That is if we could get that demon spawn out of her and keep her alive long enough to be his new mother. It was almost the perfect solution for both him and her, and I knew I had to get him back there to her as soon as I could. I had been worrying about whether Jessica would believe me about Hilary and the zombie baby and be willing to get rid of the thing growing inside her, because she was so desperate to be a mother again—even if it meant to something that wasn’t quite human, or the possibility of it taking her own life. But with Adam there, motherless and alone in the world, she would have a reason to keep on living, she would have a reason to give up on that monster inside her. At least that was what I hoped. I certainly had a better shot at convincing her with Adam by my side.

I reached down to take his hand and he stared at it uncertainly, blinking and then looking back up at me. I thought I heard my heart crack at the fact that he didn’t know what to do, that the simple gesture of holding someone’s hand was now so foreign to him. He was as lost as all of us in this crazy, horrible world, and I prayed that we could find him some peace and love. Because every child deserves that. Every child deserves to be loved and to feel safe.