’Til the World Ends (8 page)

“What about you?” Ben asked. The stranger gave one final faint smile.

“I will be up all night,” he said simply, and left the room.

* * *

Ben put the dishes in the sink, despite the futility of it all, and in the flickering candlelight, we found the stairs leading to a bedroom on the lowest floor. I caught sight of the stranger as we left, sitting in a living-room chair facing the door, his fingers steepled in thought. Strangely, the notion that he was on guard duty made me feel that much safer.

The walls downstairs were made of concrete, with no windows and a single queen-size bed in the corner. It was dry and cool, the cement floor covered with several thick shag rugs, muffling our footsteps. It felt more secure than any place we’d been so far. I set my candle on a nightstand by the bed and clicked on the flashlight to see better, shining it around the room. Ben shut the door, locked it and then pushed the dresser up against it, the scraping sound making me grit my teeth.

“There,” he muttered, once the heavy piece of furniture was butted firmly against the wood. “Only one way in, and if anything tries to get through that, at least we’ll hear them coming.”

He turned just as I did, shining the beam right into his face, and he flinched away. “Sorry!” I whispered, lowering the beam. “I’m not doing that on purpose, I swear—”

I stopped at the look on his face. He crossed the room in two long strides, took the flashlight from my hands and pulled me to him, pressing his lips to mine.

His lips were warm, soft and hard at the same time, and something inside me, some dam or wall or barrier, shattered. I thought I’d be shocked, at least surprised, but my arms wrapped around his neck, and I rose on tiptoes to kiss him back. Ben groaned, sounding almost like a growl, and crushed me to him, nearly lifting me off my feet. I met him with equal passion, fisting my hands in his thick hair, pressing my body to his. My brain jangled a warning, but it was rapidly shutting down; I had to say something before it powered off completely and my body took over.

“Ben,” I breathed, as his mouth dropped to my neck, searing the flesh along my jaw. “Wait, we shouldn’t...there’s still that guy upstairs. And the rabids. If they hear us...”

“I can be quiet,” Ben whispered against my skin. His hands were roaming down my ribs to my thighs, and mine had somehow slipped beneath his shirt to skim his muscular back. “But it’s your call,” he panted. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Yes, stop!
my logical doctor’s brain was screaming.
This is crazy! You don’t know this man, the house is surrounded by zombies and there is a scary, I-might-be-a-serial-killer stranger in the front room. This is not the time for...this!

I ignored the voice. God, I
did
want this. I wanted
him
. If only to feel something again, to convince myself that I was alive. The past few days—hell, the past few
months
—had been a nightmare, and I’d felt like a zombie myself, shambling from place to place, numb. Barely alive. Ben had reawakened something inside me, and I didn’t want to let it go. Dammit, I’d nearly been killed tonight. One night of letting go wasn’t too much to ask.

“No,” I rasped, clutching at him. “Don’t stop. We just...have to be quiet.”

Kissing me fiercely, Ben drew back just enough to push my coat off my shoulders and tug my blouse over my head. I did the same, freeing his shirt from the waistband of his jeans and pulling it from his broad shoulders. He bent over to help, shrugging free, and his tanned, muscular chest and stomach were suddenly bared in the glowing candlelight.

Oh, my.
I scarcely had time for a complete thought before he was on me again, kissing, nipping, devouring. His strong arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me off my feet, moving me back to the bed. I braced myself to be dropped, but he laid me on the quilt very gently and straddled my head with his elbows.

I looked up at him, at his face inches from mine, at the hazel eyes gone dark with passion and want. But he was hesitant now; a little of that worry had trickled back, filtering through the desire. He licked his lip and drew back, his expression shifting to guilty concern.

“Are you—” his voice was a little ragged “—okay with this? I don’t want you to—”

Frowning, I slid my hands into his hair and pulled his lips down to mine. He sucked in a breath, and a low groan escaped him. “You’re not being very quiet,” I whispered against his mouth, and he moaned again. “Less talking, more kissing, Ben. Now.”

“Yes...ma’am.”

With deft fingers, Ben undid my bra and shifted it off, tossing it over the bed. His mouth left mine and trailed hot kisses down my neck, my collarbone, between my breasts. I arched my head back, biting my lip to keep from gasping, knowing especially now, we had to be silent. His lips closed over a nipple, teasing it with his tongue, and I clutched at the quilt beneath me, whispering his name. I felt alive, my body glowing, afire with every stroke of Ben’s artful fingers, every brush of his lips across my skin. I trailed my hands up his arms, feeling his hard triceps, and lightly raked his back with my nails.

He jerked up, wincing, as my fingers scraped across the claw marks on his shoulder. I instantly yanked them back.

“Shit! Sorry!”

“It’s all right.” His voice was a ragged whisper in the darkness. “You didn’t hurt me.” His gaze roved over my face and bare chest, heavy with passion, as he lowered himself down. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed into my ear, making me shiver. “If I were allowed to talk, I’d tell you how gorgeous you are. But since I’m not...” His lips closed on my earlobe, and I squeaked, feeling his smile. He seemed different now, more playful and less guarded, perhaps lost to desire, same as I was.

Once more, he raised his head, mouth and hands skimming my stomach, moving slowly downward. I closed my eyes as he reached my navel, right above the hem of my jeans, and raised my hips as he undid the button and eased the fabric down. My panties and shoes hit the floor with my jeans, and I was laid out before him, naked and aching for his touch.

Abruptly, he scooted forward again, taking my lips with his own, thrusting with his tongue. I whimpered and arched into him as Ben caressed my breasts, my stomach, then very slowly moved his fingers down, slipping them between my legs, into my wet folds. I gasped into his mouth as he stroked lightly, circling gently with one finger, and I nearly came apart in his hands.

Oh, yes.
I moaned softly and writhed beneath his stroking fingers.
Yes, more. I want to feel more. Shatter me. Make me feel alive.

Somewhere outside, a rabid screamed, chilling and terrifying, but I was too far gone to even care. Ben was circling my bud; this was sweet, exquisite torture, and I could feel myself tightening, tightening...

“Come for me, Kylie,” Ben crooned in a velvet whisper, and I erupted, throwing my head back and biting my lip as my insides fluttered and convulsed and I melted onto the quilt, shuddering with release.

As I lay there, reeling, Ben rolled off the bed and stood, slipping out of his jeans. The mattress shifted as he clambered back on, a smooth, muscular jungle cat. I felt his length graze my stomach as he moved between my legs, positioning himself over me, and trembled in anticipation.
Protection,
my logical doctor’s brain objected, a faint, weak plea, but I shoved it aside. The world outside was ending. I was not going to worry about the future. All I wanted to feel was the
now.

With one quick, masterful stroke, Ben slid inside me. I stifled a cry and rose to meet him, arching off the bed as his arm snaked under my back, pinning me to his chest. We began a slow, rolling rhythm that quickened and intensified with every gasp, every panting breath and muffled groan. I buried my face in his neck, biting his hot skin to keep from crying out, as every thrust brought me closer to the edge again.

The white-hot pressure building inside released, and I couldn’t contain the shriek that tore free as waves of pleasure radiated out from my core. Ben gasped and followed me over, crushing me to his chest with one arm, the other braced against the mattress as he poured himself into me.

We slumped to the quilt, panting. Ben carefully eased out and settled behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me to his chest. My body was still tingling from the aftershocks, and I could feel his warm skin where it pressed against mine. The crazy whirlwind of emotion and passion faded, and I shivered as, just outside the walls, I heard the rabids, shuffling around. Still out there.

Ben kissed my bare shoulder, blew out the candle, then pulled the quilt over us both. “Don’t think about them,” he whispered as the warmth and darkness closed around us like a cocoon. “They can’t get in, they don’t know we’re here. Try to get some sleep.”

I shouldn’t be feeling this safe, but I believed him. Of course, that could be because I was completely spent, warm and satisfied, and the quilt combined with Ben’s body heat was making me drowsy. I felt protected here. Ben held me tighter and, wrapped in the nest of his arms, I faded into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Eight

The next morning, the dark stranger was gone. He left nothing behind, nothing to indicate he had been there at all, except a short note on the kitchen table.

Apologies for the sudden departure, but I could not stay. There is a vehicle in the garage with enough fuel to get you where you need to go. The rabids cannot be out in the sun and will sleep when it is light out. Travel only by day and seek shelter before night falls.

I will remember your words about the past and making things right. You will likely never see me again, but you’ve helped me more than you know. For that, you have my gratitude.

-K

We took the van, which had the keys in the ignition, probably left by our mysterious friend, and got out of town as quickly as we could. The streets and roads were eerily deserted, though subtle signs of the monsters’ presence lingered: broken windows, doors with claw marks slashed across their surface. The bones and shredded carcass of an animal lying in a dark stain on the side of the road.

Rabids,
the stranger had called them. It fit. I wondered where he was now, where he was going. I hoped, wherever it was, he would find his peace.

We drove all afternoon and through the evening, following the deserted highway as it wound its way through a desolate, empty world. I sneaked glances at Ben, at his rugged profile, and every time my skin flushed and my stomach squirmed. Last night...I didn’t know what to make of it yet, what had come over us. I didn’t know if our lovemaking had been brought on by our hopeless circumstances, a desperate need to connect to another human being when we thought we could die, or if it had been...something more.

Did I want something more...with Ben?

I didn’t really have much to compare it to. I’d been in relationships before, of course, even thought I was in love, once, at the ripe old age of fifteen. But when I’d left for college, boyfriends and relationships had taken a backseat to my future career. I didn’t have time for a serious commitment; my life revolved around my work and school. The couple guys I did go out with soon realized they played second fiddle in my life, and ended things after a few months. I barely gave them a second thought.

But Ben...was different.

We stopped a couple times for gas and other necessities, siphoning fuel from abandoned cars and raiding gas stations and minimarts for food. As the afternoon wore on, Ben grew increasingly nervous and quiet, brooding over the steering wheel with his gaze far away. I asked him, once, if he was afraid we wouldn’t make it before nightfall, but he shook his head and said we would get there before the sun went down. When I pressed him further, asking if anything was wrong, I received a mostly empty smile and the assurance that he was fine, that it wasn’t anything I should worry about.

Of course, that just made me worry more.

We stopped one last time at a gas station atop an off-ramp, and Ben siphoned gas from an old tanker while I answered a call of nature inside, despite the fact that the toilet was beyond disgusting. We hadn’t spoken for nearly an hour, and I’d given up trying to draw him out.

When I returned, Ben was screwing the cap back onto the tank, so I moved past him to the door, ready to get on the road. He called my name as I went by, but I ignored him, opening the door to slide in.

He caught me by the wrist and drew me to him, wrapping his arms around my waist. I stiffened but didn’t have it in me to push him off.

“Hey.” His voice was quiet, apologetic. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been distracted. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” His hand came up, brushing my hair back. “It’s not you, I promise.”

I slumped a bit in relief. “What’s going on, Ben?”

“It’s just...” He sighed. “My family. I haven’t seen them in so long, I don’t know what they’re going to say when I come back. If they’re alive at all.” His face darkened, and he gazed out over the trees. “God, I hope it hasn’t spread that far. I would rather they be...dead...than turned into those things.” Shivering, he held me tighter. “I don’t think I could handle seeing them like that.”

My heart ached for him, and I reached up to stroke his cheek, bringing his attention back to me. His eyes softened, and he leaned down, kissing me gently. It was not like last night, hard and desperate and needing to feel something, anything, to remind ourselves that we were still alive. This was tender and thoughtful, a promise without words and a hint of something more, something that could be forever.

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” I whispered when I could breathe again.

The road wound on, and the sun continued to sink toward the horizon, making me check its position every few minutes. It felt strange, watching the once-cheerful sun slip away like sands through an hourglass, feeling tiny flutters of panic the lower it dropped and the longer the shadows became. I was contemplating telling Ben to stop for the night, to not risk pushing further into the evening, when he suddenly turned off the main highway and onto a smaller road. We drove through a small town, chillingly empty, and continued down several winding, one-lane roads. At last, as the sun became a brilliant orange ball on the horizon, he turned off the pavement onto a bumpy dirt path that snaked between a field and a line of trees, and the van lurched to a halt.

Ben stared down the road, his face lit by the setting sun. I glanced past him out the side window and saw a battered mailbox nailed to a fence post, soggy letters hanging out the front and rotting to mush in the grass below. The side of the mailbox read
Archer
in faded white paint.

Ben drew in a deep breath, and I reached over to lay a hand on his leg. He looked at me, managed a sickly smile, and started the van again.

We bounced down that tiny path for quite some time, until we rounded a bend, and a monstrous old farmhouse rose from the sea of grass. Perched atop a hill, it looked ancient and foreboding and desolate, a faded gray-white structure against a backdrop of clouds, glaring down at the tractor supplies and rusty cars scattered around its base. A collection of whimsical statues in the front yard did nothing for its somber appearance.

“Looks deserted,” Ben whispered in a voice that was half terrified, half relieved. We inched up the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, until we reached the first of the rusty shells of cars left to disintegrate in the grass. Ben parked the van and opened the door, gazing up at the farmhouse. I followed his example.

“Hello?” Ben called, slamming the door. The sounds echoed thinly over the silent fields. “Anyone here? Hello?”

A metallic click made my hair stand on end.

A man slid out from behind a car, and another followed on the other side of the driveway, blocking our path. Both held rifles pointed in our direction. Our weapon still lay on the backseat of the van.

Ben raised his hands as the men glared at him, their faces hard. One was lanky and rawboned, the other grizzled and huge, but they both looked dangerous and unfriendly. “Don’t know who you are,” the big one growled through a thick brown beard, shoving the gun barrel at Ben, “but you can get in your car and drive back the way you came. We got nothin’ here for the likes of you.”

My heart was pounding, but Ben stared at the man with a faint, puzzled frown on his face, as if trying to remember something. The man scowled back.

“Hey, you hear what I said, boy? If you and the little lady know what’s good for you, you’ll hightail it outta here, before I put a lead slug in your stupid—”

“Uncle Jack,” Ben breathed. The man stopped, squinting at him down the gun barrel, then his thick eyebrows arched into his hair.

“Damn. Benjamin Archer, is that you?” He snorted and lowered the rifle, and I nearly collapsed in relief. “Last I saw of you, boy, you were this sulky teenager always trying to get out of heavy work.” He shook his head and gave Ben a piercing look. “We heard you ran off to the city an’ broke your mama’s heart, swearin’ you’d never come back.”

Ben shifted uncomfortably, not meeting my gaze. “Yeah, well, things change. Are Mom and Dad around?”

Before he could answer, the screen door banged open, and a man stepped onto the porch. I swallowed, glancing between the two of them. He looked like a grizzled version of Ben, with gray streaked through his brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Dark eyes raked over us both, hard and cold, lingering on Ben. He didn’t smile.

Ben stepped forward, approaching the front door. “Dad...”

“Get out.”

The command was unyielding. My stomach plummeted. Ben came to a halt a few feet from the steps, gazing up at the older man, his voice pleading but calm. “We have nowhere else to go.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you went traipsing off to the city and left the rest of us to pick up your slack.” His cold eyes flicked to me, and one corner of his lip curled. “Now you come dragging yourself back, with a pregnant girlfriend most likely, and expect us to welcome you home like nothing happened? After what you said to me, and your mother?”

I bristled, stepping forward, as well, but Ben gave me a pleading look, warning me not to get involved. “You want me to say it?” he asked, turning back to his father. His hands rose away from his sides in a hopeless gesture. “I’m sorry. You were right, and I was an ass. I should have never left.”

“Four years too late, Benjamin.” Mr. Archer’s expression didn’t change. Neither did his uncompromising tone. “You made it very clear that you are no longer a part of this family. As far as I’m concerned, you can go back to whatever city hole you crawled out of. You have no place here anymore.”

I couldn’t see Ben’s expression, but the way his posture slumped hinted at the devastation on his face, and my blood boiled. Stepping around the van, I marched up the driveway, coming to stand next to Ben. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I demanded, and all four men stared at me in shock. I ignored them and faced Ben’s father, seething, as he turned that cold glare on me. “Don’t you know what’s happening out there? People are dying! Cities are empty, and you’re going to stand there and tell your son that he can’t come home? Because of some stupid argument you had four years ago?”

“Who the hell is this?” Mr. Archer asked, not speaking to me, but to Ben. “Some tramp you picked up off a street corner?”

I took a step forward, raising my chin. “If by ‘tramp’ you mean ‘doctor,’ then yes, I am,” I answered before Ben could speak. “Ben came to my clinic when his friend got sick, so let me tell you what I’ve seen before he showed up. I’ve seen people puking blood in the streets, right before they drown in it, and their bodies lying there because no one is alive to take them away. I’ve seen infected mothers smother their own infants with a pillow so they won’t have to suffer a long, painful death. I’ve seen piles of bodies rotting in open pits, because there are too many to bury and everyone is too busy dying to dig more graves.
That
is what is happening out there now, and
that
is the world you’re going to send Ben into. So if you want to be a heartless, stubborn bastard over something that happened
four years
ago, that’s your decision. But I will tell you this right now—you’re handing out a death sentence. To your son. Send him away, and you kill him.”

I didn’t mention the rabids, not wanting to look like a raving lunatic in front of these people we needed to convince. I suddenly understood Ben’s reluctance to talk about them at the clinic; it did sound like something from a horror movie. Ben’s father still wore a stone-faced expression, no crack in his flinty mask, but the other men looked rather pale and concerned, yet still unwilling to step in for us. I felt Ben’s gaze on me but didn’t dare turn to face him.

The tension mounted. Then the screen door banged, startling us all, and a woman rushed onto the porch. Tanned, bony, her steel-blond hair coming loose of its bun, she took one look at Ben and flung herself down the steps with a cry.

“Ben!” I stepped back as she embraced him fiercely, almost wildly, and he hugged her back. “Benjamin! Oh, you’re home! Thank God, I knew you’d come home! I prayed for you every night. Samson, look!” She turned to beam tearfully at the man on the porch. “Ben’s home! He’s come home.”

Tentative hope blossomed through me. Ben’s father pursed his lips as if he’d swallowed something foul, turned and vanished inside, slamming the door behind him. Ben winced, but the woman, his mother I presumed, didn’t seem to care. I felt a tiny twinge of longing, watching them, and swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. I would never see my parents again.

“Mom.” Ben freed himself from her embrace and turned to me, holding out a hand. “This is Kylie. She helped me get here.” His eyes met mine, solemn and grave. “I wouldn’t have made it this far if it wasn’t for her.”

“Bless you, dear.” I was suddenly enveloped in the thin, steely arms of Ben’s mother. She pulled back, holding me at arm’s length, sharp blue eyes appraising. “Thank you for bringing him home.”

I shot Ben a desperate look, and he cleared his throat. “Mom,” he began as she turned back, releasing me from her wiry grip. “What’s happening? Is everyone all right?” He paled, looking back toward the house. “Rachel. Is she...?”

“Your sister is fine,” Mrs. Archer said firmly, and Ben slumped in relief. I gave a little start, not having known he had a sister. “And if you’re talking about that horrid sickness, we heard what’s been on the news, before all the stations went down. That’s why your uncle Jack is here.” She nodded to the two men, who were walking back to their posts. “He lost everyone,” she whispered, her voice sympathetic. “Your aunt Susan, his three boys, all the farmhands. Except Shane, there. It was so horrible.” She shook her head, and tears filled her eyes. “I just thank God that it hasn’t spread out here, yet. I guess because we’re so isolated.”

Ben relaxed, as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Where is Rachel?” he asked, a smile creeping onto his face. “Did she move into my old room, like she always wanted?” He looked toward the house again, excitement and longing peeking through the worry. He looked very big-brother-ish then, and I smiled.