Chapter 11
Watch Your Step
Cam
Cam tried to ignore the growing unease in his belly, instead making a point of examining their travel packs, which were stuffed with supplies, and the extra bags of food they planned to put in the bed of the pickup truck. “Is that everything?”
“Everything but our last cups of joe.” She’d used travel mugs with lids to allow them to enjoy the hot coffee for as long as possible.
We’ll still be able to heat water out there, Cam reminded himself.
It’s going to be okay.
It’s going to be okay.
In just a minute or two, he would go out to the Ford to load it with supplies, then they would leave this safe haven and go back out into the real world. And when we make it back to Key and Odette and the others, we’ll be home.
Key was so excited to get him back and to have Allie in their group that he could practically see her grinning in anticipation every time they’d talked over the radio.
Having someone else who dreamed true in their group could mean so much for them and her never-ending quest to understand what was happening around them. To them.
Plus, he missed the hell out of every single one of them—and Allie needed to be around other people, wanted to see the new world they were building out there.
She was nervous, but that was to be expected, and she’d even talked to him and Key about it.
They’d planned this trip with maps and dreams over a shortwave radio, and neither had stopped to question whether that was a rational way to conduct personal affairs.
Pre-zombie, it would all be magical thinking.
Laughable. But once zombies ate your world while you were living in it and your adopted mother and your.
.. lover? girlfriend?... were both receiving dreams from goddesses, that sort of skepticism seemed irrational.
So they would return to Cam’s group, and Allie would be welcomed into the fold.
She and Key would be their guides. Gray could introduce Allie to the wonders of medicinal marijuana.
Odette could train her in EMT field medicine.
Odie would tell her embarrassing stories.
Jessie would bond with Allie over bad jokes.
He hoped his angel would be happy with them. With him.
Still, the bunker was as near-perfect a shelter as anyone could get in the apocalypse—he had to give Casanova, the mystery prepper, that much credit. Part of him hated to leave it behind, but sometimes it was more important to be with the people you loved than to be safe.
Cam would miss this time alone with Allie, though, when they could simply relax and be together.
He and Allie meshed so well it was like a dance—it was so easy to be with her, to spend time together, whether they were accomplishing goals or just hanging out, reading or playing games.
She was so smart, so kind, so giving, and he wondered, not for the first time, whether he was really good enough for her. Whether he was enough for her, period.
When you added the goddess stuff to all the sheer goodness, how could he not feel like she was slumming with him somehow?
Then his traitorous brain threw something into the mix he’d resisted thinking for days—Laurel would have hated being cooped up in the bunker.
She’d been too restless, too impatient, too scornful of the small things—he couldn’t imagine her relaxing and having fun doing nothing.
With her, he suspected the week in the bunker would have felt like a prison sentence rather than a vacation.
But that was an asshole thought, wasn’t it?
Comparing Laurel to Allie and vice versa?
He curled his hand around the St. Christopher medallion under his shirt and felt like shit.
Laurel had been a good person, and she didn’t need him denigrating her memory, even if only in his head.
It hadn’t been her fault that she didn’t like downtime. That she didn’t love him.
Allie, though... What if she didn’t feel as strongly for him as he did for her? What if she didn’t need him? Laurel hadn’t.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself. He forced the thoughts out of his head, trying to focus on packing the maximum amount of stuff into easily portable containers.
Using Sharpies and plywood, Allie made a sign to leave on the tree that said “Food, water, safety, solar power here!” with an arrow pointing at the switch to open the bunker.
They’d also used a road map to mark the location. “This needs to be made common knowledge as a safe house,” Cam explained. “So long as people treat it properly, it will be a good way station for anyone passing through.”
Mapping out dead places and safe places, trying to help other living people who might need help—it was the kind of thing his people did, the kind of thing the Plant was trying to do throughout the region.
It felt right that Allie was fully on board with this mission, wanting to share the bunker with the rest of the surviving world.
Then she made another sign, one with pictures rather than words, to put beneath the other.
The drawings were clearly representations of the text on the first sign—with a sun and a lightning bolt for “solar power,” which was cool—but he couldn’t quite figure out why it would be important to have them, so he asked.
Allie hesitated. “You think it’s dumb?”
“Angel, come on. You know I think you’re amazing.” He smiled knowingly. “Who rules the Rummyverse? Not me.”
She rolled her eyes at that and took a breath.
“I don’t know how much of a priority reading is going to be for people anymore after a while, you know?
Are all the kids growing up in the zompocalypse going to be taught to read?
I mean, I don’t know. To some extent, they probably won’t need it to survive.
” Her mouth went flat. “And despite the way people are rebuilding, you know survival is going to be the primary goal for a long time.”
That was one hell of a prediction. “Fuck.” He looked at the sign again. “I hate to think it, but you’re right.”
Allie shrugged. “I hope not, but how can we know?”
“What’s this one?” Cam pointed at a symbol she’d put below the others—three spiraling arms that met in the center, forming a vaguely triangular shape.
“That’s a triskele.” Allie didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s in my dreams sometimes. With Her.”
Cam heard the capitalization. “Morrigan.”
“She told me it’s for threes. Lots of things have three aspects—like birth, life, death or land, sea, sky. Goddesses.” She paused. “Life is cyclical, always in movement. And I figured... She led me to the bunker, so adding the triskele felt like a tribute. A blessing on this place.”
He nodded. “Makes sense to me.” He had no doubt Morrigan, wherever the goddess was when she wasn’t in Allie’s head, was preening a bit over Her inclusion.
Allie smiled a little. “Anyway. The signs may not last that long, but if they’re replaced, maybe the people who replace them will use the words and symbols too. Everyone will still be able to ‘read’ them.”
He walked over and put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to comfort them both.
“Maybe we can talk to Key about this, start using a standard set of symbols for safe places.” He brightened a little.
“Hey, like in the Great Depression, the way hobos would mark safe places or bad places with their own symbols so the cops wouldn’t understand. ”
Allie laughed. “American history scholar, huh?”
He grinned down at her. “Documentary fan.”
“Hobos?” She shook her head, mouth quirking. “If that’s not a hell of a parallel.”
They planned for her to affix the sign to the tree with some nails and a hammer right before they took off in case the noise brought something out of the field. The only reason he wouldn’t be doing it was so he could keep an eye on her and be ready to jump into action if they were attacked.
Cam checked their packs again, knowing it was an empty gesture.
Jesus, the impending reality of taking Allie out of the bunker was setting in.
Finding her—or rather, her finding him—had felt like a miracle of epic proportions from the start.
He might not have deserved that miracle, but he’d still grabbed it with both hands.
Now he was terrified of losing that miracle, losing her, when he’d begun to feel certain that he was meant to keep her safe, in a very literal sense.
He’d thought about it a lot in the past days.
What use could a guy like him be to someone like Allie?
Why would a goddess put him in her path and want them to travel together?
Occam’s razor told him his job was to help Allie survive her exodus from the bunker, and it was time to pay the piper. He would do so, and gladly.
Cam knew Allie could shoot. He knew she’d used the machete she now had strapped to her hip.
Hell, she’d been the one who’d saved him—it hadn’t been Morrigan out there with the rifle.
Still, Allie seemed so otherworldly sometimes, too generous and kind.
Too precious to lose, not only for him, but for what was left of humanity.
He’d wanted to take care of Laurel, too, for a long time. However, Laurel wasn’t exactly in need of “care” so much as she needed “company.” Laurel’s fighting skills rivaled Key’s. He’d yet to see Allie in action beyond her sniping, but logically, he knew she could take care of herself.
Still, he wanted to be responsible for her safety, to watch her back—and he had a feeling Allie, unlike Laurel, might welcome that kind of support. That kind of closeness that transcended sex and comradeship.
Laurel. God, it had been so hard to talk about her with Allie. To admit what a needy fool he’d ultimately been.