Chapter 14
Every evening for the next three weeks, Micah asks if I want him to leave the next morning.
Every evening I tell him I’ll let him know in the morning.
Each morning, I’m even further from wanting him gone.
His wound continues to heal cleanly and without infection. Eventually there’s nothing left visible of the gunshot but a thick scab. We have sex nearly every day, and not once does Micah ask questions or imply that there’s anything more serious between us than recreational physical release.
So the relationship remains safe for me. I keep telling myself that I can end it anytime, and it won’t affect the safety or contentment of my solitary life.
But even as I remind myself of these facts, I can’t help but admit I’m enjoying Micah’s companionship as much as I’m enjoying the sex. I like hanging out with him. I like going through our normal chores and outings together.
I like having someone at my back and by my side.
Molly has been enough for the past year—so much so that I haven’t felt any lack. But with Micah around, I can tell the difference.
It’s undeniable.
I like not being alone.
Occasionally I try to imagine how I’ll feel after Micah moves on.
He will. Of course. He’s got a full life that has nothing to do with me.
Friends. A community. He’s retreated temporarily because of his lingering grief over his sister, but it’s not going to last forever.
Not for a man as naturally warm and social as him.
He’s not like me.
Sometimes the thought of being alone again scares me so much I’m tempted to go ahead and lower the boom simply to get it over with.
But it’s going to be hard no matter when it happens. I might as well have a little bit longer with him.
Those are the thoughts in my mind on a Friday morning six weeks after he showed up wounded on my doorstep.
We got up early to hunt for an hour in the hopes of replenishing our supply of meat.
We move together easily. Instinctively. Both of us know what we’re doing and are acutely aware of the other’s position and intentions. We hunt well together.
Molly knows and loves Micah now. The dog has adopted him into her very small pack.
She’ll grieve when he leaves the same way I will.
Shit, I need to stop thinking about that.
“What’s the matter?” Micah asks out of the blue. The first thing either of us has said for forty minutes.
“What do you mean?”
“It feels like you’re stewing about something over there.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Why does he have to be so intuitive? Men aren’t supposed to be like that.
“You’re imagining things.”
“If you say so.”
I sigh. “Am I not allowed my private thoughts?”
“Course you’re allowed them. But how am I supposed to help if I don’t know what they are?”
“Was I asking for your help?”
“No. But you never ask me to help with anything. But I still get to offer it, and usually you’ll let me. So why not with this too?” He’s stopped our slow hike through the woods and is looking down at me steadily.
I shake my head with a rueful huff. “There’s nothing to help with here. Sometimes I think things that have no fix. You can’t help me with those.”
“Maybe I can. Run it by me, and we’ll see.” His mouth is twitching, and his eyes are glinting with the dry humor that’s always characterized him, even in his very worst moments.
I snort. “I’m keeping this one to myself.”
“Okay. Your choice. But tell me the truth.”
My breath catches in my throat. I grow very still. “About what?”
“You’ve liked having me around to help sometimes, haven’t you?”
The tension relaxes inside me.
I’m safe again. Fine.
I have to be.
“I have,” I admit. “For an obnoxious, clueless asshole, you’re pretty good to have around.”
Later that morning me, Micah, and Molly hike to Cleverly to pick up some more food. We’ve sorted through some of the salvaged items I’ve got socked away and pulled out enough for the week’s provisions.
The big silent guy who works for Logan is getting on a run-down ATV as we arrive at the old bar where I trade for food. Deck is his name.
He sees us and visibly brightens, waving us over.
Micah meets my eyes. “Up to you.”
“It’s fine. He seems like a decent guy, whether he works for Logan or not. You can talk to him if you want, of course.”
“Okay.”
I wasn’t sure whether I would go over with Micah or not, but he makes the decision for me by putting a hand on my back and bringing me with him.
Deck’s eyes move back and forth between me and Micah as we approach. He’s a wary man. Everyone is who’s survived this long. But he’s not mean and hard the way a lot of folks have gotten.
He’s smiling for real when we reach him.
So is Micah. “Hey, good to see you. How’s Lilah?”
Deck nods, his smile widening as he gives an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Micah chuckles. “Glad to hear it. So she’s not riding out with you all the time anymore? Because she’s pregnant?”
Deck nods with his head and his closed hand.
“Probably smart. Gotta be careful.” He glances around the small township. “When did y’all start coming round here?”
Deck counts out three on his fingers.
“Three months ago?” Micah says. He’s obviously well practiced in communicating with Deck by gestures and expressions. “So you’ll be around here fairly often then?”
Deck nods. Then he points toward Micah and then toward me, bringing his hand toward his chest in a gathering motion.
“Sorry, man,” Micah says with a laugh. “Kat isn’t Logan’s biggest fan. She isn’t gonna join up with him.”
Deck points only toward Micah with an obvious question on his face.
“I don’t know yet,” Micah replies. “For now, I’m hanging with Kat till she kicks me out.”
Deck accepts this statement without objection. He leans down to scratch Molly’s head, delighting the dog so much she wriggles happily.
When he straightens up again, his expression changes. He makes a sign with both hands closed into fists and crossed in front of him, bringing them apart.
Micah clearly knows this sign. “Yes,” he says in a quieter tone. “We’re safe. We’re good.”
Deck nods and pats Micah on the back, giving me another cheesy thumbs-up that’s clearly intended to make me smile.
I do, waving as he goes back to his ATV.
“He’s a really good guy. One of the best I know.” Micah is watching his friend drive away.
“I can tell. Not sure how he really fits in with Logan.”
“I told you—”
“I know, I know. Logan isn’t as bad as I think,” I mutter as I head toward the back of the building. “Damn Logan.”
We’re on our way out of town a half hour later with a package of provisions and Molly snuffling enthusiastically on the road ahead of us.
At the sound of an engine approaching, I immediately step off the road and move toward the trees. Micah and Molly are right behind me.
One of the first rules of the world after Impact is that, if you’re on foot, you get out of the way and out of sight of approaching vehicles. They’ll always have the advantage, so moving away is invariably the best choice.
Because the road before us is straight, we don’t have time to hide in the trees before the motorcycle driver comes into view.
If we can see him, he can see us, so we stand with our backs to the woods and our weapons out as he approaches.
Hopefully he’ll just drive right past us.
No such luck.
There aren’t that many motorcycles in this part of the Wild anymore, and most of those I see regularly belong to Logan’s soldiers. I assume that’s who this is, so I’m wary but not scared.
After all, Micah used to be with Logan too, so this guy approaching probably knows him.
He’s a rough-looking character with long, stringy hair and leather biker’s gear. If I were by myself, I’d be running into the woods at full speed by now.
Micah’s clearly on guard—and more so as the driver slows down.
This must not be someone Micah knows because there’s no recognition or relief on his face.
“Fuckin’ hell,” the man on the motorcycle bursts out. “It’s you.”
Because it’s all out of context for me, my first thought is that this is indeed one of Logan’s men, and he just recognized Micah as another one.
But that’s not what this is.
Several things happen all at once.
Molly decides the driver’s vibes are so bad that she can no longer tolerate them. She growls, advances, and lunges for his leg.
Micah and the stranger both level their guns and fire.
And I do what any sensible person would do in such a situation. I throw myself to the ground to get out of the line of fire, but I do my best to take Micah with me.
Because I really, really, really don’t want him to die.
If I hadn’t instinctively pushed Micah down with me, I’m pretty sure both men would be dead right now.
But I did. So the bullet aimed at Micah doesn’t hit him.
It hits me.
The crisis has summoned so much adrenaline that I’m not even aware of any pain. I lift up enough to aim my pistol at the driver to shoot back, but Micah’s first shot has already taken him down.
He’s dead.
Micah hefts himself up with a rough sound of objection, looks back and forth in a quick assessment, and then kneels beside me with a twisting face. “Oh no! Oh baby.”
It’s only then that I realize I’ve been shot.
Not squarely in the chest. My instinctive dive saved both of us. But the bullet sliced through my upper arm.
There’s blood. All kinds of blood. And more pain than I knew to expect once I can finally process such things.
But it’s not a killing wound.
Not even close.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Micah mutters, pulling me up so he can find the injury and inspect it. “What were you thinking? You moved right into the line of fire.”
“I didn’t think it through.” My voice is wobbly because my head is spinning and I’ve broken out in a cold sweat. “There was a crisis, and I acted. Just like you.”
“But you could’ve been killed! You could’ve been killed instead of me!” He’s torn the sleeve off my shirt and pulled off his T-shirt, using the fabric to wrap my upper arm tightly.
“I wasn’t killed. And neither were you. I think this is the best outcome we could have hoped for.”
“No, it wasn’t. The best outcome woulda been me gettin’ shot. Not you!” He sounds angry, but he’s not angry with me.
He’s scared. Still scared about what might have happened.
To tell the truth, so am I.
Micah was almost killed. So was I. Even Molly was in serious danger just now, attacking that man to defend her small pack.
She sniffs my face with a whimper, and I stroke her head and ears. “I’m okay. It’s all okay.”
“No, it’s not fuckin’ okay. He shot you!”
“He’s dead. Nothing else to do to him now. How did he know you? I assume that wasn’t one of Logan’s soldiers. If it was, then we’re going to have a serious conversation about your assurances of Logan not being that bad.”
“He’s not Logan’s.” Micah finishes tying off my arm and stands up, reaching down to help me to my feet too.
“He knew you.”
“Yeah. He was part of that militia gang I went after to rescue that woman. I don’t know why he was so far in.”
“Maybe a scout or something.”
“Probably. But I’ll never forgive myself if my past choices get you seriously hurt.”
“It’s not serious. It hurts like hell, but it looks like just a flesh wound. Don’t you think?” I peer down at my bandaged arm.
“Yeah. That’s what it looks like to me too, but still… Any injury can be a death sentence these days. Do you think you can walk?”
“Probably, but maybe we should take that motorcycle. It will save us the effort of the hike back and might come in handy at some point until the gas runs out. We’ll just have to go slow so Molly can keep up.”
“Good plan.” He wraps a supportive arm around my waist. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home.”