Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
It was dark by the time the old truck rolled into the parking lot of the Potomac View Motel.
Judd hit a curb before parking, making a face as the truck rocked back.
Phin grumbled as he unfolded himself from the back seat, but really, it was a miracle they hadn’t hit anything else.
The headlights on the truck weren’t working—either the bulbs had died out, or the EMP had fried them, Gabriel wasn’t sure. Headlights were optional.
The engine clicked as Judd tossed the keys onto the dash. Gabriel was almost too tired to move. His muscles had stiffened on the long drive. The cab was clammy and stuffy. They couldn’t open a window, and it felt like he’d been breathing in everyone else’s breath.
Gabriel knew it was ungrateful to complain about the truck.
They’d been lucky to find the old square body in a dusty barn.
An old eighties model Chevy with rusted-over paint and a questionable undercarriage.
Years of driving over salted roads had done its damage, but the thing was holding on.
Even the EMPs couldn’t kill it. Not permanently.
Tommy and Judd had been able to get it working again.
The door creaked when Gabriel stepped out, stretching out his sore back. He caught a whiff of himself and grimaced. Bathing was a luxury at the best of times, but they’d been going flat out for so long he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even wiped himself down. Or changed his clothes.
Victoria came around the truck. Her boots crunched in the slushy snow as she hefted her backpack. “You taking this to Irving?”
Gabriel looked at the dark motel. He could see candles flickering in a few of the windows.
It wasn’t too late yet—although time was funny when it didn’t have a label.
He wanted to go to his room and kiss Blake breathless.
Wanted Blake to tell him all about what he was reading while he washed up.
Crawl under the covers and just exist next to him.
But he took the bag. “Yeah. He’ll be up my ass otherwise.”
Her lips quirked. “Better you than me.”
He didn’t watch her walk toward her room, swallowing down the burning jealousy. Sighing, he watched his breath plume white in front of his lips before hefting the backpack and beginning his walk toward Irving’s office.
Phin was long gone, but Judd had one hand on the driver’s side door, his face blank as he stared at the spot Victoria had vacated.
“Don’t start anything,” Gabriel warned him, voice low.
Judd blinked once before smiling slyly. “Who me? Nah, not tonight. I’m wrung out like last week’s laundry.” Judd glanced down at the bag in Gabriel’s hand. “It’ll keep, you know.”
Gabriel didn’t answer, just knocked on Judd’s helmet before striding past him. With every step it felt like someone had poured concrete in his boots, but if the army had taught him anything, it was to run on fumes. Pulling off his helmet, he navigated the motel parking lot on his way to the lobby.
There wasn’t much to dodge—a couple of older vehicles in various stages of operation, a flatbed trailer for scavenging, and the occasional chicken that hadn’t yet found its way to roost.
Someone left candles burning in the lobby, and it took a minute for Gabriel’s eyes to adjust. It had been a few weeks since he’d had any kind of light.
He set his helmet on the front desk and scrubbed his hand through his greasy, matted hair.
It felt unpleasant. It needed a trim. So did his beard.
It had grown in thick and dark, and he’d long since gotten used to the feel of it.
Blake said he liked it.
Irving’s door was open, but Gabriel knocked anyway. If he was surprised to see Gabriel, he didn’t show it. Leaning forward on his elbows, he steepled his fingers and appraised Gabriel in that way he did.
They’d known each other for years, but Irving still looked the same.
His dark skin was pockmarked with a few acne scars, but it didn’t detract from his overall blandness.
Perhaps it was intentional, or maybe a twist of genetics, but Irving had the kind of face that was difficult to picture.
Were it not for his thin glasses—the ones Judd swore he didn’t actually need—Irving might be entirely forgettable.
“It’s about time.”
Until he opened his mouth. Then everyone remembered Irving. Most with distaste.
Over the years, Gabriel and Irving had developed a sort of mutual understanding. Not respect, because Gabriel was certain Irving didn’t respect anyone, but they needed each other. They had skills the other didn’t, and together they made a pretty decent team.
“You know,” Gabriel started airily. “Traffic was a bitch.”
Irving made a face. “That boy has been a bad influence on you.”
Gabriel didn’t respond to that. Irving used boy like bait. One Gabriel was too tired to bite.
Still dressed in a crisp button down, hair perfectly trimmed, and somehow smelling like vanilla. Irving was looking for a rise in Gabriel. Why, he didn’t know. A couple of years ago, it might have worked.
Dropping the backpack on Irving’s desk, Gabriel bit back a smile when the man yelped, snatching the filthy bag off his notebooks and holding it up with two fingers.
Before he could start up, Gabriel spoke, “Three days.”
Irving’s face twisted. “What?” he paused, and then glanced at the bag. “You did it?”
“That was the mission.”
Forgetting the filth, Irving set the bag down and greedily ripped open the zipper. He pulled out the camera, a stack of Polaroids, and a notebook they’d taken turns writing observations in.
Tossing the empty bag to the floor, Irving tugged a candle closer so he could peer down over the Polaroids. “Unbelievable.”
“Blake was right,” Gabriel pushed. “They have short life spans. Designed solely to fight the Off Formers.”
“Perhaps,” Irving hedged, probably unwilling to speculate. “It’s really too bad you couldn’t bring one back.”
Gabriel resisted the urge to flip the desk. “Maybe next time.”
Irving hummed and then resumed studying the photos. It was probably all he was going to get out of the man tonight. Which was fine by Gabriel. Irving was more than welcome to sit at his desk until the candles burned out.
He didn’t say goodbye, just left. Snagging his helmet, he made his way toward the outdoor stairs.
Most of the rooms were on the second floor, with a few adjacent to the conference room and lobby.
Irving took one of the downstairs rooms, and they left the rest for any injured.
Tommy propped one open for the animals. Irving had nearly lost it when he found out, but Phin had purposefully slipped a brick between the door and the jam so it would stay open, and Irving had simply rolled away, his eyebrows pinched.
It had been a glorious victory.
Taking the stairs as quickly as his legs would allow, Gabriel turned the corner and focused on the fourth door down. Now that he was in view, he started shedding his plate carrier, letting it fall with a thunk. He’d pick it up later.
As he reached for the knob, a little loose from jimmying it open the first time, he heard boots scuffing down the concrete walkway.
“Gabriel?”
And there he was. Blake was holding a comically large candle, the kind with three wicks and some kind of asinine scent. The flame flickered, sputtering against the cold. It barely illuminated half of Blake’s face, but Gabriel didn’t need it. He could map Blake’s face with his eyes closed.
Letting go of the knob, Gabriel dropped his helmet and took three big steps toward Blake.
He grabbed his face, thumbs tracing the angles of his jaw, his cheeks.
The arch of his expressive eyebrows. Even the little nub of a ponytail he’d pulled his hair into.
Several curls escaped, tickling his temples. Gabriel twined one around his finger.
Blake was blinking up at him, his eyes dilated in the low light as he took Gabriel in. He’d pictured this moment so many times—when he was cold and hungry, crammed into some little crevice to snatch what rest he could. Gabriel would close his eyes and imagine this moment.
It was surreal, but Blake was here. Warm and firm in his hands. Gabriel pressed his nose into his hair and inhaled. He smelled like smoke and the astringent hotel shampoo. Gabriel couldn’t speak.
So he kissed Blake. First his temples and then over his eyes and cheeks before he finally found his lips. They were chapped, but pliant. Parting like a siren's call, Gabriel was nothing but a helpless sailor ready to tip overboard.
Blake was holding the candle to the side with one hand, but the other he wrapped around Gabriel, fingers digging into him so hard he could feel them through the layers of clothing.
“Blake,” Gabriel murmured. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say; he just wanted to say his name. Let the syllables roll off his lips, and instead of falling away into the dark, elicit a response. Blake trembled, laying his forehead against Gabriel’s chest.
“God, I missed you so much. You have no idea.” Gabriel moved to kiss him again, but Blake turned his head. Gabriel felt his stubble rake against his bare cheeks. Gabriel smiled against them, remembering how grumpy he had been when he couldn’t grow a beard.
“Graves is dead,” Blake said coldly.
Gabriel froze where he’d been nuzzling against Blake’s cheek. The growing wave of euphoria at having him back in his arms crashed, and he was left floundering.
He barely knew Graves. They’d brought him in between missions, but he knew Blake had liked him. Had worried about him a lot. Gabriel had been so in awe of Blake for not only doing what needed to be done for Graves, but for taking all the extra time to sit with him.
Reeling from the whiplash of their conversation, Gabriel tried to find his footing. He’d been here before. More times than he could recount. But this wasn’t a young soldier shocked at the death of a brother in arms. This was Blake. His Blake.