Chapter 2
Mole People
Cam
An angel with a rifle had just saved his ass.
An angel who seemed to be trembling and humming an oddly catchy song as they careened down the road away from the horde in an ancient Ford pickup.
Cameron gulped for air, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs. Every time he blinked, black spots danced along the edges of his vision. But he was safe. Safe. His legs sagged against the compulsion to keep moving, churning.
They’d very nearly gotten him this time.
Those outliers, the seven fast ones, had started the chase and promptly brought the horde straight to him.
He closed his eyes against the memory of the moment he’d known he’d completely miscalculated their distance, assuming he’d been closer to the trees. He’d been stupid. So stupid.
The old Ford’s engine roared, clearly resistant to the demands the angel was making of it, but she didn’t have a choice.
They had to get far enough ahead of the horde that the zombies in the front could no longer hear them, or at least far enough ahead that the Zs might hear something else and get distracted.
Zombie sight seemed to be shit when it came to distance, but their hearing made up for it.
If the Zs could follow the sound of the truck, they would. The horde was already pointed in the same direction.
So speed was good. And he was grateful for it. Chest still working like a bellows, he focused on regaining his breath and refused to let himself look in the side mirror at what he knew was coming up behind them. He’d already seen it up close.
He had no idea how many zombies were packed into that horde. It could be hundreds and was probably thousands. Zombies attracted zombies, and hordes grew with depressing rapidity. The one chasing them was his third—and it was the biggest he’d seen.
Cam closed his eyes. God, the stink of their rank bodies.
The terrible cacophony of sounds. The overwhelming feeling of being overtaken by something unfeeling and unstoppable.
He shuddered, heaving a breath so big it hurt his overworked lungs and core muscles.
Then, because he needed to see something alive, he turned to the angel in the driver’s seat.
His first impression was one of anxious energy vibrating from her body.
As he studied her face, he realized with an odd pang that she looked familiar.
He’d seen her before. The reddish hair escaping from her ponytail to wave around her face.
The slight upturned curve of her nose. Hell, even the nervous way she clutched the steering wheel.
And those eyes... He’d only caught a glimpse of them, but he knew them too.
He tried not to stare as they jounced along the overgrown highway, but it was impossible. When she finally looked over at him, he flicked his gaze away. He’d have flushed with embarrassment—for himself and for her—if his face hadn’t already been red, sweaty, and grimy from his infinity-yard dash.
Something drew his eyes back to her face, and the next time she turned back to him, he held eye contact.
She looked a little flummoxed for a moment, her big brown eyes uncertain, then she said, “Hi.” Even that one syllable trembled. She turned back to the road in front of them.
He swallowed. Her voice, so low and smooth, felt like a balm, soothing his raw nerves and still horribly energized body. He tried to rasp out a “Hey” but succeeded only in triggering a coughing fit from a bone-dry throat. Great. Real smooth, Hale.
The angel unclenched one hand from the steering wheel and grabbed a small backpack from the floorboard. She held it out to him, her eyes flitting from the road to him and back again. “Water, food, and some other stuff. Help yourself.”
Cam took the backpack, his fingers brushing hers in one oddly heightened moment of sensation.
The angel—damn, he had to stop calling her that in his head before he said it out loud and freaked her out—had both hands back at ten and two, her eyes trained ahead.
They were coming up on a town of some sort.
Deserted, of course, although it didn’t look like it’d been much of a going concern even before the zombie apocalypse.
She slowed a bit to account for the detritus of the breakdown of civilization that littered even the large main street.
He looked at the backpack, stifling the overwhelming urge to cough again, and unzipped it.
Two water bottles. Two protein bars. Some beef jerky.
A package of wet wipes. A bottle of rubbing alcohol and some bandages.
Had he met anyone else randomly while walking or biking along the road, this kind of offering would have necessitated some suspicion.
He’d have had the other person drink some of the water first and eat a bite of the cereal bar.
All he felt at the moment was relief and gratitude.
He cracked open one of the water bottles, and some of the liquid splashed out onto his fingers when the truck hit a pothole.
He took a long swig, and when part of him said he didn’t know this woman and had no idea what her agenda might be, he told that part of him to shut the fuck up.
No way had she saved him from the horde only to harm him now. He knew it in his bones.
The water cleared his throat and eased his head a little, and he forced himself to take some small sips instead of gulping down the rest. His breathing had yet to fully return to normal, but his heart began to calm, no longer trying to pound its way out of his chest.
Cam sighed, and in between sips, he looked out the truck window.
According to the lettering that remained on the fading signage they were passing, Fairfield had once been the “Home of the Friendly People.” Now it housed nothing but ghosts.
The grass and trees had reclaimed the town, growing up through cracks in the concrete and climbing up walls.
With effort, Cam put the water bottle in the drink holder and opened a stick of beef jerky.
The sharp, spicy flavor hit his tongue in a symphony of taste so nostalgic that he nearly teared up.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had jerky, but he’d probably bought it on a whim along with an energy drink on the way to work one day before. .. well, before.
As they headed out of town, he finished the food then picked up the water bottle again to take another long pull. The woman put the pedal down again, no longer pushing the truck to a breakneck pace but still going well over the pre-apocalyptic speed limit.
Fortified by food and water, Cam used the wet wipes to clean his face, hands, and arms, amassing a little pile of grimy used wipes before he was done.
Then, he chanced a look in the side mirror and saw a clear horizon.
Relief made him light-headed, and before he could stop himself, he turned to the angel and grinned.
And the angel, wonder of wonders, smiled back, revealing a dimple on one curved, pale cheek. For a moment, they smiled at each other like shy, deranged idiots.
“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice still rough. He winced. He could almost hear Sergeant Lee barking, “Start with ‘thank you for saving my ass,’ Hale. Didn’t your mama teach you better than that?”
Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind. “Allison Dawes, but everyone—” She shook her head. “Allie.” After a second, she added, “I was going to say, ‘Everyone calls me Allie,’ but I guess everyone used to call me Allie. Back when there was an everyone.”
They locked eyes again, and Cam fought the urge to cover her right hand, which was white-knuckling the steering wheel, with his own. “Yeah.” He smiled gently at her instead, hoping it would be comfort enough. “Well, thank you, Allie, for saving my life back there.”
Her answering smile contained real joy. “I’m so glad I didn’t shoot you by accident.”
His laugh erupted before he could stop it. “Me too.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Well, since we’re doing introductions, I’m Cam. Well, Cameron.”
“Yeah.” That sad, wary look shadowed her face again. “I know.”
For a second, the only sound in the truck cab was the engine.
Cam swallowed, ice creeping down his spine. “Yeah? You know me?” He’d been alone for too long, and his instincts had been wrong before. The beef jerky and water began to churn a little in his gut.
“I don’t, actually, but... Damn it. I’m going about this all wrong.” Allie pulled one hand from the steering wheel and ran it across her mouth. “I’m sorry, Cameron. Cam. I can explain.”
God, he wanted to believe her. She radiated genuine concern and sincere frustration. She’d risked her life to save him, and he already felt a connection to her. Was it so odd to think she might actually know him in some way? Especially since she looked so familiar to him?
Possible. It is possible. He wanted to believe her. So much of him already did. Unfortunately, history had proven that when it came to women, his intuition was far from trustworthy.
He knew she’d put the rifle in a case behind the seat, but if there was another weapon in the truck’s cab, he couldn’t see it. That meant the glove box was his best bet for potentially arming himself.
Cam turned his body toward Allie, keeping himself alert but loose, ready to move—right hand, glove box; left hand, door handle. “I’m listening.”
Allie stared straight ahead. “I get these... dreams. And last night, you were in one.”
Cam jerked his gaze up to stare at her profile. “Dreams?”