Chapter Eleven
Maisie
The sun’s barely above the treetops when we pull off the remote highway onto a long, snaking driveway through the forest. It took us longer than anticipated to leave the park, and even longer to find a promising place to stay for the night.
Since I was technically wrong about Shenandoah’s safety, I agreed to try it Everett’s way and source an empty vacation home for tonight’s stay.
We’ll have an hour, tops, to secure the premises, dispatch any undead, and settle in until daylight breaks once more.
“I hope you’re right about this.” I wince as my SUV crunches loudly along the snowy lane.
“I am definitely right about this. Four walls are inherently superior to zero walls during a zombie apocalypse.” Everett lifts one finger in the air with a satisfied smile. “It’s math.”
I frown. “Might want to stick to television, Professor.”
The trees part ahead, revealing the small clearing and the luxurious cabin nestled within it that we spotted from the road. The windows reflect the pure gold of the setting sun, making nothing visible within. I chew my bottom lip, palms sweating against the steering wheel.
“You’re nervous.” Everett’s brows knit gently together. “I thought that was my role in this apocalypse.”
My lips twitch, but that’s as far as I can fake this smile. I park just out of sight of the entrance. “What if there are people home?”
“Well, we have our Tasers charged and ready to go. We know what to do with the undead now.”
“Live people, Everett.” I turn in the seat to him. “What if there’s a family sheltering inside? What if they’re sick?”
“This whole area is riddled with rich D.C. people’s vacation homes, and nobody goes to their vacation home when they’re sick, Maisie. We would have seen a car by now. Tracks on the snowy driveway. Besides, I’m almost positive this is a vacation rental.”
I nod quickly, then tuck my hair behind my ears.
The truth is, I’ve been on edge ever since I radioed with Gramps this morning.
Logically I know Everett is right—we haven’t seen any signs of life in these parts at all.
Not a single plume of chimney smoke. No cars.
Not even any zombies, which seems to support Everett’s theory about vacation homes being safe targets for our overnights.
But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m vulnerable right now, and that stepping into that cabin with Everett for sixteen hours of rest and car-battery-recharging time before we leave again will strip me of all my defenses.
And, potentially, clothing.
My eyes flutter shut as the idea tugs low in my belly.
Oh. That’s what this is about.
“Maisie?”
“I’m having second thoughts!” I blurt at a truly uncomfortable volume.
“About going inside?” Everett frowns at the darkening sky. “I think we have to at this point—”
“About the sex.” I cringe, then add, “Lesson.”
Understanding lifts his eyebrows. “Oh. I see.”
To his credit, his face remains neutral—if he’s disappointed or irritated with my wishy-washiness or even relieved he doesn’t have to sleep with the crazy lady, he doesn’t show it. “That’s completely fine. If you don’t want to have sex—”
“No! I do, I just—” I groan at the ceiling of my car. “I’m just nervous. Really nervous.”
Everett nods sympathetically. “Listen, we don’t have to make any decisions right now, but I do think we need to get inside and secure the house before we lose the rest of the daylight. Okay?”
I nod for way longer than is normal, avoiding his eyes to root around the floorboard for my Tasers.
I only have one Taser wand like the Fun I believe the phrase he used was “makin’ gains, takin’ names,” which I promptly had to google to understand.
But yesterday during our fighting practice he said he rarely does.
Which is it? Is that the kind of thing Gramps was talking about? The inconsistency?
Everett gets out of his side first, his Fun & Stun in one hand and Chicken’s carrier in the other as we walk quietly to the eastern side of the house.
The windows are too high for me to see into, so I keep guard as Everett stands on his tiptoes and peers inside.
“The lights are all off, and—ooh, they’ve got sheets covering all the furniture.
” Everett turns to me and grins. “Jackpot.”
The cabin is perfect, obnoxiously so. The whole structure’s up on stilts, presumably to gain the best views and reduce flood risk from the half-frozen creek swishing over rocks behind the cabin, which coincidentally makes its many huge windows safe from zombies.
When I trip over a loose paving stone, it slides enough to reveal the silver gleam of keys, and I’m forced to concede: Fate wants us to sleep in this cabin tonight.
We let Chicken loose to inspect the premises, but she’s relaxed and content to pad across the gleaming hardwood floors, nose high in the air.
So far, her zombie-warning system hasn’t failed us yet.
Anytime we’ve had to stop, whether for bathroom breaks or to get something from the trunk, we’ve taken to holding her carrier in front of us and pointing her in all directions like a furry lantern.
Everett moves through the cabin, switching on lights and pulling off sheets as he goes, exclaiming all the while about “rich people” and “marble tile” and “your daddy’s investments mean nothing now, do they.
” I stop him just before he floods the majestic living room that faces the mountains beyond and the road below with light.
“Not these. Not yet.” My hand lands lightly on his arm, then flinches away just as fast. “We don’t know what draws zombies, and I don’t want any survivors to see us from the road and catch us here unexpectedly, either.
” Some of Everett’s glee slides off his face, replaced by the sobering realization of the implications behind my words.
I slink back, hating that I did that. Just like Mom always did to me when I was a kid—every little wonder I presented to her reframed as dangerous and handed back to me, dull and broken like a toy that no longer works.
Breaking my ability to rejoice in the world at the same time.
“Right, of course.” He smiles at me apologetically, and I help him draw all the thick, light-blocking curtains closed. We lock and barricade all the entrances next, then unpack what we need for the night.
Thirteen hours and fifty-two minutes remaining.
We stand across the massive kitchen island from each other.
“I was thinking—”
“We should talk—”
Our words tumble out at the same time, then stop just as fast. Everett smiles, that warm, comforting smile he’s been treating me to all day, the one that feels like assurance in physical form that you can trust me and I won’t hurt you.
The one that, unfortunately, triggers a knee-jerk reaction ingrained in me since childhood that people aren’t what they seem.
That people hurt you. That people are dangerous.
But dammit, I’m almost thirty years old, and I’ve barely lived my life.
Everett may be my last chance to have sex with someone I’m actually attracted to.
I may not trust Everett with my safety, but he’s shown me again and again that he’s kind and decent, and I think maybe I do trust him to be kind and decent to me.
I want to, at least. Maybe that’s all trust really is. Wanting to believe in someone and hoping they don’t prove you wrong.
“You go first,” he says.
I take a deep breath. “If we’re going to do this, we need to set some ground rules.”
He nods, resolute. “Agreed.”
“First, this is truly a lesson. I want you to explain everything we do. I get to ask as many questions as I want, and you’ll provide me with honest, straightforward feedback. Don’t sugarcoat it if I’m doing it badly, or wrong. I want to know the truth.”
Everett considers my conditions. “Okay, I’ll try. But so much of this isn’t straightforward. What doesn’t work for me isn’t necessarily bad or wrong, and there’s no such thing as a universal A-plus in bed. You’ll have to be okay with some ambiguity.”
I frown, not realizing how much I wanted an A-plus in bed until the idea was presented to me.
“Okay, fine. Second, this is purely sexual, not romantic, and for tonight only. When you’re not, ah, actively teaching me during lesson time tonight, we will automatically revert back to what we are now—survival partners.
We can’t afford to be distracted by each other out there, so no confusing the boundaries.
I’m not your girlfriend, and you’re not my boyfriend. Nobody’s getting Miseryed. Got it?”
Everett winces slightly, and I wonder if I’ve once again been too blunt. “Got it. Tonight only. No feelings will be caught.”
“Third, no laughing.” My chin lifts, even though this condition makes me feel the most vulnerable of all. “It’s okay to give me constructive feedback, but you’re not allowed to laugh at me or make fun of me or even comment on how little I know.”
Everett’s brow furrows. “Maisie, I would never—”
“None of that, either.” I flap my hand at the sympathetic face he’s making and look away. “No pity. This is a professor-student relationship in Sex 101, and you should assume I know nothing.”
After a second, he says gently, “Agreed.”