Chapter 8
HUNTER
We settle into an awkward normalcy. Each morning, I take her up to the roof to garden, allowing her to pick what’s for breakfast. After we eat, I teach her how to purify water, can food, service the generator, basic survival skills, and whatever else comes up throughout the day.
I gave her prepper manuals to read, but that didn’t go over well because of her dyslexia. She punished me with glaring eyes the rest of the day and I haven’t pushed those on her again.
When we’re done with work for the day, what remains is us and what we have. Which is admittedly confusing.
Ever eager for her body, I take her each night in the ways that I can, clinging to the small shred of normalcy I’ve been gifted in this post apocalyptic world.
And afterward, I reflect on what my life might have been like if it wasn’t so tragic.
“How are you always on time with everything?” Fiona says as she takes a seat. She smells the spaghetti I’ve made, grinning. “And how is it your food is better than anything I’ve had before the apocalypse?”
“Fresh ingredients with no additives.”
Fiona twirls her pasta, which is too chaotic for my liking, but I don’t nag her to stop.
“I was wondering if I could sit out on the roof tonight. In one of the lawn chairs you have out there.”
I spike a brow. “Why?”
“I saw an egg twitching and I think it’s going to hatch soon.”
“Is that why I kept catching you up there today?”
“I was just popping in to check on them.”
“Fine. I’ll fire up the grill and you can have s’mores, but you’re not staying up there all night.”
Her face brightens. “I haven’t had those in…God, it’s been years.” She bites her lower lip teasingly. “It’d be a shame if the chocolate got a little messy and I’d have to clean it up.”
I frown, which might seem odd considering she’s implying giving me a blow job, but I’ve had to deal with a lot of new, out-of-the-ordinary things lately, and it’s weighing on me.
I’m a routine kind of guy, rarely deviating from the course I’ve set, and Fiona’s very presence has brought with it…deviations. Countless deviations.
At first, I’d tried to keep her in the bedroom, but she got pissy and I figured it would be good to have another set of hands to help around the place, especially since I’m trying to build up stores.
It’s been just over a week now, and I’m finally adjusting to her presence without the constant desire to kill someone.
And no, that someone would not be Fiona. I’ve never had the urge to kill her.
After we finish eating, Fiona grabs some blankets and heads up to the roof.
I pull a basket out from a cabinet, placing graham crackers, chocolate, marshmallows, and a bottle of wine inside to top off the night.
I’ve never enjoyed drinking on account that I don’t like losing control, but I think Fiona might enjoy a glass.
Walking out onto the roof, I see her perched by the incubator.
“You could end up waiting for several days,” I say, setting up the charcoal grill.
“Why aren’t they with the hens like the other eggs?”
“It’s a redundancy. If something happens to one batch, the others will be safe.”
“Why do you have coops on each of the corners?”
“Because if I allowed them to inbreed, I’d be in trouble later down the road. The system I’ve set up ensures genetic diversity.”
Fiona’s eyes downcast. “Oh…”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s just…I wouldn’t have thought of that.”
Ripping open the bag of marshmallows, I press two down on roasting sticks and hand one to her.
“You’ve had no reason to.”
“But maybe I should have.”
Her insecurities shouldn’t matter to me, but seeing her sullen face provokes an unexpected reaction.
“The only woman I know that would have known to separate the chickens was Selina.”
She places her marshmallow over the fire. “You’re just saying that.”
“Do I seem like the type that would lie to make you feel good?”
She chuckles. “No, not really.”
After we eat our first s’more, I pour two glasses of wine and pop two more marshmallows onto the roasting sticks.
“I wish Brett could see me now. He’d be so jealous. He’s probably eating rats.”
“Who’s he?”
“My boyfriend—ex boyfriend. The one that sold me to Madam Levy.”
Blinding fury overwhelms me. “He’s still alive?”
She shrugs. “I guess he could be. The last time I saw him was the day he sold me.”
“You didn’t put him on your list?”
“He’d dropped me off months before I ever met you. I guess when we made the list, he didn’t come to mind.”
“Where is he now?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Where was he when you last saw him?”
“West of the east side. An apartment building across from Concord Park. Why do you want to know?”
“Because if I’m going to kill him, I have to know where he is.”
Fiona blinks back at me, mouth ajar.
Maybe I shouldn’t have told her my intentions.
Before me, before Salem, there was him. I’m sure she’d loved him once and has fond memories of their time together. Those memories could be what sustained her during the worst of what she’s been through.
But I can’t ignore the flicker of desire that sparks at the thought of confiding this dark knowledge in Fiona. I want her to know how far I’d go to make him pay for what he’s done.
He will suffer.
By my hands.
There’s also something to be said about being my true self. I had to wear a mask for so long, and I don’t know if I can go back to that.
“I can’t abide his presence in this city,” I tell her. “So whatever feelings you have for him, I suggest you get them sorted now. If you’d like, I can deliver a message to him and I’ll allow him to read it before I cut off his eyelids and pluck his eyeballs from their sockets.”
Fiona suddenly realizes that her marshmallow is a burning ball and yanks it from the flame.
“Here’s another.” I dig into the bag to replace the one that’s burnt.
“No, this is fine. They’re best with bark.”
“Bark? Isn’t that a grilling term?”
“Yeah, it’s a crust.” She makes the s’more and takes a bite out of it, moaning as she chews.
The fact that she’s moved past me torturing her ex is…confusing.
“Do you have his apartment number?”
“We were in 412 before he sold me to Salem.”
“Are you lying to me?”
“You’re the last person I’d lie to,” she scoffs. “I doubt he’s even there anymore. He took me to Salem a few weeks after the apocalypse. He could be dead.”
Her expression is unreadable, which for some reason infuriates me just as much as it confuses me.
Life was easier before I had these problems.
She looks over at me, her green eyes reflecting the flames. “Do you think he’s still alive?”
“Cockroaches have been known to survive in the most inhospitable environment.”
She nods.
“Does it bother you that I intend to kill him?”
“Not really.”
“The men I ran with have been searching through buildings all over town. For the most part, we leave the men as long as they don’t pose a threat. My big worry is that he’s teamed up with the Vultures. It will be hard to get to him if he has.”
“The men Caspian was working with?”
“Yeah.” I frown. “I should have never called you in. I should have just taken you to the Keep.”
“What would they have done with me?”
“You would have been inspected and then given a comfortable place to stay. Eventually, you’d have been assigned a Keeper to take care of you.”
“A Keeper? Like one of the men there? Not you…”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re just like Caspian and my ex?”
“No.”
“Certainly sounds like you are.”
“The Keep is different. They treat the Kept more precious than gold.”
“But they’re forced into a social situation that involves sex and servitude.”
“So far, no one’s been forced into anything. The biggest resisters come from a group called the Reavers, and they’re living a good life in an apartment, free of sex. All their needs taken care of.”
“Do they have Keepers?”
“No.”
“Will they?”
“…yes…”
I see what she’s getting at, and I realize that despite my best intentions, I was only going to give her more of what she’s had.
“I realize the point you’re making,” I say quietly, “and I’m not too proud that I can’t admit when I’m wrong.”
“I like that about you.” She crawls beside me, her hand going to my shoulder. “That you’re different. At first, it was a bit unnerving, but your pragmatic views on things make you easy to navigate. You say what you’re going to say, whatever the fallout. Brett said nice things…then he sold me.”
“Do you ever worry that I’ll hurt you?” I ask, truly curious.
“Not anymore. I don’t know why you do the things you do, but I don’t think you want to do them to me.”
“I don’t know if you’re incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”
“What?” she snickers. “Are you keeping me around to torture in a pinch?”
“No, but you’ve seen my good work, and that’s a powerful motivator for fear.”
“My life was pretty bad before you came into it. Salem made death preferable to breathing. I’d been planning on killing Madam Levy before you showed up, knowing I’d suffer the consequences. You weren’t my devil. You were hers.”
I consider her words and what they mean for us. This isn’t a beautiful love story. Fiona is damaged. So am I. In ways that can never be fixed.
Yet somehow, we found each other. Two broken people without a place in the world.
“I want you,” Fiona confesses, her breathing growing heavy.
What part of our conversation turned her on? If I had to guess, I’d say she’s not opposed to what I do. Quite the opposite.
Which means we’re better suited for each other than I could have hoped for.
“Will you take me on the roof? I want to look at the stars.”
This is…not ideal. It’s another deviation from the norm that I’m so comfortable with. The norm that keeps me from going on murderous rampages.
But for whatever reason, I can’t say no to Fiona, so I swallow my reservations and look at her in a way I know turns her on.
Yes, it’s a mask, but not a bad one. It’s not a complete lie. I just have trouble expressing my lust for her as normal people would.
“Get on your back and spread your legs.”