Chapter 3 #2
“Please explain how us fucking will fix any of that. I can’t wait to hear this.”
“I feel it would be a good idea to get it out of the way. It would ease the tension and maybe even create a sense of fondness, which could be useful in our…situation.”
He pauses, one brow raised, and a slight grimace on his lips as if she said the most absurd thing, when in reality she’s only being practical.
Besides, it’s not like it means anything, anyway.
It never does. Sex is a rudimentary action that creates life and placates angry husbands.
Her granny always told her that if her husband got too hot under the collar and she wasn’t within reach of a skillet, she should use what’s between her legs to soothe his mind.
Practical. That’s all it is. This one absolutely looks like he could use a little bit of soothing.
Why then, when she knows she’s making perfect sense, does her heart stutter when he moves swiftly in her direction, her feet backing up in time with his approaching steps until her shoulders hit the wall behind her and one of his hands braces beside her head, caging her in.
She swallows hard as fear creeps up her neck, heating it red.
“Do you want to have sex with me, Darlin’?”
“I already said that we—”
“Do you want to? Real important technicality there.” He leans in a little closer. “I ain’t gentle like your husband.”
Warm breath ghosts her lips from how close he’s gotten, and when she looks up to meet his eyes, expecting to find lust circling in his gaze, there is only poorly hidden confusion wrapped in a hint of concern, if the furrow in his brows is anything to go by.
Instead of doing the logical thing that she came here for, she decides to go with the truth.
“Not especially,” she admits, biting her lip. “I mean, we just met.”
“Now that’s the first reasonable thing you’ve said this whole conversation.” He leans away, giving her some space again. “And don’t do this shit again. If we need to…form any fondness to benefit our situation, we can damn well do that without jumping straight between the sheets.”
“Right. Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s um…I’m not exactly from here, and I don’t always know what’s acceptable and what isn’t.”
“Oh Jesus,” he half groans, flopping down on the bed and tucking the pillow under his arm to hug it, his eyelids drooping. “Not from here like you’re an alien, or not from here like you’re from North Carolina?”
“Neither. I grew up on a compound. I didn’t really leave much, or at all, until the virus hit. A lot of things are new to me.”
“Was everyone fucking at all hours of the day in this compound of yours? Was it some kinda sex cult thing?”
“Of course not. That wouldn’t leave much time for preparing.”
“Preparing?”
“For the end.”
His eyes narrow. “Doomsday cult, then?”
“I guess you could say that. Though, to be clear, we didn’t expect the end to be quite so…rotten.”
“More fire and brimstone? Less eating people’s faces?”
“Something like that.”
“How disappointing for you.”
She shifts on her feet, uncertain of what to say or do now that he’s turned her down, and her embarrassment is at an all-time high.
“For future reference, offering sex like it’s a cup of coffee is gonna get you in a world of trouble out there. Don’t do that. Not with me and sure as fuck, not with anyone else. Not my job to fish you outta whatever situation to get yourself tangled up in.”
“I won’t. I’m sorry.”
She drops the blanket he tossed at her and heads for the door, his words halting her when her palm hits the knob.
“You assume a lot about me, don’t you?”
Addison only shrugs. “I don’t know what to think about anything anymore.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply before escaping to the hall. How could she have been so stupid? What must he think of her now? She wipes her face with the back of her hand and returns to Emma’s room, curling up beside her to snuggle in close.
* * *
Sleep has never come easily for Addison on a good day. Nightmares have plagued her since she found out she was pregnant. She sees terrible things when she closes her eyes, and the stress of the day only heightens those visions.
She wakes up sweating with tears on her cheeks, the darkness in the room telling her she’d been lucky to get a few hours and not much more.
Drifting off again is a struggle, so she tucks the blanket around her daughter and heads for the kitchen.
She doesn’t expect to see Wyatt already at the table, digging into a bag of jerky.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she says, lingering at the doorway.
“Me either.”
“I was gonna make some tea, do you want a cup?”
He gives her a noncommittal grunt with a pout on his lips and a firm commitment to avoid eye contact. That’s when she realizes that she hurt his feelings and he’s been stewing over it.
His eyes are bloodshot, telling her that he didn’t get any more sleep than she did. She wonders if he has nightmares, too. If being here in this house is prompting bad memories, or if he sees his dead loved ones behind closed lids, snarling and snapping like one of the infected.
She sets about preparing the old kettle on the stove. Refuses his offer of jerky but notices the red circle burned into the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
He flinches backward as she reaches for him. It’s a split-second reaction that surprises her.
“It’s fine,” he growls. “Don’t need you fussing over me. I’m clumsy with my smokes, that’s all. Lucky it didn’t catch fire. I know better than to smoke in the house.”
This one looks purposeful. It’s clear that he held the end to his skin until it marked him.
He doesn’t want her fussing, so she doesn’t, but it’s all she can think of now, and she’s eager to put the pieces together. “Can I ask you something?”
“Not about this.”
“No. Not about that,” she agrees.
“Then go for it.”
She leans against the counter, ankles crossed. “How is it to be back here again?”
“It’s been a long time.” A wrinkle of his nose in something that looks like disgust confuses her. “I wonder if I never should have come at all.”
“Why did you?”
“Thought it would be safe, and I was out of options. I dunno how much you’ve seen of it out there, but it’s gone from bad to worse. I was exhausted and hurting, and I knew this place was here waiting.”
“How did you get all the way here from Alaska?”
“I flew.”
“You must have left right at the beginning of the outbreak if the airlines were still running. Where did you—” She pauses when he levels her with an even stare.
“I was in the cockpit, not the cabin. Lost the plane back in Wyoming, so don’t go getting excited thinking I can take you anywhere because that ship sailed a long time ago.”
“You’re a pilot?”
“If it’s got wings, I can fly it.”
“But you didn’t mention that yesterday when I asked what you did.”
“Yeah, well, we didn’t know each other yesterday. Still don’t. Do you tell everyone everything about yourself the moment you meet them?”
She supposes that’s fair, though it’s slightly irritating that she feels a little annoyed at his dishonesty about something so trivial. “Why did you tell me now?”
“Hell if I know. Maybe I just don’t want you to think…”
He doesn’t continue, but she fills in the space for him in her head. He wanted to give her a positive fact about himself so she might stop assuming he’s some opportunistic asshole, like so many of the men left alive now.
Before the turn, being a pilot was the type of job that would earn some respect. After the turn, it’s the kind of skill that could save lives.
The tea kettle whistles, and she quickly takes it off, filling their cups and sitting across from him, changing the subject from past career choices to something harder. “About earlier—”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I made the wrong assumption. I’m not used to anyone being kind to us without there being strings attached.”
“Don’t go thinking I’m some kinda saint just because I know how to keep it in my pants.”
She raises her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, you’re a terrible person. Better?”
He huffs, staring down at his tea as the steam billows up. “Much. Is this place getting to you? I know it’s creepy as hell. Is that what’s keeping you up?”
“It’s not that creepy.”
“We got different definitions then.”
“I keep having nightmares that this baby bursts out of my stomach like some kind of alien. That’s what keeps me up.”
His brows raise. “That’s…”
“Vivid? Horrifying? Yes, yes, it is. I can’t decide if it’s better or worse than all the times I dreamed she was a full-grown adult when I gave birth to her.”
“Damn,” he winces. “Showing up ready for a job and a briefcase?”
Addison huffs. “Pretty much. Then there are the ones where she’s a watermelon, or a cat, or a basketball. Or…one of those dead things out there. The absurdity of what my brain does at night is never-ending.”
“She? You already know?”
“No.” She lays a hand across her belly. “It’s just a feeling, but I could be wrong.”
He’s even more handsome like this, she thinks suddenly. Illuminated by moonlight, his expression soft instead of disgruntled. He’s worn a permanent scowl since she met him, but the absence of it highlights an innocence she hadn’t noticed before.
He watches her almost shyly as they talk about the baby like she’s creating something magical instead of a burden. It’s the first time a man has reacted to it with something other than smugness, as if her child were a trophy. Softness looks good on him, she decides, hoping she’ll see more of it.
“So this husband of yours, how worried I gotta be?”
For a moment, she balks, unsure if she should lie or not, but in the end, she doesn’t have the energy to try. “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
“Been gone three or four days now?”
She nods. “It’s possible he left on purpose.”
Wyatt squints. “You think he abandoned you? But the kid and the baby.”
She makes a sad noise in the back of her throat. “We eat a lot. Make noise. Vincent is a true believer in weakness posing a risk to the mission. Leaving us behind to reach Sedona alone would be the correct option.”
“Sedona? Is that your promised land?”
“Something like that.”
“The more I hear about this community of yours, the more it sounds like bullshit.”
“Are you always so dismissive of things you don’t understand?”
“Are you always so gullible?”
She huffs, her irritation percolating beneath the surface. Defending her beliefs is an ingrained response, even if she may have developed doubts over the years. Some habits are difficult to unstick.
“If he left you on purpose, then I hope a rotter gets him and goes for the balls first.”
It’s such a ridiculous comment that she laughs for the first time in months. Shouldn’t, because he’s making gruesome comments about her husband’s possible death, but maybe the trauma of her situation is catching up to her.
“Or he shows up tomorrow and tries to fight you for this house,” she sighs.
“One problem at a time.”
“So, what’s the next problem, then?”
“Getting some traps set for game. We’ve got food for now, but it ain’t forever. Need to make it last.”
She’s about to ask what they can catch aside from squirrels and possums when that orange cat runs across the yard.
She walks to the window, wondering if they should let him inside when someone streaks across her view at a fast run.
She startles backward, bumping into Wyatt’s chair and grabbing his shoulder on reflex, pointing to the scene playing out.
It has to be another survivor come to take the farm, but instead of busting through the door, he only chases that cat through the wet grass until it runs up a tree.
This new person spends the next five minutes clawing at the bark but making no attempt to climb it.
Then, he slumps and slouches, feet dragging in the mud at a snail’s pace. They get a good look at his face as he passes the window again. A chunk is missing, and one eyeball hangs down to his chin.
“Oh shit,” Wyatt whispers. “I shoulda done more cardio before all this. You get a lotta runners out here?”
“Runners? I’ve actually never seen one until right now. They’ve all shuffled before.”
“Something Gwen said about the virus testing out different strains. Whatever the fuck that means,” he mutters, as if she has any idea who Gwen is. “They’re all fast up north. I kept seeing more slow ones as I got further south, hoping it would flip entirely.”
Turns out the next problem is more than finding food. It’s dealing with the fact that there are runners among the slow and shuffling packs of the dead, and no way to tell them apart until it’s too late.