Chapter 11
On the list of things Addison expected to see, a herd of rotters rolling down an embankment isn’t one of them.
The tried-and-true alarm clock method swung the odds in their favor again.
The shrill sound lures the dead from the library’s halls, down a hill, and into the fenced area of an auto shop.
They need to find more clocks or kitchen timers, she thinks, watching their only one get trampled by an angry runner.
The three of them tuck behind a bush, as the scene plays out like a horror movie. They still have to race down and trap their catches before they escape again. It’s a dangerous game, but they need those books if she has any hope of delivering this baby, should something go wrong.
Emma stays behind, hiding in the overgrowth after the last rotter imprisons itself while Addison and Wyatt shove the fence closed. It takes two of them while the chain-link rattles and rotten teeth snap by her head. A cage full of targets to practice with is an extra perk she and Emma sorely need.
She calls her daughter to join them, handing her a longer knife. “Through the eyeball, remember?”
Addison’s not sure if she’ll ever get used to the sight of her child stabbing someone in the face.
That’s their reality now, whether she likes it or not.
Her blade gets stuck a few times, but the fence offers safety to make mistakes.
Between the three of them, they make quick work of the trapped herd.
They’re left covered in gore, having to shed layers down to tank tops to get rid of it. She tucks her blood-soaked shirt into her bag along with Emma’s.
What she isn’t ready for is a completely shirtless Wyatt.
Not that she hasn’t seen him that way before.
She got up close and personal while he was sick, though her attention had been on keeping his fever down.
Now, all she can see is dirt-flecked skin over flexing muscles.
She is mesmerized. This vision reminds her of the cold shower she had to take a few days ago after failing to think of anything but him all night.
That had been a surprise, considering she never used to fantasize about her husband.
Not being able to choose your own suitor meant that couples rarely had physical attraction from the start back home. In some cases, it grew with time. She used to hope that it would for her, too, yet every tingle that shoots down between her legs right now is uncharted territory.
It must be the hormones. Pregnancy can wreak havoc on them.
Then again…she was never this worked up when she’d been carrying Emma.
Didn’t want a man with ten feet of her back then, which has been her usual default on the subject.
Lately, though, letting Wyatt closer doesn’t sound like such a bad idea at all.
She watches him use the clean side of his shirt to wipe Emma’s red-covered face. She got all the shorter rotters she could reach once the initial repulsion wore off. Now, she looks like the victim of a toppled bucket of red paint.
“I’m okay,” Emma says, though her whole body shakes along with her words.
She’ll have nightmares tonight, Addison’s sure of it. She’ll never survive long-term if she can’t defend herself. She’ll never learn to defend herself if her mother keeps her in the house.
“That was some solid work,” Wyatt tells her. “Your grip is getting better.”
A handsome, kind, shirtless man is tending to her child. If she wasn’t already attracted to him, then this would push her over the edge in a heartbeat.
Get it together, she mentally scolds herself. Letting her thoughts run wild on this subject isn’t productive in the slightest.
When they move into the library to begin their quest for books, he finds a t-shirt in the retail section. Dark gray with a random graphic print, and she wonders if he’s fucking with her the moment he rips at the collar to widen the fabric.
“What?” he questions, catching her stare.
“Nothing. I was starting to see the resemblance, that’s all.” She points to the poster for a romance novel featuring a shirtless man on a horse.
It’s a comment meant to detract from the fact that she was staring. She expects he’ll blush and scowl and tell her to stop. He only makes an irritated sound and wanders further into the plethora of books.
Oh yeah, now she remembers…he’s upset with her. His behavior lately has been even colder and more distant than usual. The why is still a mystery. Her heart sinks as he leaves, her mind working overtime to figure out where she went wrong.
It has to be something she said or did, or maybe he’s gotten sick of her like she always thought he would. Vincent said she’s hard to live with, and Wyatt could have realized the truth in that.
Her first worry is that he’s decided to move on from playing house with her in the middle of nowhere.
He wouldn’t abandon them, though. Can’t jump to conclusions, except all she’s done is run through a mental Rolodex of terrible outcomes.
She wants to come right out and ask him what’s wrong, but that’s a scary prospect.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘Are you done with us yet?’
‘Are you leaving soon?’
All valid questions that could only shove him further away. He doesn’t seem the type to discuss his feelings in plain English, and she isn’t about to nag him. That’s another thing she’s good at, or so she’s been told.
She watches him from the corner of her eye while he flips through various pages. Everything was fine before they bumped into each other in the hall on her way to the bathroom. After that, he’s barely been able to look at her.
Does he know what she’d been thinking somehow? Was it written all over her face that she was throbbing between her legs because of him? Has she made things weird?
“Shit, shit, shit,” she whispers to herself, certain she’s figured it out. There’s not a thing she can do about it now.
“Momma, can I take this one?” Emma shows her a fantasy novel from the young adult section.
“Of course, whatever you can fit in your bag, you can keep.”
That sends Emma off with a smile, ready to collect as many books about horses as she can find. Getting lost in a story might be exactly what she needs at the moment, and this library offers plenty of options.
She’s surprised by how large it is, with two levels and a grand staircase, out of place for a town this small. All their funding must have gone into this building.
Addison’s gaze falls on a book titled The Complete Guide to Golf Cart Maintenance. “Wyatt, what’s a golf cart?”
“Little car. Not street legal. Goes slow.”
“But why would you use that instead of a regular car?”
“It’s only for playing golf.”
“What’s—”
“It’s a game where people knock balls into holes in the ground.” He grabs a book and stuffs it into his bag. “Sometimes the space between the holes is big enough that people had to use the carts to move around the course.”
She frowns. “But what’s the point?”
“Same point as all the other games about shoving balls into holes? There isn’t one. You just do it because it’s a thing to do.”
“How wasteful. Do you think we could find a golf cart in the area? For a backup vehicle?” She flips the pages, spotting a colorful little cart painted red. “I might like to try riding in one.”
He snorts. “You’ll be the first to know if I see one.”
The sound of Emma screaming cuts off any further conversation about the usefulness of golf carts. They already checked each aisle for rotters and cleared the whole building. Didn’t leave anything to chance before Addison allowed her to explore, so that blood-curdling scream catches her off guard.
She races around two bookcases to find Emma face-to-face with a stranger.
Addison’s got her gun out in a split second, ready to shoot this man for coming within arm’s length of her daughter. Wyatt’s pistol, appearing from the side, stopping inches from the stranger’s temple, is the only thing that stops her.
“If you look at my wife and kid again, you’ll be chewing on your own eyeballs,” Wyatt warns.
“Please, I don’t want trouble. I didn’t know anyone else was here. I have a baby with me!”
The red-headed child peeks around his shoulder from a backpack.
Their guns waver.
She can’t be more than a few months old. Just a tiny sack of potatoes strapped to another person, for better or worse. She looks happy enough about the whole thing, smiling like she isn’t in the middle of a standoff.
“What are you doing here?”
“Looking for shelter for the night, that’s all,” he pleads, hands up and trembling. “I um, when I was little, my mother and I would come to the library to stay dry and warm. It was a good place back then, so I guess I hoped it still could be.”
“Where’s her mother?” Addison’s afraid of the answer.
He lowers his hands in defeat as their guns point toward the ground again. “It’s just me and Samantha now.”
“Does she need some toys? There’s plenty in the corner.” Emma offers, eager to contribute to this encounter.
“That would be nice.” He turns his attention back to Wyatt after Emma leaves to collect a few things. “Thank you. I’m Jeff. We can be outta your hair if you’d rather we leave….”
“It’s fine. This place doesn’t belong to us. If you need somewhere to stay, you’re welcome to it.” Wyatt holsters his gun, so Addison follows suit.
“To be honest, I have another motive in coming here.” Jeff pauses, somewhat bashful. “I don’t really know what I’m doing. She’s my first, and I’m winging it. I was hoping there would be books on how to—”
He stops when Addison snickers.
“That’s why we’re here, too.” She gestures to her belly with a shrug. “The raising part I can do, it’s the birthing part I could use some books on. I think the baby section is two aisles over.”
They pursue rows of books on parenting, and she’s surprised to find Wyatt as eager as the man with a kid on his back.
“How far along?” Jeff asks her, stuffing a book into his bag.
“Not far enough and still too far at the same time,” she sighs.