Hollow Men (2 page)

“Go on…go after the shiny thing,” I whispered. I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath.

He did. He almost fell down the front steps and shuffled off after the sound of the vehicle.

Evan leaned against the wall and blew out a sigh. He ran a massive hand through his thick dark hair, then grinned at me. “So, El…what’s new? How ya been?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, you know…normal.”

Chapter Two

“Hungry?”

It was easier to offer Evan food than examine the bristling of attraction I felt standing close to him. It had been ages since I’d been in the same room with a man for very long. Even longer since I’d been with one. Your choices are severely limited when the world attempts to go to shit.

“That’s okay, Eleanor. I know food’s slim for—”

“I have plenty,” I said, ignoring his argument and heading toward the kitchen.

It occurred to me I’d just dropped my guard for him. Told him more than he needed to know. It made me a bit nervous, but I just kept moving.

Food was severely rationed currently. All factories and even farms needed more security, and transportation between state lines and from overseas was limited and difficult. Therefore, the grocery stores only got so much stock, and it had to be doled out as evenly as possible. Plus getting to food stores—or any place—could be a dangerous venture and many took it on as few times as possible.

What I hadn’t told Evan was I’d been giving my ration tickets to my neighbors on either side. They needed them more than I did. Both were elderly, both were alone, and I tried to keep an eye out for them.

“I’m fine. For real.” Even as he said it, his stomach growled noisily.

“Sit,” I said.

He obeyed, dropping his bulk at my parents’ retro kitchen table. I pulled out a can of white meat chicken and some dehydrated onion. Fresh food was a luxury mostly. I started to doctor it with mayo packets that were shelf stable. My father had called it doomsday gourmet.

“Just you?” He was worried about my answer. His voice gave it away.

I nodded. “My mom died a few years ago.” I paused, swallowed hard. “Breast cancer.” I found some pickles in the refrigerator and chopped them up to add to our lunch. “Dad was… killed by a hollow. He died when the outbreak first happened. Which is a shame,” I snorted. “Because he had prepared his whole life for this Armageddon shit.”

Evan grinned. “I remember. Stockpile food, water, ammo. Never let your guard down but always—”

“Be willing to lend a helping hand when you can,” I finished the sentiment, and my eyes briefly clouded with tears.

Plates, napkins, iced tea. No need to eat as if we were savages.

“So that explains the fancy spread.” He winked at me before digging in. The wink brought back memories. Hot, sweaty, pleasure-soaked memories of the big back seat of his ancient Chevy. Or the loft in his parents’ barn, or certain stolen nights when we had one house or the other to ourselves.

It was quite a memorable event, coming while locked in Evan Blackwood’s arms.

“You’re blushing,” he said.

“It’s hot in here.”

“It’s nearly freezing. I take it you’re conserving fuel.”

I rubbed my forehead nervously, nodded. I used the wood burning stove a lot. But not on busy nights—when either hollows or poachers were on the street—because the smoke might get noticed.

Just as I was thinking of smoke, something exploded out on the street, and we both groaned.

“Molotov,” he said.

I got up to check the window, and he was right at my heels, pressing up behind me at the side window I’d reinforced with steel bars on the inside. He was too close. Despite the scene outside, my mind turned to less important matters. Including how it would feel to have the grown-up version of Evan touch me. Hold me again while I came.

I pushed the thought away and watched as the car that had lobbed the fire tore off. They often did this, people looking to kill the hollows. Tossing a Molotov cocktail or starting a blaze drew the infected and then they’d pick them off with one by one, using head shots, as if they were crows at a trash heap.

“No fire tonight,” he said. “If they’re out there, we don’t want to draw attention to us. They’d just as likely come after us as they would the hollow.”

“Fuckers.”

He chuckled. “Still have a way with words, El.”

I nodded. “Let’s eat. I’ll take you to the basement and show you where I hunker down when the neighborhood gets busy. I can trust you.”

He grabbed my wrist. “What makes you so sure?” Evan cocked an eyebrow and gave me that half smile of his, but he was serious. He wanted to know.

I shrugged, feeling way too much more on the spot than I cared to feel. I was used to solitude. I was used to choosing when to be around others and as the months marched past the urges were getting fewer and far between.

“I’ve always trusted you, Evan,” I said matter-of-factly.

He looked—for the briefest of seconds—as if he was going to lean in and kiss me. And for the briefest second I prayed to anything that might be up there in the heavens he would. I wanted to feel the heat of him, another person, someone I had always liked, pressed to me. Kissing me.

Then he backed up a step and said, “We’ll keep our ears open for any bullshit, but let’s go eat.”

“Right,” I said and followed him back to the kitchen, drawing the blinds on all the windows along the way.

* * * *

He was traveling further north to find others. Up toward Vermont, Massachusetts, Maine and the like. More military bases. Larger groups of people living together. Communes, compounds, whatever you wanted to call them, they were safer. Evan’s destination was St. Albans, Vermont where an aunt lived and the rest of his family was headed.

Night was falling, and a band of rogues was still clustered around my street. For the most part, my neighborhood looked deserted and since those of us remaining had done nothing to draw attention to ourselves, the hollows and the poachers mostly paid no mind to my home. Apparently, those who found it amusing to shoot live humans, no matter how dangerous they might be, weren’t as attentive to detail as Evan. He’d noticed my house appeared inhabited from the get-go.

“It’s a shame they’re so near your car,’ I said, peeking out the hole in the front window plywood. “I feel as if I’m holding you up.”

He gave a short laugh and moved in close to try to see. “As long as they leave it alone, I’m cool. As far as you holding me up…”

Then he was looking down at me. All towering six-foot-three of him to my five-foot-ten. I found it a little hard to swallow…breathe…
think
. We’d always been good together. Always fit as if we were hand and glove, in the sex department and out of it. The only issue had been the making-a-commitment thing.

“Yeah?” I tried to keep my voice level. I failed.

“You could never hold me up, Eleanor. I’ve always stayed willingly in your company. More than willingly. You know.” He shifted and smiled, trying to lessen the tension with his body language, it seemed. “It took me two years to get over you. I barely dated and found something wrong with every girl.”

“You always were picky,” I snorted.

“The only problem with those girls was they weren’t you.”

I moved him aside and looked out the window again. “Oh,” I said, once he couldn’t see my face. Then: “Looks as though you’re spending the night.” My stomach dropped when I said it. “Because if they’re all worked up over hollows, just think what they might wanna do with you.”

“Fine by me. Where do we sleep?”

I chewed my lip. “Downstairs. Follow me.” I made sure not to look at him as I led the way. If I looked at him, I might just lose my mind. Or my panties. It had been a long, long time, as I said.

Now is not the time, Eleanor…

But my body wasn’t so in tune with my brain tonight.

“So, Eleanor Salt, is this where you bunk down?” He was using his best drill instructor voice. The voice we used with each other to back in the day to imitate my dad. We never made fun, though. My dad was hard not to love.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” I snapped. It felt weird to be having fun. To be joking around. “Right back here. You remember this,” I said, softly. My voice changing a bit. I flipped the main room lights on, not worried about the strangers outside seeing them. The windows were blacked out from the inside, fitted with wrought iron coverings, and a few weeks back I’d shuttered them as a final touch.

I pushed the hidden button for my father’s recessed room and stepped back. Evan had moved up close behind me, and we watched the door slide open on its well-oiled runner. “Ah, I can’t get over how much of a genius your dad was. Papa Prepper.”

I laughed at that. I’d forgotten the nickname we’d used for him. But my eyes stung, too, and I quickly wiped at them.

“Sorry, El. Sorry.” His arms came around my waist, and he held me close. Evan nestled his chin on my shoulder and kissed the side of my face.

“I bet you miss them both something awful.”

“I do.” My voice was choked.

He squeezed me tight, and I sort of just…melted into it. I knew I shouldn’t, I should get myself together, but it was so hard to resist. He felt it, too.

“How long you been alone here, Salt?”

“About six months, Blackwood,” I said, joking. “I mean, I’ve been out but…I’ve been here mostly for that long. Since the outbreak.”

“Too long.”

I hit the light for the main room and together we walked into the space I slept in when the neighborhood was active. It had two sealing interior doors and some low-tech alarm systems built in. It made me feel secure enough to sleep, being in there. Which was a blessing.

I turned on the security monitor my dad had installed a few years back. It was a simple closed circuit TV feed, and I monitored the porch and the street for a minute. “They’re still not interested in us,” I said.

“Good.” He turned in a circle. “I’m guessing that’s your cot since Mr. Boo Boo is on it.”

“Careful, I might shoot you,” I said. Mr. Boo Boo was my first stuffed animal, and he was still important enough for me to keep in one piece. My dad bought him in the hospital gift shop two minutes after I was born because he wanted to be the person to give me my first stuffed animal. No matter how hideous or sad looking it might be. The dominant votes were hippo or mutant octopus.

“I’ll take this one,” he said.

I heard the bed groan as he sat. He really was a big guy.

“Sorry, for the uninvited drop in.”

“It’s fine,” I said quickly. I almost added
I’m glad you came
but couldn’t quite bring my mouth to say it. I hadn’t realized how lonely I’d been until he’d shown up to make me see it. Being alone fucked with your head.

My dad’s safe room had a built-in bathroom. Small as fuck, but it did the job. I went in, washed my face and stared at myself in the mirror. Haunted gray eyes stared back at me.

I had a brief flash of the last time Evan and I had been together. His hands standing out ruddy-white in contrast to my almost caramel skin. He was a mutt of Irish, Scottish, English and French. Me…I was English, German and a hefty dose of Native American. No one could ever agree on what tribe, so I went by law of averages. The most common I’d heard from family members, including my dad, was Cherokee, so I just ran with that.

The image of his hands on skin faded when his face appeared in the doorway making me jump.

“You okay, El?”

I nodded, giving him a wan smile in the mirror. “Just noticing I look like shit.” I quickly began to brush my teeth.

“You could never look like shit, El,” he said, straight-faced, then left me to my ablutions.

I climbed into bed after hitting the overhead light. Evan had found the small reading lamp attached to his bunk. “Okay if I read? It won’t keep you up?”

“It’s fine,” I said. “No worries.”

“Some interesting books in here.
The Art of War
…”

“My dad’s,” I laughed. “Never read it.”

“
Hot Tropical Nights?”
he asked. I could hear him grinning.

“My mom’s.”

“Ever read that one?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shut up, Evan.”

“Oh…I’ll have to look for the good parts.”

I turned on my side and tried to sleep. Trying my best to ignore the sudden hot flare of lust in my stomach. “You do that.”

I dozed. But not for long. I was lulled by the sound of turning pages and oddly the presence of another person. The sleep was swift but restorative. I rarely slept for any length of time anymore. Simply because there was so much to be concerned about. So much to track. Real men and women were often more dangerous than the hollow. The hollow simply operated on a single need—hunger.

I woke when Evan flipped off his light. There was utter silence but for his breathing. No sound came from the streets above, so it seemed all was well. Three things filled my head: Evan’s respiration, a faint ringing in my ears from the silence and the bass drum beat of my heart.

I waited for the intense alertness to pass. For my heart to calm down. For my urges to pass.

They didn’t.

“Ev?” He wasn’t sleeping. I could tell. I could
feel
it.

“Yeah?”

“You asleep?”

“Am I talking to you?” He was smiling. I could tell.

“Can I—I mean, you won’t get all—” I sighed and simply shut up. I crawled out of my bunk and traveled the five big paces from my bunk to his. I just stood there, not quite feeling him but sensing him.

In the dark, fingers found the waistband of my leggings, tugged me a step forward. “You coming in or you just gonna stand there and taunt me, Eleanor?”

I moved onto his bunk, my body folding into the small space with ease. We were face-to-face and belly-to-belly and the warmth coming off him was unbelievable.

“You’re not going to think…” I stopped talking for a moment just to push my hands flat against his hard chest, his lean stomach. I felt the muscles under my palms jump a little. Felt the rigid length of his erection press to the front of me. He kissed me, and I forgot what I was going to say.