Odium II: The Dead Saga (16 page)

I run my fingers through his dark waves. “Thought you were cutting this.”

He presses his head into my hand, obviously enjoying my touch. “I’m gonna, just not had the time.”

“
Hmm.” I watch him. “Is it busy out there?”

“Yeah, there
’s plenty to do. They have it pretty secure, though.” He nods his head across to James. “How’s he doing?”

“Better, I think.” I look
at the sleeping man that I’ve become fond of in the last couple of days. He’s pale, but gaining some color every day. “We even got to talk last night.”

“Oh yeah?” Mikey looks up at me, pulling my hand from his hair. “He have anything interesting to say?”

“We talked about life, I guess. Not really anything in particular.” I shrug. “He’s a nice guy, I like him.”

“Oh?” Mikey smirks.

I smack his shoulder. “Oh shush, you know what I mean. Help me find some clothes. I need to start helping out and earning my keep around here.” I swing my feet to the floor.

“Your other clothes were ruined
…”

“My boots?” I interrupt.

“They’re fine. I cleaned them up, gave them a polish, even put some new laces in them. The soles are beginning to go, though. You may need to accept the fact that they’re not gonna last much longer.” He looks at me, guilt evident on his face.

“They
’re fine,” I snap, suddenly feeling my feisty self rising back up to the surface. I swallow the bitch back down; it’s not his fault my boots have been to hell and back with me. “I appreciate you rescuing them.” I offer a small smile.

Mikey hands me some army w
ear: green T-shirt, camouflage pants, and matching jacket—and best of all, thick socks. He passes me some underwear that I don’t recognize; it’s certainly not new, though. Graying bra and panties, not real sexy, but he handles them as if they are delicate silks all the way from Europe. I grin and he blushes. I don’t bother to ask where they came from. They may look old, but at least they’re clean.

“Little privacy.
” I raise an eyebrow and smirk.

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry.” He stands and pull
s a dull flowery curtain around my bed, and I slide on the ancient panties and pull on my bra. I can’t fasten it so I shrug into my pants and poke my head through the curtain.

“Can I get some
help?”

“Sure.” He
joins me behind the curtain, blushing even more when he sees my predicament.

I turn around, showing him my back as I
cover my breasts with my hands. “Never figured you for a blusher.” I chuckle.

“It
’s hot in here is all,” he mutters as his fingers graze the skin on my back, sending goose pimples dancing across my flesh. I can almost feel his fingers trembling as he tries to hook the clasp on my bra. He curses under his breath as he struggles to fasten it and I let out another chuckle.

“Funny shit, huh?” h
e mutters grumpily.

“Uh huh.”
I grin “What is it that men find so hard about bras? I mean really, it’s not that difficult—you just stick the hook through the little eyelet. Women do this every day without even being able to see what they’re doing.”

“They
’re just so…fiddly. Wait, I’ve nearly got it.” I feel the bra become more secure around me. “Done.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

I turn around to face
Mikey. “Ta-da,” I say with a grin. “Well done. Good boy, aren’t you clever?” I laugh again.

Mikey
’s eyes travel to my now secured breasts, his cheeks reddening further. We stand there staring at one another for a moment, thoughts colliding, both unsure and yet certain of what we want all at the same time. Am I ready for this? I think of Fallon’s men and I think of being behind the walls, and then I look into Mikey’s face and see adoration and not anger or greed. Lust? Yes, very much so, but not the dirty lust of wanting to take something that isn’t being freely given. Because I do so freely give myself to him.

I
lean in to kiss him and he meets me halfway, pressing his lips against mine. It’s sweet and soft; he’s being gentle with me, and while I appreciate the sentiment, I know I have nothing to fear from him. I coax him on, kissing him more passionately until he pulls me roughly against him. I gasp in pleasure and pain, as the stitches in my shoulder tug from the movement, but the rest of my body swells with eagerness to be closer to him.

I
continue to kiss him. My hands trail up and down his back as his tongue dances against mine, both eager and hesitant, yet this isn’t something either of us can stop. Every movement of my shoulder sends a sharp pang of pain through it, but it doesn’t stop me from grabbing at him. I moan into his mouth as his hands move to my hair and grip it gently, keeping me pressed against him.

H
is hands make their way down my back and to my ass cheeks and he pulls me closer, my chest heaving against his. His mouth moves to my neck, and he trails hot kisses from one side of my throat to the other.

“Mikey.” His name slips out of my mouth for no r
eason other than to say it, to secure myself in the moment, that this is him—Mikey—and it’s okay. This—us—is okay. My heart beats wildly in my chest, ready to explode, my temperature rising as the heat between us grows.

Mikey
’s hands move back to my hair, his fingers clasping the side of my head as he tips my face up to his. He looks into my eyes, the warmth radiating from him in waves of deep lust. His breath comes in pants as he presses his mouth to mine and kisses me again, gently pushing me until the backs of my knees hit the edge of the bed and I fall on to it, with Mikey following.

H
e looks at me and smiles, and then his mouth moves between my breasts and down to my navel, leaving wet kisses in his wake. His hands find my hips, and between gasping breaths he looks up to me with hooded, lust-filled eyes. I give him a tentative smile and a nod, letting him know that it’s okay to keep going. Hell, it’s more than okay, I realize. This man doesn’t want to hurt me, would never hurt me. No matter what type of bitch-fest I throw at him, or how reckless I get, he continues to care about me.

His fingers work the button on my pants
, popping it out of the hole, and then he begins to slide my pants down my legs, his hot breath on the inside of my thigh.

“Hello?”

Mikey jumps, and I giggle.

I swa
llow to catch my runaway breath before speaking. “You okay, James?” I call to him, feeling guilty that we were about to do the dirty while he lay in his sick bed next to me.

“I
’ve been better,” he replies.

I hold back a
nother laugh as we both stand back up. Mikey looks decidedly frustrated as he hands me my T-shirt and helps me slip it over my head. I hiss in pain as I shrug it down over my shoulder.

“You okay in there?” James calls out.

Mikey sticks his head around the curtain. “She’s fine, man, she’s getting dressed.”

“Oh, oh right, sorry.”

I smirk and pull the curtain back. “He was just helping me, since I can’t lift my arm yet. Damn shoulder makes it hard to do on my own.” I push Mikey and grin. “Stupid ass.”

James smiles. “Any chance one of you could hand me the water? Feeling mighty thirsty over here.”

“Sure.” I help him sit up and hand him the water. “You want me to get Rachel for you?”

He takes a big drink, fi
nishing the entire glass in only a couple of gulps, and hands it back to me. “Told you I was thirsty.”

“You can say that again.”

“And yes, if you would, that would be great. She’s still feeling guilty about the whole nearly killing me thing.” He shrugs but I see the amusement in his face.

“And she should. She
damn near killed us both.” I hold up a hand when he tries to protest. “It’s fine, I’ll play nice, don’t worry so much.”

I sit in the chair and Mikey helps me put on my socks and boots, and I
’ll be damned if they don’t look as good as new. I check the underside and see what he means about the soles of them, though: the tread is nearly worn away. I’m definitely not going to get much longer out of them—maybe a couple of months, tops. They’ve served me well in this hellish world, I guess.

I put the thought to one side and together Mikey and I head out. “Be right back, James.”

“I’ll be here.” He laughs. “Oh, and Nina?”

I look back in. “Yeah?”

“See if you can find me a chocolate cookie.” He grins.

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Sure thing.”

The hallway is gloomy; small lights have been set up on strings all along the top, but they don’t do much to light the way. Several doors lead off from here, but most are closed. As we pass them, Becky looks out of one.

“Look after my patient,” s
he says to Mikey.

“Will do,” he replies
, and we continue toward the main exit.

Mikey s
lips behind me with my jacket and I shrug it on. As we near the door at the end of the short hallway, my breath becomes more evident in the air, and a small sliver of light shines from under the door.

Mikey reaches for the handle, pressing down on it. It screeches, metal against metal
, and then there is blinding light as my eyes adjust to the white world outside.

“Jesus, snowed a bit while I was out, huh?” I say without any
humor.

“Just a bit, yea
h,” he replies.

Everywhere I look is white. T
he entire world drowned out by snow, the earth is still and quiet for now. Around us are various brick buildings of all sizes. I look at Mikey.

“I
’m hoping one of those is a mess hall.” I nod to one of the other structures.

“Always hungry.” H
e laughs. “That’s my girl.”

The mess hall
is a mixture of heat and the smell of cooked food. It’s a delicious sensory overload as the scent of potatoes, meat, vegetables and gravy invades my nose and makes my head swim.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” I ask in seriousness.

“Nope, this is just what happens when people work together.” Mikey shrugs. “Come on—let’s get you something to eat. You’re all skin and bones.”

I rais
e an eyebrow at him, but he only chuckles and puts a warm hand on my lower back to guide me toward the food. He grabs a tray as we get close and places two plates on it, loading all sorts of different things on each of them. It’s a self-serve community, which I find surprising since I would have expected everything to be rationed out to everyone individually. He pours me a glass of fresh water and then leads us to a table, placing the tray on it and then pulling out my chair for me.

I smirk. “Turning into a real gentleman, Mikey. What
’s that all about?”

“Gentleman? Me? No way.” He smiles. “Aah, shit, I forgot
the forks, I’ll just be a sec.” He strides off to a small stand and grabs what he needs.

I can
’t help but pick at the delicious food on my plate with my free hand, delighting at the feeling of warm food traveling down my throat. I lick my fingers with a sigh.

“You
’re an animal—and here I was thinking that you were a lady.” He chuckles as he comes back and sits down.

I grin
. “Me, a lady? Well, that’s as ridiculous as me calling you a gentleman.” I take the fork and start to eat. “This…is…so…good,” I mumble between mouthfuls.

The food b
arely touches the hunger inside me as I scoop, chew, swallow, and repeat until my plate is empty. I pick up my glass and down the water, and then struggle to contain a burp.

Mikey is still eating. H
e’s not going easy on his food, either, which just goes to show how hungry I must have been for me to finish before him. “That was so good,” I say, more to myself than him.

I take a proper look around us, taking in everyone
else in here. There’s maybe ten or so people, all sitting at different tables, eating greedily. The sounds of silverware upon plates and low mutterings fill the space. Occasionally eyes glance my way, the odd smile even gets thrown, but everyone seems to be so focused on eating right now that I’m generally ignored. It’s fine by me; I’m not in the mood to chit-chat right now.

“You okay?” Mikey places his fork
on his plate and gulps his water down.

I nod. “Yeah, this place seems great. Weird, but great.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah. C
ivilized, I guess,” I chuckle.

“I try to take
my girl to all the nice places,” he laughs back. “You want coffee, or more food?”

“Coffee? Fuck yeah.”

He laughs again and wanders off to get the infamous coffee for me. My mouth waters in expectation.

“Hey.”

I look up at the sound of someone’s voice. It’s the trigger-happy blonde, Rachel.
Awesome. Just as my day was getting good.

I roll my eyes. “Hey.”

She sits down in Mikey’s chair. “Can I sit for a minute?”

“Seems like a dumb quest
ion, given that you already did,” I snap.

“I
wanted to apologize, you know, for—”

“Shooting me? Nearly killing me?
Which one?” I raise an eyebrow. God, it feels good to speak my mind.

She doesn
’t flinch at my harsh tone, though. Instead, she huffs. “It’s a graze.”

“Well
, hand me a gun and let me shoot you then,” I snap.

She looks away, her face statuesque, not showing any emotions.
Her hair is tied back with a bandana and she fiddles with it nervously while she contemplates what she wants to say, but I don’t have the time or the patience for her.

“Great, well
, thanks for the dandy apology,” I huff out, scraping my fork along my plate to get some leftover gravy on it.

“It
’s Nina, right?” she asks, looking back to me. I notice then that her eyes are different colors: one is a mixture of green and brown, and the other blue and brown. It’s subtle, but gives her an almost hypnotic stare.

I continue to stare. “Yeah. What of it?”

She huffs and stands, her chair scraping back as she does. “Forget it. I’m sorry is all I wanted to say. I know now that you’re all okay—not assholes or whatever. I did what I did to try and protect us. I’m not sorry about that.” She starts to walk away without looking back.

“Rachel?”

She looks over her shoulder at me, and I bite down on my lip.

“James wanted to see you.” I look back down
at my plate before she can say anything else.

I feel guilty for a minute, but then the
burning in my shoulder returns and the anger glows deeper again. Closing my eyes, I take a couple of deep breaths—some to calm my frayed temper and some to control the pain in my shoulder.

“Everything okay?” Mikey comes back and sits down, placing two mugs of
steaming coffee in front of us. “I gave you cream and sugar—figured you could do with the glucose even if you don’t normally take it.”

I take the mug, my hands wrapping around the heat, and I stare into the milky brown, the smell wafting up to my nose and taking me back to another time. I think
back to Steve, and the coffee he made for us when we were running from the Forgotten. I remember his chickens and his vegetable patch and his missing wife Jane.

“Hey
.” Mikey’s hand touches my chin, wiping away the tears I hadn’t realized I was crying. “What happened?”

I look back up to him
, his handsome face full of concern and worry. “I’m fine. The smell,” I nod toward the coffee, “brought back some memories.” I bite my lip, not wanting to cry anymore—certainly not in front of a room full of strangers. I wipe away the tears and pick up my coffee and take a sip, savoring the taste of it.

Mikey returns his hand to his own mug and mimics my action. “Yeah, I get that. I
’ve had a few of those types of moments recently too.”

“Do you think…do you think Steve is dead?” I ask quietly.

Mikey frowns hard. “What do you mean? Of course he is. I mean, you saw him . . .” His words trail off. I know what he’s thinking, of course. I was there and I saw the same as he did. The image of Steve being eaten alive, deaders dining on his innards as he swigged the last of his Jack is still very vivid.

“That
’s not what I mean.” I look away guiltily. “I mean, do you think he’s dead-dead or did he come back? He’d hate that, to come back as a deader.” The last part of my sentence is almost whispered. “I can’t help but think that we should have finished him off at least.”

I look back at Mikey and his face is frozen in horror, possibly mimicking my own
, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s something I’ve wondered for a long time now. I hope that Steve is truly gone.

We finish the rest of our coffee in silence, our thoughts consume
d with the past and the present but never venturing to the uncertain future. Emily finds us as we’re clearing our things away, and she wraps me in a hug.

“Al
l right, all right, enough with the mushy crap.” I scowl.

Emily laughs. “Whatever. There
’s a meeting in the recon center. I think everyone is supposed to go to it. I’ve gotta let everyone else know and I’ll meet you there.” She smiles and wanders off to the other people in the mess hall. She moves around the room and talks to them one by one, and they begin to clear away their things.

“Recon
center?” I ask Mikey.

“Yeah,
it’s actually the old education center or something like that. They hold meetings there frequently, mainly to distribute jobs to everyone.” He holds the door open and we head out, making our way across the frozen courtyard to another large brick building.

Inside
are lots of chairs and benches distributed around a dimly lit room. There are windows on each side, but all the lower ones have been boarded up, and there are same lights are strung up around the room as everywhere else. Mikey leads me to a seat near the back, and we sit and watch everyone else come in and take their seats. Some are dressed in army camouflage, some in civilian clothing. I don’t think it’s an intentional thing to separate people—more like people are wearing what they feel comfortable wearing, I guess. I look down at my own clothes. I’d never considered joining the army, and still wouldn’t, but these clothes are way better than my old threadbare ones. Even better than the zombie-gore-soaked ones I was wearing previously.

Fifteen or so minutes pass by before a man with light brown skin and jet black hair comes in and stands at the front of the room. He
’s wearing army wear, with several badges pinned to the front of his jacket. His face is stern, yet behind his steely façade is a warmth that shines through.

“That
’s Zee. He’s been helping to run the place while James has been down for the count.” Mikey whispers to me.

“James was running this place?” I ask. James had never mentioned that to me.

“Yeah, he was one of the founders,” Mikey says.

“Founders?” This place
is starting to sound like a damn cult.

Mikey
nods a little impatiently and I drop the subject, instead looking around the room to get a better read on everyone. Most seem to be pretty rapt to Zee, watching with attention. There’s a good mix of people from the looks of it, though I wonder how many wearing camouflage are actually army issued or are just normal people that lost everything like me.

Zee clears his throat. “Okay, so
today’s jobs have been listed on the board, but I’ll give a brief rundown as usual.” He coughs and unfolds a piece of paper. “So, we have Melanie and Mathew on latrine duties.” He looks up. “Sorry. Nova, Michael, and I will be on trap duty. Rachel and Julie, you’re on weapons and ammo check. Susan and Jessica, you two need to be checking on food rations and the consignment shop, please. Becky, you and one of our newest members, Emily, are doing great over at the medical center, so keep that up.” He turns the paper over and continues to read out everyone’s jobs.

I look at Mikey. “This place seems pretty damn
organized.”

“It is,” h
e replies earnestly.

“Seems too good to be true.”

“Chill out. It’s all good, Nina. Stop being so suspicious.”

“Did you
tell me to chill out?” I scowl.

“I
’d also like to extend a warm welcome to our latest comrade and ally.” Zee continues to talk.

I look up,
knowing it’s me that he’s referring too. I feel the heat in my cheeks before I even glance around me and see everyone staring with hesitant smiles. I’m damn glad the room is dark.

“Hi,
” I say quickly and then lower my head, hoping to be absorbed into the darkness.

“Would you like to come and introduce yourself?” Zee offers.

“No!” I bark out a laugh. Zee’s face remains unamused. “Umm, sorry. Yeah, sure.” I stand, making sure to dig Mikey in the ribs for the grin that covers his face, and make my way to the front.

“It
’s Nina, right?” Zee offers his hand to me and I take it, giving it a small shake.

“Sorry, I
’m not good at public speaking.” I grimace.

He smiles,
which immediately puts me at ease. “That’s okay, this isn’t a test. I’m glad to see you’re up on your feet again. As soon as you feel ready and able, I’ll add you to our list so you can help out. This is a big facility and it works by everyone contributing.”

“Yeah,
sure. I’m happy to help in any way.”

“I
’m sorry that you had such a bad introduction to our community,” he continues. “We’re not always gun-toting maniacs.” He smiles again, glancing in the direction of the crowd, I’m sure looking at Rachel. “Well, not unless there are zombies or peace-hating criminals involved, anyway.”

The crowd laughs.
I laugh too, but my laugh is less manic and more nervous.

He
’s either talking about the Forgotten or some other crazy maniacs, and I don’t like the sound of either one of them.