Strain of Resistance (Book 1) (17 page)

By now Luke has freed the others. His eyes search me out across the small space and lock onto mine. My pulse races and my heart starts doing these crazy flip-flops at that look. He steps purposely toward me, two long strides is all it takes. To my complete and utter shock, he pulls me close and plants a damn kiss on my lips. In front of everyone! Even more surprising...I don't object. I ignore the catcalling, and the disgusted 'Get a room," because to be quite honest, I don't care about everyone watching us. Not in the least. The kiss is primal and possessive—and makes me feel so damned alive.

Finally our lips part, but his hand stays on my back, keeping me close.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in my ear.

I pull away an inch so I can look into his face. "For what?"

"I promised nothing would happen to you on this run, and you almost died. I broke my promise."

Seriously? He thinks he let me down? "How do you figure that? I'm still alive aren't I? Besides, you were in more danger than I ever was. Just couldn't keep your mouth shut, no matter how many times that ravager smacked you in the head." I gently touch the bloody cut above his temple, and wince. "Looks painful. Good thing you have such a hard head, Whitman."

"Amen to that." His eyes devour me hungrily, like he can't get enough of looking at me. That same look that used to bother me so much before is now sending waves of heat emanating through my body. I must be more shook up than I thought.

"Ahem." A slight cough sounds at my ear. "If you two are done, we have some figuring out to do?"

Kingsley's interruption sends a different kind of heat flushing over my face. I had forgotten about the spectators. As embarrassed as I am at their witnessing my weaker moment, it doesn't seem to bother Luke at all. He just grins at my embarrassment, the jackass.

"Right. So where do we stand." He questions briskly, as I slip out of his grasp. "Do any of you still have your weapons? Radios? Kingsley, the C-4?"

There’s a defeated chorus of 'no's'. All but Kingsley. "Yeah, I still have my weapon. But not the ammo or C-4. I left it all in the backpack in the woods."

"Really?" Dom says. “You left the C-4 behind. A stupid move, dude. We kinda need that to do what we came here for in the first place."

"I'm well aware," Kingsley grounds out. "Forgive me for misplacing the backpack while I was trying to save your stupid asses from becoming fricasseed."

"It is what it is," Luke interjects before their tempers get out of control. "No sense whining about it. Straight up though, we won't get far without weapons."

"We can go back." I suggest. "I'm guessing those ravagers left in too much of a hurry to worry about our shit. The leeches won't bother with it. It's all probably still just sitting there."

My skin crawls at Dom's snort of derision. "Great plan. Go back. Now that the place is crawling with leeches and one gun between us. Almost as good as the plan to rescue that stupid kid—and looked how well that turned out."

As much as I would like to slap Dom silly for his snarky words, I actually agree with him at the moment. I haven't exactly been the Einstein of our group lately.

"No, Bix is right." Luke says, surprising me. "We have no choice but to go back. Not like we can contact the Grand and sit on our asses waiting for rescue. We need our guns and that C-4. Going back is the only alternative. Besides..." He picks up the cleaver he had used to cut their zip ties. "Who says we don't have any weapons?"

"We have knives. And there's an ax out back." I hadn't even realized Evie was listening to our conversation. But she pipes up in a clear, even voice. The kid surprises me. She’s tougher than I gave her credit for.

"There you have it," Luke says with a huge grin. "Knives, a cleaver, and an ax. We're all set to save the world again."

Yeah, somehow I don't quite share his optimism on that.

***

As
it turns out, we don't need the collection of medieval weapons in our arsenal. We don't encounter one single leech or ravager on our way back to ground zero. Weird. Maybe it's to do with our choice to wait until early morning to retrace our steps, giving them time to dissipate. Or maybe for once, lady luck is on our side. Whatever the reason, the walk is eerily quiet. Almost like we’re the only people left on the face of the earth.

What we do find luckily enough, is our pile of weapons and backpacks right where the ravagers had left them in their mad dash. And from the exuberant "YES!" echoing out of the trees, Gordon and Kingsley have found the stash of C-4 as well. At least things are starting to look up.

I make my way further into the field, glad I had convinced Evie to help Gordon and Kingsley look for the pack. Leaving her at her home no matter how well camouflaged that shipping container had been, wasn’t an option. The ravagers already found them once. They will again. She did need a little convincing to see that, but she finally agreed to come with us.

What she doesn't need to see however, is the remains of her grandfather. Even though he already passed on from his grievous wound last night, the leeches hadn't given a shit that his blood no longer pumped through his veins. It had still been warm enough for their taste. They had sucked him dry, his frail body shriveled and pale, and his missing leg seeming more of an atrocity in the pre-dawn light.

Thing One and Thing Two didn't fare so well either. Their waxen faces stare blindly up at me from the grass, as if accusing me of letting them become fodder. I squash down the pang of guilt I feel at seeing them there. My mother always told me, ‘you reap what you sow.’ They brought this on themselves. I'm not the bitch in this circumstance. Karma owns that title today.

To my great relief, we don't find any sign of Wentworth or Kelly. The only other bodies in the field are a couple more unlucky ravagers. Which meant our guys at least had made it out of the field. Like Luke said, hopefully there’re waiting for us at the target site.

One thing does unnerve me a little. By the pile of ash that had been last night’s campfire, there’s no sign of pimp-daddy. No body, not even his skank ass fur coat. All that remains is a puddle of rust brown where his blood had dried into the dirt and his gold cane. Which meant he too, had made it out of the field alive. Crap. I don't like the sound of that. I should have finished the job last night. Hopefully he got taken down on his way back to the hole he had crawled out of. Evie and her grandfather at least deserved that justice.

Doc Blondie joins me unexpectedly as I stare worriedly into the still smoldering, black ashes. Even though I see her glancing at me in my peripheral, I don't acknowledge her. She clears her throat nervously a couple of times. I still ignore her. I have nothing to say to her. She doesn't seem to get the message since she starts talking anyway.

"I...um...I want to apologize for last night. I don't know why I didn't go for his gun and help you. It was like I froze and..." She trails off. "I'm so sorry," she whispers.

I finally turn my head to look at her. I'm not quite sure how to respond. I want to slap her silly for her stupidity last night. Or at least rip her a new one. She should be damned sorry! She almost cost me my life. There's no room for hesitation and cowardice in the field. She shouldn't be out here if she doesn't know that. But I say none of that. Instead I swallow the angry retort on my lips and sigh.

"Have you ever seen a ravager before?"

She shakes her head, a tiny shudder convulsing her body.

I nod. "Yeah, that's what I thought. I get why you froze up. They can be pretty fucking scary and intimidating. But know one thing. Being captured by them means certain death. We were damn lucky last night. Not many people tangle with them and walk away. You can't hesitate when there’s a life on the line. They sure as hell won't. I was given this piece of advice years ago, and now I'm going to share it with you. Be brutal, be tough. War means fighting, and fighting means killing. Learn this, or you will not live to see another year. Got it?"

She stares at me like I've gone stark raving mad. I guess I could have phrased it better instead of repeating it in Cookie's harsh, no nonsense manner. A slight nod of the head tells me she gets it though.

"Good. Cause you won't ever hear that pass my lips again. And if you tell anyone that I quoted Cookie, I will deny every word."

"Cookie? Are you talking about that crazy lady who gave us all the evil eye at our interrogation? She scared the crap out of me. I think she froze my blood at one point, with just a look. I don't think she likes new people much."

I give her a humorless laugh. "Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet."

She smiles at me weakly. "Maybe I'm better off taking my chances out here with the leeches and ravagers?"

Who would have thought it? Bimbo has a sense of humor. I laugh quietly at her words and she joins in. Our laughter draws Luke's attention and he breaks off his conversation with Mike and Dom, staring our way curiously. He catches my eye and lifts the corner of his mouth in a slight smile. I can't help the quickening of my heart, or the thrum of desire that jets through my veins. Just thinking about the way he kissed me last night and that look in his eye—I stupidly smile back. But as soon as it began, I squash my silly reaction. What the hell is wrong with me? This is not the time for acting like some horny teenager. I drop my gaze quickly, but Blondie doesn't miss it. She raises a perfectly arched brow.

"Hmmmm, you two seem to be quite...intimate. And that kiss last night-very hot. So? Does that mean you two are an item?"

The instant denial is on my lips. No we’re not an 'item.' And seriously? Who the hell says that anymore? We are so not a couple, or a thing, or any of that romantic shit. And it pisses me off that she's even asking. We're on a life and death mission. We don't have time for idiotic questions. Besides, why should she even care? But the answer that falls from my lips surprises the hell out of me.

"Yeah. Yeah—I guess we are."

Even more surprising? I think I actually mean it. Dammit. So much for the no-strings-attached approach.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The
two warehouses off in the distance look worn and weather beaten, nothing but shells silhouetted against the pale blue of the morning sky. From what the docs had told us, I expected to see them crawling with leeches. But they appear desolate and uninhabited. It unnerves me. Hopefully not a sign that the leeches inside had already 'birthed' and vacated the premises. Just the thought of those beasties crawling all over the forest hunting for their next meal, makes me shiver in apprehension.

Luke notices my shiver and raises a brow questioningly.

"It's nothing," I say. "Someone must have walked over my grave."

"Did you know," Gordon pipes up as he pulls abreast of me and Luke, "That saying actually derives from a folk legend of the 1800s? People back then believed that a sudden cold sensation causing one to shiver was caused by walking over a place where one's grave was eventually going to be. That where you would be buried for eternity was actually predetermined. I read that in a book." He looks at us, grinning smugly at how smart he is. He even glances back at Evie, eager to see if the young girl has heard this fascinating tidbit of knowledge. She stares back at him like he’d suddenly sprouted another head. Much the same look I'm giving him right at the moment, I'm pretty sure. Amy's dire warning bouncing around in my brain is not mixing well with Gordon's words.

"Really, Gordo? Why would you even fucking say something like that? Telling me I was just actually walking over my expected grave? That doesn't make me feel any better, you moron."

He at least has enough decency to look abashed. "Geez, sorry. I was just making conversation."

"No, conversation is 'Nice weather we're having' or 'did you see that ballgame last night?' Not 'Oh geez Bix, you just walked past the place where you’re going to die.' What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Actually I didn't say it was the place you were going to die. I said it was the place you were going to be bur..."

"Again...not helping!"

"Knock it off, the two of you," Dom grumbles as he passes us by. "Or it'll be the place you're
both
buried. And I'll be more than happy to dig the grave myself."

Mike beats me to a retort. "Hey man, I know you just didn't threaten my kid brother in front of me. I know not even you would be stupid enough for that."

"Well, if your brother didn't act like an idiot all the time, I wouldn't have to threaten him."

Mike's eyes narrow angrily. "Were you born a dick, or did you have to go to school to learn that?"

"Definitely born that way, 'cause I don't think he ever went to school," Gordo mutters and I can't help but snicker as he fist bumps me.

"QUIET!" Luke bellows as his head snaps up in attention, staring to the right of us. I follow his gaze, wondering what he hears. Even Scruff pulls up short, growling deep in his throat. Then I hear it too, rustling and snapping as something makes its way through the trees. I can feel the hair rise on my neck as my shoulders tense up, argument forgotten. I aim my weapon, hoping it's the lesser of the two evils that comes out of there.

"Hey," a voice calls out sharply in the stillness, and a body stumbles from the brush. "Oh man, am I glad to see you guys! Cut me loose, will ya."

I let out my pent up breath as the face comes into view. Kelly! He made it. He stumbles onto the road, nearly tripping in his haste.

Gordon runs to meet him halfway, his knife out to cut the guys ties. The poor guy looks worse for wear, even more so than us. His hair is matted with leaves and twigs. A long gash runs down the side of his face and another showing through his torn pants leg. He did not have an easy time of it last night, obviously. But at least he made it.

"Wentworth?" Kingsley questions as Kelly approaches and I hand him a bottle of water from my backpack. He accepts it gratefully and downs it in one huge, noisy gulp.

"Not sure," he gasps, shaking his head at Kingsley and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "Last I saw of him was back at the field. Then I got a little too busy trying to stay alive. Sorry, man."

"Well, you made it. So odds are good Wentworth did too," Luke, always the optimist. "Maybe he headed back to the Grand instead of coming here like you did. You've been here all night, I take it?"

Kelly nods. "Yeah. Had a couple of leeches on my tail, but I took cover in that panel vault over there."

He nods toward a crumbling, concrete ruin of a building.

"They knew I was in there, but they couldn't get at me. Damn bastards hung around all night, gurgling at me. They finally wandered off some time this morning. Something else caught their attention."

He doesn't say it, but we're all thinking it. Maybe that something else had been Wentworth.

"You guys got any food left? I'm starving."

Gordon crouches down in the road, scrounging around in his pack for anything salvageable. He pulls out a badly battered pack of crackers. Kelly rips them open and digs in with pleasure, like its steak and chips instead of crumbled dried bits of cardboard.

"Any sign of leeches since?" I ask, scouring the trees for any movement.

"No, it's been quiet all morning," he mutters, cracker crumbs flying out of his mouth willy nilly. "Haven't seen anything but you guys."

"Thank God for small miracles." Gordon sighs. I agree with the kid. Usually I'm up for a leech party, but after last night's escapades, we'd probably end up on the losing side of that one.

Luke pulls his binoculars from his backpack and studies the buildings for a couple of minutes.

"Seems quiet enough," he lowers the glasses and glances over at Blondie. "Which one houses the pods, Jess?"

"The one on the right."

"The one on the right it is." He puts the glasses back in his pack as he glances around at us. "You guys ready to get this over with?"

"So fucking ready," I mutter wearily, suddenly exhausted. How had this all gone so terribly wrong? It should have been just another typical outing. It’s anything but. Something just isn't sitting right with me. So yeah, I'm definitely ready to end this once and for all.

***

The
scene below our vantage point on the metal catwalk is like something straight out of a horror movie. Rows upon rows of 'pods' cover the warehouse floor, kind of reminding me of wrapped bales of hay dotting farmers’ fields. Just knowing there are people inside of those though, instead of grass fills me with a cold dread.

"It's so spooky," Gordon mutters, echoing my sentiments exactly. There’s no movement on the floor, other than Kingsley, Dom and Luke as they strategically place the C4 charges, but I expect at any movement for those pods to come to life. Images of hybrids with rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth, coming to life and attacking our guys down below sticks in my head and just won't let go. I'm jittery, all wound up like I've had a million cups of coffee. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Do you think they've mutated already?" Gordon whispers in my ear. I wave him away like a buzzing mosquito.

"How the fuck do I know?" I ask, irritated not so much by his question, but by the fact that I’m thinking the same thing. Have they mutated? Or are they still human. And more importantly, are they humans we may very well know? Could Sam be one of them?

There. I said it. I finally admit to myself what has been lurking in the back of my head for the past few days, ever since finding out about this warehouse of humans. I mean, it would make sense. Maybe this is why we never did find a trace of them. Maybe it’s because they weren't fodder but brought her for this other purpose.

I know I'm grasping at straws. And I know if that’s the case, then Sam is as good as dead anyway. These people are beyond our help. Doc Roger was adamant about that. Still, what if he is here? What if I could see him again? Just to see his face, one last time.

Before I even realize what I'm doing, I'm running down the metal stairs, jumping two at a time. An overpowering urge to find him is all I can think about. All I can feel. It consumes me, blocking out the shouts and dismay of the others. I ignore them all. There’s only one thing I care about right now. Finding Sam.

I approach the first oval pod and yank my knife out, slashing recklessly at the sticky substance. It cuts surprisingly easy and within seconds a face begins to appear. I pull impatiently at the white gossamer strings with my bare hands, revealing a young woman. Her face is serene, pretty and still very human. But not Sam. Abandoning her, I move quickly onto the next one and start the process all over again. The dark hair of the man in this pod jolts my heart like a shock-wave, and I frenziedly yank at the mesh like substance. But it quickly becomes evident he’s not who I'm looking for. Maybe the next one. It has to be the next one.

"Bixby!" The shout is very close to my ear, but the voice sounds so far away. Like Luke is yelling at me through a tunnel. I try to push by him...to get to the next pod. That might be the one. It has to be the one. It has to be him.

"Bix," he yells again, lifting me off of my feet. Preventing me from reaching the next pod.

"Let me go!" I scream. "I need to see. I need to see if he's here."

"Stop it," he yells, trying to pin my arms, but I flail at him like a mad woman. "I said...stop it..." he grunts in pain as I kick him hard in the shin, but he doesn't loosen his grip. “Bix, it doesn't matter." He finally manages to yank the knife out of my hands, preventing me from doing him any harm. "Do you understand? It doesn't matter if he’s here. He's beyond our help."

He drops me hard and spins me around to face him, his fingers digging into my arms.

"Do you understand?" He shakes me so violently, my teeth rattle. “Even if he is in here, you can't help him. Listen to me!"

He shakes me again and just like that, the cold knot of reality clenches tight in my gut, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of loss. It's like a hard slap to the face and I stop struggling. He's right. He's fucking right. It doesn't matter if Sam is here. I can't help him. I can't save him. I can't have him back. I can't ever have him back...

The trembling starts in my legs. Tremors shoot out over my entire body, causing all my muscles to go weak. If Luke wasn't holding me up, I'm pretty sure my legs would’ve buckled underneath me. But the pain. The pain is the worst. It pierces my heart like a dull blade, twisting and turning with every damn inch. It feels like I'm losing Sam all over again. The raw emotion comes spilling out of me in a shrieking moan.

"Whhhhhhhy?"

Biting back my tears of grief, I pound on his chest wanting to inflict the same pain.

"I don't know why, Bix," Luke whispers as he grabs my hands, stilling my assault. His eyes are twin pools of hurt, reflecting my own misery back at me. "But I'm so sorry."

He pulls me close to his chest. I let him. Broken, defeated, I don't have the energy to protest. His heart beats against my ear, rhythmically soothing, as he strokes my hair. His voice thick with sorrow, he keeps repeating over and over, "I'm so sorry."

He has nothing to be sorry about. I want to tell him that. I want to tell him how grateful I am for his unselfish support, and friendship, and love. But I don't say anything. I just let him stroke my hair in numb silence.

I become aware of the others around us. I ignore the quiet murmurings and Dom's muttered, “Told you she was a Nutter Butter." I really don't care what he thinks. Luke's protective arms holding me close are the only thing that's real to me at the moment.

"It's all set, Whitman," Kingsley voice interrupts, avoiding eye contact with me. Like he's scared shitless my crazy is somehow going to rub off on him. “We have to go."

I can feel Luke nod against the top of my head.

"Just give us a minute, will ya."

"You got five minutes, tops. After that I'm blowing it, whether you're out or not." Kingsley mutters, before ushering everyone else up the stairs. Their boots on the metal walkway echo about the cavernous room before I hear the door shut behind them, leaving Luke and me alone in the silent tomb.

He rocks me in his arms, back and forth. Like a parent with their child. It's comforting. It feels nice.

"You okay?" He questions finally.

"No." My answer is muffled against his chest.

"You will be."

"I know."

A bit more rocking.

"You ready to go?"

"I think so..."

He sighs, his breath stirring the hair on the top of my head. "I hear a 'but' in that voice."

I smile sadly. He knows me so well.

"Look at them, Luke. They aren't mutated or evolved or anything like Doc Roger said. They still look human. What if they can be helped? What if we’re about to take hundreds of innocent lives?"

He looks. I watch his face harden into a determined mask.

"I know what this looks like. But you saw the same thing I did, Bix. You saw what they turned into at St. Joseph's. Are you willing to take that chance? Are you willing the risk the lives of Amy, and Liv and everyone else at the Grand on that slight chance? Because I'm sure as hell not."