The Pulse (10 page)

She stopped trying to claw at him. It was useless, she may as well conserve her energy for when she had a fighting chance at actually hurting him. She let herself go limp in his arms as he carried her back to hell. Grand Central Terminal. She didn’t know what would happen to her there, but it wasn’t going to be good.

They might execute her.

For treason.

Mason
lit a fire in his fireplace, but nothing could warm the chill that settled in his bones.

Stop it
, he ordered himself
. You’re acting like a fucking idiot. She was just a girl.

A stubborn, headstrong girl who wouldn’t listen to a word he said. He knew, if he thought about it rationally, that he’d be better off without her.

But he couldn’t think rationally, not about Emily.

Fuck.

He did fine on his own—he could take care of himself. His first order of business would be finding a new gun so he could continue to take care of himself. Without a gun he was a sitting duck. It was just a matter of time before he’d be found, and he’d have no protection.

If they found him, the army, like the law, wouldn’t care that the man he killed deserved to die. No—the only thing they’d care about was getting a “dangerous convict” off the streets. In these post-Pulse times, there’s no way they’d take him on as another mouth to feed.

He’d be killed, and he didn’t blame them. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight.

At least Emily has a gun
, he thought. That should help keep her safe. At least, he assumed she had a gun. What else could she have stolen that would have caused such panic in her eyes?

There wasn’t too much of value to people anymore. Just guns, ammo, and food.

A year ago cigarettes had been a hot commodity, but after a while they were all smoked, every last one. With the nicotine out of everyone’s system, cigarettes were no longer a useful bartering tool.

But ammo—hell, ammo was like gold. Better than gold, even. Gold he could maybe barter for a little food or supplies… but with ammo, he could hunt for food or trade for supplies—he could even steal supplies as long as he had ammo backing him.

No one had been in Mason’s apartment while he’d been at the hospital. Part of him wished he’d never gone to the hospital in the first place.

Then he never would have met Emily. Then he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his natural life wondering what happened to her, just like he wondered about his sister Stephanie.

He lay back in front of the fireplace and closed his eyes. Visions of Emily’s beautiful face filled his mind’s eye.

Thoughts of her naked body, hot and sweaty underneath him, rushed through him. He could almost smell her musk as he daydreamed, his cock stiffening in his pants.

It had been so wonderful to thrust into her wet heat, especially after not being with a woman in so long.

Mason pulled his cock out of his pants and stroked himself, but his cool, dry hand paled in comparison to the real thing… to Emily.

He imagined Emily straddling his face so he could eat her pussy, suck her clit until she screamed in ecstasy and then suck it some more. The thought of her face as she climaxed urged him on, and he thrust his hips forward, fisting his hand, wishing it was her.

Her name escaped his lips as he came, come splattering hotly across his abdomen. Fuck. He’d never see her again.

Mason opened his eyes, staring into the fire.
Was she okay, right now?

He wondered how far she might have gotten on foot so far. Was she off the island? As much as he hated the thought of Emily not being nearby, he hoped so.

She’d been right when she said New York was a dangerous place to be now, especially for a woman like her, on her own. Mason wiped his abs clean with his handkerchief and sighed.

Kneeling to lace his boots, he shook his head. He stood up, looking around his apartment. His rats. He had to check on his second stash of rats, feed them, water them.

They were probably fine—if there was one thing rats were good at, it was surviving. And then he had to find a gun. That would be the hard part. At this point, pretty much his only hope of getting a gun would be if he found one on a dead man.

That, he realized, was actually a really sound idea. But where would he find a dead man whose gun wasn’t already stolen?

Snipers.

There had to have been some snipers during those first few insane weeks after the EMP hit. They’d position themselves on the roof or upper floor of a building, and if they got shot, their bodies might not have been discovered.

Especially after the Pulse, since no one was in radio communications. No one would even know for sure that a man was down.

He’d have to scour the rooftops of Manhattan and hope he lucked out. There had been so many men with guns those first few weeks. So much chaos.

At the time, everyone was thrilled to see the army rush in to save the day. But now—now it was a different story.

Mason needed to protect himself from them. Dousing his fire, Mason left his apartment, locking it carefully behind him.

He had a dead man to find.

“Put me down,
asshole, or I’ll scream about that radio to this crowd until you shoot me,” Emily hissed in the soldier’s ear as he continued to carry her toward Grand Central.

He set her down roughly and jerked her forward by the arm. She walked slowly, her legs feeling weak. She needed time to get her wits together if she was going to get out of this mess.

“Walk faster or I’m carrying you again,” the soldier warned.

Emily cursed under her breath. She couldn’t believe she was back at Grand Central. The last place on earth she ever wanted to see again.

At the front entrance, an armed guard nodded at the group of soldiers in recognition. “Colonel Lanche said you’ve gotta bring the girl to him first thing.”

One of the soldiers turned to her and said, “Aren’t you a lucky little whore. I’ll have to visit you later, I guess.”

She shuddered involuntarily at his words and he laughed.

Emily wished she could go back in time and take Mason up on his offer to stay with him. Then she’d be safe—or safer, anyhow.

Now she was as good as dead.

The radio stayed hidden from view in her backpack from the other people at the camp. They carried it through the main terminal with Emily by their side.

Emily saw Jenna, her old roommate, her naturally blonde hair making her stand out amongst the other people. Without hair dye, there weren’t as many blondes around as there were before the Pulse. As much as Emily didn’t want to be at the camp, it was good to see Jenna’s face.

Jenna caught her eye and leapt up, running over to her, wrapping her in a hug. “Emily! You’re okay.”

Emily nodded. “They’re taking me to Lanche.”

Jenna paled. “I didn’t know where you were, I wasn’t sure if you were okay,” she whispered. “I’m—I’m so sorry, Emily.”

“They’re gonna kill me, I think,” she whispered back to Jenna. Jenna gasped.

“Not on my watch, honey,” she said with an uncertain smile. “Lanche likes me—I’ll talk to him, okay?”

Emily nodded again but she didn’t feel any better. She knew too much.

They had to kill her.

Would Lanche ask her questions first, or just shoot her right there?

The soldiers prodded her to keep walking, so she did. One foot in front of the other.

Colonel Lanche sat behind a makeshift desk in his private quarters, a room that used to be one of the shops in Grand Central, off the main terminal. He gestured them inside.

“Emily,” he said, standing to greet her. “We’re glad to have you back.”

It was a trick, she knew. She didn’t say anything.

“You are, of course, under arrest.”

Admit nothing.

“You stole our only way of communicating with the outside world,” he said, pausing again.

She waited for him to accuse her once more, but he held his ground, waiting for her to speak. Finally she couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“How could you keep that radio a secret from everyone?” She meant to scream it but it came out as a harsh whisper, her throat already raw from yelling.

“We cannot share classified information with civilians,” he said, making
civilians
sound like a distasteful word. “You wouldn’t know how to utilize that information.”

“Why is having a radio classified? Why couldn’t you share the news every day with people? Let us listen to the American Victory Radio?”

Lanche laughed. “Well, that answers my next question. You listened to the radio, I see.”

Emily didn’t speak. She’d already said too much.

“The American Victory Radio is just one man, spouting lies from a basement somewhere outside the city. He doesn’t know anything. He has access to some radio equipment that was apparently saved in the Pulse, like our radio.”

One of the soldiers handed over the backpack to Lanche. He opened it and removed the radio reverently.

“Good work, men,” Lanche said. “You can go now.”

The soldier who had kept threatening her scowled at her. She understood the look in his eye, even if he couldn’t speak. Fear rushed through her.

He’d find her later.

If Colonel Lanche didn’t kill her first, of course.

Lanche continued searching through her backpack. “What’s this?” he asked, pulling out a scrap of paper.

Oh no… Mason’s address.

She tried to look nonchalant, hoping he wouldn’t recognize the significance of the address.

“Did you tell anyone about this radio, Emily?” Lanche asked, his voice velvet. She shook her head, trying to stifle the panic that crept up into her throat like bile.

“I think you did. I think you told someone.”

Emily shook her head again, dropping her eyes, not wanting him to look into them and read the truth.

“Andrews!” he barked, and a soldier—the very threatening soldier—immediately came back in the room. He must be stationed as a guard outside the Colonel’s room.

“Go to this address,” he said, handing the man the slip of paper. “If you see anyone there, kill them.”

“No!” Emily shrieked, horrified.

Lanche nodded at her outburst, as if she’d just proved his point.

Andrews glanced at her before looking back at Lanche. “What about the girl, do you want me to take care of her, too?”

“Perhaps. Report to me when you get back from your assignment.”

Andrews grinned at her malevolently and stepped back out of the room, holding the scrap of paper with Mason’s address on it.

She had to get out of there. Had to warn him.

But how?

“What shall I do with you?” Lanche murmured almost to himself. “I can’t trust you back in the general population of the camp. You know secrets you can’t be allowed to share.”

“I won’t tell a soul, I swear. Besides, who would believe me? Everyone knows all the radios got fried.”

Lanche smiled but shook his head.

“Just let me go,” she said. “You’ve got your radio back—let me leave. Please.”

“If I were to let you leave, what would you do for me?”

Emily swallowed. “Anything. I’ll do anything you want me to.” But could she really do whatever Lanche wanted? Yes, she realized. She’d do whatever it took to survive.

But Lanche was pure evil, and he disgusted her more than anything. Besides, she couldn’t trust him. Even if he said he would let her go after he had his way with her, that didn’t make it true.

He’d never let her leave.

Lanche smiled, looking satisfied with himself. “You always thought you were too good for us soldiers, didn’t you.”

“No—no sir.” Her voice sounded false even to herself.

“Well, I don’t want you, how about that. You’re filthy. You’re a traitor who doesn’t deserve to live. I’ll let Andrews take care of you when he returns.”

When he returns from killing Mason.

Emily swallowed around the lump in her throat. As much as she wanted to poke Lanche’s eye out, she had to keep her cool. If she could change his mind, perhaps play on his sympathy, then she’d be free. “Please, sir, don’t give me to Andrews. He’ll rape me before he kills me.”

“He can do what he likes with you. In the meantime, I can’t have you running around blabbing about things, now can I?” Lanche looked at her and smiled thinly. “You’re staying here. I’m going to dinner.”

And the mention of dinner, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Stupid, she thought, to be thinking of food at a time like this.

“I won’t be wasting a ration on you, you’re already dead,” Lanche said, walking out the door and shutting it behind him. There was a faint but audible click as he locked it, even though there was, no doubt, an armed guard standing outside the room as well.

Her life was over.

Andrews would find Mason, and then Andrews would come back here, rape her, and kill her. A loud sob hitched in her throat at the certainty.

No, she couldn’t afford to fall apart now. She was a nurse, damn it, and trained to think critically through a crisis. There had to be a way out, even though it seemed hopeless. She’d survived this long, against all odds.