Something to Die For by Kaye Blue

Twenty-Five

Lucas

“The plan?”I asked.

“Yeah. You have to have a plan.”

I didn’t answer immediately, knew there was a lot of weight in those words. Weight I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“If I have a plan, what makes you think it includes you?”

I spoke the words without thinking, and from Angel’s reaction, they had an effect.

Intended, or not, I wasn’t sure, but her entire demeanor changed.

Before, she’d looked relieved, more aware than she had been before, but relieved.

Now, she was different, more closed off.

Which is probably for the best.

Because whatever had happened between us—and I was semihard now just thinking about it and still wanted her again—there was no us.

My only consideration was me. How I was going to get away from this, get away from everyone.

“I see,” Angel said.

The words were stiff, brittle, much like her posture. I pretended not to see it and bit back the urge to apologize.

There was no reason to.

I had told her I would get her to her mother’s house, and I had. That was all I owed her, even if she wanted to pretend otherwise.

“We should try to find out what’s going on,” Angel said.

She ignored the radio and walked deeper into the house. I followed her as she went down the hall, passed the room that I assumed had been her parents’, the door closed, probably never to be opened again, to another room farther down the hall.

“Mama kept her computer in the craft room. Said it was just taking up space out in the living room where my dad kept it,” she said.

“I doubt her computer will work.”

“The wiring in the house is old and it’s fried a computer before, so I got them an alternate battery. It’s supposed to have a five-day life in the event of power outages, so we’ll see. If it doesn’t, I’m definitely calling customer service,” she said.

She chuckled lightly, though I could sense the tension underneath. I lifted one corner of my mouth and smiled then sobered as she bumped the mouse and brought the screen to life.

The front page of a national newspaper filled the screen.

“This is from two days ago,” she said.

Outbreak! Government Scrambles to Control Epidemic. Denies Reports of Corpses Reanimating.

I read the story quickly, got all the pieces about a mysterious virus that had been spreading for the last several months, noticed that things had seemed to turn for the worse last week, with reports of corpses reanimating two days ago.

“You finished?” Angel asked.

I nodded and she moved to another tab, another newspaper, this time local, with much the same information.

Except this time, it talked about riots in big cities, fights that were spilling over into the suburbs.

Martial law.

“There’s a list of refugee camps.” She nodded toward the screen.

“Not a place you want to be,” I said.

“That’s right. You don’t trust the government,” she said, her voice not scornful but her intention clear.

“I don’t trust anyone. And the last place you want to be right now is around a bunch of people.”

“Do I have another choice?” Her words were pointed, the accusation in them impossible to miss.

“Look, I did what I said I was going to. I don’t owe you shit,” I said, my words short, clipped.

“No, you don’t,” she said, her voice even, not angry, but her annoyance clear.

My own anger rose, though was mostly directed at myself for getting into this situation.

“Do what you want. But I have some place to be. The sooner I get there, the better off everything will be,” I said.

“Well, I don’t have anywhere to be, don’t have anyone left. So I guess that’s that,” she whispered.

“I guess so,” I said.

I stared at her moment then looked back at the computer.

“I’m going to get some sleep. I suspect we’re going to need it.”

* * *

Lucas

I startled awake,looked around the room, pissed that I had fallen asleep so deep that I hadn’t heard Angel moving around the house.

In fact, it was only the smell of food that had awoken me.

My first instinct was to find her, but I didn’t give into that.

Instead, I went to the bathroom on the opposite side of the house, probably stalling more than anything, but when there was no other excuse, I made my way to the kitchen.

When I glanced at her, I was again struck by how at home she seemed here.

Which made sense, because it was her home, after all, but I had only really seen her within the confines of prison, so this side of her was new.

And there was also more than a little bit of envy in watching her.

Had I ever been as comfortable anywhere as she seemed to be in this kitchen?

Sadly, the closest place was probably solitary confinement, something I didn’t want to think about.

“I made eggs. All of them. They were only about six, and I didn’t want them to go bad,” she said.

“Smart,” I responded before I sat down.

Not a moment later, she put a plate in front of me, more of the meatloaf from the night before and piled high with eggs.

“You want bread?”

“I’m good,” I responded.

“Coffee?”

“You have some?” I sounded so hopeful, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

Her face broke into the most breathtaking smile I had ever seen. “Do I?”

“My father might have been a mechanic and part-time farmer, but the man was fanatical about his coffee. Was before that even became a thing. He even tried to grow beans once, though the environment is all wrong. So, yes, we have coffee,” she responded, the smile on her face still bright, so infectious, I couldn’t help but return it.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

One fuck, and I was smiling over coffee beans.

I looked away from her.

“What just happened?” Her voice lacked the humor, the joy, of just a moment ago.

“What are you talking about?” I said gruffly, more gruffly than I intended.

“We were having a conversation, and you seemed to just…I don’t know, shift.”

“I thought I told you I don’t like people trying to psychoanalyze me.” I didn’t even try to keep the anger out of my voice.

“You did. So are you going to answer the question?”

“You’re getting real fucking pushy, Doc. You sure you want to do that?”

I glared at her, saw her flinch ever so slightly, saw the beginnings of fear that had been gone completely the night before.

And saw when she fought it back.

“Are you’re trying to bully me?”

“No. I’m trying to get you to back the fuck off.”

“Then just say you don’t want to talk, asshole.”

For some reason, her cursing was amusing, and I smiled.

“That’s funny to you?”

“Yeah. You’re looking at me like you’re tough.”

“I am tough,” she responded without pause.

And she was.

Most people wouldn’t have made it in the prison, but she had, and had earned some respect along the way.

And even though she’d been a little too talkative for my tastes at the compound, she’d held her own there, too.

Had been holding her own with me.

“What was that last night?” I asked about halfway through breakfast.

To her credit, she didn’t miss a beat.

“What makes you think it was anything?”

“It was something,” I responded.

The memory of her soft hands on my body, the way she had squeezed around me came back, and I was hard in an instant.

“You regret it?” she asked.

Her expression was unreadable, but I still studied her face.

“Do you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t have the luxury of regret anymore,” she said, sounding sad. And resigned.

“As you like to say, that’s not an answer.”

“No. I don’t regret it.” She said the words almost grudgingly but somehow managing to sound prideful at the same time.

“So what was it?” I asked.

I shouldn’t have cared.

So many years without a touch, and I shouldn’t been looking a gift horse in the mouth.

But I was.

“Same as with your kiss, I guess. I just wanted to be away. Away from all this. Wanted to connect with someone.”

“Anyone?”

“Don’t do that, Lucas. Don’t try to make it something that it wasn’t.”

“So…it was just a thing. Right.”

I was acting like a fucking teenager but that stung.

But it also made sense.

I mean, what the fuck? If she’d come across me any other time besides the fucking zombie apocalypse, she’d probably turn and run in the opposite direction. And I would have too.

So we were both making the best of these fucked-up circumstances.

It was nothing more than that.

“You all right?” she asked.

At her question, I looked down, then I met her eyes, my expression one I knew revealed nothing.

“I’m fine. Just wanted to make sure we’re okay,” I said, telling part of the truth but not all of it.

“We’re fine,” she said with a smile.

That should have made me happy.

All I felt was empty.