Page 8

Chapter Eight

I wake many hours later to the sun starting to fade outside the high little window. I check Ben’s stolen watch, only to realize it’s no longer on my wrist. Maybe I lost it I think morosely. I don’t have a lot of things, so I find myself immediately and excessively attached to things I steal, er, gather. A pang runs through me at the loss of my meagre belongings and I resolve to find them as soon as possible. The more pressing issue is the loss of my weapons, I think, without them I might as well paint a target on my forehead. As soon as I am well enough to tackle any obstacles in my path, I resolve to hunt down my possessions.

I push myself up on my good arm and look around hopefully for water. My throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper and I wonder how long I’ve been sleeping. My eye snags on the wash bucket by the wall. That will have water in it. I start the slow process of getting gingerly to my feet and find myself feeling surprisingly better than the last time I was awake. Unfortunately, as soon as I start to move, my bladder decides to wake up too and I have a crushing urge for a toilet. I wildly search around the room again until my eyes land on what looks like a squat pottery vase, placed strategically by the end of my makeshift bed. I limp my way over to inspect it and find it blessedly empty. Perfect . I check out my surroundings a little more thoroughly as I pee, the mattress that is my bed lays in the centre of the wooden floor of the spacious room. The wall to the right of my bed has the high set little window and the bucket of water resting underneath it. The opposite wall is bare, with only a door set in the middle and a bunch of furniture dumped into the corner. The wall nearest the head of my mattress looks to have a large window which is covered up with heavy drapes, while the one at the foot of the bed is blank. Moving on I hobble over to the wash bucket and check out the water. It seems clean enough and doesn’t have a rank smell to it, so I take a sip to wash the sand from my mouth. There’s a towel laid out under the bucket and another folded neatly next to it, I spit the water in my mouth onto the towel under the bucket. Don’t drink water unless it’s running or you can be sure of its source it’s not one of my rules but its good advice none the less.

Once my mouth feels mostly normal again, I really look at the accompaniments to the wash bucket and I feel my mouth drop open a little. There’s soap, for starters. People got stabbed for soap where I came from, and it’s just sitting here all perfect and smelling pretty . I don’t think it’s even been used! I squeal girlishly on the inside. Even better than the soap, though, is the shampoo and conditioner next to it. I can’t even remember the last time I washed my hair, I could never let my guard down that long. Plus, water was a scarcity and no one but the king and his harem could waste it in that way. Piled haphazardly next to the soaps are an array of girly products including hair ties, a nail file, tweezers, a small bottle of perfume, lip gloss, nail polish and what looks like a kids hair clip and a scrunchie. There’s even a toothbrush and a small tube of paste. I smile as I look over each item greedily. It looks like someone just emptied a teenage girl’s bathroom drawer on the floor. Which they probably did. I’m not one hundred percent sure why that makes me so happy. Geez, I really need to work on my propensity to Stockholm syndrome, apparently.

I quickly snatch the toothbrush and paste and scrub ferociously at my teeth, craving the once familiar feeling of a clean mouth. Back at the compound I had found a twig and used the chewed down end to try and scrub my teeth clean each day… this is so much better. Once I’m done, I can’t wait to wash off, so I grab the little washcloth left on the side of the bucket and start to sponge off my injured left arm. It hurts enough that I need to stop several times before the arm is clean but I’m relieved to find I can move my fingers when the crusted blood is removed. I find I have limited movement in that arm but, surprisingly, nothing feels broken. I crane my neck to look at the wound and find the exit point just under my collar bone, the entry point feels slightly higher up through the muscle in my shoulder. Bloody hells. That was too close. I breathe deeply as I inspect the neat, precise stitches holding me together. I would have died if not for my kidnapping saviours.

Abruptly, I need all the blood and grime washed off me. I stay kneeled by the bucket and start to wash my face and neck, but the bloodied, dirty water is running into my only, already filthy bra. I make a snap decision and do another quick check to ensure I’m alone as I struggle to unclasp my most prized possession. I’m thankful all over again to the previous owner of this bra because it unclasps at the front, or I would never be able to remove it with my injured shoulder. With my bra removed my panties quickly follow and I dunk them both in the water, giving them a quick scrub, before laying them off to the side.

Finally, fully naked, I start to wash every bit I can reach, lathering up the soap on the washcloth with my good hand and watching the bucket of water turn black as I studiously remove the caked-on grime. This feels suspiciously like heaven. I’m lost in a trance of cleanliness, contemplating the chances of me being able to wash my hair with one arm and a dwindling bucket of dirty water (chances are pretty low), when I hear a muffled, manly squeak and a loud crash. Before I can react I hear the door slam shut.

I scramble to grab the giant towel and wrap myself up, my shaking body betrays me and it’s far more of a struggle than it needs to be. By the time I’m wrapped up and facing the door I can hear two sets of rumbling voices on the other side. I creep toward the door and press my ear to it to listen to what they’re saying.

“What do you mean she’s naked?!” Hisses one voice, Nate, I think

“What does naked usually mean Nate?! Naked, naked. She’s having a bath I think.” That’s Chase’s voice, a bit higher than usual.

“Bloody heck, she’s going to think we’re creepers! Way to go Chase! Try knocking next time!” Nate again.

“You said she’d be in bed!” Chase sounds distinctly miffed about this point.

“ She is listening at the door.” Comes Hunters lazy drawl from further away.

Oops, busted. Again. I decide to own it, and whip open the door to glower at Hunter, channelling all the bravado I can muster. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded and eyes already locked on me.

“How’d you know I was at the door?” I ask suspiciously.

“It’s part of my job to know these things” he replies vaguely with a sardonic smirk. Like an ass. I narrow my eyes at him and he sighs dramatically “your shadow was obvious under the door, and you definitely don’t move as quietly as you think you do.”

I pout at him. Wait. Since WHEN do I ever POUT?! I quickly rearrange my face into a semblance of normalcy, but I have no idea how to carry on a conversation after I’ve just pouted at someone, so I turn away from Hunter to look for the others.

They’re both staring at me in a way that makes me acutely aware I’m only wearing a towel, and that thought doesn’t hit my panic button for some reason, though it definitely hits the embarrassment one. I consider just jumping out the nearest window. They’re going to think I’m insane, wandering around in a towel pouting at people. What is wrong with me. I take a fortifying breath and pretend everything’s normal, as though pouting, starving women in towels are the most common occurrence in the apocalypse. Who knows, maybe they are.

“What happened?” I ask Chase, and he goes a bright red. For a big guy, he’s awfully adorable.

“I, um, was bringing you some food and IthinkIsawyounaked.” The last bit comes out in a rush while he’s looking at the ground, I feel my eyebrows lift a little and he continues “I’m sorry, we’re not creepers. And, and, well shit. I’m not normally like this!” the last statement comes out a bit louder and more defiant as if I’d accused him of something. My eyebrows climb higher.

“Like what?” I ask a little hesitantly.

“Like this. I’m normally better at things. Talking and stuff” his beautiful grey eyes are pleading with me to understand, and I can’t seem to help the grin that spreads over my face. I quickly lift my good hand to cover it, transferring towel duty to my injured arm.

“What he’s trying to say,” Nate says, seemingly coming to the rescue of his friend “is that he’s usually better at being around pretty girls and doesn’t usually barge into their rooms without knocking. Like a creeper.” I snort at the betrayed look Chase shoots him, then have to stifle a giggle as he turns the look on me.

“I’m sorry” I say, as I get myself back under control “I’m sorry. It’s ok. Really. It’s my fault, Nate did ask me to stay in bed…”

“Told” inserts Nate “I told you to stay in bed. Not a request.”

“Yeah, so Nate asked me to stay in bed, but I needed to wash my mouth out and I guess I got carried away. Do you have any drinking water?” Nate and Chase both blink a little at my change of subject before Chase bends to retrieve a bottle of water from near his feet. A small sound, suspiciously like a snort of laughter, comes from behind me and I turn to eye Hunter. But I must have misheard because his face is just as perfectly impassive as it was before. He lifts a perfect eyebrow at me in question and I turn back to Nate and Chase to catch them scrabbling around, picking up the obviously dropped items from Chases good will venture.

“Most of this stuff is still good” says Chase “why don’t you go sit on the bed and you can eat while we talk?”

I smile at him, so big it hurts my healing face “it’s been a while since I heard an offer as good as that…” I trail off and my smile abruptly dies. Suddenly the time I spent in the compound crashes into me like a wave. The walls spin a little and it gets a bit darker in the room. I stagger just a little before I get myself together again. When I straighten and focus back on the guys in front of me, I see they have both taken I step towards me, muscles tensed as if they were ready to catch me.

I can’t help looking over at Hunter, too. He’s straightened from the wall and he’s watching me with a laser focus, like he’s ready for me to flip out or something.

“Sorry” I clear my throat a little “guess I do need to sit down.” I turn and take an unsteady step toward the bed and a large, warm hand wraps around my good elbow helping to steady me. I look up and find Chase gazing down at me with concern as he helps me to the bed. I try my best not to let him feel how tense my muscles have gone from his simple touch and quickly focus on getting to bed so he doesn’t see the fear I know is lurking there.

Once I’m safely sitting on the mattress with the sheet tucked tightly around me, courtesy of Nate, Hunter lights a single candle, just enough to illuminate our immediate area while the sun disappears. I gaze ravenously at the food Chase is preparing for me as I guzzle the entire bottle of water. Chase sees my look and silently hands me a small sweet apple from his pocket to begin with while he prepares what looks like a chunk of homemade bread, a slice of cheese (actual honest to god cheese! ) and a tin of baked beans. I hate baked beans, but right now they look like the tastiest thing on the planet.

“Doc says you’re not allowed too much, it’ll make you sick. So eat this slowly. Please.” Says Chase as he hands over the rustic sandwich. I nod as I pull the plate in close to me, unwilling to let any of the guys near it. Theoretically, I know they aren’t going to take my food away, I mean they did give it to me after all, but it’s a bit alarming how hard I have to work to stop myself from physically growling at them, like a starved animal.

“So” I start, figuring I should get them talking so I can eat “you told me your names, but not who you are? Or where you came from? How do you have cheese?” With my conversational duties finished, I take a massive bite of the rustic sandwich and try not to moan out loud.

“We are all that’s left of two specialist army units that were sent out here to help guard a survivalist camp set up by the government in the early days” Hunter begins, somewhat surprising me, not because they’re military, that is abundantly clear, but because I figured it would be Chase the friendly giant that filled me in. “Obviously, the survivalist camp went the same way they all did, that is to say, it collapsed. Ourselves and a few others managed to get some of our camp to safety, but most of our people died. We’ve been searching for a safe space ever since” something about this last sentence makes me think it’s not the entire truth, but I see no reason why he should have to tell me all their secrets, especially when I don’t plan on sharing all of mine. “Chase is the best sharpshooter the army ever produced, and Nate is an exceptional medic. We often split from the group to go scouting” again, this doesn’t sound quite right “and during our last excursion, we found an unusual amount of human activity in this area. We didn’t even know this area was populated until a few nights ago, when we heard an alarming amount of gunfire.” That’d be the knights on their zombie-killing, midnight fiesta, I think.

“I know the night you're taking about,” I say, “but please continue and I’ll tell you my story when you’ve finished.”

Hunter gives a single nod and continues with his story “After hearing the gunshots we set out to investigate. We ended up tailing a couple of shady looking guys, dressed in all black with a yellow, crown-looking, picture painted on their chests. When one split from the group without warning we split up too, I followed the loner and Chase and Nate tracked the others down to that little town, where they apparently laid in wait for you.”

“Wait” I say, a little nervously “was it you that saw me? In the tree? The night after all the gunfire?” I hope it was him or I’ll sound like a crazy person. Again.

“Yes” That’s all he says about the night that has been replaying in my mind ever since. Well, ok then. Obviously not that big a deal for him. Probably because he’s not a raging lunatic like you are, Angie. I shake my head a bit to stop my inner conversation and realise that I have been staring into Hunter’s eyes with my damn mouth hanging open like a fawning fangirl. He didn’t even DO anything for gods sake woman.

“Anyway, continue.” I demand snapping my mouth shut and wrenching my eyes back to my partially demolished sandwich, hoping to move on quickly from my weirdness.

Hunter shakes his head, like he’s trying to fling the image of my dumbstruck gaze out of his head, but he mercifully continues on “I suspect you know the rest, the people in the town pushed a car into a likely spot for an ambush and posted two shooters in the trees, according to Nate and Chase. They know what an ambush looks like and suspected foul play of some kind. So, they watched and waited and eventually they killed the guards stationed in the trees when they saw you arrive. You know what happened next better than we do, and then they made the decision to bring you back to the rendezvous point. While they were occupied with their leads, I had followed mine for days, tracking through the forest, searching, apparently, for you?”

“I suppose he was.” I hedge.

“Tell us your story.” Is his only response, he’s obviously finished divulging his.

“What about the cheese though?” I ask. Cheese is important.

“We have a cow that we saved from the camp. She’s with the rest of our group.” His voice and face are bland when he responds and I get the idea that the topic of cheese is now closed to me. I also call so much bullshit I’m surprised I’m not choking on it. A camp of survivors wandering about the zombie infested woods with a bloody cow in tow? I think not my friend. “Tell us your story” he demands again, probably reading on my face how much I want to call out his unlikely cow story.

I close my eyes and pull in a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for what I’m going to have to say and trying to figure out how much I tell them. I don’t want their pity, but that’s what I’ll get if I give them the gory details, so I decide to just give them the facts, no embellishments or feelings. Straight facts. Definitely not pathetic if you stick with facts.

I quickly recap the events that led to my becoming a captive and the last twelve months and where I spent them. I leave out the gory details, such as the beatings, the unwanted attention and the breeding program Jacob is fixated on, in place of generalised, detached descriptions about how the compound works. I can’t quite look at them while I tell my story, but I do manage to keep my voice calm and even. I skirt the whole rape topic all together, it’s definitely not something I can talk about right now. Maybe not ever.

There’s some movement to my left and I look up at Chase as he stands and starts to pace. He looks agitated and keeps casting me speculative glances and I can tell he knows it’s not the whole story.

“Anyway” I decide to conclude, “after a… series of unfortunate events… I managed to escape when zombies attacked the compound, that’s what all the gunfire was a few nights ago. I used the distraction to climb the fence and lost myself in the forest. It took me about three days to make my way down to the town and I guess in hindsight it was fairly predictable that that’s where I would go, so it’s no surprise the Knights set up an ambush for me, really. I thought I could snatch a car and run as far as it would take me, away from Jacob and everything that happened.”

“What happened to make them chase you so hard though, Angie?” asks Hunter softly. By now it’s well and truly dark outside and the single candle barely illuminates his handsome face. I don’t know if it’s the light or the softness of his voice but I’m suddenly a little nervous about telling these strange men that I happily killed a guy. Doesn’t matter that I somehow think they would understand, maybe even celebrate it. I won’t risk it, they may be helping me now, but that could change in an instant so I must use caution when it comes to these guys. Cheese or no cheese.

“Yeah. Well, Jacobs not really in the habit of being crossed.” I say instead. “If he says you’re not allowed to leave the camp, you better fucking die there. I’ve seen him hunt people that escaped for weeks. I’m not really surprised he came after me.”

“Hmm, it seems like he sent a lot of people out after you though. After just one girl” Hunter prods in his silky soft voice.

I open my mouth to answer him but no words come to mind, just a feeling of being drowned under the guilt of what I’d done. No, that’s not right I think to myself you feel guilty for not feeling guilt. You’re ashamed of the fact you enjoyed killing Ben. My mouth opens and closes as I try to argue with my brain why that’s not true. I start to feel unbalanced as I struggle for words. They must see my trembling hands and ashen face because Chase growls “Enough” at Hunter at the same time Nate says “I think you need to rest” and abruptly starts to shoo the other two towards the door. Hunter gives me a cool, assessing gaze as he moves away under the Doctors orders. I try not to flinch from his look but I fail.

Sighing heavily, I turn away from them and arrange myself in the bed. I startle a little when Nate appears above me again. He picks up the candle and holds it closer to my face as he scrutinises me, then without a word he hands me three little white pills and another bottle of water. I eye them suspiciously.

He grunts an amused sound and says in his lazy drawl “they’re just pain killers, Trouble. Nothing to worry about. They will help you sleep and tomorrow you will show me your other wounds, I need to make sure they don’t get infected.” And with that decree, he turns and heads out of the room, taking the candle with him and closing the door. The good Doctor seems like he might be just a wee bit bossy .