Page 9

Chapter Nine

“ O www” I growl at Nate as he pokes at the entry site in my shoulder. He’s been poking and prodding at my wounds for what feels like hours now. I sit as still as possible and scowl at the door, remembering that I was actually glad to see him when he came through it this morning carrying his little bag of torture devices. Or, as he calls it, his medic kit. My glare at the door intensifies as he hits a particularly sore point in my wound, and I’m mildly surprised the stupid thing doesn’t just combust from the death stare it’s receiving. I let out a huff of air and turn my mind back to why I was in a good mood this morning. I slept like the dead (the real dead – the ones that stay that way) and when I woke, I was able to dress myself in my now mostly clean bra and underwear, without too much of a struggle. I even found a massive black, button up shirt and some loose shorts folded up next to the clean water in the bath bucket. I don’t even know when they could have changed the water without me knowing but being clean for the second day in a row feels amazing.

“Fu-“ I bite back the urge to curse at the beastly man behind me, as he tugs at a stitch in my shoulder.

“Sit still.” he grunts at me, and I have to forcefully remind myself why I shouldn’t jump up and stab him with one of his pointy instruments.

I grit my teeth and remain still. I’ve been through worse I remind myself. I look down at my arms and hands, covered in old scars and shiny newish cuts that glisten with antibacterial cream. Nate insisted on treating all my wounds, not just the bullet hole in my shoulder. He scrubbed and picked at all the half-healed skin from David’s last knife skills lesson and covered the raw wounds with the stingy cream. All the while he muttered and cursed under his breath, throwing dark looks at my wounds as if they personally offended him in some way. Honestly, he’s even worse than the harem girls. At least he’s not trying to gossip with me. And there’s no squealing children.

“You got this wet.” comes his accusatory rumble.

“I did fucking not!” I fire up immediately, the pain making me snappish “don’t blame your dodgy work on me, it’s not my fault you apparently can’t stitch a clean line!” Honestly, I’m not even sure what the problem with the wound is but I’m wound tight, and it feels good to argue, even if it’s about something I know nothing about.

He growls at me. Literally growls. He sounds like a pissed off cat and I snort out a laugh before I can help myself, then quickly suck in a sharp breath as the laugh rattles my shoulder too much.

“It is not dodgy work” he sniffs at me, ignoring my snort of laughter altogether, “the wound is mildly infected, you have heat and redness around the site. I’ll have to check it each day. We might need to find you some antibiotics if this cream doesn’t help.” That’s all the warning I get before he slathers the stingy cream all over the stitches in my shoulder.

I yelp and try to turn toward him, reaching for my missing knife as I do. When I see his smug looking face as I realize I don’t have my knife I settle for a glare and a huff of air to show how very unimpressed I am with him. His look softens and he seems just a little repentant, but I narrow my eyes on him and open my mouth to demand an apology when the door bangs open.

“Alright in here?” Chase asks from the doorway when I swivel around to look at him with raised eyebrows. Chase’s grey eyes dart from my bra covered chest, to the black shirt crumpled up next to us and finally land on Nate sitting behind me, his knees bracketing either side of my waist. His look turns a little cold as he takes a step toward us, eyes tracing each of my numerous scars with clinical precision. “What are you doing, Doc?” his voice is quieter than usual, and he keeps his eyes off the man behind me.

“What does it look like, Soldier?” Nate snaps, not moving from his spot at my back. I shift a little uncomfortably as the tension in the room rises and then jump a little when Nate places a firm hand over my bare hip, stilling me. Before I can turn to question him about touching me like he owns me, my eyes catch on Chase’s as he’s staring at the spot Nate touches me. When he meets my gaze, his eyes are darker, and he looks a little scary.

“Move your hand.” He grits out in a deep, gravelly voice that seems to go straight through me, I shiver, and Nate’s hand tightens a little before he says simply “No” in a voice that sounds like steel coated in velvet. Chase takes another slow, almost predatory step towards us. Fuck, this stupidity is getting out of hand, I think as I lurch to my feet, dislodging Nate’s hand as I go. I get a little dizzy from standing so quickly and by the time I’ve got myself together Nate is standing beside me, squaring up to a seething Chase.

“Would you two just chill?” I ask, exasperated, as I squeeze myself between them, not even thinking about the fact that maybe they might accidentally hurt me until I’m wedged between the two of them, by then it’s too late. I put a palm on each of their chests and try to push them apart, but I can get no real strength in the gesture, I mean I’m flat out just trying to keep my injured arm up and my palm on Nate’s chest, let alone put pressure on it. But they both do me the courtesy of stepping back like I asked them to.

“You hurt her; I heard her squeal.” Chase accuses Nate over my head, obviously willing to do what I ask but not let the anger drop.

“I had to!” Nate defends, “her wounds are getting infected, I had to clean them and apply a salve to try and help the healing.” He sounds angry about having to clean my wounds up and I instantly get fired up again.

“No one asked you too” I snap at him “I’ve dealt with much worse than this on my own and been just fine!” before he can respond I swing around to find Chase smiling smugly at Nate, until he meets my eyes and he suddenly looks a little wary “And you” I point a finger in his chest and he leans back a bit “I. Do. Not. Squeal” I snarl at him before darting around him and stomping off through the door. I slam it shut after me and cringe a little at the noise it makes, having momentarily forgotten that we live in a world full of zombies and death. The noise does serve to break me out of my rage trance, and I blink as I look around, tremors shake my body and I can’t believe I just spoke to them like that. That they let me speak to them like that. What was I thinking?! Where was the caution, the fear? They could have done anything to me for acting like that towards them. If I had done that shit a few days ago I would have needed a lot more stitches, at best! I shake my head at myself and lean against the door, not sure what to do now, after I stormed out so dramatically. I stand there and take deep breaths as I calm the fear that has suddenly, and belatedly, risen inside me. One freaking day with people who haven’t hit you, yet, and you turn into some fiery badass, is that it? God, you useless thing, it’s like you learned nothing at Jacob’s camp, you deserved to be there if you can be so dumb. My inner tirade brings tears to my eyes, especially because that last part sounded suspiciously like Ben’s voice in my head.

Movement, blissfully, catches my eye and I swing my head to the right to find Hunter leaning with his shoulders propped up against a doorframe and his arms crossed, the sunlight from outside throws his features into shadow and he looks a little sinister as he watches me silently for a beat or two as I attempt to surreptitiously brush the tears from my lashes and gulp down some steadying breaths.

“Well, that was certainly entertaining.” He drawls pushing up from the door without uncrossing his arms. I watch him warily as he takes a step back into the sunlight. There must be a balcony out there. He jerks his head at me in a clear order to follow him outside and disappears around the corner, behind the thick curtain that covers most of the glass door to the balcony. I hesitate briefly before shrugging and moving stiffly to follow him, anything to get me out of my own head right now. And besides, the Doctors ministrations are making me feel achy and tired all of a sudden, I need a distraction.

I shield my eyes as I step out into the sunlight, pausing a moment for my eyes to adjust and to just feel the warmth of the sun seep into my skin. It’s then that I remember I’m not wearing a shirt anymore. I look down at my starved, scarred body and heave a sigh. Oh well, nothing for it now, Hunter’s already seen me looking like this and it’s nowhere near as embarrassing as being caught weeping anyway, which he also saw. Ugh. I peer to the left, trying to find out where he went, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I lurk next to the door, soaking up the sunshine, and let my eyes roam over the sanctuary I found myself in. The house has two levels with a balcony on the first and second floors. I’m obviously standing on the second-floor balcony as I can see clearly over the little red barn nestled directly in front of me and the first-floor porch roof juts out below me. The railing around the balcony is the classic white painted wood and what I can see of the roof tiles on the porch below are a classy charcoal color. The clearing the house is sitting on is huge and I can see what must have once been horse or cattle paddocks surrounding my line of sight. I’m going to guess this place was someone’s hobby farm before the apocalypse. It’s quiet and peaceful and I allow myself a moment to lean against the glass at my back and let my eyes slide shut while I pretend the world isn’t ruined.

I hear a rasping noise and startle, swinging my gaze back to the left, towards the end of the balcony railing. I watch as a rope I didn’t notice, tied to the railing, swings a little as if a weight were tugging on it. I wait, stock still as I watch for whatever will come up the rope, ready to run at a moment’s notice. I relax as I see Hunters dark hair appear over the balcony and watch with fascination as he pulls his golden, muscled body the rest of the way over the rail. His dark eyes lock on to mine as his long legs eat up the distance between us and he crowds into me, forcing me to back up into the house again. As he closes the glass door behind him, he pulls a small backpack I didn’t notice from around his shoulders and turns back to me with a serious expression. He holds out the bag to me and when I don’t immediately take it he thrusts it forward.

“This is yours now” he practically demands, and I automatically reach for the pack. My hand closes on his as I take the pack from him and my breath catches when it feels like a spark jumps between us. I curiously open the pack and gasp as I spy both my knives and their holders. I look up to meet Hunters eyes and he looks away first.

“You don’t use them on us, ok?” he says grudgingly.

“I would never!” I declare, a little rashly, seeing as not ten minutes ago I had tried to pull a non-existent knife on Nate.

Hunter smiles at me a little before his mask slips back in place and he’s once again aloof. “You will feel better being armed.” He states this like he knows me, and I arch an eyebrow at him. “You always reach for your weapons. When you wake up, when you hear an odd noise. Hell, you even reach for them while you sleep.” He explains roughly.

“Why, Hunter, are you stalking me?” I query with a small smile, slightly stunned. I know he’s been watching me; I can nearly always feel his eyes on me, but I thought he was watching out for his companions, not watching me.

He mumbles something about it being his job to watch as he turns and slips out the way he came. By the time I look through the doorway he’s already disappeared. I shake my head a little at the strangeness of his behaviour. For a big guy he moves as silently as a ghost and can disappear just as quickly. I immediately start to strap on my knives and by the time I’m finished I can feel eyes on me again but when I look, I see no one. “You’re being a creeper” I chastise the empty room. I wait for a response but when none comes I move off to explore the rest of the second floor while I have the energy.

There looks to be three rooms on this level, the one I’m staying in, the landing that I’m standing on and a room directly across from mine with a closed door. I immediately go for the closed door to explore. I pass the staircase and have to stop to admire the work. The whole staircase is filled with furniture and, I’m pretty sure, some fencing material. There’s not a chance in hell anyone or any thing would ever be able to get past that mess without at least making a hell of a racket and becoming a sitting duck for any type of weapons. Genius. I’m impressed all over again by the men that found me. They take the word ‘capable’ to a whole new level. This must be why there’s a rope tied to the balcony, I think to myself, absently nodding as I move over to the closed door. I grab the handle and twist, kind of assuming it would be locked, but the door opens easily. I step into the darker room and suck in a sharp breath. So. Many. Weapons. My eyes flit from mattress to mattress and all the weapons piled next to them. Knives of all sizes, guns of all kinds, cross bows, ammunition for all of them, axes and even a freaking Katana! I’m impressed beyond belief at the range of weapons and how skilled these men must be to wield them all. And I somehow have absolutely no doubt they know how to use every one of these accoutrements. I shake my head in disbelief as I slowly scan the room again fingers itching to grab up as much as I can carry and squirrel it away under my new mattress for safe keeping. But that would be wrong, I lecture myself, these men saved you, so you don’t get to sneak their pretty weapons away from them. I’m about to duck out of the room when my eye catches on a familiar set of arrows in the corner. My heart leaps into my throat and I rush over to my weapons. Excitedly I run my hands over them and check the ammunition in my guns. The 9mm is empty from the tiny town shoot out and the .44 I stole from Ben is missing a few rounds too, but everything has been thoroughly cleaned and oiled. Not even a spec of blood to be found. I can’t help it, I sniffle a little as I let the tears fall, clutching the freshly cleaned gun to my chest like a favourite puppy.

“This is what makes you cry?” Hunter’s voice is soft but a little incredulous. He speaks from directly behind me and a squeak/hiccup slips out as I whip around to face him with one of my guns pointed directly at his… balls. I’m crouched over my weapons like Gollum in his cave and it’s put me at the exact height of his pelvis. My face heats up and I quickly lower the gun and look anywhere but at him as I stand. I can feel him staring at me intently as he continues, obviously happy to ignore the fact I nearly shot him in the nuts for now, “After everything you have been through, the condition you’re in and not to mention your wounds, this is what makes you cry?” I look up into his dark eyes and shrug my good shoulder a little helplessly at him, not sure what to say. He doesn’t back down though, he just stands there waiting, not breaking eye contact until I can’t stand it anymore and look away.

“This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me.” I quickly mumble, before turning away. I hear him sigh behind me.

“Take them, then. They’re yours after all. Just, try not to accidentally shoot someone. Please.”

I turn back around to thank him but he’s already closing the door behind him. Mimicking his sigh, I strap on my weapons and take moment to relax into the feel of their familiar weight. Never helpless. Never again. Strong. Independent. I pause in my silent pep talk, not sure what else I need to tell myself. Then it comes to me and after a moment of hesitation, I decide to allow the feeling to grow. Badass bitch. Fighter. Never a fucking victim. I repeat that a few times, settling myself back into my own skin and infusing my mind with more confidence than I have any right to feel. I grip the handles of my knives before releasing them and shaking out my hands. I stand straight and flip my matted hair before stalking back towards the door to my room. I am more than ready to find my shirt and kick the large idiots lurking in my room out, so I can get some more sleep. Being badass is exhausting.