Page 71 of Purgatory (Devil Dogs of the Apocalypse #1)

Alessandra

Sitting on the little porch, stoop, thing, in the front of the house, I stare into the rising sun, waiting for the silhouettes of the men I love to come into view.

The beauty of the reds and oranges that used to bring me joy in this desolate world, pale to my worried heart.

There’s an ache in my bones and a chill in the air that can only foreshadow doom and despair.

I don’t like it. Not one bit. I know I saw the explosion, I know the guys were there, but I can’t, for the life of me, give in and accept that they were in it when that happened.

They’re too smart. Too strong for that to be their end.

Granted, if it was, it would have been in a blaze of glory befitting them.

But still, knowing how much they would fight, the only way a fire like that would take them is if they wanted it to and they let it.

Which returns me to my original thought: they caused it.

Whether or not they let it take them? Well, that’s another story.

I contemplate getting myself some food, but even though my stomach is loudly demanding it, I can’t seem to pull myself off of the wooden steps.

It’s like my butt is glued to the floorboards, my eyes unblinking towards the horizon.

God forbid I move and I miss them. Unlikely, since I’m currently squatting in their safe house which they gave me explicit instructions to rendezvous at, but my anticipation is taking over, directing what my body is allowed to do.

I’m no longer rational, I’m expectant. I expect to see them. .....now.... no..... now...maybe now?

When my manifestation techniques do absolutely no good for my anxious thoughts or jittery body, my stomach protests again.

“Fucking fine, I’m moving, sheesh.”

Apparently, my body is expecting breakfast...

When I woke this morning, dust mites all up in my nose since I was conked out on the floor of all places, my appetite was nonexistent.

Still is nonexistent but I guess survival and logic trump stubbornness.

I’ll just grab something small, readymade and portable.

A can of chicken soup does the trick. I don’t even heat it up.

No, that would take time. Time I don’t want to waste waiting for stuff to boil when I could waste it on the porch.

.. waiting for my guys. Rational thinking, people!

I, practically, run back out the front door to see if I can see them on the road yet, but still see no signs.

I look down at the can of soup in my hand and mutter “fuck!” This particular can doesn’t have the awesomely convenient, little pop top like some others do so I turn and race back inside to tear the kitchen apart in search of a can opener.

After I successfully demolished the kitchen, I find the little devil and proceed to open the can as I walk back to the door.

I pause at the threshold, silently cursing and weighing the pros and cons of eating right out of the can without a spoon before I stalk back in search of one.

My scattered, preoccupied brain not doing me any favors today.

In my haste to find the can opener, I seemed to have emptied the entirety of the silverware drawer’s contents onto the floor.

Oh yay. Extended five-minute rule anyone?

Oh well, a little dirt never killed anybody.

On the plus side, I find a spoon almost immediately and return to my, self-proclaimed, watch post. I don’t even taste the soup as I eat it, too focused on everything and anything moving in my line of sight.

After a long while of nothing, I take a peek back into the house, my eyes going straight to where a battery operated clock is mounted to the wall.

Three hours. I’ve been out here over three hours since sunrise and nothing.

Jax’s words repeat themselves in my head ‘If we're not at the safehouse by tomorrow morning, I want you to go.’ It's almost eleven o’clock.

“Where are they?” I mumble to myself. It doesn’t matter, I’ll stay here as long as it takes.

I don’t care what I agreed to with Jax, he’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to leave them.

I’ll spend the rest of my days in this little cabin waiting for them and even if they never show up, at least I’d know they were with me in some sort of way, even if it is just this dusty, old cabin.

Tears threaten to fall again as I do my best to keep them at bay.

But despite my protest, a rogue tear makes its way down my cheek and I sigh out my grief.

I angrily swipe at its betrayal and shake myself out.

No. I will not give up. I refuse... I refuse. ..

In the distance, I hear a crow caw and turn my head in the direction of the sound.

I feel like a dog when they see a squirrel and get all perked up, eager for whatever good is coming their way.

Whatever positive intentions I thought that sound might have held for me vanish like sand between my fingers.

The horde is here. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

My breath catches. They’re not coming. They couldn’t be. Who could go up against that and come out the other end unscathed. The sheer number of dead walking up the road is terrifying. I’ve never seen a horde this large before, not even in the cities.

For a second, I contemplate running towards the mass and simply letting the horde take me. It would be far less painful than to have to deal with the loss of Cole, Hawk and Jax. I can already feel my heart breaking and my chest caving in from the lack of the vital organ. Can I live without them?

Death is easy. Life is not. Especially when everyone else is dead. What’s the point? Where’s the purpose when you’re the only one left? The only one that can think back on what we had and what will, now, never be.

I shudder out a breath, my tears freely flowing at this point.

I’m about to take a step towards the horde when I stop myself.

What, the fuck, am I doing? I might not have meant the promise to Jax that I would take off if they didn’t meet the deadline but that doesn’t mean I’d off myself.

I need to survive. For them. For me. If they didn’t make it, I need to live on so that they didn’t die in vain.

With my mind made up, I swing into action, turning into the cabin, shutting the door behind me and locking it.

From the outside, there’s only one lock to worry about, but inside there’s five to choose from.

There’s no question, I lock them all. Then, I move to the armoire and push it against the door, creating a blockade.

Fucker is heavier than a tank but after a dozen or so shoves it moves enough to block part of the one side for now.

I look around for any other entry points.

There is a window to the side of the bed and there’s the door to the bathroom, which has a window.

I quickly shut the bathroom door and prop a kitchen chair under the door knob.

Turning my head to the window by the bed, I look for anything else that I could use as a barricade.

I’m about to flip the mattress off of the bed when the front door starts jiggling.

My heartrate skyrockets as I try to find a hiding place in the one room shack without making any noise to attract the horde.

It jiggles again and then there’s pounding.

Three hard knocks on the door. I move like a bumblebee just bit my ass, shoving myself into one of the empty cupboards in the kitchen and having a better appreciation for what contortionists do on a regular basis.

Seriously, my ass is already cramping from the position I've put myself in. As I adjust myself, I wait for more pounding. When there isn’t any, a thought comes barreling into my head.

Only three? Aren’t zombies, like, mindless? Why would they only knock three times?

“Aly!”

It's soft and sounds like it’s being grunted but I hear it. One word. My name. I push my hand against the inside of the cupboard door, opening it a crack and listening like an owl could have taught me, muttering inside my head, who?

“Baby girl, it’s us, please open the door.

” The low timber of his voice bringing instant chills.

I'd know that voice anywhere. Jax. It’s them.

I push the door open and pry myself out of the tight space just as a loud boom sounds from across the street.

Fuck, the horde is probably right out there by now.

I light a proverbial firecracker under my ass and race straight to the front door like a dark horse at the Kentucky Derby.

I make quick work of unlocking the metric shit ton of locks on the door but then I have to move the monster of an armoire.

It won’t budge even as I put my entire weight into it.

How the hell did I move it the first time?

The guys must hear my grunting and struggles and start to push from the other side of the door.

After three good pushes from my human battering rams, the armoire falls flat onto the floor.

Cole and Hawk file in through the narrow entry, followed by Sadie and Jax who abruptly closes the door, relocking it.

They all then replace the felled armoire back against the door, securing us in our makeshift fort once again.

I don’t have time to take in their forms, checking for injury or even to just check them out, before they collectively turn, pick me up and move toward the bathroom.

The room is tiny and I’m a little more than curious as to how they think we’re all going to fit if they plan on us all using it.

Jax enters first, going straight for the shower and turning the water on .

Hawk surrounds me, peppering my face and neck with kisses, “Sweetheart, I was so worried after you left but I’m so happy you didn’t listen to us and leave at dawn. Fuck, baby, I love you.” He holds me close, breathing me in as we reassure each other that we’re ok.