Page 35

Olivia

The drugs have left her foggy and drowsy, her shoulders strained backward in their sockets.

A hard wooden chair digs into the back of her thighs and every time she blinks, the world spins.

She’s in an office. Maybe a study or a living room.

Her brain can’t make sense of her surroundings while soaked in whatever they injected her with.

Her daughter’s name is her first lucid thought. “ Lucy!”

Olivia struggles to stand but Grant shoves her over a desk with her hands tied behind her back, his chilling voice ghosting her ear. “You can keep having a fit, or can we have a conversation? The first option doesn’t end well for you.”

She doesn’t answer, can’t when the drugs and the stress mingle together to make her stomach roll.

She throws up all over clean mahogany, soaking papers and trinkets.

His disgusted glare as he throws her back into the chair makes her feel accomplished.

He might not rape her if he’s staring at her like she belongs on the bottom of his shoe.

“Where are they?” She surprises herself that there’s not a tremble in each syllable.

“The baby is safe.” He flicks a lighter at the end of a cigar. “Your boyfriend, husband, whoever he really is, is too. For now. I’ll be checking on him shortly. Make sure he’s earning his keep.”

There was a time when her initial reaction would be to cry, but she refuses to let this monster have the satisfaction. She knows the type to get off on it, lived with one for years and Grant fits the profile.

She’ll get Lucy back.

She’ll find Cole.

She can’t help anyone unless she keeps it together.

Discreetly twisting her bound wrists earns her more wiggle room than she expected. In the corner, Olivia catches sight of their weapons. The shotgun they showed up with and the knives they were allowed to keep. Their room must have been cleared already. No trace of them left behind.

“Why would I kill someone before we make use of them?” Grant continues. “It’s been so long since we had visitors. The community is restless for another show.”

Her heart sinks. “What kind of show?”

“Nothing special. Not much in the way of entertainment around here anymore. Have to give them something to look forward to. Something to take their minds off what’s happening beyond the fence. A way to work off their aggression and fear. Something to laugh at.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

He only smiles, walking over to a large object in the corner covered by a tarp. He flings the fabric aside, revealing a snarling, snapping rotter inside a giant dog crate, its claws reaching through the bars. “This is my wife. Your daughter could help save her.”

“There is no saving her now. You know that.” Olivia squeezes her eyes shut, willing herself not to unravel. “Lucy could be like us. Just another carrier, and even if she’s not, there’s too much damage done after someone turns.”

The ties on her wrists loosen little by little. She only needs to buy enough time before he takes her elsewhere, so she keeps up a ridiculous conversation, watching him pull a bottle of brandy from a cabinet, the likely source for the soccer mom group’s stolen wine.

“The question now is, what do we do with you? Cole has a purpose. Your baby does too. But you haven’t found a way to be useful yet and we can’t trust you in the general population for obvious reasons.”

“So you’re going to feed me to that?” she asks incredulously. “Why are we even talking, then?”

He nods with raised brows like she’s made a good point, moving to unhook the latch on the crate door.

She blurts out the first thing that might save her life. “Test a cure on me first! If Lucy has antibodies, then who better to test them on than her own family?”

Inject me with whatever you want and then let your dead wife take a bite and see what happens. That’s her offer, and it’s enough to stop his hand inches from the latch. “A solid suggestion, but unnecessary when we have the source.”

She pales at the implication.

It was never just a blood draw.

They probably don’t even have the equipment to make a vaccine or effective treatment.

Lucy would be the first test. That’s how they’d find out one way or another.

There’s nothing Olivia can say to save herself.

There never was. Her purpose here is to feed this creature.

Any precursor is solely for his amusement.

She has spent most of her life feeling useless and helpless, and this is no different.

For a moment, she sags against the chair, defeated.

Until she remembers what kept her alive in that house with her husband.

The skill she crafted long before the dead walked the earth.

If there’s one thing she’s good at, it’s distracting and pacifying a man.

“How long has it been since you’ve come without your own hand?” Leaning back against the chair, she lifts her head, her eyes hooded. “It must be difficult to be alone through all this.”

He huffs, but his curiosity is peaked. “Pleasure is only a distraction from the mission.”

“Is it? Or could it clear your mind?”

“I know what you’re doing.”

She shrugs, letting her gaze travel down to the zipper on his fly.

“I need you to have a reason to keep me alive, and this is something I’m good at.

You wouldn’t need to worry about souring relationships with the towns folk.

Don’t need to fake it with anyone out there.

I can get you off whenever you need in exchange for my life.

That’s the offer. I won’t fight you. I won’t complain.

I’ll suck your cock like it’s a fucking lollipop.

I’ll even swallow. Let me give you a trial run, then you can decide. ”

He narrows his eyes, shifting his stance. “I am no rapist.”

“You can’t steal what I offer.”

It’s a lie, of course. There can be no real consent when she fears for her life and would do anything to find her baby again, but her answer seems to calm his objection.

Lucy screams from down the hall, and Olivia’s facade falters, her voice shrill.

“Please, please, let me do this for you. Keep me alive, give me a chance to see her again if your experiments work, and I’ll give you whatever you want.

If you close your eyes, I could be your wife.

You could have her back again for a moment. ”

In the end, he thinks with his dick like she knew he would.

He could likely have any of the women who live in this town if he chose, if only due to his status, but there is forced professionalism in his demeanor that she suspects curbed that effort.

He wants to be respected in this place and fucking anyone who still has a pulse would be frowned upon in such a civilized community.

She is offering him a hidden outlet, and he accepts.

The cigar is muffled in a tray and the tarp flung back over the crate containing his wife before he comes closer, one hand on the button of his pants and the other on the back of her head, yanking it back by her hair. “A trail run first. Mind your teeth or I’ll pull them out of your head.”

She nods, feeling the rope on her wrists loosen further until her thumb slips free.

There is no one here to save her today. She must save herself.

She takes him into her mouth without any hesitation. Despite the putrid smell and taste making her gag, she persists. One stroke. Two. Bile rises in her throat as she glances up to find his head tipped back and his eyes shut.

And then she bites down. Hard. Her sharp canine tooth slices through the flesh as her back molars clamp onto his shaft.

How many times had she thought of doing this when her husband demanded the same?

Too many to count. She was never brave enough to try then.

She feared prison time, or worse, his retaliation.

There are no police anymore. No need to explain herself to authorities. He can’t retaliate if he bleeds to death.

As he flails and screams, she twists her head and bites harder, catching him off guard, leaving him to try to shove her away from his crotch.

She only lets go when she’s ripped the entire thing off.

Blood drips down her mouth and she spits the remains onto the ground, bringing her hands forward, unbound by the ropes, and stands from the chair.

Unable to do more than writhe and twist in agony, he struggles to stop the flow of his own blood.

Olivia grabs the shotgun, checking the chamber like Cole showed her after they left the gas station.

She could shoot him now, but it would alert the others.

If he somehow stops the bleeding, he might live and steal someone else’s baby.

He could track them down after they leave and they’ll spend forever looking over their shoulders.

Leaving him alive will risk her daughter’s life.

Olivia isn’t a violent person, but this world changes people, and she better adapt or risk everything she loves.

Standing over him, she smashes the end of the shotgun into his forehead until the crack of his skull tells her it’s enough.

Momentarily, she’s horrified at what she’s done and has to swallow the urge to vomit again.

She sways on her feet, stuck in disgusted shock until Lucy screams from the depths of the building and the sound kickstarts Olivia’s determination.

She grabs a bottle of liquor from the cabinet and the lighter off the desk before darting out the door.

Lucy’s cries echoing through the halls are more reliable than any map.

They lead her through several doors and into a makeshift lab where she finds her baby on a cold metal table, alone with Carlton.

Out of breath, red-faced, and angry, Lucy wears a band-aid on her chubby arm, which Olivia assumes is from a preliminary blood draw. She’s upset but alive and when Olivia frantically scoops her up, the sobbing begins to quiet as she inhales her mother’s scent.

“ It’s okay baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you now,” she says softly .