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“Grav?” Laurel blinked and burst into tears. Great heaving sobs shook her body. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked. “H-h-h— Y-y-y—”

He couldn’t understand what she was trying to say.

He felt sick. Had he gotten to her in time? Had she been hurt? He felt so helpless. He didn’t know how to provide the comfort she needed. His people did not comfort one another, and certainly not the foe. But he didn’t think of her as the enemy.

Moving slowly to avoid scaring her, he knelt on the floor. “You’re safe. I promise you’re safe.”

To his shock, she flung herself against his chest and hugged his neck. Awkwardly, he closed his arms around her. Her body shook; tears dampened his throat. He’d never seen anyone cry with their whole body shuddering and shaking.

Adults never wept. Only small children did, and they quickly learned not to.

He rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. Her robe was wet and sticky with her attacker’s life fluid and brain matter, and the man’s sickening stench clung to her, but right now that didn’t matter. He had to take care of her.

Thank Zok she’d had other weapons stashed. He’d appropriated one, figuring he might need it. He hadn’t realized how messy firearms were. They didn’t give you a clean kill like a vaporizer. On the other hand, he couldn’t have used a vaporizer if he’d had one. Because of the physical contact between her and the attacker, she would have been killed, too.

“I’m o-kkk-ay. It’s ju-just a reaction,” she sobbed.

She didn’t sound okay, and the way she continued to cling to him belied her words.

Scooping her up, he got to his feet and carried her to the couch. He sat and settled her on his lap, the better to hold her, keep her safe. He set the gun on the cushion beside him. He didn’t think he’d need it again, but he hadn’t figured he’d need it so soon in the first place. He’d taken it mostly for insurance.

Gently, he caressed her back and arm, murmuring nonsense in his language. Progg-Res had no vocabulary to express tenderness or concern.

Gradually her tears slowed and then ceased.

She lifted her head. Spikey wet lashes framed swollen eyelids. She expelled her breath in a sigh. “How did you get free?”

His mouth twisted. “A ladder under the bed had a loose rung with a sharp edge.” The rung had only fallen to the floor, and he’d been able to retrieve it. Then he’d sawed feverishly at the restraints. Once his arms were free, he’d hobbled out and searched the cave. He found knives and firearms.

“I never looked under the bed. I’m surprised you didn’t just go.”

He’d intended to but surrendered to an overpowering urge to see her one last time. Thank Zok. What if he’d left? His life fluid ran cold. “I had to say goodbye—and thank you for your hospitality.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin.

The tiny answering grin made the emotion bloom in his chest. Then she said, “I was coming to release you.” Her gaze shifted to the body, and she shuddered. “How did you find me?”

“The ground was wet and mushy after the rain. You left footprints a blind man could follow.” He’d tracked her to the house where he watched from outside for a while. He’d feared if he barged in and startled her, she might shoot him.

Then he heard her scream.

“I need to take a shower. Wash him off me.” She slid off his lap. He missed the contact immediately, but a shower was a good idea. She reeked. The man smelled as bad as his intentions.

Her gaze riveted on the mud tracked across the floor. Then she looked at him. “Um, would you stay until I finish showering? I need to lock up the garage, the house.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he said. “I can lock up while you shower.”

“Okay. Leave the generator running. I’ll need power until I go. You can pull the garage door down withthe cord. There are bolts on the big door that slide into the wall.”

“I’ll take care of it.” Primitive mechanical devices couldn’t be too hard to figure out. No one needed instructions on what to do with a hammer . “After you shower, would it be okay if I took one?” In holding Lauren, the male human’s blood and odor had transferred to him. He stank, too.

“Of course.” She started to move away but then stopped. “Did you bring that? Is that your bag?” She pointed.

He followed her gaze to the mottled silver pack on the floor next to a chair. “It is mine—but I didn’t bring it. I lost it when I got shot.” He narrowed his eyes at Laurel’s dead attacker. “He must have been the one who shot me.”

“I would guess so.”

Grav retrieved his bag. It stank like the man. He opened it and dumped out the contents onto a low padded table to see what might have been taken. “My vaporizer! My comm device!” he exclaimed, relieved to have both in his possession again. His clothing was gone though, and nothing else in the bag belonged to him.

But Laurel recognized the stuff. “These are from the hospital!” She pointed out small vials of pills. “Oxycodone, hydrocodone, fentanyl, morphine, dilaudid—he picked out all the good stuff.”

“What do they do?” he asked.

“They’re for pain, but addicts take them to get high.” She picked up a handgun and checked it. “Not loaded—and I don’t see any ammo.” She looked up at him. “Maybe he used his last bullet on you. He stole my gun from the bathroom while I was in the shower. I came out of the bathroom, and he pointed the gun at my head.”

“Where’s your weapon now?”

“In the hall somewhere. I knocked it out of his hand.” She dashed into the hall, returning with her handgun and an armload of clothes. She set the clothing on the sofa. “I’ll have to dispose of his body.”

“I’ll take care of it.” He pointed his vaporizer at the body and fired.

Poof! It disappeared, leaving only the hole in the wall where the body had hit. Blood splatters had vanished, too.

“How…effective,” she said. Her grim expression caused him to regret his hasty attempt to fix matters. I should have thought it through. Instead, he’d reminded her what his people had done.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“I’ll lock up and then stand guard.”

She twisted her hands. “Um, if you want to leave, it’s probably okay as long as the house is locked. I’ll be all right. I doubt anyone else is out there. He obviously came alone.”

“I’m staying,” he said, and her entire body relaxed with relief.

“Thank you.”

“I can clean up out here while you’re bathing, if you like.” Blood and gray bits of brain matter mixed with the thick dust on the floor. A clean spot marked the area where the attacker had pinned Laurel to the floor.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“If it will help you, I want to,” he said.

“You’re going to use your vaporizer, aren’t you?”

He hesitated. “Unless you know of a better way.”

“It won’t vaporize the furniture or the hardwood floors, will it?”

He stifled a small smile. “No.”

“Okay, thank you.” She disappeared into a passage off the main room. Moments later, he heard a door close and a lock slide into place.

Confident she was safe and secure, he went out to the garage to close and bolt the sliding big door then reentered the house. After locking the door behind him, he checked all other points of egress. He found a side entry unsecured and locked it.

In the main room, he switched settings on the weapon and swept the invisible beam over the floor. Red and gray matter disappeared. The dirty footprints remained, but he remembered how she’d cleaned the cave floor after he’d knocked over the urine bucket. After a quick search, he located a broom, dustpan, and paper towels, which he dampened, and erased the footprints. He emptied the dustpan outside, locking the door again.

His comm device showed no new messages from the GM—not that he’d expected any. It had been months since the last one. It was looking more and more like the GM had decided sacrificing those marooned would best serve the needs of the empire. Or perhaps the entire General Ministry had succumbed to the plague. Perhaps there was no one alive to remember anybody had been left behind. He had no way to know how widespread the devastation had been.

I’m not getting off Earth any time soon. Maybe never.

He sniffed his pack then dropped it, rubbing his nose to wipe away the stench. No way could he carry an object smelling so foul. Not that he needed a sack. He only had his weapon and his comm device, which he carried on his person, anyway. However, he rued the loss of his clothes, especially his extra shirt. It was cold outside. The one he wore hung in shreds since Laurel had cut through it to examine the gunshot wound.

That seemed like a long time ago. He smiled as he recalled how she’d splashed a liquid on the wound—and how it burned. She’d relished his discomfort. Their relationship had changed a lot since then.

He believed her when she said she’d been intending to release him.

Zok, I’m going to miss her.

The bathroom door clicked open, and within seconds, his nose detected familiar, pleasant fragrances.

“Grav?”

“Yes?”

“Uh, could you get my suitcase from the laundry room? My clothes are in it.”

“Okay…uh…what’s a laundry room?”

She chuckled. “It’s the room off the hall by the garage.”

“The one with the spinning machine?”

“Spinning machine—oh, yeah, that’s the clothes dryer.”

“I’ll get the bag.” He trotted to the laundry room and collected the gray suitcase. In the hall on the other side of the house, she poked her head out from behind a door. Anger tightened his muscles at the purpling knot on her forehead. He wished he could kill the man again—this time with his bare hands.

“Here you go.” He rolled the bag to her.

Steam and pleasant fragrances wafted out of the bathing room and around her. She widened the door enough to take the bag. A large fuzzy cloth was wrapped around her middle. He spotted deepening bruises on her bare arms and legs. She dropped the robe splattered with the man’s organic matter onto the hall floor. “I need to get rid of this. I won’t ever want to wear it again.” She ducked inside.

She emerged in fresh, clean faded-blue pants, a nubby long-sleeved shirt, and lace-up shoes. Her weapon was holstered to her hip. Gleaming wet hair hung down her neck. She pushed her suitcase into the hall. “I’ll dry my hair and then you can shower.”

She dropped her gaze to the robe. “Let me get rid of this first.”

“It stinks,” he said. He smelled, too, and looked forward to getting clean.

“I’d ask you to get a bag from the pantry, but you’d never find one.”

He followed her to the food prep area, relieved to see her moving with confidence.

“You did a good job cleaning up,” she noted. “Thank you.”

In a walk-in closet, she rooted around until she found a box, out of which she pulled a large black bag. She was right. He never would have found it, wouldn’t have known what to look for.

Outside the bath, she made a moue of distaste, picking up the robe with two fingers and trying to get it into the bag. He leaped forward to help her, holding the bag open. “What will you do with it?” he asked.

“Toss it in a dumpster, I guess. That’s all I can do.”

“Let me put my pack in there.” He retrieved the contaminated bag, glad to be rid of it. He could have cleansed the items with the vaporizer, but he had no way to recharge the weapon, so he didn’t want to use it unless it was absolutely necessary.

He leaned on the doorjamb, fascinated as she dried her hair with a handheld gun blowing hot air. The Progg had all-in-one sanitizing units. You stepped in. Minutes later, you stepped out clean and dry. It did everything but dress you.

Finally, she finished. “Your turn.” She scrutinized him. “You don’t have a change of clothes, do you?”

He shook his head.

“Let me see what I can find. My brother has some stuff here. He’s more your size than my dad.”

She entered another room off the hall and emerged with a pair of long, pull-on gray pants, a pair of very short white pants, a thin short-sleeved white shirt, and a long-sleeve heavier gray shirt. “I found some sweats. And some underwear.”

“The white goes under the gray?” he guessed, taking the clothes.

“Yes.” She nodded. “There’s shampoo, body wash, and bar soap in the shower.” Biting her lip, she said, “I’ll, uh, let you get to it.” She smoothed her hands down her sides, lingering on the holstered weapon. “I’ll…wait in the living room.”

She’s scared. Afraid to be alone.

“Maybe you’d prefer to join me in the bathing room?” In truth, he didn’t feel entirely comfortable leaving her outside. She’d said the locked house would be secure, but anyone with determination could force his way in. He’d noted the flimsiness of the locks.

“No…no, that’s all right. I’ll be fine. I let down my guard, and I shouldn’t have. I can take care of myself. I’m a little jumpy right now. I’ll have to get used to being on my own after you leave, anyway.”

“But you don’t have to right now,” he pointed out. He hated leaving her alone, hated to leave her at all. Getting free and reconnecting with his people had been his sole goal, but he was strangely reluctant to be parted from her.

She let out a quiet exhale. “Okay, then. If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all.”