Page 12

“Up and at ’em, Dev,”

Rex says, shaking my shoulder.

I just grunt and burrow deeper into my blanket cocoon. Like hell am I getting up yet. Bastard wanted to wake me up early to fuck, least he can do is let me have a few more minutes of sleep.

And he wore me out enough I don’t even have the energy for those little nightmares that sometimes wake me up.

Only, a second later, the asshole rips all the blankets off, leaving me curled up naked and shivering on the mattress.

“Electricity still works here. There’s hot water. Go shower.”

Hot water?

Magic words. I drag my ass out of bed, limbs heavy and slow as I head down the hall.

In the bathroom, I crank the water as hot as it’ll go. Steam soon fogs the small window as I step under the stream and hot water cascades over my bare skin.

Fuck me. It feels incredible.

There’s even a bottle of soap, so I scrub my hair and body clean, washing away weeks of grime. Then I just stand under the hot spray, relaxing in its warmth.

Even before the sickness killed off most of the world, I’d been taking cold showers. Kinda happens when your family’s poor. Same thing with electricity. Some months it worked, others it didn’t.

Guess my childhood prepared me for this. Used to having clothes bought from the Salvation Army. Or being a bit dirty, and hungry. Though, the latter wasn’t always from not havin’ money.

My father used starvation as a way to punish me sometimes.

Rex pounds on the door. “Devon, finish up.”

I snort. No way am I rushing to go back out into winter weather. I’m going to milk this until the water starts to run cold.

A few minutes later, he’s pounding on the door again. “Boy, you got five minutes or I’m gonna kick this damn door down. You won’t like what happens after.”

I roll my eyes and shut off the water, then towel dry my hair, leaving it a wild mess. After putting on my clothes, I head to the kitchen, lured by the scent of cooking.

Stopping at the entryway, I spot Rex at the stove, his back to me.

Perfect.

If there’s one thing I can do better than him, it’s keeping quiet to sneak up on people. And I love doing it to him. Makes him angry.

Well, not really angry.

More like annoyed.

With a smirk, I pad gently across the ceramic tile, keeping out of his line of sight. He’s too focused on stirring whatever’s in the pot. When I’m close enough, I swiftly lean in next to his ear. “What’s that?”

“Fuck!”

He spins around fast, elbow jutting backward into my side. When he faces me, his eyes shift from hard to soft, and he releases a huff. “Christ. One day you’re gonna catch a fist if you keep that up.”

Little does he know I’ve caught a few fists from the time I was seven.

My chin juts up as I smile. “Hearing going, old man?”

His lips quirk as he turns back to the stove, posture straight but relaxed. “You should do that more often.”

I drop into a chair at the table. “Do what?”

“Smile.”

My breath stops and my heart freezes. As I bite my lip and look away, a vicious heat pools in my cheeks.

Shit.

I’m not some simpering fool, an idiot who gets all doe-eyed over words, but no one’s ever mentioned wanting me to smile, let alone do it more.

When the heat fades and I turn back to him, his sharp eyes take me in a second before he nods to himself, then brings over two steaming bowls of whatever the hell he was cooking. He sets one in front of me with no more talk of smiling.

Thank God.

I poke at it with the spoon. “This is mush.”

He flicks the side of my head as he heads back to the stovetop. “It’s Cream of Wheat. Eat up, your skinny ass needs the calories.”

I dig in, groaning at the first hot, creamy bite.

Fuck me.

I’m not sure if it’s because the shit is actually good or because I’m finally eating something hot after a few weeks of eating cold food, but I shovel it into my mouth as fast as I can.

“Slow down. No one’s gonna take it from you.”

“Shut it, old man,”

I mumble through a mouthful, already scraping up the last bit from the bowl. “Gimme more.”

He brings the pot of Cream of Wheat over, then refills my empty bowl. I dig in, savoring the hot cereal.

As Rex joins me at the table with his own bowl, the blue-black ink on his left forearm catches my eye again. That tattoo, always peeking out from under his sleeves, intrigues me as much as it irks me.

"What’s it say?" I nod toward his forearm.

Rex pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth, then sets it down. He looks at me, maybe surprised I'm asking again or just weighing how much to share. "Fight as One. Fall as One. Rise as One. Meant that no matter what, we had each other's backs."

The words stir something in me. Sounds like they’re from a story, not real life. Not the life I've known anyway. “Your friends all dead then?”

“Not all.”

Rex resumes eating, his eyes focused on the table. Hate when he gets like this. Acts like he’s okay, but I catch the little things. And if I pry, he’ll do it right back, might even bring up last night.

So I go back to eating.

Rex stands and heads to the stove to start boiling water to refill our bottles. Can’t be too cautious about contamination. There’s enough shit out there to kill us.

While the water heats, we double check our packs, taking stock of supplies, and switching out to warmer gear.

“Gonna talk to me about what happened earlier?”

Fuck.

So much for not prying.

I zip my pack and give him a blank look. “What?”

“When you panicked. Where’d you go?”

He holds my gaze, his eyes soft and patient. “Not the first time you’ve zoned out like that but definitely the most intense.”

My fingernails press into my now sweaty palms hard enough to pierce skin as my pulse thrums wildly in my ears. “None of your business.”

“Devon—”

I glare at him, nostrils flaring. “We fuck. That’s it. Don’t think I have feelings for you or anything.”

His face tightens, and a muscle twitches near his eye. He turns away in one fast move to grab the empty water bottles, his shoulders rigid, then stalks back to the kitchen without looking at me.

My chest seizes up, heart pounding against my ribs as I dig my teeth into my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Is he done with me? Will he tell me to fuck off now?

I wouldn’t blame him.

But . . .

The idea of life without him is too painful to even think about, and I know, even if he tells me to fuck off, I won’t. I’ll always follow the bastard.

It’s like he’s a flickering flame and I’m the stupid fucking moth that’s forever drawn toward its deadly heat.

The seconds drag on, each longer than the last. My hands start to shake, and breathing’s becoming difficult.

He comes back in, our bottles refilled, then pulls out the worn map, tracing our route with a finger. “I want to hike at least sixteen miles today.”

I look at him tentatively for a moment, but he just keeps his eyes on the paper below. When I wheeze he finally looks up, eyes widening.

“Shit, Devon. Breathe dammit.”

He drops the map and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me. “Fucking dammit, baby boy!”

Though my heart slows, knowing he isn’t planning on leaving me, the lump in my throat grows bigger. The shaking eventually stops and I can breathe normally again.

He releases me, looking me dead in the eyes. “You need to talk to me.”

“No.”

I step away, then reach down and pick up the map. “Just go over the plan.”

His jaw ticks and he lets out a long sigh, then takes the map and points out the path we’re taking, making sure I memorize each turn and landmark he indicates. When I’ve got it down, he refolds the map, then stows it in his jacket pocket and we head out.

We walk through lunch, only pausing to rest and drink some water.

Beyond pointing out animal tracks and telling me what made them, he keeps silent.

Distant even.

I fucking hate it. But I don’t want to talk about my father either.

When Rex shows me how to set snares properly and spot hidden dens, I pay close attention, even keeping my know-it-all trap shut for once.

If anything, his lessons help fill some gaps in my survival skills, and his patient way of instructing is damn near soft compared to my father’s “teaching methods.”

The heartless prick had no problem leaving scars when I didn’t learn fast enough to suit him.

And that just makes everything I’m feeling worse, especially because disappointing Rex sits like a rock in my gut. Yet, I couldn’t help myself earlier. Only, instead of disappointing him, I hurt him.

By midafternoon, the air has grown even colder and an icy wind picks up, biting at our exposed hands and ears. I pull my jacket tighter, hunching my shoulders against the chill while ominous gray clouds roll in to blot out the sun.

It’s not long after, Rex starts sniffling more than I’d like. My nose is running too but not like his.

He looks over his shoulder, assessing me like he usually does. “We’ll need to find scarves soon and warmer clothes for you.”

“Not the only one who’s cold.”

I can’t help the angry bite in my voice, annoyed he’s always more concerned about my wellbeing than his own.

With about an hour of daylight left, we reach the outskirts of a small town called Milroy. Rex takes the lead scouting several collapsed homes, but quickly shakes his head. “No good. We’ll have to make camp in whatever’s most intact.”

We end up in the basement of an old brick office building. It’s freezing, even sheltered from the howling wind. Our breath fogs in the air.

Rex lays out his sleeping bag, then unzips it. “Get in.”

I crawl into the confined space, then he slides in behind and zips us up. And though he wraps an arm around me, he remains quiet and withdrawn.

The silence is deafening and suffocating, eating at me like a damn piranha.

I let out a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry ’bout what I said earlier.”

His arm flexes. “You got your demons. Fine. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen. And I’m not going anywhere. Just stop taking that shit out on me.”

“Taking it out on you?”

Instead of answering, he pulls me closer, burying his face into the back of my neck. “Go to sleep.”

While I may want to know what the fuck he means, Rex can be even more stubborn than me. And I’m too damn cold to pull away from his furnace-like warmth to argue.

I close my eyes and focus on his heat, which chases away the icy chill inside me like a thousand suns. Nevertheless, I keep jerking awake every few minutes as the cold seeps into my bones.

Rex unzips the sleeping bag, then goes to his pack and pulls out a knitted hat, which he places on my head before getting back in.

He sighs, pulling me against his chest again. “You’re too damn skinny.”

No matter how much I try to deny it, I like the way he makes me feel cared for. Wanted. Safe.

I curl up into him, but this time . . . this time it’s for more than just warmth.