Dead of Eve (4 page)

We came up for air. Good to know I could still throb from only a kiss.

His voice was husky. “What were you obsessing about in the bathroom?”

He knew too well how my anxiety funneled south, bottlenecking between my legs.

I locked my thighs around his hips. “The virus.”

His eyes darted to the top of the stairs. He tensed, seemed to be engaged in some kind of internal war. His jaw clenched, relaxed, then he looked at me, heavy-lidded, resolve in place. “The virus you survived.” His lips moved down my neck.

The virus that was created by a Muslim insurgency and released in Denver International. The virus that killed or mutated victims within a few hours of exposure.

His mouth hovered over my breast and dampened my shirt. I exhaled, “Yeah, that’s the one.”

We tossed our clothes on the floor. Guns followed. A sheen of sweat stuck my back to the leather couch. His mouth found mine, his muscles flexing around me. Our kissing deepened. We began to share breaths.

“I’m the luckiest man on the planet,” he murmured.

“Uh huh.”

“I’m the only man who gets to make love to his wife.”

I sighed. We couldn’t assume I was the only woman. And he told me women didn’t mutate immediately after exposure. Maybe some recovered from the sickness.

He pulled back. “Where are you?”

“Why do they call them nymphs?”

He perched his chin on his fist. “A nymph is a smaller immature version of an adult bug. Like a baby bug.”

This implied nymphs would grow into aphids. Which meant aphids weren’t just male. “What do you know about them?”

He traced a finger over my ribs. “I don’t know, Ba-y. Haven’t seen one since those first couple weeks. I think they all died. In those videos I watched online, they looked sick, but not scary—at least when they weren’t attacking. Not scary like an aphid.”

I thought about the alabaster eyes that stared back at me when the aphid dragged me to the bottom of the pool. “But they attacked people. Turned their victims into monsters.”

“Yeah, but in those first few days, everyone was doing whatever was needed to keep their families safe. Honestly, Evie, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you woke up next to me with eggs for eyes. Which probably means most husbands, boyfriends, didn’t survive.”

Didn’t survive.
He meant mutated. Unlike all the children and elderly, who died because they were too weak to make the transition.

Fingers moved down, explored my hip, kneaded and circled their way to my inner thigh. His body hummed against mine. Worry lines vanished from his forehead and the heat in his eyes burned out the remainder of my anxiety. The moment he filled me and our bodies slapped together, the storm of pleasure was all I cared about.

Thump.

The muffled echo from the basement stole the air around us. Neither of us moved. Or breathed.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The walls vibrated. Then the shatter of glass. The basement window.

I gasped. “Joel?”

He jumped off me, gathered the guns. I followed at his heels, my pulse a hot beat in my ears. In our bedroom, he dressed, strapped on his holster and hooked mags on his belt.

I pulled on my clothes with trembling fingers. “Where are you—”

“Shh.” He shoved my carbine against my chest. “Stay here.”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, jaw set. “Wait. Here.”

Scratch. Scratch. Thump.
The basement door.

“Fuck you.”

“Dammit, Evie.” An impatient exhale. “Don’t forget your fucking vest.” He jerked his head to my bullet proof vest slouched in the corner and bolted from the room.

I lugged on the vest and carbine, and found him squatting at the top of the basement stairs. If the door at the bottom remained closed, we couldn’t tell. Sandbags stacked to the ceiling and three stairs deep. The true barricade. The painstaking task took him about a week of collecting and hauling. Another activity I left him to do alone.

The scratching grew more persistent.

“Whatever it is, it can’t get in,” I whispered.

“It’s already in. It’s already in our fucking house.” Deep creases marred his brow.

“Fine. But it can’t get to us.”

The scratching stopped. The distant sound of waves broke through the sudden blanket of silence. Like the brushing of water along the shore at low tide. But it wasn’t water. It was sand. The steady flow of sand pouring out of our sandbag wall.

Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness.

James Thurber

An orange glow spread over the horizon and dimmed into the violet sky above. Joel and I crept down the hill along our house to the backyard, where the walk-out basement was exposed.

His fist popped up and his eyes bored into me. I nodded. No sound. We edged though the dark and I gathered my courage. Did we make the right decision? We could have waited inside for the sandbag wall to empty and killed the bastards as they came through. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn back.

We rounded the final corner and I matched his steps to the daylight windows that dressed the basement’s foundation. June bugs tapped off the wide lens of my flashlight like popcorn. Shards crunched under our boots as we neared the broken window, under the cover of the deck forty feet above.

His back stiffened. Then he sucked in a breath and let out a shrill whistle. I shrunk into myself. My eyes darted behind us, expecting the backyard shadows to solidify and attack.

He shouted into the hole, “Hello.”

A toad croaked a mating song from the thick sedge of the surrounding woods.

“Come out,” he yelled.

Katydids responded in vibrato from the trees above.

“Come out now, or I’ll burn the fucker down.”

Uh huh. Like I’d let him do that. Several minutes passed. The darkness within held still. The creatures of summer nights chirped around us.

He caught my eyes. “Remember the plan?”

Yeah. The plan I didn’t agree with. The plan that sent him in after the threat if it didn’t come to us. The plan that left me outside standing watch. I handed him the flashlight. I lost the argument in the house. Further obstinacy would gain me nothing.

He accepted the light and vanished through the toothy window, fading into the shadows.

I scanned the pool area. This was the part of the plan I hated most. If he didn’t return after a few minutes, I was to run. Drive away. Don’t look back.

A crash echoed across the basement’s tile floor. I was never very good at following orders.

I stepped over the window ledge and looked for his light. Pitch black. “Joel?” One heartbeat. Two.

Why didn’t we bring two flashlights? Even in our haste, we should’ve planned better. I inhaled a shaky breath. The bulk of the unfamiliar vest hampered my movement as I sidled along one wall, tapping one foot in front of the other. The basement’s musty aroma carried a hint of bitterness. Metallic. Blood.

My mouth formed Joel’s name. Only a soundless gasp escaped. My boot kicked something. Metal clanked through the dark.

His flashlight. The source of the crash.

My muscles tightened as it rolled to a stop. I marshaled my breathing and waited for quiet to settle through the room.

A rustling sound crept from the next room. The room where the stairs were.

“Joel?”

A man-sized silhouette illuminated the doorway. How was it glowing? Hunched over, it ran a claw across its mouth. Black blood pumped under flickering skin that stretched like the dorsal of a well-fed tick. Its hunger was so palpable, the strength of it seemed to fuel the glow.

Its head cocked right. Then left. Could it see me? I tightened my grip on the carbine. Lifted the stock to my jaw. Dammit, where was Joel? If I started spraying ammo, I could hit him with stray bullets. The gun rattled in my grasp.

The aphid crouched forward on its hind legs with claws outstretched.

My finger slipped with sweat next to the trigger. The thing prowled closer. I waited.

A few feet away, the aphid extended its jaws and spat a ribbon of matter down its torso. The outline of its body quavered. Then it swiped its forearms and emitted a high-pitched buzz. The pitch was dizzying. I wavered, disoriented.

It lunged with hunting weapons gripping my body. I kicked at its legs, landed on my back and the tile bit my head. The damn vest made it impossible to move. The bug took advantage of my awkward rolling and struck out its cutting mandible, flinging dribble on my cheek like warm maple syrup. The mouth’s keen tip lanced my vest and sliced it open, inch by inch.

Somehow while falling I’d managed to position the barrel of the carbine under its jaw. My finger made a final lap around the trigger guard. I plunged and squeezed. The gun’s recoil ricocheted through my ribs and the lifeless body crumbled atop me.

I lay on my back, numb and blinking through dregs of gore that pooled in my eyes. “Joel.” It was a choking scream. Please answer. Please be okay.

The slow leak of the aphid’s blood trickled over my throat to my nape, soaking my scalp, fingering its way to my back through the vest. Just blood. It wouldn’t infect me.

I shoved at the body, rolled it off with a grunt. “Joel.” Louder that time.

“Evie?” His footsteps sped up and grew nearer.

The worst of my dread seeped from my muscles. I swiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Evie.” His hands searched my body. “Evie, fuck…thank God you’re okay. I’m sorry. I dropped the damn flashlight. Then the fucker hit me. Knocked me out. Evie, I’m so sorry.”

The intent in his voice, the depth of his love, he was my existence. It hurt to hear it, to feel it, knowing one bite could steal it all away. “Was there just one?”

He turned his head, eyes knifing the shadowed corpse at my side. “Yeah.”

“We’re leaving.” I cupped his jaw, captured his gaze. “We’re packing and we’re going to my dad’s.” My father’s home at Pomme de Terre Lake was a three hour drive. It was isolated. On a lake. Easier to defend. Safer.

His hand reached for mine and he pulled me to my feet.

We wouldn’t leave without securing the house we worked so hard to make our home. We hoped to return someday. Neither of us spoke as we labored through the night, packing and boarding up vulnerable entry points.

In the early morning, I stood at the kitchen window and watched the rain splash on the surface of the pool. Joel leaned a piece of plywood against the wall and waited for me to move. Only one window left to board up.

I stepped out of the way. “What still needs to be loaded in the Rubicon?”

He lifted the board and set it in place. “Did you get the last of the winter clothes?”

“Yeah. Just the clothes from our closet.”

His eyes darted to the top of the stairs. We stored most of our seasonal clothing in the upstairs attic, but neither of us would go up there.

“You know we’ll need to say good-bye to their rooms,” I said. “To their things.”

He looked away and screwed the board in place. A chill raced down my spine. I knew if I didn’t go up there, I’d never have closure.

He sank the last screw and leaned against the board. “I know.” Dark circles bruised his eyes. We didn’t talk about the previous night. Just like we never talked about that final night with our A’s. When Annie took her last breath, somehow I found my feet and walked out. I slid into our bed and into my abyss for two months. I shouldn’t have left him to deal with their bodies alone. I knew the mortuaries turned him away. Too many dead bodies. Too much fear of contagion. But I stayed in bed, lured by the dark edges of my depression.

My throat tightened. I backed away from his downcast eyes. His voice echoed on a distant plane. “Don’t do this. Don’t sink back to that place again.”

He cremated our babies in the backyard. I remembered the vista from my bed and the smoke that hovered over the deck for hours like a Thanatos taunting. An embodiment of death.

My heart pummeled at my rib cage as if it wanted out. The throwing knives Joel gave me a few years earlier could quiet it. I fantasized piercing the thumping thing in my chest with the six inches of high carbon steel. With the right angle of the blade between two ribs, I would push hard and fast on the handle.

“Evie. Stop this goddammit. We grieved in different ways. And doing it alone was our way.” He gripped my shoulders and forced me to look at him.

I pushed a syllable past the lump in my throat. “‘kay.” I hated that my voice sounded so weak.

He tugged me to his chest and rested his lips on the top of my head. “So you’re going to pull your shit together. Then we’re going to go up there and say good-bye. Then Evie?” He fastened me with his eyes, held me there. “We are
not
going to look back.”

His arms dropped and he stalked out of the room.