Die For You: Catastrophe Series, Book 1 (8 page)

Thunder rumbled in the distance and the sky dimmed as dark gray clouds gathered above. Rachel looked up and a drop of rain hit her chin. Damn. Where had those clouds come from? It was late afternoon, but now it looked like evening.

Adam’s brow crinkled. “Forget driving to Fresno, we’ll sleep here tonight and leave in the morning. We can make camp in that almond orchard over there,” he pointed to the west, on the opposite side of the highway.

He picked up the empty containers and walked to the rear of the Hummer. She turned into the wind and examined the terrain. It smelled fresh, like flowers and soil. In front of her was a panoramic view of flat land lined with vineyards and blossoming orchards stretching out on either side of the highway, topped by a dark, bleak horizon, heavy with moisture. Here it was easy to forget that anything had changed. Mother Nature went on, unconcerned that all the humans had left.

“Goddammit!” Adam burst out.

Rachel whipped around, her breath caught in her throat. The rear of their Hummer was open and she glimpsed a small raccoon racing away on tiny hands.

A raccoon? “Oh, no.” She imagined that animal had stowed away, silently snacking behind their backs, riffling through their food and touching, eating their belongings. Yuck. “How long were we riding with a wild animal in the car? Do you think it got in with us at Turlock?”

He ignored her question and rummaged through their supplies with quick, jerky movements. A bag fell over and cans tumbled to the ground. A poetic chain of cuss words rushed out of his mouth—mostly centered around, “Fucking raccoons.”

“Adam? My Pop-Tarts…?” Her voice trembled.

“Shit.” He turned around. His eyes glittered dangerously. “That fucking raccoon ate all of my PowerBars.” He held up an empty box with a torn cover. “Every single one. It didn’t touch your precious Pop-Tarts even though they were in the same bag. What the hell?” Furious, he threw the box down.

She covered her mouth to hide her smile.
It wasn’t funny. Really, it wasn’t.

Something must have caught Adam’s eye, because he reached into the far back storage area of the Hummer. “Fuck,” he shouted.

Her hand dropped. “What?”

He groaned and held a shredded piece of green nylon fabric with a white knuckled grip. “That goddamn raccoon ruined my tent. Tore it to shreds.” His voice sounded deadly, as if every raccoon needed to fear for its life. She watched a muscle work in his jaw as he fought for control. He looked up at the dense, black clouds gathering above and then cut her a glance. “It looks like you’ll have to share your tent with me tonight.”

She forced herself to remain stoic, but inside she quivered like a schoolgirl at a boy-band concert. “Oh, darn,” she whispered. “However will I survive the inconvenience?”

Chapter Ten

Adam hesitated. He flipped back the hood of his windbreaker, rubbed at his damp hair and inspected the darkness one last time. Rachel’s tent glowed from within, their lanterns providing enough light to illuminate the interior of the shelter and the surrounding orchard. Cold spring rain hummed against the treetops above, filtering to a gentle mist down below.

The site was as secure as it was going to get. No more excuses. Time to go in.

A heavy lump settled in his stomach. Why the hell did that raccoon have to go and ruin his fucking tent? On a rainy night? If the weather were decent, he’d sleep under the stars as he’d done so many times before. But tonight? Tonight, there was no escaping the inevitable.

He flicked off his flashlight, unzipped the flap and crouched through the entrance.

Rachel glanced up at him with overly bright eyes and a pale face. A light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Like always, totally fucking cute.

“This place freaks me out. I don’t like it here,” she said.

“Why?”

She appeared fragile in her baggy-ass gray sweats that left her figure to the imagination. Why did she always dress in clothes as sexless as the regulation crap female soldiers wore? Three days ago, he’d held her in his arms, and he knew exactly what was hiding underneath—a secret sexual package, waiting to be unwrapped.

By him?

Shit. Not by him. Never by him.

Rachel toyed with the charm on her necklace and chewed her lower lip. “It’s the trees. They’re creeping me out.”

He tore his gaze away from her mouth and tugged off his jacket.

No sex. No sex. She was scared of him and she’d said no. And no meant no.

“Think of them as a protective barrier that nothing can get past,” he huffed as he wedged onto his sleeping bag and punched his pillow. Damn, this was going to be tight. Maybe he should sleep in the Hummer?

She turned around and dug into her backpack. “They’re spooky, like a haunted forest.”

Shiny auburn hair cascaded down her back. This close, he could smell it, fresh, like the fruity shampoo she’d used that morning while taking a cold shower in Sacramento. His throat constricted. Holy shit. He reached out a hand to touch her hair and jerked it back. All he wanted was to bend her over, fuck her from behind and bury his face in those waves.

He dug his fingers into his palms. Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him? Yeah, she was cute. Yeah, he enjoyed her company and she was easy to get along with. But damn, he knew all the reasons she was off-limits. So he needed to keep his fucking hands to himself.

Right?

“There are no zombies here,” he reminded her.

She turned to face him. Her blue eyes softened, fear replaced with humor. Exactly the reaction he’d been fishing for. She worried too much.

“And anyway, even if this new world did turn into a zombie movie,” she said, pointing to his duffle bag full of weapons, “you’ll always have your guns, right?”

He grinned, tucked his arms behind his head and stretched his legs out. “Damn straight.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile. “Good thing I got left behind with a man who’s a cross between the Terminator and Benjamin Bratt, makes life much simpler that way, especially if we’re ever stuck in a zombie apocalypse.”

“Benjamin Bratt?” he repeated. He’d heard every one of her Schwarzenegger jokes, but this one was new. His shoulders shook with laughter. Shit, she cracked him up.

“I love old movies and shows, like from the eighties and nineties. My friends always teased me about how I relate everything in life to a something I’ve watched. I can’t help it.”

“I’ve noticed. Benjamin Bratt,” he said again. “Well, lucky for you, I decided to join the Marines and didn’t follow through with my original plans of becoming a Chippendale stripper,” he joked. “What use would I be then?”

“A stripper?” She laughed. “Were you really going to be a stripper?”

“No comment.”

She held up her pointer finger and waved it at him. “Hey, those male strippers are strong and gorgeous. Eye candy isn’t a bad thing. Never underestimate the power of eye candy.”

“What use would eye candy be right now when we’re trying to survive in a world straight out of a fucking horror movie?”

She looked at him like he was a complete idiot. “Adam. Hello? You’ve been eye candy since the day we met, and look how useful
you’ve
been.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’ve been eye candy since the day we met?”

“Uh, yeah.” He saw the moment she took in the meaning of her own words. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. She turned away and picked up her brush.

“Rachel.”

“Did you try the radio again today?” she asked too quickly.

He grinned. “So I take it we’re done talking about eye candy?”

She glared at him and started brushing her hair.

“I don’t mind being eye candy.”

No response. He could hear crickets chirping outside.

“Or being compared to Schwarzenegger,” he tried again.

“Stop it.”

“Or Benjamin Bratt.”

She didn’t answer, her lips a thin straight line.

He sighed. Game over. “Yes, I checked the radio first thing this morning, while you were sleeping.”

“Let me guess. Nothing?”

“Yeah. Nothing.” Adam ground his teeth. “Why can’t someone out there figure out how to turn on a goddamn radio? It isn’t rocket science. Before the end there were at least seven hundred thousand ham radio users in the United States. Where are they now?” He rubbed his face with both hands. “Jesus H. Christ, how is it possible that we’re the only two people immune to this fucking virus and still alive? Us and that group of assholes in Oxnard. That can’t be it. You said those mad scientists discovered that hundreds of thousands of people worldwide had this same immunity. Where are they?”

Rachel put her brush down and secured her hair into a ponytail. Her eyes grew distant, like she was lost in the past. “I still can’t believe this started only eight weeks ago. And now it’s just us. Just you and I. It’s bizarre. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to living on an empty planet.”

He nodded in response.

Rachel tagged him with haunted eyes that saw too much. “What were
you
doing eight weeks ago?”

“Eight weeks ago?” he muttered.

“Yeah, what were you doing, where were you when the virus started? Were you still stationed in Afghanistan?”

Something pressed against his chest, making it harder to breathe. Eight weeks ago? He stayed where he was, hands behind his head. “Eight weeks ago, my unit raided an insurgent camp in the Helmand province.”

“In Afghanistan?” She sat cross-legged, eyes glued to him. “So you
were
there when the virus started. I’ve been curious about your life as a Marine. You don’t talk about it much.”

He grunted. “Because the shit I saw downrange makes this end-of-the-world crap look like a cakewalk.” He sucked in a deep breath and forced the words out. “My last deployment was the longest, and the worst. The insurgents got smart and planted suicide bombers in the Afghanistan military. That way they could be assured of a higher casualty rate.” His gaze locked with hers. “Those bastards were willing to murder anyone to get what they wanted, civilians, even children.”

Her lips parted. “Oh no. What happened?”

“We were raiding a camp when one of the Afghan soldiers blew up. Just fucking blew up in the middle of a firefight while standing side by side with our men.” His muscles tightened and his gut twisted. “We lost Lowell that day.”

“Lowell?” Her gaze searched his face. “He was your friend?”

“Yeah.” Friend. Brother. His chest burned and fire raced up and squeezed his throat as painful memories flooded back in, memories he’d kept locked away and had refused to touch until now. “Helluva soldier. We’d started out as enlisted men, went through hell together over the years. That was our second deployment together. He was set to start sniper training in the fall.”

“Weren’t you a sniper?”

Adam nodded. “I watched the whole mess through my scope, supporting the troops from a hilltop position. The blast shook the earth.” His heart slammed against his chest. “One moment Lowell was there, the next he wasn’t. When you’re that close to the kill zone, you don’t stand a chance in hell of making it out alive.”

She reached over and placed a hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry, Adam, that must have been terrible.”

He gave her a curt nod, wasn’t sure why he was even telling her this but he couldn’t seem to stop. “Only a few pieces of his body were ever recovered. They put them in his casket and sent it home for burial. He died thinking he was protecting his family, his country. I’m glad he didn’t see what happened next. Didn’t have to watch everyone die, helpless to stop it, knowing there was nothing he could do. He was able to die a hero, and not from a fucking virus.”

Neither of them spoke for a minute, until she said quietly, “Do you ever wonder if by surviving, we’re the ones who got the raw deal?” She met his gaze, her eyes bright, her voice a flat monotone. “My sister and I used to like watching disaster movies together. I remember her joking around once, saying that if aliens attacked the Earth or something, and the world was destroyed, she wanted to be in the initial blast zone. The first one killed, quick and painless, because she said she knew she was too soft to handle living in the aftermath. She didn’t want to deal with struggling for survival.”

“Did she get her wish?”

Her eyes dropped to her hands. “Yeah, actually she did. Krissy was the first one in our family infected, after that she went fast.”

“Good for her. She was one of the lucky ones. I saw one poor bastard take a week to die.”

“I know.” Rachel took a deep breath. “But was she right? Is it better to have died than to be alive struggling for survival?”

He frowned, suddenly irritated. Who did she think he was? Dr. Phil? She always had some philosophical question up her sleeve that he wasn’t prepared to answer. And was she trying to compare the death of her sister to how Lowell died? “I don’t fucking know,” he said, his voice sharp.

A flash of pain washed across her face. “Okay, sorry I bugged you. Let’s drop it.” She turned away.

Shit.
He could be an asshole sometimes.

“Rachel—”

“Never mind.” She cut him off and moved quickly, twisting her torso to grab a blanket. He caught a hint of generous breast and a luscious nipple outlined against the material of her shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his lips. Did she understand the torture she was putting him through? This damn abstinence was making him irritable, and he was starting to take it out on her. Dammit. He rubbed his face with one hand.
If I fuck her, I’ll scare her.
Shit, he’d scared her enough simply talking to her about sex.

“Adam? Did you hear me?” Her sweet voice dragged him back.

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Do you mind if I turn off the light and go to sleep?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s fine.”

He tugged off his boots, turned off the lanterns, and they both slid into their sleeping bags. The comforting white noise of fresh rain continued outside, unabated. Two whole minutes of blissful quiet, then Rachel began tossing and turning. She brushed against his side with sexy little sighs, her sleeping bag bumping against his in the tight confines of the tent, each touch a blow to his composure. His body temperature rose. He prayed for restraint.

He heard her sit up. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m, um, taking off my shirt, I’m burning up in this sweatshirt.”

Taking off her shirt?

What the hell?

His body reminded him that since it was the end of the world, there might not be much fucking going on, so he’d better get it now while the getting was good. His brain said
no, no, no
.

He reached up and rubbed his face again, harder, with both hands and blew out the breath he’d been holding. He was starting to crack again. How much of this could a man be expected to take? He’d kissed her already. Knew how wild she turned at his touch. Maybe it was a good thing she was a virgin. He could train her. What harm would there be if he tried again?

So he liked to dominate, so he enjoyed calling the shots while watching his woman fucked by other men. What the hell was wrong with that?

He glanced at Rachel’s dark shape, on her side in the sleeping bag. Without her shirt on. Was she still wearing a bra? His cock hardened in his pants. The world had turned into a giant pile of rotting corpses and all he could think about was having sex with this girl—despite the fact he knew it was wrong. Each day, the urge seemed to grow worse. He wanted her in his arms and his cock in her mouth. Wanted to know what she sounded like as he made her come. His jaw tightened.

“Adam?” Rachel whispered, her voice ragged. “I can’t sleep. I’m scared.”

Ah, fuck. He rolled onto his back and raised an arm out in invitation. “Come here,” he sighed. And he loved having her near, he admitted to himself. Loved her voice, her jokes, her smiles, her chatter. All of it. They got along great. They fought, but they made up. She was interesting to talk to, the conversation flowed easily, or if they were both quiet, it wasn’t testy. He was damn lucky to have been paired with Rachel. Damn lucky.

She was on him like Velcro. His arm went around her. She tucked her head into the crook of his arm and exhaled. Two fluffy sleeping bags separated their bodies. The dark hid his inappropriate erection.

He could do this.

His chin rested on her hair. Her scent filled his lungs and calmed his tense muscles. “Go to sleep,” he whispered, his arm tight around her shoulders. “I’ve got you.”

* * * * *

Adam awoke startled. Thunder crashed overhead with a deep metallic clang. His heartbeat thumped in his ears as his mind flashed back to mornings on duty, waking up in dirt to rapid gunfire and men screaming in agony. He rubbed his eyes, roused his fuzzy brain and refocused.

Where the fuck am I?

California.

The world had ended and he was living in California.