Authors: Margaret Madigan
“You’re sure you can fix them?” he asked finally.
I uncurled my clenched fists and pressed my fingers against my thighs, allowing the relief to spread throughout my body. “I’m positive. If I have my journals, I can fix this.”
“Okay. I’ll get your journals.” He held up his hand, forestalling my thank you. “But there are ground rules. You’re agreeing to follow every one of them.”
I grinned at him, too overwhelmed to actually speak, so I just nodded my assent. Whatever it took.
He grabbed my hand and tugged, a smile quirking his mouth. “Good. Now let’s go find some food. I plan better on a full belly.”
* * * *
When we stepped into the spacious kitchen, Rafe still had possession of my hand. It felt awkward, but surprisingly nice. I spent most of the trip downstairs worrying alternately about what message I sent by allowing him to hold my hand and what ground rules I’d just agreed to, sight unseen. I had only a moment to spare for his mercurial emotions before we entered the kitchen.
Doc stood on a stool next to the stove as he stirred something in a pot. The boys were nowhere to be seen, though I heard the faint sound of music mingling with male voices overhead. The party must be upstairs on one of the floors we passed between the roof and the kitchen.
The smell coming from the stove was wonderful, rich and hearty. It smelled like real food, something I hadn’t had in forever. Doc glanced our way, his gaze pausing momentarily on our linked hands before sweeping up to Rafe’s face. Something passed between them. Doc shrugged, gave the pot another stir, then hopped down off the stool.
I took my hand out of Rafe’s grasp. He nudged me into a seat as Doc stalked over to the mahogany table, climbed up on another high stool and sat. This put him at perfect eating height for the table. I wondered idly just how long they’d searched to find the perfect stool. Or for the table. It probably weighed 400 pounds, with a rich buttery sheen to the top. Like most of the furnishings in here, it was beautiful, but didn’t go with the sleek modern style of the house itself.
Doc raised an eyebrow at Rafe. “So, are we working or what?”
I leaned back in my dining chair, deferring to Rafe. His people, his place to answer.
“Yeah,” Rafe said. “We’ve come down to work out the details.” He glanced at the stove. “What’s cooking?”
Doc rolled his eyes. “Again? You just ate.”
Rafe unfolded his frame, unconcerned by Doc’s complaint. He ambled over to the stove, returning with two bowls of steaming stew. He placed one in front of me, before settling into the seat next to me, where he began eating with a smooth economy of movement.
Distracted by his graceful motions, I watched him from under my eyelashes until Doc cleared his throat, startling me into attention. I flushed and hurried to fill the silence.
“So what are the rules I agreed to abide by?”
Rafe glanced at me, his spoon arrested halfway to his mouth. A slow smile spread on his lips, warming his eyes. His expression seemed wicked, reminding me of his lips on mine. My discomfort at not knowing the rules I’d agreed to turned to full-fledged alarm.
“Why don’t you tell me about the job first, Princess? How many books are we talking about? Do you know where they’d keep them? What’s security like inside?”
I blinked at the flow of excellent questions. No one could say he was just a pretty face. I certainly wouldn’t describe him as intellectual, but he was obviously smart, very capable and my goodness, he knew how to kiss. My blush returned in a searing wave at the memory of it. Mortified, I wondered if I’d ever have control of my body or my emotions in this man’s presence. While the heat in my face dissipated, I tried to ignore the men, pretending they weren’t watching me, even though I knew they were.
When I was confident I could speak without sounding like an infatuated teenager, I said, “I’d finished six journals and had started a seventh when they tossed me out.”
Rafe widened his eyes. “Industrious much? So how big are these things? Can I fit them in a backpack?”
“They’re about this big,” I said, describing the approximate six-by-eight inch shape of the journals with my hands. “And each one is about a half inch thick. So they should all fit in a backpack.”
“So how exactly did you get tossed out of Paragon?” Doc asked, changing the subject.
I took a bite of his stew. It was delicious, full of fresh ingredients I hadn’t tasted since things had gone bad. “Doc, this is amazing.” I smiled at him. A warm sensation blossomed in my chest as his expression thawed enough to return my smile. Rafe cleared his throat. I looked back his way, not sure how to interpret what I saw in his eyes.
“Sorry,” I said. “I told you how I was on the vaccination team and crafted a workable vaccine?”
Rafe nodded. “Right, but that Miriam chick stole the vaccine and messed it up.”
“Yes. After it was distributed, we discovered the vaccine she created using my base made the situation worse, reacting with the virus to produce mutations in human DNA. It caused what you refer to as zombies. Which is a misnomer, by the way. My limited knowledge of zombie lore indicates that zombies are the result of the dead being at least partially resurrected by one means or another. That’s not the case with the Infected. They’ve never been dead.”
“Close enough,” Doc said.
“Trust me. It makes no difference if those things were ever dead. They’re definitely zombies,” Rafe said.
I just shrugged. It really was just a technicality, since traditional zombies were mythical. I supposed the Infected were as close to zombies as the world had ever seen.
“Either way, when the vaccine reaction started, it spread very quickly, as I’m sure you recall. Miriam placed the blame on me, claiming I’d misled her along with the rest of the team regarding the effectiveness of the vaccine. She disavowed any personal involvement herself, had me fired and thrown out. She kept all my research, though. Well, stole my research, really.”
Doc muttered something under his breath.
Rafe frowned. “That just sucks. Why would she keep your research? You think she’s trying to cure the disease?”
“I can only assume. But my notes were in code so I’m guessing she hasn’t gotten anything at all out of the journals.”
The conversation turned toward our upcoming task. I ate steadily as I fielded questions from both of them. By the time they were satisfied, I was exhausted and my stew was gone. The pot steamed on the stove. I looked longingly over at it, but I’d had enough.
“You know,” I offered, glancing at Rafe, “I know the inside of the labs really well. I could help if I came along.”
I caught my lip between my teeth, waiting for his response. His eyebrows pulled together, giving me a good indication of what his answer would be before he delivered it. He didn’t disappoint. “Hell no.” He glared at me like I’d suggested using his youngest boy as Infected bait. Rusty? Rufus? Something with an R.
He was probably right. I still felt the need to argue, but it was illogical. I’d just wanted him to take me seriously, to think of me as an asset. But to be fair, I
had
flung a gun at him yesterday, even though it had been an accident.
I stopped short. Had it really been just yesterday? It felt like I’d known these people forever, even though I rarely felt comfortable with people. Maybe it was just because I hadn’t interacted with anyone for a long time, but I was a little bit envious that even in this new world, they’d managed to carve out a kind of family. It was an appealing dream.
Regardless, it made sense he wouldn’t want me along to retrieve my journals, because although I knew my way around the lab complex, I’d already proven myself somewhat of a liability in life-threatening situations.
My disappointment must have been obvious because Rafe bumped me with his shoulder. “Aw, Gwyn. I just meant it’d be safer if you stay here. It’s better if this Miriam person doesn’t know you’re involved with the break-in, right?”
His attempt to console me made me feel better. It meant, at the very least, that he cared for my well-being. I suspected from the heated looks I’d seen in his eyes, there might be more to it. Not that heated looks and hotter kisses meant someone cared. Even I knew that. But he was going out for me. I would be sitting here safe and sound while he did dangerous work. Work that by rights was my responsibility, one I felt like I was shirking. Also, I’d miss him while–
I did a mental eye roll, shoving the emotions away. Rafe was simply going to do a job I planned to pay him for, and I definitely was not paying in kisses. The situation wasn’t worthy of this overindulgence in emotion. I had no idea what was wrong with me lately, but I was even annoying myself.
“You’re right,” I said. “In any case, I should get back to my lab. I need to prepare for when I have my journals so I can start trials right away.”
Rafe cocked an eyebrow at me. “Come on, you can’t really think that’s gonna happen. You can’t go there, wherever there is, not without some serious firepower. If you hadn’t noticed, the city’s overrun. If the zombies tracked you here, they probably followed your scent back to your lab, too.”
I stared at him. That hadn’t even occurred to me. “But my work is there.” I broke eye contact to look down at my clenched fists resting on the table as I wrestled with the panic creeping over me. “I have to go back. My life is there. Besides, I came straight here after the incident at Walmart.”
Doc placed his hand over my fist, startling me. I’d actually forgotten his presence. He spoke in a low growl I felt as much as heard. “Gwyn, Rafe is right. Even if you haven’t gone back, your scent leads there. There are almost certainly zombies waiting for you there. You can’t go back alone. We’ll find a place for you to stay, here on the compound. We’ll get your stuff, but you won’t be living there again.” He squeezed my fist. “I’m sorry.”
I glanced over at him, his face filled with sympathy and far worse, with conviction. I closed my eyes, trying to process the collapse of my life. I’d fought so hard to make a place for myself, somewhere where I could work to fix this mess. Now I’d lost it. I tried to picture myself doing work in this community, living among these people as a part of their family. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, mostly because it was something I’d never had, or thought I’d have. So I did what I always did when faced with more than I could handle–I ignored it.
I looked at Rafe, determined to be professional. “So when will you leave for Paragon? The sooner I get the journals, the sooner I can start working again.”
* * * *
Rafe had decided to do an in-and-out breaking and entering spree to retrieve my journals. He’d wanted to go alone, but little Rufus wouldn’t take no for an answer. He talked Rafe into taking both him and Randy along as backup. At sixteen, Randy was the oldest of the boys and Rafe clearly trusted Rufus’s opinion, as if Rufus were the third adult in the house, despite his tender age of six.
Once the plans were made, Rafe and a couple of the boys hauled a Bobcat with a trailer out of the garage. They headed down the hill to clear the charred remains at the gate. When they were out of the house I made my way back to the kitchen. I leaned my hip against the counter as Doc washed dishes. Unsure of how to broach my request, I took up the spot next to him and started rinsing, earning me a skeptical glance from under his bushy brows.
“What?” he asked, turning back to scrubbing silverware, dropping sudsy forks into my rinse sink with staccato efficiency.
“What, what?” I asked, placing a ceramic bowl in the draining rack. “Can I not just help?”
“You could, but you’re not. You’ve got something to say. So say it.”
So much for subtlety. Apparently nothing got past Doc. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, then jumped right in.
“While Rafe’s gone, I’m going back to my lab to collect some things. I have to continue my work and I’ve been gone far longer than I’d intended, already.”
Doc turned to face me, his forehead wrinkled in concern. “That’s not a great idea.”
I sighed. “I know. But even if I can’t stay there anymore, I have to get my things, so I’m asking for your help. Would you teach me to shoot one of the firearms I brought?”
“Don’t tell me you think we’d let you go alone.”
My chin lifted of its own volition. “I’m an adult. You don’t
let
me do anything. I’m going. I’m asking for your help so I can at least go in armed.”
“Jesus. I’d forgotten how prickly women can be. Yes, I’ll teach you. But I’m coming too. You don’t need to do this alone. Even Rafe takes backup when he goes into enemy territory.”