Love and Decay, Boy Meets Girl (2 page)

History had shown that because I was a man, I
was swift to shoot, faster to kill and determined to protect. Women
on the other hand hesitated, letting their feelings get in the way
and cloud their judgment. That wasn’t me being a dick. That was me
speaking from experience. Time and time again I’d seen this happen;
I’d watched the weaker sex hesitate and chicken out too many times
to count- their guilty consciences whispering malicious lies of
morals and higher standards of living.

And they were lies. Because morals and
convictions died the second the first victim became infected with
this filthy disease; and higher standards of living were left for
the dead.

Probably there were exceptions to the rule,
but I hadn’t witnessed any yet. And I wasn’t holding my breath that
I would any time soon.

The female voices continued to drift through
the door. I couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying; they were
at least attempting to keep it down. The problem was that silence
was the only constant about this new way of life. There were no
filler sounds to muffle a disturbance in our peace. We could hear
the voices just because there were voices to hear. It wasn’t
entirely their fault they were bringing so much attention to
themselves, but I also knew we weren’t the only ones that would
pick up on them.

It was only a matter of time before the
Feeders found them too.

I should warn them away, keep the threat from
my front door. But I didn’t want to make contact with them.
Depending on the people, they would probably want something from
us- either by force, or by begging. Both were equally terrible and
would end in the same way. They would get nothing, no matter what I
had to do to ensure that.

Vaughan stayed upstairs with the kids and I
took care of these kinds of problems for a reason. He had a heart
and I didn’t. His soul still had the possibility of some blissful
afterlife, while mine had jumped on a fast train to hell a long
time ago. I wouldn’t let strangers endanger my family. Not helpless
women, not aggressive men, not undead Feeders. Nothing would come
between my family and safety.

“I’m going to take a peek,” I warned
Nelson.

He nodded but remained silent and alert. I
stealthily unlocked the heavy metal door with a set of keys we’d
found in the administrative office when we first arrived and
cracked open the door.

I paused, completely taken aback by what I
saw. I’d meant for this to be just a cursory glance, clinical and
unattached- just like everything else in my life. I had meant to
scope out the situation and then pull back before they saw me.

Instead, I caught myself watching two girls-
not women- younger than me and as helpless as Page, sift through
the remains of goods on this floor. My heartbeat sped up and my
entire body ignited with something I hadn’t felt since my last
semester at Northwestern- interest.

I felt like a voyeur as I observed a short
blonde thing, rifle through sweatpants, examining each with a keen
eye before deciding if she would keep it or not. She was pretty-
even dirty and unkempt. She had a delicate face and lithe body that
curved nicely despite how skinny and small she was.

But it was her friend that kept my attention
so fiercely- held it like it belonged to her. She was probably a
half foot taller than her friend, with black hair that blended into
the darkness around her. Her eyebrows were furrowed in
concentration on her striking face, and her full lips pulled into a
small smile as she sifted through underwear.

I swallowed back a shot of lust that went
straight from my head to a place that hadn’t stirred like this in
years. I almost choked, I was so stunned by my reaction to her. And
for long, endless moments I stood there completely confused by her
effect on me. It didn’t make sense.

But then again, she didn’t make sense. Her
and her friend, by themselves, near nightfall and in a place that
was not familiar to them. They were casually shopping, with hardly
a weapon in sight. What were they doing here?

Although I couldn’t hear any other voices,
probably they had men with them somewhere that I couldn’t see.

I tried to push that thought deeper into my
consciousness but my entire body refused to accept that she could
belong to someone else. There was something so compelling about
her; something so irresistible that she drew my eye and played with
something hot and needy and unfamiliar inside me. And it wasn’t
just my attention that she claimed, my entire being felt lured to
her like a Greek Siren, perched at the bottom of a rocky cliff. The
turbulent waves crashed around her, deathly and dangerous, while
she waited seductively in the middle of the tempest with a crooked
finger and a promise of a thousand wicked things on her lips.

And this was my first impression of her.

Holy shit! Apparently, two years of celibacy
was messing with my sanity.

I needed to get it together and fast.

I shook out my head and watched as she called
out to the other girl that they needed to go. The other girl
responded immediately- as fluidly and quickly as any of my brothers
would. I felt even more confused by them.

I shut the door just as quietly as I had
opened it and locked it back up. They were gone and I could move on
with my life. Not really a close call, but maybe it could have
been. They’d been armed. And although they didn’t look dangerous, a
warning had unfurled something desperate and anxious inside me.

But now I couldn’t tell if it was concern
because they could have found us or disappointment because they
didn’t.

“Anything to worry about?” Nelson asked. He
sounded so normal, so…. unconcerned.

That rattled me for a second. It took another
moment for me to realize it
was
because I was concerned. For
them.

For her.

I cleared my throat and said, “No, nothing to
worry about.”

But that wasn’t true. Because the girls came
back, fast and frantic. Racks of clothing started to tip over,
curses flew from their pretty mouths and I could hear their feet
pounding on the grimy tile. Gun shots followed and the twisting of
the doorknob still under my hand.

My chest clenched with what this could mean-
Feeders.

And then I lost my mind completely because
for a split second the last thing on my mind was my family.

And my first thought, my first consuming
instinct was those girls and how I could help them.

Son of a bitch
. I reached down ready
to unlock the door at the same time I heard a jingling from above
making me hesitate for half a second and then jolt into action.

“Move, move, move!” I whisper shouted, but
Nelson had already registered the sound.

We jumped up the staircase just as the trap
Nelson and I had set when we first moved in here went off. A
carefully constructed net of pots, pans and as many breakable items
as we could fit inside the makeshift net dropped to the floor in
what would have been a very loud alarm bell if anyone was trying to
break in undetected. Too bad we were already alerted. The debris
had been pulled to the ceiling of the stairwell, secured with a
rope that snaked under the door and tied to a heavy rack of clothes
and hidden weights. The weight balanced evenly so that the rack
wouldn’t move and the net wouldn’t fall unless someone cut the
rope.

I thought it was pretty clever.

Glass shattered around us in tiny splinters
and cutting shards and the clanging pots and pans rang in my ears
like a roaring freight train. Gun shots punctuated the ending of
the clattering debris and set me into motion. The door handle
rattled from repeated attempts at opening it. I kept my gun trained
and ready in my hand, somehow finding a semblance of rational
thought, despite the girl on the other side doing her best to cloud
my mind. I took a calming breath and leapt for the door.

Those girls were being pursued. Something was
after them and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was. I
had to help them.

This might come back to bite me in the ass
and I swore up and down it had nothing to do with this stupid
attraction I felt. I had an obligation to rescue them. I could be
careful about it.

But they needed my help, my actions weren’t
up for debate.

I heard a frustrated scream of, “Open, damn
it!”

And so I answered accordingly. I yanked open
the door to invite them inside just as the girl that had so wholly
caught my focus came- literally- flying through. Her body was a
graceful mess of flailing long limbs and whipping black hair. Her
entrance happened so fast I didn’t even have time to reach out and
catch her; although because I was still assessing whether or not
she was a threat or not, I wasn’t sure I would have helped her if
I’d thought to.

Her friend was right behind her, shouting,
“What the hell, Reagan!”

Reagan.

The girl had a name.

The door slammed with a final, ominous
thud.

A feeling so thick and certain settled over
me that I could only stare at the girl still folded on her hands
and knees below me. She had mesmerized me, even from down there.
She was probably in pain, and most definitely still had a weapon.
But this girl was about to change my life. I could feel it in my
rushing blood, in my heaving chest, in all the metaphysical parts
of me that were reawakening and coming to life after a very long
slumber.

Finally, the rational part of my brain kicked
in and I clicked off the safety and pulled back the chamber of my
.40 S&W Beretta.

“Don’t move,” I ordered in my scariest
voice.

I waited for them to start crying, or
screaming. They would be panicking in any second. I knew from
experience this was how it went. The friend against the door would
start weeping uncontrollably and the girl at my feet would
inevitably start begging for their lives. We would reassure them we
didn’t mean them harm of course, but it wouldn’t matter. They would
turn pathetic in their attempt to survive.

Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they would
offer us something, sell their bodies in exchange for a place to
sleep. Not that we would accept of course, we did have standards
and weren’t complete animals. But girls like them had one asset
stronger than all else and in this ugly world, they sold their
souls and learned how to use their bodies as payment for whatever
they needed.

Or maybe they would surprise me by
fighting.

Although, I was probably most surprised when
none of that happened.

“Out of the frying pan,” her friend
mumbled.

I smirked because she was right and because
they couldn’t see me.

“And into the fire,” Reagan spoke with a
voice that was like balm on an open wound. That voice. It wasn’t
one of my brothers’, it wasn’t from anyone that was related to me
or male. It was fresh, feminine and just husky enough that my blood
zinged again with that unfamiliar life and want.

She would need to speak again soon. I would
need her to. I would need to hear what other words could be said so
sarcastically but yet so undeniably sweetly and almost intimately
sounding. But now I needed to be in control.

I looked up at her friend and demanded, “You,
drop your gun and put your hands in the air.”

Nelson finally got his crap together- what
had he been doing this whole time? Amateur. He was probably
dumbstruck from the girls. It had been a solid year and a half
since we’d been this close to any of them. And at least three
months since we’d even seen one in passing.

He probably had a boner.

Finally, I heard Nelson’s gun click. Reagan
still hunched at my feet and my stupid heart started to hurt as I
realized she was probably in a lot of pain. I could not have
compassion for this girl until I knew for sure that she posed no
threat.

Her friend’s gun dropped in a clatter on top
of the debris and she threw out a testy, “Fine. But it was empty
anyway.”

I felt the urge to smile again. God, when was
the last time I really smiled? Nelson must have felt the same way
because he choked on a little bit of laughter before he reigned it
back.

I turned my attention back to Reagan and took
a slow breath for composure. “Now, you,” I said. “Stand up slowly.”
I wanted her to be slow more for her sake than mine. Her knees were
going to be beat up.

“Do I have to?” she asked in a pained
voice.

“You’re bleeding,” I reminded her. Now that I
was in control of the situation, she needed to get up before she
contracted tetanus or something.

She let out an impatient sigh and deadpanned,
“I’ve been booby-trapped.”

My lips twitched again and I had to stop
myself from thanking her. We hadn’t ever tested that particular
trap. It was nice to know our pulley system worked.

Her friend laughed at her and told us, “She’s
been booby-trapped.”

They both broke down into hysterical laughter
and I wondered if they were a little bit insane. Or a lot insane.
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. Two girls, by
themselves, fighting off Zombies day after day after day. Probably
I should be more surprised if they weren’t crazy.

I decided to test this theory. “We have guns.
This isn’t a joke.”

“But you’re not going to shoot us,” her
friend declared with conviction.

“I’m not?”

“We’re hot,” she explained although that
point didn’t really need to be mentioned again. “You’ll at least
rape us first.” And then she dissolved into more laughter.

“At least,” Reagan agreed. “Just don’t give
us herpes.”

They really were out of their minds. “We’re
not going to rape you!” Nelson practically shouted. He sounded
completely disturbed by the idea- as was I. Who talked like that
anyway?

“Are you two high?” I demanded. This was the
only other explanation I could come up with if they weren’t
clinically bonkers.