Authors: Dana Fredsti
“Hungry?” I grinned at him.
He shoveled in a forkful of pasta by way of reply.
Like our senses, wild card appetites were revved a few notches above normal. Luckily our metabolisms were equally hyperactive so we wouldn’t, as Tony put it, “do a Kilmer.”
Mack looked around.
“Where’s Lil?”
“She’s eating in our room,” I answered. “Spending some quality time with the cats. She’s not in the mood for socializing about now.”
Mack nodded. He understood, and worried about Lil as much as I did. Her mother hadn’t been with the survivors we’d rescued from the basement of a local church, or among the far too many corpses scattered around town. By the time we’d returned to Big Red, her killing glee had dissipated into quiet depression. It was just as well she’d opted out of communal dinner. Sitting across from the man who might be responsible for her mother’s death wouldn’t have helped her already fragile emotional state.
Gabriel was MIA, too. He’d vanished right after the debriefing in Room 217.
I had no idea how he felt about Dr. Albert. On one hand, the man was responsible for almost turning Gabriel into a mindless zombie, or at very least a sentient flesh-eater. On the other hand, Dr. Albert had also synthesized the antiserum that kept Gabriel’s condition in check.
I was distracted from my dark thoughts as Nathan and Jamie joined us at our table. Nathan Smith—I was
still
convinced that was an alias. Tall, dark and perpetually cranky, he had some sort of secret past with Simone, back when he was a member of a Special Forces unit. He never elaborated on which unit, and I guess it didn’t really matter. There was still a
Moonlighting
level of sexual tension between them—enough to make Kate and Sawyer look like kindergarten playmates.
A badass with a ton of weapons—some legal, and others not so much—Nathan’s house could have been featured in
Survivalists’ Homes and Gardens.
He’d saved Lil and me when we’d broken protocol and gone after Lil’s cats, and then saved all of the wild cards when we’d been on the run from a shitload of hungry zombies.
Good times.
Jamie had been Simone’s teacher’s assistant in “Pandemics in History,” before the zombie shit had hit the fan. She was a veritable gothic Tinkerbell, with her Hot Topic clothes, petite build, and screaming pink hair. The torch Jamie carried for Simone lit her up like a solar flare whenever they were in the same room. Until she realized I didn’t want to be teacher’s pet, so to speak, she’d tried more than once to eliminate me with her laser stares of death. For whatever reason, though, she seemed to take Nathan’s presence in her stride. Go figure.
Jamie sat down across from me, next to Simone, while Nathan took the “dad’s” seat at the head of the table. I smiled at them both. Simone, on the other hand, made a point of smiling at Jamie and ignoring Nathan. It was fascinating to watch two adults behave with all the finesse of hormonal high school students. I gave them a week before they either did the deed or killed each other.
I looked down at my plate, which was sadly empty. Time for a refill.
There were five soldiers ahead of me in the serving line. I recognized two of them from the fight against the swarm. We exchanged friendly and respectful nods. The other three were new faces. One of the newbies gave his buddy a nudge when he saw me. His friend, a burly twenty-something with “bad attitude” written all over him, whispered something back, including the words “prime,” “ass,” “pussy,” and “get me some of that.”
Guess no one had warned them about wild card hearing. I smiled a not too nice smile, and took a step forward.
“Would you like to say that a little louder?” I asked cheerfully.
Bad Attitude looked at me, his grin getting wider.
“Don’t think I was talking to you,” he said, tossing his friend a glance.
“Yes, but you were talking
about
me.” I shook my head. “That’s very rude, you know.”
The two soldiers who’d fought the swarm took several sensible steps back. One of them shook his head.
“Oh man, Jeeter, you are so screwed,” he said.
Jeeter? Seriously, is that even a name?
Bad Attitude grinned, looking me up and down.
“That’s what I’m hoping for.”
I was never in the mood for this sort of shit. But today? Less so than usual. And I was just looking for a reason to go medieval on someone’s ass.
Before I could do anything, however, Nathan strode up to the soldiers, grabbed the two offenders by their forest-camo shirtfronts, and lifted them up in the air a few inches. Then he pulled them in close, so he could look them both in the eye.
“I hear shit like that coming out of your mouths again about Ms. Parker or
any
of the women at Big Red, I’ll feed you to the zombies myself.” He gave them each a bone-rattling shake and let them go. “Got it?”
“Yes, sir!” yelled the first one.
“Jeeter” gave a resentful mutter.
“What was that, soldier?” Nathan asked. He stepped in a little closer, towering over his target and grabbing another handful of shirt.
“Nothing... sir,” Jeeter responded. A more grudging “sir” has never been uttered.
“Nothing?” Nathan looked down at him. “It better have been ‘Yes, sir,’ Private, or I will let this woman have her way with you, and I can guarantee you that you will not enjoy it.”
Guess I wasn’t the only one itching for someone’s ass to kick.
“With all respect.
sir
,” Jeeter said, “I’d like to see her try.”
Nathan and I exchanged glances. I smiled and he let go of the soldier with an abruptness that saw the little snot weasel sprawled on the ground. His buddy backed away from him. Maybe the look in my eyes scared him.
Smart kid.
I walked up to the fallen soldier and held out a hand.
“Want some help?” For a second or two I thought he was gonna back down. Unfortunately, or fortunately—it depended on how you wanted to look at it—stupidity and testosterone got in the way.
“Yeah.” He looked me up and down. “Why don’t you just shut that dick sucker and—”
The heel of my palm hit the bridge of his nose, in and out like a piston. He yelled, eyes watering in pain, and swung his fist toward my face. I sidestepped, grabbing his wrist with one hand, shoving the palm of my hand in between his shoulder blades, forcing him to the ground.
One broken nose (his), a dislocated shoulder (also his) and a bruised knuckle (mine, ouch) later, I left my new friend sprawled on the linoleum for someone else to deal with. It took all of ten seconds.
Nathan looked over the results of my handiwork.
“I’m glad you didn’t break anything important,” he said.
I shrugged.
“Didn’t want him out of commission for too long.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” he said. “But I didn’t mean him. Make sure you ice those knuckles.”
I grinned, stepped up to the front of the line, and loaded up my plate with seconds. We went back to the table, where Simone eyed us with equal parts amusement and disapproval.
“Do you really think that was the best way to handle the situation?” she asked.
I shrugged apologetically.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
Nathan also shrugged, but without any hint of apology.
“Little shit learned a lesson, right? And maybe next time the new recruits will treat the wild cards with some respect.”
“And women in general, of course,” Simone added.
“Of course,” Nathan agreed.
“Plus it was fun to watch,” Tony chimed in.
“Totally,” Kai agreed. “There’s something about a hot chick beating the crap out of a guy in uniform.”
Nathan chuckled.
“Can’t argue there, Lando.” Lifting his bottle of whatever microbrew he was drinking, he toasted in Simone’s general direction. “Damned hot.”
We all turned expectantly, but Simone remained silent. Her cheeks were bright red, though.
Oh, to have been a fly on the wall when they first met.
* * *
“Welcome to the Gateway to Hell.”
Jackson stood at the entrance to Semetei Air Base, a huge grin on his sunburned face. He was your quintessential California surfer, all shaggy blond hair, long overdue for a regulation cut, and he had a laid-back nature unusual for someone in this particular line of work. He and the rest of the team had arrived at Semetei 24 hours ahead of Nathan, who’d had to go through an extra day of debriefing for reasons he still thought were bullshit.
Like its larger counterpart, Manas Transit Station, Semetei was a popular stopping point for all US military personnel coming to and leaving Afghanistan. Both had good recreation facilities that allowed coalition forces from all branches a comfortable way station between assignments.
Jackson gave Nathan the tour of the various buildings, including spacious barracks, dining hall, gymnasium, library, and chapel, all well-appointed.
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not seeing the ‘hell’ part here.”
“That comes when you leave,” Jackson said. They walked out of the chapel and paused at the entrance. Some sort of altercation was going on across the way, involving a couple of flyboys and a woman in an indeterminate uniform of khaki skirt and blouse that still managed to make her look like a centerfold. Even from a distance, it was obvious the flyboys appreciated the woman’s charms as much as Nathan did. They stood in her way as she tried to walk past, and it was just as clear that she didn’t appreciate their “compliments.”
“Who’s that, Jackson?” Nathan nudged his buddy. “The blonde over there.”
Jackson snorted.
“That, my friend, is Simone Fraser. And let me just tell you, there are cold fish in the Arctic that’ll give you a warmer reception than she will.”
“Really?” Nathan said absently, still staring across the distance as one of the flyboys put a hand on her shoulder. There was a blur of motion, and the flyboy’s arm was twisted up behind his back, the woman’s knee pressed into his spine as he was forced to eat tarmac.
Jackson just rolled his eyes as if to say
I told you so.
“Really,” he echoed. “Trust me when I say you
do not
wanna go there.”
Yeah, I really do,
Nathan thought, but he held his tongue.
* * *
The next day, when he saw Simone Fraser heading toward the library, he didn’t hesitate. Deciding to intercept her, he stepped in front of her just enough to make her pause, but not enough to come across as predatory.
“Excuse me,” he said.
She stopped, raising a perfectly arched brow as she turned a cool, sea-green gaze in his direction.
“Yes?”
“I’m new here, and was hoping you could answer a very important question.” Nathan gave her his most charming smile, one he’d been told could have convinced a nun to give up her celibacy.
The eyebrow arched a bit higher.
“And what would that be?”
Nathan leaned in for the kill.
“Who do I have to shoot to get a decent cup of coffee around here?”
Her lips quirked.
“No one,” she replied without a hint of humor. “We have a Starbucks.”
“Damn,” Nathan said.
She gave him a look, a half smile playing around her mouth.
“You sound disappointed.”
“I am.”
“You enjoy killing that much?”
Nathan cocked his head to one side and gave her a look.
“No,” he replied. “I prefer Peet’s.”
Her smile widened, exposing straight, pearly-white teeth.
“So do I.”
Nathan grinned and offered his arm.
“Care to join me for an espresso anyway?”
She tilted her head to one side in a way that would have been coquettish on most women, but just seemed natural for her.
“I would be delighted, Lieutenant...?”
“It’s Captain... Captain Smith. But you can call me Nathan.”
“I’m Simone.” She took his arm. “Simone Fraser.”
“I know.”
“Oh, really?”
He grinned at her.
“I believe in doing my research.”
“Good,” she replied. “So do I.” She looked him up and down, frank appreciation in her gaze. “Shall we start with coffee?”
Ooh, boy,
thought Nathan.
“Sure. And maybe you can tell me a little bit about this place, since you’ve been here for a while.”
“I’d be happy to, Captain... Nathan.”
* * *
It turned out she wasn’t kidding.
“—geologists refer to this area as the ‘Pamir Knot,’ specifically the mountains of Kyrgyzstan and the countries it borders.”
“Really?” Nathan took a hefty slug of his Depth Charge, relishing the rocket fuel rush as the caffeine hit his bloodstream. Five packets of sugar and a hefty dollop of cream didn’t hurt either, although according to his ex-wife, men drank their coffee black.
Screw that.
He liked his cream and sugar.
“Kyrgyzstan is a small country, but it was an extremely important outpost along the Silk Road, facilitating the historic exchange of goods, ideas, and even technologies between the East and West. It was also the launching pad for the Golden Horde of Genghis Khan and other nomadic armies.”
“Uh-huh...”
He liked the sound of her voice, rich and musical, cream and honey even with her matter-of-fact manner of speaking. It made the constant flow of words enjoyable, instead of irritating.
“Of course, the geographic location, smack dab in the middle of Asia’s great landmass, makes it extremely chilly at night, even in the summer, so—”
“I’ll wear my long johns.”
Simone looked at him quizzically.
“I’m lecturing, aren’t I?”
“A little bit.” He smiled to take any sting out of his words.
“It’s a bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.” She sipped her cappuccino, color high in her patrician cheekbones.