The McClane Apocalypse: Book Two (36 page)

“Hold here,” he tells her in a lower register as he presses her shoulder back against the brick wall.

They’ve ended up in another alley, this one facing a field of overgrown grasses and dilapidated office buildings, an abandoned apartment building and a few others that looked set for demolition before the shit had hit. This is not the aesthetic that the city planners were hoping their consumers would be viewing. No wonder they’d put the giant movie theater and other view-blocking buildings like the Home Depot and a two-storied book store on this side of the shopping district.

No noise comes from above at the exit door, and nobody runs at them from either end of the short, narrow alley. Her nerves feel frayed, the nerve endings exposed and raw from this heightened adrenaline rush she’s been on for days.

Her breathing is finally starting to even out when John says, “Over here.”

Leading the way, John takes her into a nearby doorway with a green and beige striped awning overhang where they squat side by side. They are in a recessed, safe position, but Reagan still wishes she was in a locked room somewhere, preferably one back at the farm.

“Heard voices. Think it was maybe two men,” John explains his decision to flee the theater.

“Oh, ok,” Reagan acknowledges and nods. Her hands tremble, and John notices but doesn’t remark on them.

“We’ll have to go on that date another day,” he jokes, but Reagan just gives him a look that clearly says he’s insane to find humor right now. He grins like the maniac he is, and Reagan shakes her head.

In a rare moment of openly touching her, John grasps one of her hands in his large one. Giving it a firm squeeze, he adds, “We’re fine. Just wanted to get you out of there. Don’t be scared. I told you I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Reagan bites her lower lip and nods. When she’s about to pull free, John releases her of his own accord. She actually believes him. Reagan feels sure that John will do whatever it takes to keep her safe.

He whips out his binoculars again and begins scanning the abandoned buildings across the way while she remains by his side. She has no preference to be anywhere else for the time being anyways. Without John, she would have probably gotten herself shot ten times already.

And as she glances sideways at him, his muscular thigh bulging against the camo material of his pants, Reagan has a hard time not remembering yesterday. The muscles of his tan forearms twist and move under his skin as he makes adjustments to his binoculars. She allows her gaze to secretively jump to his face where she watches a droplet of perspiration run down his temple and cheek. John snatches up the hem of his black t-shirt and swipes it over his sweaty face. It gives Reagan an overly long view of his stomach and the muscles that clench and flex with his movement. Again with the thoughts of yesterday.

She feels remarkably guilty for yesterday and is trying to suppress those memories. Those damn memories of John taking his rain shower. She’d not meant to spy on him, but Reagan had thought she’d heard a commotion. This is what she’d told herself later, too, when the guilt had set in. The noise had only been the horses shuffling around in their small confines and kicking the wall of the cabin. In the back of her mind, she’d known this. Of course she’d known this. How could she not have? They’d been kicking the wall of the cabin, which was also the wall to their makeshift stall, for two whole days. But she’d gone to the window and looked out anyways. And she’d caught a glimpse of John in all his naked perfection of muscle and wet skin while he washed under the pouring downspout in a mist of foggy weather against the backdrop of forestry and underbrush. Now the guilt is eating her up, especially after she’d threatened him not to come anywhere near her while she was bathing. There is no way in hell she is fessing up to this, though. She’d rather die than let John think she is the least bit interested in seeing him naked. He is already way too self-assured. He doesn’t need any more fuel on that account. And Reagan isn’t interested in John anyways. At least she likes to tell herself this every day since she’s met him. All these damn, guilty lies are going to give her an ulcer.

His voice makes her jump, causing him to look at her queerly, “I see flashes of movement over there. I think people must be crashing in those buildings for shelter, too.”

What? What is he even talking about? The only flash she sees is his bright white teeth set against his darkly tanned skin. Reagan blinks to clear her mind. What the hell? Why can’t she focus?

“Yeah,” she croaks out funnily. John continues to stare at her. They are way too close for her comfort, jammed side by side in this small door opening.

“You ok, boss? Need a rest?” he asks with concern.

John pushes a stray curl off of her forehead as if he is worried about her. Reagan swats at his hand and scowls deeply at him.

“I’m fine. I don’t need a rest. If you don’t need a rest, then neither do I,” she informs him haughtily and feels only slightly better.

“Want something to drink?” he offers as he swigs from his own water bottle that was stashed in his other cargo pocket.

How the hell many pockets do his pants have and how do they not fall off his slim hips with that much bulky weight in them? She also remembers those hips.

“No, gross. I don’t want your germs, either,” Reagan tells him angrily. She’s mostly angry at herself for always being distracted by John and his strange body that is so different from her own.

“If I wanted to share my germs, I’d just kiss you, silly woman. I just want you to stay hydrated,” he counters easily, pissing her off. Why does he constantly say these things?

“Shut up. We don’t have time for your bullshit today, John,” she barks on a hiss, trying to gain the upper hand.

“No kidding, but you’re always trying to get in my pants. Geesh. You need to focus. Now I want to get out of this area, ok?” he asks as if he needs her permission for any of his decision making while they are in the city.

Taking a risk, Reagan steals a glance at him again and sees the smirk. She gives him a nod anyways as he rises.

John extends his hand down to her, but Reagan shirks it, coming to her feet on her own. She doesn’t want his damn help, and she sure as shit doesn’t want to touch those hands. Those same hands she’d seen yesterday wet with soap and washing his broad chest. Fuck! She does need to focus.

Chapter Twenty-two

John

The Home Depot delivery entrance with six tall loading docks for semi-trucks is completely open and deserted. There are even three abandoned trucks still backed up to the docks, though John doubts that their merchandise will ever be signed for. This is where he leads Reagan next. She’s way too short to reach the dock, so John lifts her about the waist up onto it and then jumps up on his own onto the high platform. The no touching rule is being liberally ignored today, but he’s not going to argue against that new policy since it works to his benefit.

This store is where he will hopefully find a few more items they need, including Derek’s parts for the night vision camera upgrades. Once they are inside, John takes her to the swinging doors that open into the rest of the massive home improvement store. There is a dead couple with a small dead child between the indoor dumpster and the cardboard crushing machine. John’s not sure what has happened to this family, but they almost look like they were ill or have starved to death. He listens and scans the area before they move forward again.

He heads straight for electrical supplies where loose spools of wire that a customer could pull and cut to their desired length are located. Finding what he needs, John unspools about a hundred feet of the super thin, black plastic-encased wire and secures it with the available zip ties. He also takes the whole container of zip ties because they are useful for lots of projects. He doesn’t bother taking a ticket for the cashier to scan in the appropriate numbers for payment of the wire. Besides, he’s forgotten his credit card back at the farm. Apparently there aren’t too many people in this city who know how to use this type of wire to rig the switches to batteries and then on to the blasting cap to cause an explosion. It’s probably not the worst thing ever.

A few minutes later, in the home security aisle, John locates the devices that Derek will need to add to the farm’s existing system. He takes the items out of the small boxes, leaving the directions because, let’s face it, men don’t need them anyways. Reagan stows them safely in his backpack with the tractor parts because the boxes would’ve just added bulk which he doesn’t need.

“John!” Reagan hisses and grabs his arm. He knows exactly what would cause her to react like this. Their new friends are back. “It’s them; it’s those three guys who were trying to find us earlier when we hid in the tractor store.”

She’s confirmed it for him. This is becoming tiresome.

John can hear them clamoring and making noise, not at all tactical but poor sporting if his opinion on the matter counts for anything. They sound to be about twenty or so yards away near the front of the store. They’d probably just come in when she had seen them. It gives him plenty of time.

Reagan is tugging at his sleeve repeatedly like a small child trying to capture an adult’s unwilling attention. He’s had enough of this cat and mouse game with them, and it’s time to end it. If he leaves this store with her, these men could catch up to them somewhere else or worse yet, ambush them and take her. The panic and instant fear in her green eyes makes John angry enough to settle this situation. Nobody’s going to scare his woman, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

She points toward the back exit where they entered before and tugs harder, but John shakes his head which upsets her more. It’s quite clear she wants to run. He’s done running. There is a slight possibility that they could be flanked at some point during the day by these morons. Doubtful, but possible and he doesn’t want to risk her being harmed.

“Let’s go,” she whispers frantically. “Come on, John! Let’s just get out of here.”

“No, we’re not running anymore,” he tells her firmly. Reagan looks like she’s about to cry which further enrages John that she should feel so afraid of these thugs. No woman should have to fear these men. They have obviously raped and kidnapped women before. Perhaps they were the kind of men who’d terrorized innocent people before the apocalypse. They’d practically admitted to it earlier. John’s tired of these kinds of men. There is no place in this new world for men like them. It is his, Kelly and Derek’s job to rid the earth of men like these.

She pleads, “John, please.”

It’s almost his undoing, but he isn’t about to deal with this all day. There are too many other things that he still needs to do today. He grasps her shoulders and spins her around in one fluid motion.

“Babe, get up there. Climb,” he tells her as he points to the second shelf up where there is an opening beside a pallet of outdoor lighting fixtures. Reagan looks at him with confusion. “I’ll hand you my rifle once you’re up and settled.”

“Do you want me to shoot them from up there like I did on the silo?” she whispers over her shoulder in agitated fear. He grins down at her.

“You’re cute. No, just get your bony butt up there and hold quiet,” he tells her softly. Does he want her to shoot them? Why bother wasting the ammo? She frowns at him but climbs anyway and reaches down for his rifle once she’s in position on her knees on the steel grating. He also hands her the backpack.

“Stay there no matter what.” Reagan gives him her signature nod. John turns to leave but changes his mind and goes back to her. He climbs up a couple of feet, and she leans toward him.

“And, Reagan...,” John searches for the right way to explain it. “Don’t watch this, ok?” he whispers, shakes his head and plunks a kiss to her forehead.

Before she can get mad and swat him or register what just happened, John jumps quietly onto the balls of his feet and sprints around the corner toward the east wall of the store near plumbing supplies.

He listens for a moment and realizes that his band of would-be murderers are actually going the wrong way, heading away from Reagan and himself. Losers. He actually rolls his eyes like Reagan does all the time. Man, is she starting to rub off on him? Unclipping the button that secures his dagger, he whips it out and sprints low three aisles over where he purposely knocks over a display case of nails that clatters with a great commotion in the silent warehouse. This is almost too easy and John almost feels sorry for them as he hears them coming toward him. Almost.

He easily jogs back toward the area where Reagan is hidden, but stops two aisles short so that she won’t be able to see. He wants to make sure to put himself between Reagan and those men in case they should find her.

As easily predicted, they decide to split up, and John sneaks up behind the first man, the smallest one. Grasping his mouth to stifle the man’s scream, John kills the small man with a single knife to his heart. The blood stops pumping immediately, and there is little to no mess involved. He sets him gently to the cement floor so as not to make a lot of racket and alert his buddies. The man’s unseen pistol clangs onto the concrete noisily, so John kicks the rusty piece of crap under one of the deep shelving units where it will never be found or used again. The hunk of junk probably would’ve jammed anyways.

The other two have gone toward where he has Reagan stashed. He isn’t able to head them off before the one gets to her aisle. He hadn’t wanted to handle this in front of her. Hopefully, she’ll listen and not watch. Number two he catches at the end of the aisle where Reagan is hiding up in the storage shelving.

“There you are. We been lookin’ for you,” says the next man, who John identifies as the third one he’d seen outside of the tractor store.

He’s bigger than the first but not as big as Kelly. John doesn’t answer this guy; they aren’t here to start a book club together. He looks like a former junky, and he has obviously invested his money wisely in the stock of sleeve tattoos and bizarre ear and nose piercings.

“Where’s that sweet piece you were traveling with?”