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.
They just laughed harder.
When had I lost control?
A heavy fist came down on the other side of the door. And then another. And then another.
Feeders.
We all jumped at the first hit, and then moved into action on the subsequent ones. It wasn’t safe to stick around anymore.
Reagan finally stood up- gingerly- and brushed away the loose shards of glass and debris from her kneecaps. She hunched over with bent knees, and all in all looked very uncomfortable. My chest started hurting again and I rubbed at it with an absent hand.
I didn’t like t
hat I was starting to feel weird things for this girl. I didn’t even know her. I promised myself it was just because she was the closest thing to normal I’d seen in a very long time and, like her friend had said, she was hot. This was all very shallow of me. But I wouldn’t act on it. As soon as she got bandaged up and we avoided this Feeder attack, we’d part ways and I’d stop having to deal with all these stupid feelings and… urges.
“Those look bad, Reags,” her friend winced. She sounded seriously concerned. And if they’d been anywhere but with us, she probably should have been. But we were prepared for stuff like this. We were prepared for everything.
“I’ll be Ok,” Reagan promised. A new feeling slipped in with all the rest- admiration. This girl was strong, a fighter. No, a few cuts on her knees and hands weren’t the worst that could happen to her, but she wasn’t even going to let them phase her.
“Let’s go,” I demanded gruffly- probably gruffer than I intended. But I needed to get her in front of Vaughan before I lost my mind too.
Nelson led the way and the girls followed in between. I locked the door before I moved behind them and left the slow pounding of Feeder fists to rot.
Reagan seemed to be having trouble making it up the stairs. Her body stayed bent over and her steps were slow and labored.
Against my better judgment I asked, “Do you need some help?”
“Uh, I’ll be Ok,” she answered quickly.
My gut churned and I shook my head but still offered her some comfort. “It’s just up at the top of the stairs.”
We finished climbing