Abandon The Night (16 page)

“Bite me.”

That was his cue to dip his voice lower and say,
Just tell me where, luv.

But he didn’t. Instead, he looked at her again and said, “I’m thinking we should head to where I saw the headlights. We can stay there and check things out in the morning, or drive on tonight and look for more
gangas
.”

She glared into the darkness. Part of her absolutely had to know how he made those bombs because,
damn him,
he was right. Again.

The other part of her was pissed off because she knew he was annoying her on purpose. And another part of her was…well, hurt.

Deep inside. She felt oddly empty and lost. Simply because he wasn’t flirting with her? Because he’d chilled?

And suddenly, she was
tired
. Sleep would be good—they’d been going since dawn and it was well past midnight. Her skin prickled when she thought of settling down to sleep. With Quent. Her belly tingled and shifted and her heart picked up speed. With Quent…warm and familiar. And
safe
.

She rerouted her thoughts. “They could have turned off their truck lights. Stopped for the night. They might still be there.”

Quent nodded. “Right. So we’ll want to approach on foot. Park some distance away.”

They drove on in silence, with Zoë only closing her eyes about a third of the time, instead of half the time. And her fingers actually loosened their grip on occasion. Progress.

“I’m parking here,” Quent said as they approached a row of dilapidated houses.

Zoë agreed with his choice: it was dark and shadowy, and when he pulled the vehicle in between two close buildings, lining it up near one of them and behind a thick bush, she agreed that no one would see it.

But when she reached to open her door, he moved, leaning over to stop her with a hand on the handle. “Wait.”

She turned and he was close. Very close. His arm, bare where the sleeve was rolled up to hug his substantial bicep, brushed her belly. Her pulse stuttered for some ridiculous reason, and it occurred to her, suddenly, absurdly, that this was the longest time they’d spent together
not
rolling around in bed, or slamming against the wall or sliding skin to skin in the shower.

And now, here he was. So close she could feel the gentle warmth of his breath and see the faintest outline of his cheek, tufts of tousled hair. But she couldn’t make out his expression at all. He removed his arm and settled back in his seat.

“Be careful, Zoë,” he said. “Just…take care.”

Then he turned away. She released her breath and swallowed her heart back into place.

By the time she did that, he’d already slipped out of the truck and closed his door quietly. She followed suit, bow in hand, pack and quiver over her shoulders, and noted that he also had his pack, and that he carried something else. The moonlight gleamed on it and she saw that it was as long as one of her legs, and slender, metallic. An iron or metal pipe of some sort.

She nodded to herself. Guy wasn’t as good with a bow as she was, he had to have something to smash
ganga
brains.
Hot damn. Wouldn’t mind seeing him in action with that, muscles bulging and shifting, all sleek and sweaty.

Definitely not a liability, despite what she’d said earlier. Not the man who listened to her telling the horror of her family’s massacre and seemed to care, nor the one who ate her stew and enjoyed it, nor the one who had just as many—well, almost as many—right ideas about how to do this as she did. And that didn’t include what he could do with his hands and mouth and that hot-damn-and-holy-shit fine body.

They walked about two miles, sticking close to shadows and listening for the sounds of
ganga
moans, voices, or even the spine-chilling rumble of a vehicle. But the night was silent other than nature’s noise: the distant baying of wolves, the scuffle of nocturnal animals, the low hoot of an owl. The occasional bat dipped and dove soundlessly above them.

Zoë smelled them before she heard them.
Gangas
.

Quent held out an arm to stop her at the same moment, and she looked up at him. Their eyes met and he nodded. Zoë gestured to the right, where the shadows spread long and dark, and he nodded again.

As she slipped toward them, she realized how easy that had been. How…natural. Exchanging wordless glances, intent. Communicating with a partner.

And then she shoved it away, for the
gangas
were there, suddenly, spilling out of a building in front of them. As if they’d been in wait. The creatures smelled, and their graying flesh sagged from the burning orange eyes and open, groaning mouths.

But they weren’t saying
ruu-uuthhhh
as they had for as long as she remembered. They were sighing and moaning something like
duu-aaane…duuu-vaane…leee…vaaane…

Ten of the creatures, staggering toward them with surprising speed. And even a bit of agility. Without a glance at Quent, Zoë fit an arrow and shot.

Right between the eyes. The
ganga
stumbled, knocking into a companion, and they both fell over in a pile of awkward legs and flailing arms. A cool smile tugged at her lips as she whipped another arrow from her quiver and let it fly.

By this time, the zombies had advanced rather quickly, again, surprising her, and Zoë realized with a start that she needed to move…back. Normally, she was up and out of sight of the monsters—she’d learned the importance of that early on—but this time, they’d taken her by surprise. Meeting them on their level wasn’t quite as simple as shooting from a tree branch or rooftop.

Next to her, Quent swung the metal pipe at one of the creatures—who towered over him by several feet—and managed to smash the
ganga
in the side of the head. Its constant
duuu-vaaane
choked off, then continued as the monster lunged at its attacker. Ducking beneath the creature’s groping hand, Zoë’s blond genius slipped around and behind the staggering
ganga
and brought the pipe down again, on the top of his head.

The zombie dropped like a stone, and Quent jumped out of its way, winging his pipe with a powerful stroke at another monster that surged forward on uncoordinated legs. The weapon struck its arm, and the limb went flying through the air, yet that didn’t slow its owner. But Quent was more agile and dodged out of the way, jumping over a fallen tree trunk. The creature followed, stumbled into the tree and lost his balance. Quent brought his weapon down on top of the creature’s head with an audible crack.

Zoë reached for a third arrow, and realized she was too close to get a good aim.
Holy shit, are these zombies on some sort of drug?
Moving faster, groaning differently…She ran back a few steps as she fit it into place, and yelled, “Where the hell are your fancy bombs now?”

“Need a minute to dig one out,” he shouted back, whaling on a duo of advancing zombies. “Can you hold them off?”
Damn
. He seemed much too fucking cool and calm.

But then, he was in good hands and he knew it.

“No sweat,” she said, sending her arrow flying.

She saw Quent streak to the side of an oncoming
ganga
, then slip around a rusted out car next to a nearby building. The vehicle would provide no protection other than a momentary shield, but hopefully it would be enough time for him to dig out his explosives.

Her pulse pounded and adrenaline rushed through her as Zoë shot an arrow into the back of the zombie that had gone after Quent. The arrow lodged in his skull and he staggered, then fell.
Four for four. Hot damn.

There were three or four
gangas
left, and Zoë spun, ready to skewer a fifth and saw that the leader had tripped over one of its fallen comrades, slowing them down for a moment. She was just about to shout at Quent not to waste an explosive, that she could finish the last three off, when she saw something in the dark.

Silhouettes…two, no, three…inside the window beyond where he crouched. Inside was dimly lit, as if a low light burned to illuminate the interior for humans.

She nocked yet another arrow, splitting her attention between the sparser group of
gangas
and the tableau inside as she ducked behind a big metal thing called a Dumpster. Whatever the hell it was, it gave her a moment to hide from the boulderheads…and to get a better look inside that window.

People hiding in the building? Or more
gangas
? Quent was busy, and far enough away from whatever it was. She didn’t want to distract him…or draw attention to where he stooped next to the car.

She looked again, peering around the corner of the rusted metal thing. Inside the window—they were definitely humans, too short to be zombies. No burning orange eyes. Two taller ones, a shorter one.

She looked back at the
gangas
and let her arrow fly at the nearest one, which happened to be much too near for comfort. The metal bolt slammed right into its decaying nose.
Score!

Zoë reached back into her quiver and realized she was low on arrows—only another four left, she guessed, in that brief moment.
Crap
. As she pulled one out, she looked again toward the window.
Holy shit!
The figures inside were shifting around and she saw a small, moving crystal that glowed. Right on the front of one of the people.

A Stranger!
She peered at the dark, excitement and dread rushing through her. Possibly with Raul Marck? Could she be that damned lucky? Her mind divided as she considered the situation and settled an arrow once more. Then she looked up.

Shit!
The
ganga
was right there, right in front of the Dumpster.
Fuck.

“Quent!” she shouted, and realized suddenly that another zombie had come around the other way. Then, as Quent rose from his hunkered position, she saw the bottle in his hand. “Wait!” she shouted, suddenly envisioning the bomb landing in front of her—

She tripped as she moved back,
dammit
, tumbling back onto the ground, still clutching the bow. Son of a bitch, her breath was knocked out and the next thing she knew one of those massive gray hands was reaching for her, swiping at her. Strong, reeking fingers closed over her shoulder, but she stabbed up with the arrow in her hand, shoving it right into the orange eye.

Something plopped down on her, something putrid and sticky and wet and she rolled away just as the monster shuddered, then started its slow fall. Zoë scrambled to her feet just in time to see Quent as he ran up behind the last of the
gangas
.

It was a breathtaking moment, watching his gloved hands slam the metal pipe into the back of the zombie, then shifting and dodging, fleet of foot, around and behind, battering the confused monster. Perhaps he was showing off a bit, taking his time finishing off the creature, but Zoë didn’t care. He was fast and powerful, and watching him made her all weak-kneed. It was only a moment before the last of their attackers slumped to the ground, his brains spilling onto the dirt.

“You okay?” Quent asked, coming over to her. “What’s that on your face?”

“Zombie brain,” she said, using the hem of her tank top to wipe at a last dot of the glistening junk on her cheek. Then she pulled at his shirt, tugging him down behind the Dumpster and pointed. “In that building. I saw three people—one of them is a Stranger. I saw the crystal glowing.”

“Raul Marck too?”

“I sure as hell hope,” she said. “They must know we’re here. That we’ve beaten off the
gangas
.”

“Bet they heard us coming and set them out after us. They’re probably long gone.”

Zoë nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion. She opened her mouth to speak, then realized he was looking at her. In the low light, in this proximity, she could make out the heat in his eyes—the same avidity that always made her belly drop to her knees, and her female parts tingle. Her breath caught and she knew her voice came out husky. “What?”

“Watching you—how fast, and smooth and cool and damn
good
you are—makes me forget how yanked I am at you for sneaking off this morning. I want to tear off your clothes and shag the hell out of you, luv. Right here.”

Shag?
Whatever that was, it sounded good to her. She smiled, unable to keep back the rush of pleasure and lust from his words. “Anytime, blondie.”

His sexy lips twitched and gave her the urge to taste them. “I’d be tempted to kiss you if you didn’t have zombie brains on your face.”

“Comes with the job,” she said. And she stood, pulling him up to peer out from behind the Dumpster. “Do you see them?” Through the window, she saw the same faint cast of light, but no longer any moving silhouettes.

“Nothing. Let’s go check it out.” He led the way, and she allowed him, slipping from the shadow of the hulking metal thing to the car near which he’d stooped. She noticed that, while he no longer had the metal pipe in his gloved hand, he had something better. A gun.

“Where’d you get that?” she whispered. “Does it work?” Working firearms were as rare as running vehicles, and mostly found in the possession of Strangers. Zoë had found a few rusted-out guns over the years, but only one that worked—and by the time she figured out how to use it, she’d wasted all the bullets. And couldn’t find anymore.

“My bag. Of course it works.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you use it on the
gangas
?”

“I liked watching you in action. Besides,” he added, very close to her ear, “it’s better for other types of threats.”

Right.

They’d sneaked across the way, Zoë casting a look at the array of dead
gangas
still sporting her arrows. She didn’t have time to grab them back now, but there were only three left in her quiver. That was a lot of work sitting out there, encrusted with zombie brains.

She and Quent approached the broken window. The world was silent, but the hair on Zoë’s neck prickled and she sensed…something. They were around somewhere…the Stranger. Raul Marck. It had to be him. She hoped it was him.

Quent tensed next to her, and she knew he felt it too. Warm and sturdy, his arm shifted as he turned to look behind them.