Afterglow: An Apocalypse Romance (13 page)

“Hands,” said Landon.

Nina lifted them to him, and he cut through the rope with one quick hard motion. “Ladies first.” He gestured toward the bed.

Nina flexed her wrists, the sudden rush of circulation making her skin tingle. Without looking back, she strode to the bed, then sat on the edge. Landon hadn’t moved, and he was staring at her, his eyes filled with doubt and, she thought, anger.

“No bullshit funny business.” His words were quiet but firm.

“Unless you ask really nicely.” She said it in a flirty voice, forcing a tiny smile to curl her lips in what she hoped was a sexy expression. It was harder to fake than she’d thought.

“I believe,” said Landon, approaching the bed, “this is going to be the beginning of a wonderful partnership.”

“It is.” Nina ran a hand down her chest, trying to look provocative, to keep his focus only on her body, but it was hard to fake something like this. The intensity in his eyes as he stared at her face, then her body, told her he was interested. Very interested. He stood right in front of the bed now, a heated look in his eyes.

“How do I know this isn’t all an act?” he asked.

“Do you have any idea, Sheriff, how attractive this is?” She gestured at the room they were in. “How attractive it is to find a man with so much power? A man who has his own army?”

“Show me.” His voice was higher, reedy with desire.

“What can I do for you first?” she asked.

Landon didn’t move, just stared straight at Nina.

“I could do this,” she said, putting a finger in her mouth and sucking it suggestively, keeping her eyes focused on his the whole time. “Or this.” She ran her hand down along her body, making sure he saw her fondling her own breasts. She was disgusted by him, by the revolting look of desire on his face, but she continued. “Or,” she said, inching closer to him, “I could do this.”

She kicked straight upwards and into his crotch, and he mewled out in surprise and pain, falling down onto the floor. “Bitch,” he hissed. “You fucking bitch!”

His hand still grasped the knife he’d used to cut the ropes binding her, and she knew she should get it from him to fight the men outside, but there wasn’t time. Already he was on his hands and knees, grunting in pain and anger, and she ran to the door.

Miraculously the hallway was clear.  Nobody was in sight. With hope flooding her heart she dashed down the hallway, toward the front doors of the movie theater.

A shrill whistle sounded behind her, and seconds later men ran up from the bottom level of the theater and from the front doors.

She was surrounded. She turned to run the other way, maybe to dart into a theater and find an emergency exit. But there was Landon, pointing a gun at her, fury in his eyes.

She felt hands grasping her arms harshly, pinching and squeezing, and though she kicked and wrestled her body, she was soon immobilized.

“Can we have this one now?” one of the men asked. “Before, you know?” A few others made lewd sounds in response. The question suggested there’d been others, as Nina had surmised, and she shivered violently, her body shaking hard in fear and disgust.

Landon stared at her for a long time, as if deep in thought. Finally he spoke. “Not yet.”

A few of the guys holding her made noises of complaint, but Landon put a hand up. “I’m going to give her another chance. I like a challenge. And redheads are quite rare these days, aren’t they?” He smoothed the lapels of his suit, a thin smile on his lips, but anger in his eyes, as he gazed at her. “For now, nobody is to touch her. Do you understand?”

The men nodded assent.

“Take her away. Lock her up. I’ll let you know what’s next. Do not touch her until I say you can.”

They were rough as they half carried and half dragged her down the stairs. The horrible stench of stale urine assaulted her as they passed the restrooms, and finally they brought her into a small room that looked like it had been used as an office.

“I’ll tie her up,” one of the men said, leering at her as he took a step closer to her.

She didn’t dare fight him as he harshly pulled her arms behind her and tied them tightly. He did the same to her feet.

“Now you best keep quiet or I’m going to have to gag you,” he said with a smirk that let Nina know exactly what he was talking about. She didn’t trust that these men would obey Landon’s orders not to touch her. But she hoped they’d leave her alone until she could figure out how to get out of here.

She remembered her grandmother telling her to always think of the next thing to do. The next step to take. The only problem was she’d never imagined being in the basement of a movie theater, tied up in a room and guarded by disgusting men with guns. She’d never thought beyond scraped knees and flat tires. Still, as the men left, closing the door behind them and leaving her in pitch blackness, she took a deep breath. She was still alive. For now, at least. It could be worse.

–Creed–

He’d made his way back through the woods, his heart searing like it’d been cut, pounding out of his chest as he tore through the trees. Maybe she was OK. The thought kept him going. Maybe she was hidden in the woods, waiting till it was safe to come out. Maybe any second she’d come running out from behind a tree and into his arms.

Or maybe he was deluding himself. He knew in his gut that they had her, that Nina was with those assholes, being taken away to wherever the fuck they’d come from. He tried to remember what the old woman had said to Nina. Something about a gang out this way, a dangerous gang on a killing spree.

The sleeping bag was tossed aside in a heap. His leather jacket was gone, and only then did Creed realize it was cold out, the harsh wind gusting around his bare arms. He crossed his arms across his chest, and when pain screeched through his brain he remembered he’d been shot. Or grazed. It was insane that he’d forgotten that in his hurry to get back here, and now he saw that his arm was slick with blood and sweat, but the wound wasn’t deep, the flow already slowing. There’d be time to take care of it later. Right now he had to figure out what his next steps were.

His bike was gone too. Of course. Of course they’d taken his bike, leaving him with no way to go after them. His urge was to curse, to break something, but that wouldn’t do any good. Next steps, he reminded himself, taking a deep and calming breath.

He could head back to the old couple’s house. They’d be long gone by now, but maybe they had a spare car tucked away somewhere, with a spare battery that hadn’t been ruined by the solar flare.

Fat fucking chance, he knew, but heading on foot after the gang didn’t seem like the best plan either. He turned and headed back the way they’d come, keeping up a swift jog, his ears and eyes on high alert for any sound, any sign that he needed to hide in the woods or the fields alongside the road.

When he saw the old couple’s home he slowed down, still hearing and seeing nothing unusual but warning humming in his head. He couldn’t mess this up. He had no second chances here, no extra time. If he failed, he’d lose Nina for sure, and that thought filled him with fury, black and ferocious.

Shock and surprise stopped Creed as soon as he saw that their car, that old wood-paneled station wagon, was still in the driveway exactly where it had been the previous day. He remembered the woman loading it up with bags, the urgency on the man’s face. The white-haired couple hadn’t planned to stay another night. Something was wrong.

Creed inched closer, then froze as sudden movement behind the car caught his eye. Silently, he stepped closer, then closer still, raising his gun in front of him as he heard a low snarling. Creeping out from the side of the car was a dog, mangy and skinny, its bloodied teeth bared as it growled at Creed, protecting its food. Creed knew, with nauseous certainty, what the dog was eating, and he cursed inwardly, surprised at the disappointment he felt in learning the old couple hadn’t made it out of here.

“Fuck off,” he hissed at the dog, which backed away as he stepped closer to it. He didn’t want to shoot it. First, the noise would be loud, warning anyone around that he was here. And second he didn’t want to kill an animal. In some part of his brain he acknowledged how fucked up it was that he had no problem killing other people but a mongrel like this gave him pause.

He hissed at it again, stepping closer to it. It backed up, lowering its head and staring at him as it snarled again, bloody drool glistening on its chops. Another step closer and the dog backed up more, then loped away, looking over its shoulder with yellow eyes from time to time, its tail close between its legs.

He’d expected to see the bodies, but was still shocked at the state of them, torn open and bloody, organs strewn around like dog toys rather than parts of a human being. Half the man’s head was blown away by a gunshot, and though he couldn’t immediately see what caused the woman’s death, he assumed it was a gunshot as well.

Something about her lying on the ground, in that stupid glittery kitten sweatshirt, clenched at his heart and his stomach, making him want to both cry and vomit. Except there was no time for that, and it wouldn’t do any good. They were dead. He wasn’t. He needed to move.

The car looked intact, and Creed wondered why the gang, assuming they were the ones who did this, hadn’t taken it or destroyed it. Maybe they planned to come back for it later, he supposed, checking inside for the key. It wasn’t there. He approached the dead body of the old man, white hair blowing eerily in the cold fall air, the stench of blood almost unbearable, and patted down his pockets, feeling and listening for the jingle of car keys. Nothing.

Where were the fucking keys? Maybe the men had taken them to ensure nobody else made off with this car, one of the few working cars around. It was an old car, though, an ancient station wagon like the one his parents drove when he and Leslie were kids. Old cars were easy to start, or easier than newer models at least. And he’d heard that after a solar storm, there was a greater chance of older vehicles still being functional. He got into the driver’s seat, then popped the trunk.

The car was filled with bags and boxes, supplies and odds and ends the couple was planning to take with them wherever they were going. Any savvy person trying to run would pack a basic toolkit, he thought, and anyone able to keep an old beater like this running for so long had to be handy.

Within a few minutes he found what he was searching for: a toolbox and a crowbar. With the crowbar he pried the ignition lock out of the steering column. Now all he needed was a flat head screwdriver, which he inserted like a key and turned. The old car sputtered to life. “Fucking A,” he muttered. Finally. Something was going his way.

* * *

He drove quickly at first, away from the old couple lying bloody and destroyed on their own gravel driveway. Creed didn’t even know exactly where he was going. The only information he had was that there was a town in this direction where a gang of hoodlums—worse than hoodlums—was running rampant, killing people. And that they had Nina. He swore he could feel the blood coursing through his body like a tide, urging him on, faster and faster. He had to find her. He had to get to her in time.

As he continued down the road, the houses got closer and closer together until they began to look like the rundown neighborhood of a small town. Creed knew he couldn’t drive any farther into the town without risking being heard. Maybe they already knew he was on his way. The rest of the distance and searching he’d have to do on foot, and he parked the car in the lot of a tiny convenience store, in between two other nondescript vehicles, hoping it would be less noticeable that way. He grabbed the rifle he’d taken off one of the men he’d killed, slung it across his back, gripped his pistol, and quietly scanned the area.

It was like a ghost town, no sounds, no movement at all. Lifeless except for the wind blowing around him, picking up the occasional piece of garbage and playing with it before dropping it unceremoniously somewhere else.

How the hell was he supposed to find these assholes without letting them know he was here? The town was small, and he was about two blocks from what appeared to be the main block of the downtown. To start, Creed decided to get as close to the downtown as he could and find a place where he could remain hidden, where he could sit and watch and wait. For what, exactly, he didn’t know yet. Something. Anything. A clue.

He sprinted, keeping low and hiding behind cars, making his way closer and closer to the center of town. He passed a drugstore, the windows all broken in, the Chooch’s Pharmacy sign lying cracked on the sidewalk and scattered with bird shit. In the small hardware store, the windows of which were also gone except for sharp shards glinting in the sun, he saw birds feasting on opened bags of bird food scattered all across the floor.

As he continued down the sidewalk, keeping himself hidden behind cars and in doorways, he saw movement. Finally. A man, dressed in a dirty coat and untied boots carrying a bag and darting into the front doors of the movie theater on the next block. Creed held his breath as he listened and heard the unmistakable sound of men’s voices as the doors closed, then the sound of chains being fastened, as though the door was being locked from the inside.

He scanned the area and his eyes landed on his motorcycle, parked up on the sidewalk against the theater’s ticket booth.
Trigger
, he though, his heart clenching as he remembered Nina asking if his bike had a name.

Though he didn’t know how many of them there were, he had the element of surprise on his side. They didn’t know he was here. For all they knew he was dead, shot by the two men they left behind. Which also let him know they weren’t particularly loyal to one another, probably ready to turn on each other in a heartbeat if it meant saving their own asses.

What he wanted to do was lock them all inside that theater and set fire to the place, listen to the sounds of their screams as they tried to escape. But Nina might be in there, and he couldn’t take any chances.

Creating a diversion might work. Something that would get all of them, or least some of them, out of the theater so he could take them down, leaving less to deal with when he went in. He headed back to the hardware store, where he found some thick rope and candles. He was going to make a fat wick, stick it into the gas tank of a car, and light it, like a giant bomb. It would give him enough time to get far enough away so he wouldn’t get hurt, and it would definitely create a big enough explosion that he’d draw some of the men out.

Improvise, adapt, overcome
, he muttered.

Creed worked as quickly as he could, melting candles onto the rope until it was coated. As fast as he was trying to go, the work as infuriatingly slow, each drop of wax agonizing in its gentle and slow fall onto the rope. He had to be patient, though, because what he didn’t want was to light the rope only to have the fire go out before it hit the gasoline. Taking a little extra time now would make things go quicker in the end, he knew, so he stayed where he was, deep in the hardware store, lighting candles and, drip by drip, getting the rope ready.

When it was done, he slung the waxed rope around his shoulders, shoved the box of matches into his jeans pocket, held tight to his gun and made his way to the front of the shop. Something red caught his eye under the counter as he was leaving, and he bent down and pulled out a Kit Kat bar.

It was like a sign, he thought, except he didn’t believe in bullshit like that. But he remembered Nina saying once how she’d kill for a Kit Kat, and he put it in his pocket, his heart clenching. He didn’t want to feel like this about her, like if he couldn’t save her it wouldn’t just be disappointing. It would hurt him. Kill him, maybe. He didn’t want to admit his feelings, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to think about them right now.

The streets were empty still, and he scanned the area, trying to decide where he wanted to light the fire. Across the street and down about a block from the theater was a diner, a small parking lot with a few stalled cars there. If he ignited one of those cars, the men would not only leave the theater but probably come down the street a little to get a better view. A hiding place between the theater and the diner would give him the perfect spot from which to take aim and snipe them with the rifle he’d stolen from one of their own gang. He’d kill them. Every. Single. One.

* * *

It was impossible to know which cars had gas and which didn’t. The gang could have siphoned fuel for their truck, for his motorcycle. It would be guesswork, but he had no choice. For a second he remembered Kaylee, his niece, doing Eeny Meeny Miny Mo when she wanted to choose something, and his heart clenched in sudden sadness. And anger. He wasn’t going to lose another fucking person he loved.

Did he love Nina? He didn’t want to think deeply enough to answer that question, but he was positive that finding out she was dead would kill him, would take away any urge he had to keep going. What would be the point?

The first unlocked car Creed saw was a Honda Civic, and he opened the driver’s door as quietly as possible, popping the gas tank open. He inserted the unwaxed end of the rope into the tank, snaking it down. The strong chemical smell of gasoline filled his nostrils, and thankfulness made him weak for a split second. Yes. He’d chosen well.

As he pulled the box of matches from his pocket, his hands were steady. He’d learned a long time ago how to keep his body calm even when his nerves were raging, how to stay strong when inside he was nothing but fear. There was no choice. This was his only chance.

The first match he struck exploded into a tiny flame, which he held in cupped hands while bringing it to the end of the rope. He held it there, watching the blue belly of the fire char the end of the rope, then blaze higher as it caught.

It was working. The rope was burning. He stayed just a moment to make sure it continued to burn, that it didn’t need to be relit, and when he saw the fire traveling slowly but surely along the rope, he knew it was time to bolt.

Across the street and halfway between the theater and the diner was an alley, a giant scratched red dumpster overflowing with trash waiting for him. It stank, the unmistakable odor of rotting flesh assaulting him, but he ignored it, adrenaline coursing through his body as he waited, bracing himself for the explosion and readying himself to aim, to kill the bastards as they fled from the theater like rats from a sinking ship.