Four (Their Dead Lives,1) (54 page)

“I have an idea.”
 

She leaned closer. “A good one?”
 

“Maybe one of my worst.” He guided her from the helicopter. They crossed the roof, hand in hand. He pulled the complex door fully open, leaving it that way.
 

In the stairwell, she shoved him against a wall. “Up here.”
 

“But a bed down there, or—”
 

“No,” she whispered, “safer up here.”
 

The dark, the chill air, the decaying world, it all vanished. Their lips rushed to each other. Strength filled his hands, fingers wrapping around her head. Their kiss felt like it lasted forever, but it was only for a few seconds.
 

He flung his own shirt off then fumbled with her buttons. She giggled and kissed his neck until the shirt finally opened. One snap removed her bra and the skin of their torsos pressed to each other. He cupped around her, kissing. She touched his jeans. Belt gone. Pants dropped. His fingers ran down her back, slipping into her shorts, feeling her ass he just wanted to protect. Their legs intertwined. Rubbing. He grew against her warmth. Kissing, touching, and loving. His boxers and her thong fell. He twirled her to face the wall. Her head rose over his, soft breaths and moans escaping. And he entered the only being worth living for, forgetting a horrid world.
 

Scot fell to the ground, holding her, laughing. The floor may have been dirty, but he didn’t care. Through the open door, by the moonlight’s grace, he could see those emerald eyes. As she thrust, riding him, arching her back, he reached for her neck and pulled her face close. Their lips locked, never wanting to let go. He felt something he hadn’t in years. Not with Angie, not with any other girl. That empty void filled with each breath of pleasure. Her hands grabbed his chest as she pulsated on him.
Not, going, to last.
 

She moaned louder. He sat straight, letting her legs wrap around his back. With both hands against the ground, he slid harder and deeper. She moved with him. Their lips touched again, then breaking and breathing against one another. She grabbed his face, kissing his head, nose, cheek, lips. He touched the small of her back. A floating room, lifting them as one. And although the world continued to die around him, Scot finally felt alive.
 

They were quick to dress after finishing. “That was insanely reckless.” She laughed, fumbling with her jean shorts.
 

“Agreed. Told you it was one of my worst ideas.”
 

“But by worst you mean best, right?”
 

Scot found her hand and yanked her close. His lips hovered in her breath. She wrapped around his back and he touched her neck. “Of course.”
 

Whatever clothes they had on, came right off, and with their tongues swirling together, they fell back to the ground.
 

They dressed to completion after finishing the second time. “Are we dicks for fucking at a time like this?”
 

Kelsey’s teeth glowed under the moon. “It was your idea.”
 

“So, I’m the only dick here?”
 

She pushed on him, grabbing his crotch. “You’re my dick now.”
 

“That I am.” He smiled against her cheek as they fumbled back to the roof.
 

A body stood before them. Addison. “Let’s have a chat.”
 

Kelsey kept her hand in Scot’s. “What about?”
 

“The girl can wait in the chopper.”
 

“I have a name.” Kelsey stood still. “And we hear everything together.”
 

Scot leisurely stretched out his arm. “She speaks the truth.”

“Look,”—Addison grabbed his own temples—“I just need to tell
him
one thing, and you won’t hear from me again. But I can’t say it to anyone but him. And it’s not ‘cause you’re a girl. It’s ‘cause I don’t trust you, Green Eyes.”
 

Scot pulled Kelsey closer. “I trust her.”
 

“That’s adorable, it really is. I trusted a girl once and you know what happened? She decapitated Nasir and deep throated Lex with a tree branch.”
 

Kelsey turned to Scot. “I’ll wait for you in there.” She motioned for the helicopter and he let their fingers slide apart.
 

“Way to ruin a magical evening,” said Scot.
 

Addison grabbed Scot’s shirt. “Listen to me, you horny little slut.”
 

Did he just call me a slut?

“I was like you once, thinking with that brain-dead thing between my legs. Sure, that’s all great. But you listen, and you listen well. I know what you are, what you’re capable of, and what you’re meant to do. And it’s not to be fucking around like an apathetic fool!”
 

His breath really smells.
“Okay?”

“Now, I’m sure you two love each other. Fantastic. But
do not
trust her with your life. Trust nobody with your life. Any one of us can be an Embracer.”
 

“Even you?”
 

“Yes, even me. You stick with Jeff and Alec when they return.”
 

“How do you know about them? Who are you?”
 

His dark hands finally let go of the shirt. “I’m a guy searching for our world’s salvation.” He slapped a paper to Scot’s palm.
 

“What’s this, a love letter?”
 

“A name. You find him, he has all your answers.” Addison turned his back.
 

“You won’t help?”
 

“I will,” he paused, “that’s for you, in case I don’t make it past tonight.”
 

Scot unfolded the paper. Written across the slip was indeed the name: Brody Vitaly. A name he did not recognize, nor really cared to figure out. So he shoved the paper away.
 

Ignorance is bliss, especially when in love.

EVANS
 

Almost back to base. Almost back to orders. Get Uncle Dylan. Get the others. Get home.
 

Specialist Evans stood on the roof of the complex, next to the cockpit of their helicopter. He tapped the door to speak with the pilot. “Eddie, how you doing?”
 

“Good, my friend.” Eddie had coarse hair, a forehead much larger than the rest of his face, and a bigger jaw than Evans’ own. His tired eyes looked at a picture of his wife and daughter hanging by the throttles.
 

“Heard from them?”
 

“Impossible to hear anything.”
 

“I was hoping someone got lucky.”
 

Eddie flashed his white teeth. Despite any situation, the man always managed a contagious smile. “I’m sorry about the LT and the others. They were good men.”
 

“That they were. But we can’t cry for them now.”
They were sacrifices, but meaningful? One day the world will know. Until then, I shed no tears.
 

“Ah, Mister Evans. Crying is healthy. Doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
 

“You going to be fine up here without us?”
 

Eddie raised his machete. “I’ve got this.”
 

Evans smacked the cockpit then returned to the other VTF members. Sgt. Slinger and Pvt. Malone waited by the door leading to the inside of the complex.
 

“Crazy shit, Specialist,” said Slinger, her MP5 hanging at her shoulder.
 

“Slinger, you should know, the SUV you found us in is stacked with weapons, ammo, and food. We should swing by there on our way to Numark.”
 

Slinger glanced at Malone, a glance that hid something. But Evans didn’t care. He just wanted to get home.
Orders.
 

“Will do,” Malone finally responded. He was a massively wide man, the same man who Evans had lost a bet to, forcing him to cut his hair into a mohawk.
 

The sergeant stepped to the specialist, twisting a silencer over her weapon. They watched Jeff speak with Scot. “What’s the deal with Brennan; is that his lover or something?”
 

“No, a close friend.”

“Yeah? Funny we picked them both up.”
 

Evans stared at Slinger. “Tell me you don’t believe in that fate bullshit like Jeff?”
 

“I believe in what I see. And right now, I see a warm cot waiting for me back at Numark.”
 

“Sounds too good.”
 

When Jeff finally finished his conversation with Scot, they entered the complex. A stuffy stairwell took them down eight stories. On the first floor, Evans crouched to the glass entrance, carbine readied. A cold wind passed over the clear street separating them and the clinic. No movement inside. No sign of life.
He’s fine, don’t worry,
Evans told himself as he thought about Uncle Dylan.
 

Slinger stepped to a shattered window, glass crunching beneath her boot. “All right, I’ll lead. Evans, you follow. Brennan and Malone, cover us.”
 

Evans gave Jeff a nod then eased an unbroken door open. Running crouched across the street, Slinger moved swiftly at his side. He’d always liked her. Direct, strong, yet funny at times, Slinger made for one of the best sergeants, and she’d be a perfect replacement for Lt. Mark Sampson.
May he rest.
 

They reached the clinic doors. Shattered. Cluttered chairs. Blood-stained walls. A massacred corpse: the deputy.
 

Slinger kept her aim steady. “You said it was safe.”
 

“It was when we left,” said Evans.
 

“Well, let’s find your uncle and get the hell out.”
 

“Affirmative.” He stepped over Miller’s body. Stabbed in the deputy’s head, a broken vodka bottle, right above his hollowed out eyes. Evans had seen his uncle drinking it the night before, had said it eased the pain in his leg.
 

Blood covered the exam room door where Alec had secluded himself with Nicole. Evans eased it open as Slinger covered his shoulder. Empty. A breeze flew in from an open window. Red splotches across the ground. He quietly shut the door and moved on to the next exam room. They stepped on scattered papers and folders, fallen from the receptionist area.
 

The second exam room was open and clear. More splotches. A small puddle of blood in the corner led out to the hall. A thud. They spun in the exam room, flashlights shining at the hall. Thud. Evans stepped out first. “The corner office.” His light shined to the doorway. Thud. “Anyone in there?” Evans moved closer, while Slinger slid against the opposite wall.
 

Silence. Then clanking.
 

Evans swung in. A crack ran in a long skinny window above the desk. No movement. No sounds. “Dylan,” he whispered.
 

A moan came from the ground. “
Jonny?
”
 

The room blurred as Evans wrapped around the desk, falling to his uncle’s legs. Blood had soaked Dylan’s pants. He was shaking, his skin pale as ice, and his shirt was wet and red.
 

Evans pressed his hands against the hole in his uncle’s stomach. “I got you, you’re fine.”
 

“Jonny...I’m dead.” His fingers slid off Evans’ arm, but he forced his eyes to stay open.
 

“Don’t leave me,” said Evans. His voice cracked.
I should’ve stayed with him longer.
 

Dylan’s limp body found strength. “He did this to me. He took Nicole and Alec. He killed Jimmy.”
 

“Who?”
 

Dylan choked out red froth. “Kale.”
 

First, Erica. Now my uncle. I’ll rip that fat Korean’s head off.
 

“Stay with me, Uncle, you stay with me.”
 

Dylan’s weak eyes wandered to another world, and he said Pat’s name as his voice drifted away.
 

A hand in his uncle’s long wet hair, Evans lowered the lifeless head, and closed his own eyes as he did.
 

“Jon,” Slinger whispered over the desk. “I’m sorry.”
 

Clenching his lips, Evans removed his Beretta from its holster, and with steady aim at his uncle’s transported face, he told himself to do it and move on.
 

Slinger moved closer. “You don’t have to, not yet.”
 

“Give me a minute?”
 

A hesitant nod and she posted in the hall.
 

Upon her exit, the steady pistol shook in his hands. He pressed the grip of his gun against his own head, closing his eyes again.
Damn it, Dylan.
Memories they’d shared — family gatherings, learning to sail, bowling tournaments — all gone. Another deep breath. He aimed at his uncle’s skull.
I’m sorry
.
 

A bullet spoke softly into his uncle’s brain, and a tear fell onto Evans’ boot.

KALE
 

The dark dragon? Ha!
 

Kale found great pleasure in toying with Sadie as he sliced his bone-dagger through the smelly hippy’s neck. He shoved two decapitated heads on wooden stakes outside the restaurant. Then he sent the girls off to fend for themselves.
 

“I can follow you,” Sadie had offered.
 

“No.” Kale knew Cloak and Sofia would have her killed soon enough. Not that he really cared, but if his reputation grew as a dark dragon, well, he thought that sounded pretty badass. So he sent them off, having her believe the dragon real, as he stayed to obey his own.
 

Sofia stood on the front porch. “No sign of Declan?”
 

“He got me in the chest and ran.” Kale pulled another bullet out of him and dropped it. The open wound wrapped into itself, healing quickly. “Let me ask you something, why did you let them mess around with you?”