After the Ending (8 page)

Jason’s convulsive laughter vanished, and I wondered if
I’d hit a tender man-part. As far as I knew that resulted in more of a moaning,
groaning, pretending-to-die display. But, I figured it was possible.

Practically jumping off me, Jason called, “Johnson!”
Seconds later, Chris was standing next to him and staring down at me.

“Did you see?” I asked her as I stood. “Is this even
worth it? I mean, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”

“Ha!” Chris barked, “Who wouldn’t crumble under this
beast?” She rolled her eyes in Jason’s direction. “Nah, just blame him, hon.
You’re so small…it was pretty much a given you’d end up on the floor.”

“Anyway, Johnson…I want you to help train her since
you’re
slightly
smaller than me.” Jason sounded dead serious, but the
corner of his mouth threatened to quirk up in a smile.

“
Slightly
smaller! You’re such a dick.” With a
huge grin at me, Chris said, “When I’m done with you, hon, you’ll be able to
take him down any time you want.”

“Yeah!” I boasted, poking Jason’s firm abs through his
t-shirt and bouncing from foot to foot. “I’m gonna take you down…eventually.”

Wearing a cocky smirk, Jason watched me with glittering
eyes. “We’ll see, Red. We’ll see…”

Some of the others watched the exchange, grinning and
chuckling. Cece, sitting in the far corner, wasn’t one of them.

Date: December 17, 9:00 AM

From: Danielle O’Connor

To: Zoe Cartwright

Subject: RIP Sammy

Zo,

So much for writing to you yesterday…we searched and worked
and trained for so long in our Portland “home” that I fell asleep before my
allotted time at the computer.

Dammit! I feel so helpless being so far away from you! I’m
really sorry about Sammy. I hope Dave recovers. Did you have all the first aid
supplies and whatnot you needed? Did you have to stitch him up? I suppose you
could always pour booze over his wounds, but that might sting a bit.

I know this’ll seem like small potatoes to you right now,
but I forgot to tell you that Joey found some of his people. Back in Longview,
I mean. They were holed up in one of the last houses he checked. He decided to
stay with them. I’m happy for him…and it gives me hope for what awaits us in
Bodega Bay.

Today I’m not searching Portland with the rest of the group.
Instead, I’m on watch and food duty with Thomas (“It’s Thomas, not Tom!”).
Thomas takes himself very seriously. He’s not awesome enough to be a Tom
anyway, not like your dad. From what I can tell, he’s the same rank as Jason,
and it rankles him a bit that your brother has assumed leadership of our group.
I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m not out searching with Jason, my supposed
partner…I’m getting to it.

Portland is Cece’s stop. Holy effing cow, she drives me
insane. She’s 19 and barely out of basic training. She’s a horrid, sloppy flirt
with every guy, especially your brother. And they all pay her a lot of
attention. Oh, and she hates me.

Anyway, we have an odd number now, so there has to be a three-person
group. Cece finagled her way into one that includes Jason. The thing is, he was
going to stay here at the hotel, but the slut bag whined about how much safer
she’d feel with him nearby. I’m sure his stupid puffed-up ego wouldn’t let him
refuse. And worse,
I
feel less safe without him nearby. Crap! I’m just
as bad as Cece! Ugh!

Okay, I should get to my unavoidably disastrous food duties.
Thomas keeps throwing scornful glances my way. These people are crazy if they
think I’ll be able to make them something appetizing. Or even edible. Hopefully
Thomas knows what he’s doing…

Stay safe and warm, Zo. Sorry about the snow. My thoughts
are with you, Dave, and Sarah.

Ciao,

Dani

Zoe

I stared out into the blackness beyond the windowpane. The
storm hadn’t let up; the wind whipped through the trees, making them moan and
creak. I shivered as a chill crept up my spine.
What are we going to do now
?

I wondered how long we’d have to stay in the cabin and if
Dave’s legs would heal properly. I wanted to get to Colorado, but I knew Dave
was in no shape to discuss plans for leaving. He’d been drunk since the
incident with Sammy and the mountain lion, fading in and out of consciousness
and waking only for another drink before passing out again.

Sarah had been lost in her own world of sadness since
Sammy died in her arms. We’d wrapped him in a blanket—it had seemed like the
right thing to do—before laying his lifeless body outside on the icy porch.

“Zoe,” Dave interrupted my morose thoughts. He cleared
his throat, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “You’re cold.” I could feel his
eyes on me.

I looked back at him just as he brought his trusty
friend, Mr. Jose
Cuervo
, up to his lips and took a
gulp.

“I’m fine,” I lied, walking over to his bed and removing
a blanket to wrap around my shivering body. “Why don’t I get you something else
to put in your stomach? Sarah made potato soup.”

Dave looked away and set the bottle down on the
nightstand. “I’m not hungry,” he said thickly.

He needs a distraction
. “Jose might be your friend
tonight, but he’ll be your enemy tomorrow,” I warned with a grin, rearranging
his comforter around him.

“He’s worth it.” A tiny smirk pulled at the corners of
his mouth.

Relieved at his Dave-like response, I smiled back, and
before I realized what I was doing, I ran my fingers through his short brown
curls.
At least he’s okay.
“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you
without a ball cap all week.”

In the dim lamplight, I saw a spark of something
illuminate his eyes. He struggled to move his injured legs, making room for me
in the bed. His eyes fixed on me as he patted the mattress beside him. “You’re
cold and tired. I don’t care what you say. Come on.”

Conceding that his words were true, I smiled sheepishly
and climbed in bed beside him.
This has bad news written all over it
.

I couldn’t bring myself to deny him in his current state,
and I didn’t really want to. My body craved warmth, erasing any concern I had
that we would find ourselves in a compromising situation. Taking a deep breath,
I let myself relax on the soft mattress. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was
until my head sank further into the pillow.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt Dave’s arousal
zap through me like an electric jolt. Ignoring the fatigue and pain shooting through
his lower body, he shifted and was suddenly on top of me. His hands grasped my
arms with a surprising desperation. His lips were urgent and rough on mine, his
breath smelled antiseptic and sour, and his skin was clammy from drunkenness.

Without warning, my mind was invaded by thoughts and
feelings that weren’t my own. A succession of images flickered in my mind. It
took only a moment to realize they were memories of me. But, they weren’t
my
memories.

My silhouette
standing in front of the cabin window just moments before. My breasts
accentuated by my slight waist.

My dark hair
cascading over my blue-green eyes. Me looking up at him.

My naked body in
his bed. My black hair trailing behind me on white sheets.

My body undulating
beneath his. His fingers lingering on the tattoo on my right hip.

Dave’s grip on me tightened, and his tongue explored my
mouth as if he’d never tasted it before—sampling and probing. It wasn’t sensual
or intimate like it had once been, but instead it was desperate and hungry.

My body quivering
as his lips trailed down my stomach.

The memories were suffocating. Dave’s urgency frightened
me, and the images of myself were too much to bear. His desire confused my own
feelings of discomfort and unease.

I panicked and struggled to push him off me. “I need
air,” I gasped.

“God, I want you, Zo.” His voice was guttural, and I
could feel how badly he yearned for me. He knotted his hands in my hair.
Tugging too hard, he jerked my head back and caused my body to arch into his.
Misinterpreting my reaction, his hands hurried to the waistband of my sweats.

“Dave, stop it. I can’t breathe!” Pushing with all my
might, I tried to shove his body off me.

He stilled, hovering. His shaking arms straddled my torso
while our chests heaved in unison.

I attempted to catch my breath as I peered up at him,
unsure what to say as my mind replayed the images I’d seen. They
looped
like a broken record. I put my hand over my eyes and
licked my stinging lips. My heart pounded like a drum, reverberating through my
entire being.
What the hell was that?

Knowing I’d somehow witnessed his private thoughts, I
tried to overlook the mortification and disgust that stewed inside me. But I
couldn’t ignore how dirty and objectified I felt. Uneasiness settled inside me,
like vines were tangling in my stomach.

Dave’s eyes narrowed and then widened as he registered
the revulsion on my face. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling.
He was embarrassed. I could feel him simmering in it, thick and sticky like his
breath. “Sorry, I thought you still had feelings for me or something crazy like
that,” he said bitterly.

“Dave, it’s just that I—”
I can read your mind!
“It’s complicated,” I muttered. Running my hands through my hair, I hoped to
pull the tension away from the sudden headache pounding in my skull.

“I get it,” he grumbled, reaching to grab the booze from
the nightstand. I could tell his ego was as wounded as his legs.

“I just wasn’t expecting that, okay?” I heard my voice
rise slightly as I tried to control my impatience. “I’m not well.” I’d
surprised myself with the admission, but Dave sulked and ignored me while he
took another swig.

“I should get some rest,” he said between drinks. “You
should probably go check on Sarah or something.” And just like that, Dave was
gone. He’d completely shut me out.

Trying not to lash out at him, I reminded myself that he
was brokenhearted by the loss of his best friend, was in a lot of physical
pain, was sexually frustrated,
and
was drunk. I took a deep breath to
gather my few remaining bits of patience.

“Go away, Zoe,” he ordered.

At his words, all my sympathy instantly vanished. “Fine,
asshole
!”
With a rush of anger, I threw the covers off me, grabbed my blanket, and
stalked out of the room. I made sure to slam the door behind me.
So much for
not lashing out…

Date: December 18, 2:00 AM

From: Zoe Cartwright

To: Danielle O’Connor

Subject: Dave’s an asshole and I’m losing my mind

Hey D,

I know it’s late (or early), but I can’t sleep. Too much shit’s
happened in the last 24 hours, and it’s polluting my mind. With Dave’s injuries
and the whole situation with Sammy, I haven’t gotten any sleep. But oh wait,
there’s more...

Tonight was really unnerving. I’m not even sure how to
describe it. You know how I’ve been having those strange sensations? Well, I
know this will sound
really
crazy, but it just got worse. I thought
maybe I was losing my mind, but now I
know
I am. Either way, it’s screwing
everything up.

Dave came on to me—like full on tongue-down-my-throat,
rocking-hip action—and it didn’t turn out well. He was drunk, which didn’t
help, but I also saw these jumbled images of myself flash in my mind. In some,
I was lying naked in bed beneath him. Why were they in my mind? I feel like
he’s messing with my head on purpose, like he’s trying to make me feel crazy.
But he can barely think straight, let alone do something that vindictive.

I know this sounds impossible (trust me), but I think they
were
his
memories of us, from when we were together. I felt completely
overwhelmed and violated, so I pushed him away. Needless to say, his ego is
totally wounded. He won’t even talk to me.

Just thinking about seeing myself that way makes me sick to
my stomach. I feel objectified. I want to rip him a new one and tell him to
stop thinking about me like that. But what do I say, “I saw your memories and I
don’t appreciate them, so stop it”? I knew Dave still had feelings for me…I’ve
been sensing them since he showed up at my door last week, but I guess it’s just
shocking to actually
see
how real his feelings are.

Now, he’s being such an asshole that I’m not sure what to
do. Keeping my distance is probably the best thing, but I feel like I need to fix
this. I also need his truck, and for that, I need him. I know it’s selfish of
me, but my main concern is getting to Colorado. I feel like I should tell him
why I pushed him away, but I don’t want him to have another reason to shut me
out. He’s in such a bad space. I’m not sure what his reaction would be if I
told him I could feel what he’s feeling and see what he’s remembering. This is
way outside of my shit-I-can-handle comfort zone.

Thanks for the update on your travels. It sounds like that
Cece girl is more of a super skank than I thought. Sorry you have to deal with
her. Hopefully Jason will get tired of her soon. He generally has low tolerance
for stupid people.

I’m surprised and a little upset with Jason’s strategic
planning during your trip. He’s taking his sweet-ass time getting to Bodega
Bay. Why isn’t he making Dad a priority? Did he give you a good reason? If it
were me, I would’ve been there already. I understand he wants to help everyone
find their families, but why can’t he break people off into teams?

Anyway, I should probably go. It’s really late, and I need
to decide what I’m going to do about Dave. Try not to kill anyone with your
cooking (kidding). I worry about you. I hope you’re doing okay. You’d let me
know if you weren’t, right?

Hasta,

Zoe

The sun barely shone in the gray sky. The air was bitter
cold and burned my lungs as I stood unmoving under the frozen trees. The storm
clouds lingered, but the snow had ceased falling, and the wind had died down
earlier in the morning. I was grateful for the reprieve.

It was the first time the snow had stopped since we’d
arrived at the cabin. I took the opportunity to escape Dave and the close
quarters I’d been trapped within.

In the stillness of the day, the snow crunched beneath my
feet as I made my way around the back of the house and toward the barn. I’d
noticed the structure when we arrived a few days earlier.

I spotted an old shed next to the barn and approached it.
Its metal door barely hung on its crooked hinges. With glove-padded fingers, I
pulled the creaking door open, exposing the shed’s inhabitants; a leaf blower,
a rake, and a hedge trimmer looked lonely hanging on the rusted metal wall.
Something bright and red, situated in the corner beside a lawn mower, caught my
attention: a gas can.

I picked up the can, listening as its liquid contents
sloshed around inside. It was half-full of the precious fluid we so desperately
relied upon. A triumphant smile spread across my face—a small victory, but a
victory nonetheless.

Holding the can away from my body, I left the shed and
walked toward the barn. I was trying to keep the dirty container as far away
from my white jacket as possible.
It’s brand new
, I rationalized,
realizing my silliness.

As I neared the barn’s red doors, I noticed icicles
hanging from the corners of the roof. I set the gas can down and took a deep
breath before entering.

Although it was dark inside, I could make out a go-cart
tucked away in the back, a chainsaw hanging on the wall, and a small snowplow
parked in the corner. Assuming there would be much more snowfall before we
left, I knew the plow might come in handy. But all the fuel tanks were empty,
so I walked back out into the cold, December afternoon.

    A crow cawed above me as I closed the
barn door. I spotted the black, iridescent bird on a nearby tree branch. Its
head cocked to the right and then to the left as it examined me through its
binocular vision.

A chill raced through me, and for once it wasn’t from the
frigid air. I thought of the mountain lion attack and wondered what had
provoked it. I tried to recall any other animals I’d seen acting strangely.
Other than Sammy and the big cat, the lone bird was the first animal I’d
noticed since arriving at the cabin. My imagination ran away from me, and I
began to feel uneasy standing outside alone. I suddenly felt miles away from
the safety of the cabin. Staring back up at the bird, I wondered if it had been
changed by the Virus too.

Just as I decided the thought was probably ridiculous, I
laughed, and the bird leapt from the flimsy branch and flew away. Its caw
disturbed the still, crisp afternoon air.

Following the bird’s departure, my gaze fell upon a tire
swing hanging from another barren tree branch. The seemingly insignificant
sight broke something inside me. My heart seemed to seize as memories I’d kept
buried for days came flooding to the surface of my mind, unhinging my composed
façade.

My father stood
beside me. His eyes seemed lifeless, but he doted down on me with a warm smile
as he pushed me on my brother’s old tire swing, “Is he mad that I’m on here?” I
cried as Dad pushed me gently, back and forth.

“No, he’s not mad.
He hasn’t used it in years, and besides, he can share.”