RecruitZ (Afterworld Series) (8 page)

“Where were you hiding that?” I changed the subject.

He grinned and pointed the way with the beam of light. “This is my truck. Let me walk you to your car.”

His truck was an older model like mine, but I couldn’t tell the color, other than it was dark.

“I have an old truck too. Not a big fan of the autodrivers.”

“I’m not keen on depending on much of anything besides myself either,” he confirmed as he followed me to my truck. “We might actually have something in common after all.”

I opened my door and turned around to face him. His eyes held the kindness I recognized that first night, and I wanted to trust him. I really did.

But I couldn’t.

Not yet.

If ever.

“Okay, well, follow me to town. My friend’s working the late shift at a great place with cheap food and even cheaper drinks.”

“Sounds like my kind of place,” he said, slamming the metal door with a thud. He waved and walked back to his truck as I started the ignition and pulled onto the road, doing a U-turn.

I passed by him as he switched his lights on, and he turned around to follow me. I flipped on the radio, hoping the images of Gavin’s brother would drift away as the music played. Nothing of the sort happened. Instead, I was plagued with new feelings of grief and desperation. I had already mentally laid Peter to rest once. Seeing him here tonight drove my anxiety level through the roof. I was barely hanging on as it was, and now I was leaving tonight with many more questions than I’d arrived with.

I drove down the long country road, passing by vacant home after vacant home, and every so often, my headlights bounced off the broken windows of the abandoned homes. I wondered if there’d ever be enough life on the planet to fill up the vacancies left by so many. If tonight had been any indication as to where humanity was headed, I’d guess no.

Preston flashed his high beams at me, and I looked around in front of me to see what he was pointing to. I didn’t see anything except a turnoff leading to a private road. If he thought I’d turn off in the middle of nowhere with a man I barely knew, he had another thing coming. We passed by the road and he flashed them again. This time, I caught a blinking light off in the distance where the road led. Trying to make out what the structures were from the road, I slowed some and craned my neck as I passed them. They looked like water towers or silos of some sort. One more thing I could ask him over drinks, I supposed.

Still on edge from the night’s events, I was relieved to see the first working stoplight in town. Even though I’d become somewhat of a hermit, I enjoyed the idea of civilization…from a distance. I turned right at the second light I hit and pulled into a busy parking lot. Preston parked his truck next to mine as I slid off my bench seat.

“That’s the place,” I said, pointing across the street. It was a three-story brick building with apartments on top and a bar on the corner. There was a blue awning lit up by the floodlights that surrounded the entrance. It used to be a bank. But we needed fewer banks and more places to drink in recent times, or at least that’s what the governments believed. They actually had special loans specifically for bars.

“Never been here before,” he said, walking over to me.

“My treat,” I said, patting my pocket. “The sooner I get my winnings out of my pocket, the better I’ll feel.”

He smiled at me and shook his head. “That’s not how it works. You’ll still feel like shit, even after you spend it all.”

“Thanks for that,” I said, walking across the street.

“Just sayin’.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Did you get a glimpse of those buildings on the way here?”

“The ones that you almost blinded me over with your high beams?” I laughed. “Yeah. I saw ‘em. Are they old water towers or what?”

“Something like that.” He opened the door for me, and the flood of music and sounds of conversation wrapped around me.

I glanced over at the bar and saw my friend, Baily. She waved at me and noticed Preston standing behind me, her face lighting up.

I pointed at a corner booth and she nodded.

“Over there okay?” I asked Preston.

“That’d be great.”

We walked past full tables as people rehashed the day’s events, and all I wanted to do was forget them. I slid in the booth just as Baily came over with two menus.

“Greyhound?” she asked.

“Yes, please. A double.”

“That great of a day, huh?” she teased, turning to take in Preston. “What can I get for you?” Her eyes fell to Preston’s mouth, and I watched his reaction as she ate him up. He didn’t seem to notice or care—maybe both.

“I’ll take whatever your specialty is,” he said.

“Okay. One Lame Brain coming up,” she said, laughing.

Preston’s jaw tensed and he nodded. “Sounds fine by me.”

She turned around and headed for the bar.

“I wonder how long places will insist on naming everything after zombies?” Preston asked, spinning the coaster in front of him.

“I’d say at least a decade,” I laughed.

He nodded in agreement and glanced back at the bar.

“Her name’s Baily,” I offered. “And she’s single.”

He brought his attention back to me and grinned. “Am I supposed to care?” he asked.

“I just figured,” I said, shrugging.

“How about you?” he asked, his brow arching. “You single?”

My heart started pounding. I hadn’t expected the line of questioning to shift to me. I shook my head.

“And he let you go to this thing tonight alone?” Preston’s voice lowered as he leaned in closer. “Or did you not tell him. That seems like something you’d do.”

“It’s not like that,” I said, shaking my head and dismissing his questions.

He shifted back in the booth as Baily brought the drinks over.

“Then what is it like? What are you searching for?” he asked, sipping his drink. He cringed as he swallowed it, and I couldn’t help but chuckle.

“The old standbys aren’t looking so bad now, are they?” I laughed, sipping my grapefruit vodka mixture.

He wiped his mouth and returned his gaze to me. “I saw something in you that night you landed in my bar. Something that scared me—”

“Ha,” I said, louder than I expected. I couldn’t imagine what he was talking about.

“Scared me for your
safety
,” he corrected. “I get the sense that you don’t think you have anything to lose. And that type of thinking is the most dangerous.”

“How so?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Because if you’re not afraid of getting killed, it leads to carelessness.”

“Everyday is a great day to die. I’d rather embrace the inevitable, do what I need to do rather than…”

“That doesn’t sound like a woman who’s thinking of her partner,” he interrupted, his voice calm but determined as his eyes focused on mine. “It sounds like a woman hell-bent on revenge.”

“I think of my husband every single second of every single day,” I replied coldly. “But that’s all I can do is
think
of him. Because he’s dead. Now why did you demand I have a drink with you tonight. What was it you were so worried about me exposing in the arena today?” I glared at him as I awaited his answer.

“Me,” he replied simply.

“Trust isn’t something you hand out freely, Rebekah. I understand that,” Preston said, his eyes fastened on mine. “But I’m begging you to trust me.”

“Why should I?” I asked, picking at the chips that Baily delivered to our table. “What’s in it for me?”

Preston dipped his head as he thought about his answer. I wondered what was so hard about that question.

“Because, like you, I lost someone I loved
after
the outbreak. My sister, Sophie,” Preston stated. His eyes filled with the same sadness I recognized. “She was targeted.”

“How can you be sure?” I found myself questioning him just as my friends doubted me.

“I was with her when it happened, and they left me alone—completely alone,” his voice caught. “I couldn’t save her. I tried to distract them. I attempted to lure them away from her by sacrificing myself. It didn’t matter. They had their sights set on her, no matter what I tried.”

I glanced down, attempting to shield myself from him as my eyes filled with tears. I wasn’t crazy.

“I know it happened to you too. I saw the look in your eyes that night at the bar and then again today. It’s a different type of sorrow from others who lost loved ones from the outbreak.”

“Others have reconciled their losses as part of the war. I haven’t,” I whispered in agreement.

“You haven’t because our loss was
not
part of the war,
not
part of the outbreak. We both know it,” he said.

I let out a deep breath as I thought about what he was saying. I hadn’t found anyone who’d believed me, and now that I had, I was contemplating whether or not to give him the benefit of the doubt. How ironic.

“I’ve been following the underground movements longer than you. I think we can help one another,” he tried again.

“When they took my husband, they didn’t just take a piece of me, they took all of me,” I said softly. “I’m nothing more than a shell of a human, so what you recognize as carelessness or a death wish on my part, I see as nothing more than trying to remind myself that I’m still alive. I walk around feeling empty every day.”

Preston reached out for my hand and I pulled it away.

I looked around the bar, trying to ground myself in the present, because I was feeling like I was about to be swallowed back into my past. I watched Baily flirt mindlessly with her customers as she made drinks behind the bar. I watched two couples talking and laughing amongst themselves in the middle of the bar, near the pool table.

I looked back at Preston, this time with a deeper understanding of what created us, what drove us both.

“I think my friends are on the verge of reporting me,” I muttered. “At least one of them.”

I was shocked by my admission. I was already embarrassed that my friends didn’t believe me, but after the dinner with Abby, I realized there was a chance that she might report me as delusional.

“You understand that once you go in for assessment, you won’t be coming back out?” he asked, his eyes pained.

“Very much so. Do you know anyone who has been sent away for treatment?”

“I know that I’ve never heard from them since.” He took another sip of his drink, this time with no expression. “My mother was one of them.”

I glanced at Baily who gave me a quick wave. I waved back not missing the growing paradox between our two worlds.

“Before we start working together on anything, we have to change how your friends view you. That’s the first step.”

“How do you propose we do that?” I asked.

“I have the sheet they use during the initial assessment. It’s always what they use to investigate initial complaints from family and friends.”

“Isn’t that confidential?” I asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then how’d you get it?” I took in a deep breath not sure I wanted the answer.

“I used to work for the agency that oversees the program, the MHA.”

Interesting, but I wasn’t sure I believed him.

“I’d like to think my friends wouldn’t report me, especially since—”

“I’m sure they’d only do it because they care about you, but they don’t understand that what they say will haunt you forever,” he interrupted.

“And I’m not crazy, just observant.” I smiled, attempting to shift the awkwardness of the moment.

“I know that,” his voice softened. “If we ensure you’re not exhibiting any of the traits, even if they do report you, there’ll be nothing for the agency to move forward with. But my hunch is that if we can show them a lighter side of you, the old Rebekah, they may not be so quick to judge you any longer. And truthfully, it’s best if your name never appears on any of the paperwork that agency handles.”

“I couldn’t agree more, and I’ll work on that,” I said.

“We’ll work on that,” he corrected.