The McClane Apocalypse Book Five (49 page)

Sam doesn’t actually mean to say that.
The painting is hardly
pretty
,
and it’s an insult to the artist to suggest it.

“Oh yeah?” Simon calls over to her as he tugs
a fresh shirt down over his chest lightning fast.

Sam doesn’t answer but goes back to the
portable heater and their temporary camp site. She sits
cross-legged on her sleeping bag and waits for him to finish
dressing. Simon joins her a few minutes later wearing dry, clean
clothing. He’s also wearing his eyeglasses, which leads her to
believe that he’s tired from their hectic day. His black turtleneck
and holey jeans are in stark contrast with one another. It’s like
he’s going for the casual, yuppy-meets-grunge appearance. His
distressed work-boots just add to his unusual manner of dress.

“That feels a lot better, huh?” he asks
nonchalantly as he takes their food off of the heater.

Sam just stares at his finely hollowed out
cheekbones, wishing secretly that she could sketch him in his
bizarre, yet somehow distinguished clothing. She knows he’d reject
the idea for something more practical like oiling down the guns
that got wet.

“What does?”

“Getting dry clothes on. I can’t stand
running around when the weather’s like this. It sucks,” Simon
admits.

“Yeah, I guess it does. I wonder if we’re
going to have an early winter. Grandpa said we might.”

“Let’s hope not. I’m not too fond of these
snowy, cold Tennessee winters.”

“Right,” she says, remembering his roots as
an Arizonian.

“Want some food?” Simon asks as he sets her
small jar on the floor in front of her using the long sleeve of his
discarded damp shirt. “It’ll warm your belly.”

“What?” Sam asks. She wasn’t
really
paying attention. She’d picked up
her drawing pad and started her sketch of him without showing it.
“Did you just ask me something about my belly?”

Simon scowls. His blush is too hard to hide,
so he averts his face completely from her view and turns his back
to her. “No,” he responds in a huff of contrite anger. “I said you
need to eat.”

“Oh,” Sam says with a frown. She’s not sure
he said that at all. “Thanks. I could’ve got my own. Let me get the
bread.”

He sits across from her in the same
manner on his own sleeping bag. By the time she passes the
bread
that has been wrapped in a muslin
sack to Simon, he’s already eagerly digging into his main dish. He
must’ve been pretty hungry. He normally has the refined table
manners of a senator’s son, but tonight he’s
wolfing
down his food, licking his fingers and
slurping with unabashed enthusiasm. Sam just grins and takes a bite
of her stew. She dips the bread into the glass canning jar, letting
the dense texture sop up the broth.

“Where do you think Cory and your sister will
stay tonight?” Sam inquires as she next bites into a tender,
roasted carrot.

Simon pauses between bites and says, “Not
sure. Hopefully somewhere safe.”

“And out of this weather. I hope it doesn’t
snow enough to stick.”

“Me, too,” Simon agrees through a
mouthful of food. “He’ll make sure they find somewhere
safe
to stay. I doubt if they’re far
from here, especially if that Dick’s store is on the other side of
the school. It sounds like they didn’t get too far.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. “I don’t like that he
called the college a hotspot. That has to mean they ran into
problems.”

“Maybe,” Simon says, his eyes narrowing. “If
they do or did, Cory will get them out of it. He’s good at
that.”

“So are you,” Sam praises and takes another
bite of potato.

Simon chuckles and tells her, “You can be our
designated getaway driver.”

Sam smiles at him, admiring the way the
candlelight is touching his hair and skin, what little is showing.
He’s removed his stocking cap, so at least his auburn hair is
visible now.

“I’m happy with the supplies we got today,
but we still need to scout out fuel,” Simon tells her as she hands
him the rest of her bread.

“Here, I can’t eat this much,” she says. “I
thought with the guys finding the gas converter thing that we’d be
ok for fuel now.”

“Maybe,” Simon says
with
a nod. “But if it doesn’t work for some
reason, I’d still like to bring some cans of gas back to the farm
at the very least. I have a feeling we’re going to need to think
outside the box tomorrow to find fuel. Everywhere in this town has
already been raided and many times.”

“Not that hospital today. We had good luck
there,” Sam reminds him.

“That’s true,” he agrees. “But our day got
waylaid by that Dave the Mechanic guy and his friends. That put a
big delay in getting started.”

Sam frowns with distaste and screws the lid
back on her canning jar of food. She’s lost her appetite thinking
about that man and his friends.

“I’m glad that the guys met up with
someone they used to know,” Simon rambles, unaware of her distress.
“I think that’s
pretty cool
.
Plus, they might make valuable acquaintances to have in case we
ever need them.”

Dave and his group seemed nice,
probably very harmless, but she doesn’t know him or his men. She
also didn’t like the way some of them looked at her, especially the
man Dave kept calling Gunny. Sam is sure that if John and Kelly
trust Dave, then he is a good
man
. And likely his group is made up of men of the
same character. But she just doesn’t have the ability to openly and
easily trust people anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asks, finally picking
up on her change of mood.

“Nothing,” she assures him, packing away her
food in the crate. She swigs from her bottle of water and places it
on the floor near her backpack.

Simon quickly stows away his empty container,
sets aside his pack, and comes back to kneel on one knee in front
of her.

“What is it, Sam?”

She shakes her head and lowers her gaze to
his boots.

“Was it those men?” he asks.

It
is difficult to
hide
anything from Simon because he knows her so well.
She just nods because he’ll
know if
she’s
lying. She glances up at him to see concern
written all over his handsome face.

“Hey,” he says softly and tips her chin up to
look at him. “They were ok, Sam. They weren’t bad. I didn’t get a
vibe off of any of them.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” she says with
another nod.

Simon lays a hand against her cheek and gives
it a gentle petting.

“You don’t have to interact with them,
though. I won’t let them get around you, not even if they come to
the clinic for anything. If they come and you don’t want to wait on
them, just give me a signal. I’ll take care of them or have Doc
treat them. If you run into them in town this winter, just come and
get me. You don’t have to be around people who make you
uncomfortable anymore. I promise.”

Sam nods and tries to give him a small
grin.

“Nobody’s ever going to get that close to
you. Understand?”

“Yes,” Sam says in agreement, although she
knows that he can’t promise against such an impossible to predict
future. The world in which they currently live is full of
unforeseen complications and horrifying probabilities. “It’s just
that I feel bad when I get unsure of people. They’re probably nice.
I don’t even know any of them. I probably don’t have any reason to
fear them. They probably think I’m a freak.”

“No way,” Simon says tenderly and
touches her arm. “They didn’t even notice. Just me. I’m the only
one who noticed. I knew you wouldn’t like being around that many
strangers. And that’s all right. You don’t have to feel
bad
. None of them has gone through what
you went through. You’ve got the green light to go a little freak
now and then.”

Sam chuckles and nods at his playful
jesting.

“Just don’t go full-blown
freak
. That’d be too much,” he further
teases.

Sam smiles at him and says, “Right. I’ll keep
it in check.”

“They don’t need to be looking at
you
anyways
,” Simon adds without
any humor in his tone at all this time.

He rises from his knelt position and walks
away.

“Why don’t we get some sleep now, all right?”
he suggests in a comforting manner without turning back to her.

“’
Kay,” Sam says
with
a nod.

Simon blows out three candles, carries one
over next to their sleeping area and sets it down near the heater.
She’s resumes her cross-legged position and braids her hair into
two plaits to keep the dampness away from her face and neck while
she sleeps. Sam watches him shimmy his way into his sleeping bag.
They’ll both use their backpacks for pillows. She mimics his
movements and crawls into her sleeping bag. She coils her two
braids on the top of her head on her pack. She’s opted out on the
rule of sleeping with her shoes on. It’s just too
uncomfortable.

“Boy, is it cold! This room feels even colder
and damper than it was outside tonight,” Sam comments as she tries
to zip her bag higher.

Simon inches closer to her and says, “It’s
because the ventilation system has been turned off for years. Scoot
closer. My body heat should keep you warmer.”

“Thanks,” she replies with appreciation.

The cold, hard floor beneath her hip
bone is uncomfortable. She has managed to slide closer to Simon and
feels a warmth permeating from him. She can tell that it’s not
going to take long for sleep to come. She’s more tired tonight than
usual. Working
around
the farm or
in town at the clinic is nothing like the stress of running around
a city looting. Anxiety and fear take a toll on the body, she’s
learned.

“Let’s play a game,” Sam suggests as she
tucks both hands under her cheek. Simon just stares at her with
that patient look of his.

“Why don’t you just get some sleep?”

The trace amount of light from the kerosene
heater just barely gives her enough to see him.

“Let’s play ‘where would you be now and what
food do you miss the most’?” Sam says.

“Sam,” he warns with growing impatience.

“Come on, Simon,” she presses. “We hardly
ever have time to even talk anymore. You’re always busy. Or you’re
busy dodging me!” Sam accuses.

“I’m not…”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, Mr. Bossy
Pants.”

She can see his profile, the roll of his eyes
and huff of his breath.

“That’s not very mature,” he says and crosses
his arms over his chest.

“I’m a kid, remember?” Sam taunts.

He actually chuckles.

“I’m not so sure you aren’t some sort
of
mastermind
manipulator,” he
admits and turns slightly toward her. “You would’ve had a great
future with the CIA, Samantha Patterson.”

Sam harrumphs and says, “Besides, if you want
me to go to sleep, then you should talk with me. It’ll help me
relax. Then you can stay awake brooding all night.”

“See there? Manipulating me again. And
I don’t brood,” he
retorts
.

“Yeah, right,” she corrects him. “Ok, I’ll go
first. I’d hopefully be riding on the US equestrian team and
gearing up training for the Olympics.”

“Where would you be? Here in Tennessee or
somewhere else?” he asks, his curiosity piqued.

“Maybe for a while, but my parents had
already been talking with a coach down in Georgia. They wanted me
to attend college while pursuing my riding career, so I may have
had to choose a school down there. Hey, maybe I would’ve gone to
the same school as your sister. That would’ve been funny,” Sam
speculates.

“Yeah, funny,” Simon reflects.

His tone is not like her own. He seems to
find this information not humorous at all for some reason.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asks him.

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just thinking
about you living in Georgia all by yourself. That could’ve been
dangerous for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You just would’ve been so young like you are
now. I mean, I don’t look at you right now in your life like you
can take care of yourself, Sam.”

“Why?” she asks. This is starting to feel
insulting again.

“You’re serious? You’re lying next to me with
your hair in little girl braids. You look like you’re still
fifteen. You wrecked Doc’s SUV today because you never even had
driver’s education classes before the fall. You’re just a kid
really,” Simon tells her.

“So are you then,” Sam counters.

“Hardly,” he murmurs. “Not after what I’ve
done. I don’t think anyone would call me a kid anymore.”

“I don’t think you ever were,” Sam says
with serious
inflection
.

“What do you mean?”

“You just seem like an old person, a
grown-up. Even back when I first met you, you were like a
thirty-year-old adult, not a seventeen-year-old boy. I just don’t
think I’ve ever seen you as a teenager or as you love to call me, a
kid.”

“Hm, maybe not. I guess I’ve never really
thought about it,” he says.

“Except for the comic books and video games!”
Sam blurts on a laugh.

“I think all guys are into something juvenile
at one time in their lives or another,” he admits with a grin.

“You’re just an old soul, Simon,” Sam tells
him. “I’ve heard Sue call you that, too. Reagan said you’re so much
like Grandpa that she thinks you’re his long lost reincarnated
brother.”