The Meeting Point (20 page)

 

 

Deborah was bent over Cheryl, and Marcus was there beside her, rubbing her shoulders as she wept.

Lena knew at once that it had been Cheryl who had passed through at the pool. A shudder raised the hairs all the way down her spine and she ran to the trio.

Deborah's tears dripped rhythmically onto the dead woman's face.

“She was getting better,” she sobbed. “I thought we were saving her.” Despair hollowed her eyes as she looked up at Lena. “I thought I could do it, but it's all for nothing. Everything I theorize, everything I worked for... There's no hope. No hope at all. We're all fucking dead.”

Lena felt faint. It couldn't be true. There had to be something that would save them, surely?

“How dare you say that.” Mae strode over and hauled Deborah to her feet. “How dare you take away from what we have!” Deborah just hung her head as Mae manhandled her. “Lena will save us.”

“Now don't start that, Mae,” Lena cried, feeling bile rise in her windpipe. She retched and coughed until she had to sit down. “That's a lot of fucking pressure. I don't think I will save anyone at all.”

“What do you mean? You are special, Lena.”

“We're all fucking special, Mae. Every one of us is totally fucking unique, okay? Even all those millions out there already dead. They were all fucking special too.” Lena rolled her eyes and went back to clutching at her stomach which was now heaving.

She didn't want it. She'd never wanted it. The responsibility was crippling. She'd always suspected the whole damn pheromone thing was a lie. A lie they told all the collectors to make them think they were part of a bigger plan—make them work harder, more dedicated, more loyal to the cause. No, it was all a sham. The bitterness in Lena's throat matched that in her head, and as more vomit made her eyes smart, she cried.

Angelo swooped in and wrapped his arms around her. “Come on now. Calm down, my love, you're going to hyperventilate.” He helped her to her feet and guided her to their dwelling.

Lena was still shuddering and crying when she heard an almighty roar.

“What the
fuck
are you doing here?”

It was Marcus. He'd obviously just spotted Birch. Lena cowered in under the protective arm of Angelo and closed herself off to everything going on outside.

* * * *

Deborah grabbed at her lover's rags as he shot up toward his foe.

“Marcus, please. Calm down.” She could see the fury in his tense muscles as he balled his fists into his sides, going against his natural instinct to attack their betrayer. “Thank you,” said Deborah softly as she rose to stand up fully beside him. His chest was heaving, and she could hear the thump of his heart ramming through his flesh and bones.

Hazel stepped forward and held out her palm in a pose of peace and surrender.

“Please, Marcus, we want no trouble. Birch was going to stay hidden and away from here, but we were found out.” She glanced toward Mae who stood defiant with her arms folded across her chest.

Deborah couldn't read what the little minx was up to—she had the air of one who just lit a firework in a pig pen and was now standing back to see the shit fly. Trouble, that one.

Marcus was grinding his teeth together hard, and Deborah clutched his hand tighter, trying to get him to transfer some of his fury into her so she could shake it off for him. It was strange, but she felt nothing to see the man standing there. She could muster neither hostility nor pity for the older, tired looking creature in front of them. The standoff was silent, and Deborah wondered briefly if Birch and Hazel were trying to communicate through a higher plane, so stifling was the silence. Static electricity seemed to rise around them all and Deborah felt the eerie ascent into ultimate unity.

“For fuck's sake!” Mae's sharp voice ricocheted around the foursome and the spell was shattered.

Deborah inhaled, realizing she must have been holding her breath as the blood woozily pumped back in.

Mae continued. “You're being such asses,” she scolded, appearing to take great delight in telling them all off. “We're like, the last fucking survivors on the planet and you're going to hold on to some grudge. It's pathetic. Look, we already have one bloody corpse here. Who knows how long each of us have?” Tears sprang into her eyes, and Deborah had to give it to her, the girl had a gift for the dramatic as she flounced to the ground where Cheryl lay, caressing her face with her fingers. “We need to embrace this chance. Marcus, these people led us to this haven. Eden, that's what you called it, isn't it?” She looked at Birch who looked a little embarrassed at the announcement.

“Eden?” Marcus shook his head and turned toward the forest. “Edens are for beginnings, Birch. This is the end.”

Deborah's blood ran cold and she sat down hard next to Mae as Marcus strode off.

“He's right,” she whispered in defeat while touching the cool, white skin of Cheryl's stick-thin wrist.

“No, he's fucking not!” Mae stood again, glaring at everyone. “I didn't break out of the manor, then a prison, and walk God knows how many miles over broken land, be stripped of my luxuries,” she said, having the good grace to glance at Deborah. “Well,
her
luxuries. Only to be told this is the end? No. Not for me it isn't. Fuck you. Fuck you all. I will survive this, with or without you.” And with that, the fiery, self-assured Mae stormed off out of the clearing where they had all appeared a few minutes before.

Strange how your whole life can turn upside down in moments
, thought Deborah. Just the four of them remained in the clearing. Birch, Hazel, Deborah, and poor Cheryl. Deborah should have insisted Cheryl come with her back at the brow of the hill overlooking the farm when they parted ways. Even in prison when Cheryl had been her assistant, yes, Deborah knew she was hated by Cheryl, but she also knew Cheryl had no real concept of who she was. Deborah suspected the hatred directed at her was the way an adolescent hates its mother. The hatred of knowing you still need their guidance and protection. It was why Deborah had always felt for her assistant. Many had come and gone; many who were better or more efficient, vibrant, and capable than Cheryl, but Deborah always had a soft spot for the defiant, confused woman. Tears welled as she looked at the tiny corpse. It wouldn't take long to bury the bundle of skin and bones.

She thought of all the other people who'd passed though her life as The Wasp. What had become of the hulking, not-as-daft-as-she-looked guard, Jane? Or Della, the prison governor who so wanted her institution to be the best—who, in fact, had created her Wasp persona. Or Katja. Lovely, mysterious Katja who'd been the first ever prisoner Deborah had ‘rehabilitated'. The very same Katja who had tried to help Marcus escape from the farm, bringing Deborah to the prison in the first place. If only she'd come with them. Instead, she'd helped them escape the farm and waited there, convinced she'd find her own true love again. Deborah hoped with all her heart that she had, if not on the physical plane, on the spiritual. The thought brought more tears, and Deborah broke the silence that had descended the camp with her sobs.

Hazel came to kneel beside her, wrapping her long, wispy limbs around her shoulders, hugging her and embracing her, letting her cry without shame onto her chest. Her familiar breasts rose and fell under the thin fabric they'd salvaged from their things and scrubbed until it was practically threadbare. Grief, exhaustion, and gratitude for this small kindness sent Deborah into memories of when they'd first met. The sensual stolen moments as they'd bathed together in the pool by the camp when Hazel had washed Deborah, kneading foamy suds into her breasts, drawing guilty arousal from her puckered nipples. How innocent Deborah had been. How long ago that was, and now they'd come full circle, fugitives once more, surviving in the forest. The fate none of them had managed to escape.

Deborah found herself smiling into Hazel's tear drenched top.

She pulled her face away from the haven and wiped the tears and damp hair from her face to look at Cheryl. They'd better get started. Mae was right. It couldn't be all for nothing, they couldn't let it.

“Will you help me bury her?” Deborah sniffed, and Hazel swooped in once more, closely followed by Birch.

“Of course. Of course, sweet thing. Would you like me to call Thorn...I mean, Marcus?”

Deborah shook her head. It was a strange feeling, but at this moment she just wanted to be with this couple. Marcus had walked away, and Deborah felt content with it for now. She began to tuck Cheryl's clothing in around her to make her ready when Birch spoke.

“I know the perfect spot for your friend to rest.”

The tenderness in his voice made Deborah catch a sob on the in-breath. “Thanks,” she whispered.

Just as she suspected, Cheryl weighed little more than a child as the three of them scooped her up gently and followed Birch's lead.

The spot was truly beautiful. Just outside the forest was a little meadow overlooking a deep, long valley. Destruction could be seen in the dip, slowly creeping up, but here, at the brow of the hill, there was still life. Struggling, but hanging on. They dug out a shallow grave as best they could with the sticks and stones they had and placed Cheryl in it. She looked so gaunt. Deborah swept her hand across her forehead and kissed her gently before stepping back to allow Birch to fill the hole back in. The soil beat like a drum as it fell on Cheryl's hollow body, and Deborah felt real pain in her chest as she sobbed.

When it was finished, Birch stood back by Deborah's side. She relaxed into him and he put his arm around her with Hazel on the other side.

“I truly am sorry for everything,” he said quietly, his voice breaking with emotion.

“It was a long time ago, Birch,” replied Deborah, her eyes still on the grave. “I think it's time to move on.”

Kneeling, Deborah plucked out a lock of her hair and tied it in a bow, placing it on the grave. Birch and Hazel each put a hand on her shoulders and Deborah held them there for a few moments. When she rose, the couple took her into their arms and the three of them cried together. It was cleansing and uplifting, and Deborah felt herself on the cusp of being elevated to that special place. She could feel the couple coax her away from the earthly plane, but this time she stood her ground and stayed in the here and now.

“Not without Marcus,” she whispered, and they all made their way slowly back to the camp.

* * * *

“What do you think you're doing?”

Marcus sprang to his feet and turned to see that the cocky little Mae had sneaked up on him. His fury still hadn't subsided and he could have done without this intrusion. “Nothing,” he snapped, aware of how guilty it made him sound, when he actually wasn't up to anything.

“Take it easy. God, I don't care what you do in your secret little outings.”

She really was so self-assured, Marcus could have given her a shake. So bloody opinionated too—she had everyone bending to her will. An image of her holding her ankles with her delightful ass exposed and his cock ramming in and out of it streaked through his imagination. It had come from nowhere and he shook his head to get rid of it. Now his hands were twisted into her hair, pulling her head back to expose her neck as he humped her from behind.
Fuck's sake!
Again, he tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, but they were just getting worse. Now he was fucking her in the ass, coming on her tits, eating out her pussy, grinding his cock down her throat.

“What's the matter?” she asked, looking quizzically at him as she stepped closer.

God no, stay back
, he silently wailed as his cock thickened and rose under his loin cloth.

“Hmm, I see,” she said, staring at his stirring without shame.

Did he just imagine her tongue dart out and lick her lips?

“You're dangerous,” he managed to say as the image of her tied spread-eagled between two trees with his fingers up inside her soaking cunt blasted in.

“I know.” Now she was close. She was so close he could smell her. Smell her lusty want. She took his hand and pulled it down straight to her pussy, forcing her wet self onto his middle finger which slipped in so sweetly. “Mmm, yes, that feels good. I'm so wet right now.”

Marcus had no idea what the hell was going on. His emotions, loyalties, and lust were confusing him. Deborah was in despair, he should be with her. But Mae was fucking his hand right here and now, and his cock was so hard. Her juices were oozing into his palm as she rocked, opening up to him. Uncurling his fingers, he slid another two in and she gasped in that throaty way that told him she was almost there already.

Her eyelids fluttered momentarily, then she looked at him in the most divinely wicked way before raising her hand and spitting in her palm. It was probably the crudest thing he'd ever seen and he almost came in disbelief. She reached down to his crotch with her lubricated hand, and he staggered a little as she grasped him under his cloth and milked his cock like a crazed, wild thing as she still rode his hand. The walls of her cunt gushed and quivered in equal measure as he blasted into unity, an orgasming, spasming wreck of a man. Come spurted in all directions as they bucked and oozed together, climaxing out the tension and anger of the day.

When it was over and she clambered off his digits, she giggled. He wiped his hand on the fur cloth that only barely offered any dignity, realizing that it was completely spoiled by his own fluids.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, feeling weirdly humiliated.

“Because that was awesome.” She shook his shoulder. “Didn't you think so?”

He was expecting something else, like she was mocking him or she'd won some sort of victory over him, but when he looked into her flushed, oddly innocent face, he saw she had no agenda. She just liked to fuck. He must have taken too long to answer and she began to look unsure.