Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

“Come out,” he yelled.

Katydids responded in vibrato from the trees above.

“Come out now, or I’ll burn the fucker down.”

Uh huh. Like I’d let him do that. Several minutes passed. The darkness within held still. The creatures of summer nights chirped around us.

He caught my eyes. “Remember the plan?”

Yeah. The plan I didn’t agree with. The plan that sent him in after the threat if it didn’t come to us. The plan that left me outside standing watch. I handed him the flashlight. I lost the argument in the house. Further obstinacy would gain me nothing.

He accepted the light and vanished through the toothy window, fading into the shadows.

I scanned the pool area. This was the part of the plan I hated most. If he didn’t return after a few minutes, I was to run. Drive away. Don’t look back.

A crash echoed across the basement’s tile floor. I was never very good at following orders.

I stepped over the window ledge and looked for his light. Pitch black. “Joel?” One heartbeat. Two.

Why didn’t we bring two flashlights? Even in our haste, we should’ve planned better. I inhaled a shaky breath. The bulk of the unfamiliar vest hampered my movement as I sidled along one wall, tapping one foot in front of the other. The basement’s musty aroma carried a hint of bitterness. Metallic. Blood.

My mouth formed Joel’s name. Only a soundless gasp escaped. My boot kicked something. Metal clanked through the dark.

His flashlight. The source of the crash.

My muscles tightened as it rolled to a stop. I marshaled my breathing and waited for quiet to settle through the room.

A rustling sound crept from the next room. The room where the stairs were.

“Joel?”

A man-sized silhouette illuminated the doorway. How was it glowing? Hunched over, it ran a claw across its mouth. Black blood pumped under flickering skin that stretched like the dorsal of a well-fed tick. Its hunger was so palpable, the strength of it seemed to fuel the glow.

Its head cocked right. Then left. Could it see me? I tightened my grip on the carbine. Lifted the stock to my jaw. Dammit, where was Joel? If I started spraying ammo, I could hit him with stray bullets. The gun rattled in my grasp.

The aphid crouched forward on its hind legs with claws outstretched.

My finger slipped with sweat next to the trigger. The thing prowled closer. I waited.

A few feet away, the aphid extended its jaws and spat a ribbon of matter down its torso. The outline of its body quavered. Then it swiped its forearms and emitted a high-pitched buzz. The pitch was dizzying. I wavered, disoriented.

It lunged with hunting weapons gripping my body. I kicked at its legs, landed on my back and the tile bit my head. The damn vest made it impossible to move. The bug took advantage of my awkward rolling and struck out its cutting mandible, flinging dribble on my cheek like warm maple syrup. The mouth’s keen tip lanced my vest and sliced it open, inch by inch.

Somehow while falling I’d managed to position the barrel of the carbine under its jaw. My finger made a final lap around the trigger guard. I plunged and squeezed. The gun’s recoil ricocheted through my ribs and the lifeless body crumbled atop me.

I lay on my back, numb and blinking through dregs of gore that pooled in my eyes. “Joel.” It was a choking scream. Please answer. Please be okay.

The slow leak of the aphid’s blood trickled over my throat to my nape, soaking my scalp, fingering its way to my back through the vest. Just blood. It wouldn’t infect me.

I shoved at the body, rolled it off with a grunt. “Joel.” Louder that time.

“Evie?” His footsteps sped up and grew nearer.

The worst of my dread seeped from my muscles. I swiped my eyes with the back of my hand.

“Evie.” His hands searched my body. “Evie, fuck…thank God you’re okay. I’m sorry. I dropped the damn flashlight. Then the fucker hit me. Knocked me out. Evie, I’m so sorry.”

The intent in his voice, the depth of his love, he was my existence. It hurt to hear it, to feel it, knowing one bite could steal it all away. “Was there just one?”

He turned his head, eyes knifing the shadowed corpse at my side. “Yeah.”

“We’re leaving.” I cupped his jaw, captured his gaze. “We’re packing and we’re going to my dad’s.”

My father’s home at Pomme de Terre Lake was a three-hour drive. It was isolated. On a lake. Easier to defend. Safer.

His hand reached for mine and he pulled me to my feet.

We wouldn’t leave without securing the house we worked so hard to make our home. We hoped to return someday. Neither of us spoke as we labored through the night, packing and boarding up vulnerable entry points.

In the early morning, I stood at the kitchen window and watched the rain splash on the surface of the pool. Joel leaned a piece of plywood against the wall and waited for me to move. Only one window left to board up.