Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

He held his position a breath away. “Ye couldn’t be roused. These nightmares…they happen often?”

I didn’t respond.

The lines in his brow deepened. “Wha’ have ye been through?”

I shouldn’t have come there. I didn’t know him, and he was too damn perceptive. I reached inside, in my chest, in my gut, and sought the tug that guided me across the Atlantic. Nothing. Just the race of my heart as his eyes dimmed to a dark jade in quiet patience.

I took a deep breath. “The nightmares come and go.”

Annie’s graceful smile tapestried my mind. And Aaron, tethered to his Booey. As horrific as their visits had been, they were my torches, my guides in the dark. “Annie was my daughter. And I had a son, Aaron. I lost them to the outbreak.”

His arms reached to embrace me, but something in my expression stopped him. Did I want his comfort? He must have read my confusion.

He rescinded his arms. “And their da?”

“I lost—” My voice cracked. “I lost my husband a year ago.”

He bent his knees so he could look in my eyes. “Ye have come a long way with such a heavy heart. And to survive the aphids—”

“Aphids are nothing to the hell our own race has put me through.”

He widened his eyes and swiped a hand over his mouth. “Last night…in the local…that’s why ye were hiding your identity. From men? From me?”

Could he hear my teeth grinding? “I’ve only encountered a handful of men who didn’t want to rape or kill me as soon as they saw me. Most are friggin’ sanctimonious. Their slurs. Their intent. You’d be amazed.”

He remained motionless, his sympathetic eyes holding me with him.

“They think I’ve lost what it was to be a human woman. I wonder if I ever had it to begin with.”

Those eyes went slits. “That’s a lat of shite, lass. Ye know that full well.”

“Doesn’t matter.” I couldn’t change what I was, whatever that was. “I need to go.” Maybe I’d feel the tug again if I kept moving.

“Where?”

I stroked the turquoise rock lying against my chest, despising the emptiness underneath it.

“That’s okay, ye den’ have to tell me. But I’m going with ye. I promise.” His pause snared my eyes with his. “I promise, ye wen’ have to fight them alone.”

“Okay.” I clamped my mouth shut, stared at my boots. Shit. That naive response had tumbled out without thought. And why did it sound so breathy? I didn’t trust his words or the tingle they produced in my womb.

I avoided his eyes and fled across the room, under the guise of gathering weapons. “Just don’t slow me down.”

A few wading steps ahead in the tunnel, Roark stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Wha’ are we doing exactly?”

Looking for Jesse. Maybe rousing my tug. “Just need a few things before I move on.”

“Right then.” He plowed forward, the hem of his coat sloshing in the shallow water. As it turned out, he had to go just to lead me out of the pipes. I lost my way after the first turn.

He approached the ladder and climbed. The pistol in his palm clanked against the rungs. I waited at the bottom until he hollered, “It’s safe.”

His outstretched hand greeted me at the top. I ignored it and climbed out. He grinned and damn him if I didn’t grin back.

“Bike or van?” he asked.

“You have a van?”

A wrinkle formed on his brow and he glanced at the truck.

“Oh. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

The wrinkle grew more pronounced.

Bike or truck. The bike had speed. But maybe I’d find more ammo, warmer clothes, or…a Lakota. “Let’s take the tr…van.”

He drove us out of the neighborhood. Piles of bodies blurred by as we entered the motorway. “Got some petrol in the bed,” he said, “but we should look for more.”

I nodded, scanning the bodies for forgotten arrows. The various stages of decay glistened under the noon sun. Most just bone and tissue. Some of the fresher bodies were headless.

“Does ‘Shall not kill’ only apply to humans?” I asked.

He flicked his eyes to me, expression blank. “It’s open for interpretation.”

“Apparently,” I mumbled.

“If you’re not gonna tell me where we’re going, mind if I make a stop?”

I shrugged. “You’re driving.”

Ten minutes later, he motored along a skinny street in a small shopping district. He stopped in front of a two-story building with moss-covered bricks and white shutters. A weathered sign hung next to an arched door.

THREE GATES FUNERAL HOME

“You can’t be serious.”

“Can’t I?” He was out of the truck with his sword drawn before I could respond. I jumped out and followed him up the stairs.

At the door, an uncomfortable compulsion pressed inside me. I raised the carbine just as an aphid scrambled around the corner of the building, mouthparts snapping. My finger stretched for the trigger. Inhale. Exh—

He arced his sword. The aphid’s head rolled to the ground and the pressure inside me released. I lowered the barrel and looked him in the eye. “You should know I don’t like coddling.”