Lilah sat there with an expectant look on her face.
“Yes?” asked Chong.
“Well—?” she said.
“Well . . . what?”
“I said I was leaving.”
“I know. Did . . . you want me to go with you?”
She laughed. “This is a hunt.”
“I know.”
“I will be moving fast. Tracking.”
“Yes,” he said. “I know.”
“You’re a—”
“A town boy. Yes, I know that, too.” He smiled. It was a fact she reminded him of a dozen times each day. “And this town boy would slow you down, get you eaten by zoms, and otherwise bring about the downfall of what’s left of humanity.”
“Well . . . yes.” Lilah studied him, clearly unsure of how to respond. Humor was the bluntest tool in her personal skills set.
“Then if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here and manfully defend this tree.”
Lilah narrowed her eyes. “That is not a funny joke.”
“No,” he admitted. “Just mildly silly.”
They sat for a moment, she looking at him and Chong pretending to look at nothing.
“I am leaving,” she said again.
“Okay,” he said.
She lingered, waiting.
“What?” he asked again.
“I am leaving,” she replied, leaning on the word.
“Okay. Good-bye. Be safe. Come back soon.”
“No,” she said.
“Good hunting?”
Lilah growled low in her throat, grabbed his shirt with both hands, and hauled him toward her. Into a kiss that was fierce and hot and instantly intense. After several scalding seconds, she shoved him roughly back.
She got to her feet and snatched up her spear, then looked pityingly down at him. “Stupid town boy,” she muttered, then turned and jogged into the forest.
Chong lay sprawled, eyes glazed and face flushed.
“Holy moley . . . ,” he gasped.
13