Afterglow: An Apocalypse Romance (4 page)

“Sit,” he demanded. She complied. “You OK, Nina?” he asked.

“Fine.” She took a deep breath, and he could see the resolve pass over her face. Even if she wasn’t fine, she damn well wasn’t going to let it stop her. He admired that. But he also knew from experience that hiding your emotions too much could destroy someone.

“You never killed a person before.” It was a statement, not a question. He could tell from the way she was acting.

“Uh, no? My life prior to this wasn’t spent going around shooting strangers.”

He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue.

“And why do you seem so calm about it?” she shot in his direction. “Should I take that to mean you
have
killed someone before?”

Again he didn’t respond, just sank down onto the couch next to her.

“You have, haven’t you. Figures. The first
trustworthy
person I meet is actually a killer. How come only assholes survived?”

“I may be an asshole,” he finally said, “and I may also be a killer. Technically. Military, if it makes a difference. Marines.”

A slight blush crossed her cheeks, and her mouth fell open slightly. She was embarrassed! Good. Let her be. Maybe it would take her down a peg or two. “I’m sorry. Seriously. That’s different.”

He shrugged. He didn’t want to get into it. When he sensed her about to ask questions about it, he spoke up. “Listen, I’m going to go outside, check that they’re dead, get their weapons. You want to stay here?”

Without answering, she got up and headed to the door, taking a long look out the window first. They covered each other heading out to the bodies, and he was impressed by her knowledge of gun safety as well as by the nonchalance with which she handled the dead bodies. He knew it couldn’t be easy for her. But she was tough. She didn’t back down. And he liked that, more than he probably should.

* * *

Creed got out two bottles of water and two snack-bags of potato chips—leftovers from Kaylee’s lunch treats—and set them on the coffee table.

“Did your mom raise you to always offer something to company?” asked Nina.

Creed laughed and nodded, though he felt a sharp pang at the mention of his mom. “Apocalypse or not.”

Nina tore open the little bag of chips and chewed thoughtfully. “OK. So back to the motorcycle. Tell me what it’ll take to get one working, and what I can do to help. I really need this.”

“What’s your plan?”

She looked at him sharply. “None of your business.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe my bikes aren’t any of your business, sweetheart.” He chugged some water, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then picked up his pistol, idly ejecting the magazine to check how much ammo was left, then clicking it back in, the sound satisfying. Comforting. He set it down gently on the coffee table. “You’re a good shot,” he said finally. “Where’d you learn to shoot?”

“My grandmother.”

“Really?” He laughed. It wasn’t quite the answer he’d expected.

“Yeah. She’s... special.” Nina ripped a strip of the paper label off the water bottle, curling it around her finger.

“Must be.”

“That’s where I’m going. That’s why I want a bike. I tried taking my car but the roads are all blocked up. People abandoned their cars.”

He nodded. “You think your grandma’s still alive?”

“If anyone is, she is.”

“Tough broad?”

“The toughest. My whole family will be meeting there. At her house. My parents and my little brother. She’s got a, well, it’s a shelter. Fully stocked.”

“Your
grandma
?” He couldn’t help the disbelief from showing on his face.

“Yes.” Nina scowled at him. She began to tear the strip of label into pieces. “Not all little old ladies sit around watching soap operas and knitting blankets for their church.”

“Really? That’s exactly what I see you doing when you’re eighty.” He winked, mostly to fuck with her because he knew it would make her mad.

“Shut up,” she retorted, but the smile she tried to suppress was obvious to Creed. “I have a proposition,” she continued. “I want to show you something, and I bet you’ll find something you’re willing to trade for your bike. In fact, since I’ll be leaving, maybe I’ll trade the whole place.”

“You’re talking about your house?”

“My parents’ house. Yeah. Let’s go.”

“Is it far?”

“Just a few blocks. How’s your arm?” she asked as she got up, and Creed followed her to the door. Her hand was on her gun, holstered around her hips. That were, by the way, sexy as hell.

“Perfect. Your face?” He winced as he said it, the guilt over having hurt her returning.

“Perfect,” she echoed, her voice even. “Let’s go.”

They made their way the few blocks to her parents’ house, careful to stay hidden as well as possible. Nobody was in sight, and Creed didn’t know if he should feel relieved or afraid. He was glad nobody was shooting at them. But the fact that there were no signs of life was unsettling. Could that many people really be dead?

Approaching the small house, Creed saw an old Acura in the driveway, the back seat stuffed with bins. So this must be the car Nina tried to drive out of here. If she was really planning to take a motorcycle, she’d need to cut way down on what she brought, but he suspected she already knew that and could figure out on her own exactly what to bring and what to leave. And she’d be good at raiding abandoned houses and stores along the way.

He wanted to fix up a bike for her. He wanted to help. But the thought of her alone, fending for herself—no matter how tough she’d already proven to be—made his heart thump uncomfortably in his chest. She would balk at the notion that she needed someone to take care of her, but traveling solo in this new world wasn’t safe. And he knew, with a sudden and insane certainty, that he wasn’t going to let her go alone.

–Nina–

“So if you’re good with electronics, you might be able to fix the generator,” Nina said, after she’d shown Creed the basement shelter in her parents’ house. “I’m leaving almost everything here, since I can only take what I can carry and fit into those—what are they called?—side bags?”

“Saddlebags,” he grunted.

“So you’ll have tons of food, lots of ammo, medical supplies—of course I’ll leave enough antibiotics for a while for your arm. Batteries, a few extra flashlights. There’s even some board games. You know. For entertainment.” She shone the light directly at his face and he shielded it with his hands. “Sorry. Let’s go upstairs. It’s stuffy down here. But if there’s trouble, it’s a great place to lock yourself in until it passes.”

“Do I look like the kind of person who’s afraid of trouble?”

Nina was glad it was relatively dark in the basement so he couldn’t see her blush. Because no, he
didn’t
look like the kind of person who was afraid of trouble. He was big and hard, sporting muscles that looked perfect for fighting—or running her hands over. He filled out a pair of jeans like no guy she’d ever seen before, his thick and defined thighs hard to look away from. And his face? Handsome didn’t describe it, with those dark brown eyes and hard, square jaw, scruffy and messy (because who cared about shaving regularly during an apocalypse?). Strong nose, full lips.

He hardly ever smiled—in fact he looked almost downright mean—but when he did, it made Nina feel like she’d earned it, or like it was a special gift he was giving to her and nobody else. OK, so there wasn’t anybody else around, making her the
only
person for him to smile at. But she liked the way he looked at her. Of course, this was the exact worst time in the history of worst times to get involved with someone, but clearly her body hadn’t gotten that message.

Shaking her head as if to clear it, she followed him back up the stairs and into her kitchen.

“So,” she said when they were upstairs, sitting at the kitchen table. “How long will it take for me to learn how to ride a motorcycle?”

“Not long with the right teacher.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, all I’ve got is you,” she retorted. “How long?”

He shrugged. “You got a bike to learn on?”

Why was he being so difficult? “I thought we had a deal!”

“What? This basement for my bike? What makes you think I don’t have somewhere to be?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. I guess because if you did, you wouldn’t be hanging around here anymore.”

“Yeah. Well. I’ve been sick.”

“Sick?” she sputtered. “What kind of sick?”
Please let him not say he’d had the horribly contagious and deadly virus!
Nina pushed her chair back from the table and stared at Creed, anger and fear pulsing through her.

He shrugged again. “Some virus.”

“
The
virus? No, it can’t be,” she muttered. “It has almost a 100% death rate.” At least that’s what the news was last reporting, before the power went out and CNN became nonexistent.

“I don’t know what I had. We all got sick, in my house. Leslie and Kaylee, uh, didn’t make it.” A shadow passed over his face, and Nina could see the agony, hidden but still evident.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

He grunted and ran a hand over his face.

“But shit, Creed, you should have told me! What if you’re still contagious?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight when you
broke into my fucking house
, Nina. Did you expect me to give you a warning before you cut me?”

“No. You’re right.” She sighed. Letting fear overtake her wasn’t going to solve anything, and pissing Creed off wasn’t going to help her get what she wanted.

“Anyway, I’m not sick anymore. Just weak as hell. Besides, last I heard the incubation period is really short, and people stop being contagious a few days after they get sick. It’s unstable, the virus. Easily killed on surfaces and lasts no longer than a few minutes outside the body anyway.”

“How do you know that? And why did so many people get sick and die?”

Creed shrugged. “I have—had—sources. And people got sick and died so fast because it’s highly contagious and deadly if you get it, and it spread fast before anyone even knew what it was.”

“So how come you didn’t die?”

“Luck? I don’t think there’s any virus that’s 100% fatal. Anyway, last I heard it had a 95% death rate, so I guess I was in the fortunate 5%.”

Nina’s body calmed a bit, but the fear was there and real. So many people had died. Almost everyone, really. Was what Creed said about the virus being unstable true? Had scientists even had a chance to research this particular illness?

For a split second her instinct was to do a quick Google search to find out, but of course that wasn’t possible. How long would that instinct last, now that the Internet was gone forever, or at least for the foreseeable future? For some reason, this struck her as funny, a laugh bubbling up inside her.

Before she knew what was happening, she was laughing but crying at the same time, sobs rocking her body. She tried to stop, but her mind was overwhelmed, the weight and severity of what was happening crushing her. She’d seen her neighbor killed in cold blood. She’d had the same guys come looking for her. And she’d killed them, two men who were assholes, yes, but she’d
killed
them.

“Nina.” Creed’s voice was harsh, distracting her for a second as she glanced at him. His eyes focused on hers, a look of something suspiciously close to concern on his face.

But it wasn’t enough to stop her, and the tears started again, her entire body shaking. “I killed someone, Creed,” she finally managed to whisper through her sobs. “Two people. I killed people.”

“I guess
killer
was a perfect nickname for you after all.”

“Go to hell.”
How could he say that?
How could he make light of the pain that she was feeling right now? “Just because you’re a ruthless asshole doesn’t mean everyone else is, OK?”

She got up, pushing her chair back so forcefully it fell over, cracking against the floor as it hit. She ran into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, and lay down on the bed. What she wanted right now was to cuddle up under the soft sea green comforter right here in her parents’ guest room, which used to be her room, and pretend they’d be home any minute. That they’d all go out to eat, even if it was to the Red Lobster, the one on Touhy near the park where she and Logan used to sled when they were kids, which her father inexplicably loved and always chose. The thought that Red Lobster didn’t exist anymore—and never would again—brought a new wave of tears. She was screwed. Totally screwed. Everyone was.

The bedroom door creaked open, and Creed entered the room. She could smell him, a heavy masculine scent (and far less stinky than she would have guessed someone would be in this sort of situation), and her body inexplicably calmed down as he approached. His weight on the bed next to her when he sat down jostled her slightly, and she opened her eyes, surprised to see compassion in his.

“Nina,” he said in a low voice, reaching out to touch her shoulder, then pulling back like he’d been burned. “Look. I didn’t consider the fact that you’d never... it’s hard, your first time.”

“Whatever,” she muttered, her tears finally slowing.

“We
had
to kill those guys earlier. They were looking for you, Nina. And killing you was definitely their plan, but not right away. Do you know what I’m saying? If they’d gotten you alive, what they’d have done to you would probably be far worse than simply killing you.”

She nodded. She knew. She did. But she didn’t want to think about it.

“This is a new world. A different world. You’re probably going to have to kill more people, Nina. We both are.”

“So, what? It will get easier to kill people? Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“Yeah, actually. It is.”

She looked up at him. In the dim bedroom, with him leaning over her on the bed, the shadows made his face darker, but his eyes glinted, filled with an intensity she had never seen before.

She let out a trembly breath. “So you said you were a Marine. Do you know anything about what’s going on? Any, you know, classified information other than the stuff about the virus?” She sat up, excited at the possibility of finding something out.

“The last intel I heard isn’t for civilians, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Looks like terrorism. The United States was targeted with a biological weapon—the virus—just a few weeks before a solar superstorm was predicted to occur. Nobody thought it would. Leading scientists predict flares all the time, and they never happen. Guess the assholes got it right. Perfect timing.”

“Did they call you in when things got bad?”

Creed shook his head. “I was honorably discharged two years ago, but I’m still in the loop sometimes. Got fucked up in Iraq.”

“Oh my god. What happened?” Nina’s eyes opened wide at his admission.

He shrugged, his answer curt. “ISIS. Suicide bomber.”

“Shit.” Nina whispered the word, staring at him in admiration and sadness. She wanted to ask more, wanted to bombard him with questions, but his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes, staring past her, let her know he wouldn’t be in the mood to answer them.

“Got that right.” Creed lifted his shirt.

Nina couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped her lips. It wasn’t the tattoos that crawled over his chest and six-pack that took her breath away. It was his body. Good lord, but she’d never seen, in person, such a perfect physique. His stomach caught her attention first, rock hard and defined, with that gorgeous V heading down into his jeans and filling her head with filthy thoughts. A light line of hair ran down into his pants, and it took all her control not to reach out and touch it, trace it slowly down.

And his chest. Her eyes roamed up from his stomach, settling on his massive chest that looked like it had been sculpted because a mere mortal could never, ever look that beautiful. She wanted to study his tattoos, look at each one and ask about it, but he took her hand roughly in his and brought it to his side, just above the waist of his jeans. His body was hot under her fingers as she felt his skin, the smooth rise of massive scarring shocking her.

“Oh my god, Creed,” she whispered, feeling with her fingers as though reading Braille, trying to understand the road map of trauma on his body.

“My leg got fucked up too,” he said, letting his shirt fall and pointing at his thigh. “You want to see?” Even in the darkening room she could see his wink as he moved his hands to his belt buckle.

Was it bad that her body pulsed, as if waiting for him to follow through, for him to stand up and lower his pants? Was it bad that her pussy instantly tingled when she thought about the fact that they were sitting here, on a bed, and nobody was around except for the two of them? Was it bad to let all the possibilities fill her mind in one giant dirty mental orgy of fantasies?

She shook her head and smiled. “Sorry for adding to your scar collection today,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

Creed’s loud laugh let her know she’d succeeded. “Yeah. Thanks. I heard chicks dig scars.”

“If you say so,” she said, rolling her eyes, but damn if she didn’t like his scars, if she didn’t want to feel them again, to trace along them, and then his tattoos, with her fingers. “Tell me about your tattoos.”

He grunted dismissively. Like a caveman, she thought, a big, gruff Neanderthal.

“I like the phoenix,” she pressed. It was the one that had really caught her eye, a detailed and richly colored bird of flames, wings spread as though rising up in flight.

He nodded but didn’t respond, a faraway look in his eyes. He stared across the room, and she was sure he wasn’t seeing the shelf of books and the ancient stuffed animals her parents still kept in the room.

“So, what? It symbolizes rebirth, right?” she asked.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, you’re nosy,” said Creed. He looked directly at her again and rolled his eyes, but she thought she saw a twitch at the side of his lip.

“Just trying to make conversation. You’re the first person I’ve talked to in two weeks,” she said, repeating his words from earlier with just a hint of sarcasm. Something about getting him riled up was entertaining.

“Got it for my buddy. He died the day I got injured. Satisfied?”

“I’m sorry,” muttered Nina. What she was sorry for she wasn’t exactly sure. Prying, mostly, but also because he’d lost so much. “And I’m sorry about, uh, Leslie and Kaylee? Your family? I’m sorry they died.” She reached out a hand to touch his arm, tentative, but pulled it back, unsure of his response.

He grunted again.

“How long were you married?” she asked.

He turned to her sharply. “Married? I wasn’t... No,” he said, recognition dawning on his face, “Leslie was my sister. Kaylee my niece. I moved in with them when Leslie’s husband, my buddy, died in Iraq. When I got injured. Same day. Same shit.” His voice trailed off, bitterness and sadness behind his words.