Bear Necessities (Bad Boy Alphas): A Post-Apocalyptic Bear Shifter Romance (33 page)

It also added gasoline to the angry fire in his belly, when he thought of the men—if they could still be called that—hunting him. The ones who were out there, still, who had taken Ivy’s dog as an appetizer, and would be back for more.

“That’s me.” Her voice was soft behind him and Caleb glanced back to see her peering over his shoulder at the girl and fish.

“Ivy Sullivan,” he said, giving her a smile.

She crossed her arms, cocking her head at the photograph. “That trout was almost twenty pounds.”

“I’m surprised you could even lift it.” Caleb chuckled, looking at the proud, grinning girl in the photograph.

“I’m stronger than I look.” Her chin jutted out again and he fought the urge to touch the dimple in it as he turned to face her. “You ready?”

“I was born ready.”

Ivy packed the food pouches on the kitchen table into her bag, slinging it and the rifle over her shoulder. She was still limping—although she told him she’d taken some pain medication, which seemed to give her some more mobility, and, he noted, made her a little more mellow—so he offered to carry her again.

“It’s not too far,” she told him, turning on the flashlight as they went out into the dark and the rain. “And it’s a much better hiding spot than that old shack.”

“If you say so.” He hefted her on his back, getting a better grip on her thighs. She wasn’t that heavy, but he didn’t relish another mile-long trek back to the cabin he’d been staying in. Especially after the brief luxury of Ivy’s little homestead. Wherever she had in mind had to be safer than the house, which was already compromised. And if it was a shorter distance, all the better. “Lead the way.”

Ivy pointed with the flashlight and Caleb set out past the garden where, he remembered with a brief flash of a smile, this woman had already buried one interloper. He was starting to believe her—she might just be stronger than she looked.

“Are you sure?” Caleb frowned at the fork in the tree where the branches split off like a Y. Ivy was pointing her flashlight at it. “Here?”

“I’m positive. About three feet that way.” She pointed with the flashlight. “There’s a door.”

“A door?”

“In the ground. It’s covered.” Ivy wiggled off his back and he heard her gasp when she hit the ground on both feet.

“Still hurt?”

“I should have iced it when I got home.” Ivy ran the flashlight along the forest floor. They were far off any path, and he had no idea how she’d managed to navigate them to this point.

“You have ice?” he asked, surprised, as she shoved brush aside, revealing a small metal door, about three-feet square. There was a latch on it. And a padlock.

“I have everything.” She knelt down, pulling her bag off her shoulder to retrieve a key from a small, zippered pocket. “There’s a ladder we have to go down. I’m not sure we’ll both fit at the same time.”

Caleb reached for the latch as she put the key and padlock back into her bag. The door creaked on its rusted hinges, but it opened. Ivy shone the flashlight in and he saw the ladder leading down underground.

“We’ll fit,” Caleb assured her. “I don’t want you going down that ladder on your bad ankle. Come on.”

He squatted down so she could climb on his back again. He was quite getting used to her weight. He maneuvered his way down the ladder, using the latch on the underside of the door to pull it closed as they descended.

“There’s a bolt.” Ivy showed him with her flashlight. “Pull it.”

Caleb did so—it was thick and heavy, not rusted on this side of the door.

“You know, being locked in a place with one entrance or exit is a very bad idea,” he muttered as he made his way downward. The floor was concrete and the place was at least twenty degrees cooler than outside—but at least it was dry.

“There’s another exit,” she told him, sliding off his back when they got to the bottom. “My father was a very smart prepper.”

She searched the wall with her flashlight, finding the switch she was looking for and flipping it. Fluorescents flickered to life above their heads in a long row, revealing a narrow bunker.

“Nice.” Caleb gave a low, appreciative whistle.

“Isn’t this better than the shack?” Ivy stuck her chin out, grinning proudly.

“Yes.” He chuckled. “You did good.”

“Well, I didn’t really do it.” Ivy limped down the narrow walkway. He counted six bunks built into the concrete walls on either side of them, all with mattresses installed. “It was my father. He was kind of obsessed with the end of the world.”

“You have a big family?” Caleb asked as they passed the beds.

“No. It was just me and him.” She shrugged. “But he was a planner. You know, just in case.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He blinked as they entered a larger living area, complete with a wall-mounted television.

“He actually didn’t intend to use this place if he didn’t have to.” Ivy unslung her bag and rifle, putting them on the floor beside the sofa and sitting down on it. “It’s a bug-out location.”

“Bug-out location,” he repeated, watching her slide her shoe off her foot. She winced when she put her foot up on the coffee table.

“Yeah, you know, in case he had to bug-out. Although… I don’t think he ever thought we’d have to.” She sighed, making a face as she peeled down her sock, revealing a giant purple bruise underneath. It was worse than the last time he saw it. “But it’s got everything we’ll need for the short term. There’s plenty of pre-packaged food in the storage. It’s got a generator full of fuel. And there’s another exit that way. Through the food storage room.”

She pointed into the next room, which he saw was a kitchen, complete with a small stove and refrigerator.

“He had a well drilled out here,” she explained, biting her lip as she tried to move her foot back and forth. “And of course, there’s a bathroom—with a composting toilet—and a shower.”

“A shower?” Caleb laughed, squatting down so he could inspect her foot. It was double the size it had been the first time she had her shoe off. It was a really bad sprain. “I guess he really was prepared for everything.”

“Everything but cancer,” she said softly, watching as he ran his fingers over her instep.

“I’m sorry, Ivy.” He frowned, looking up to meet her eyes. They were so expressive when she was sad.

“Too bad we didn’t bring any ice,” he said as he put one of the sofa pillows under her foot, elevating it even more.

“Go turn the fridge on,” she suggested. “We’ll have ice in a few hours.”

“Are you hungry?” He stood, looking into the kitchen.

“I’m actually starving,” she admitted, adjusting her position on the couch. “Can you cook?”

“I’m not sure heating up one of those pouches constitutes cooking,” he replied with a smile. “But at least it’s calories.”

“They taste like Spaghetti-O’s,” she warned him, making a face as he unzipped her bag and took out the pre-packaged meals. “All of them. Doesn’t matter if it’s lasagna or stroganoff. It’s all the same.”

“I like Spaghetti-O’s.” He held up two packages. “So which one?”

“I don’t care.” She shrugged. “Maybe my dad put something better in food storage. I would kill for some oatmeal.”

“I’ll check.” He laughed. “First I want to see if I can find something to wrap that ankle with. We need to get the swelling to come down. Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Emergency one by the front and back entrances—another one in the bathroom under the sink.”

“Of course.”

He found the Ace bandages he was looking for under the bathroom sink, coming back to wrap her ankle while their food warmed up in a pot on the stove. It was larger than a camp stove—it had two burners and an oven underneath—but not by much. It ran on propane—clearly a temporary solution. Still, it would last a few months. Maybe more. Not that they’d be down here that long.

“Smells good,” Caleb remarked, stirring the “savory stroganoff” in the pot.

“Smells like dog food,” Ivy complained.

He smiled, shaking his head and glancing out to see her opening a small bottle of pills. She used one of the Nalgene water bottles to take it.

“More pain meds?” he asked.

“Mmm hmm.” She leaned her head back on the sofa, closing her eyes. “The Great God Vicodin is my favorite.”

Caleb turned the stove off, taking the pan off the burner. There were bowls in the cupboard and forks and spoons in a drawer, so he put the stroganoff in two bowls and brought them out to the living area.

“Food’s ready,” he told her, but Ivy only opened one eye and wrinkled her nose. Then she closed her one eye again.

Caleb wolfed down the stroganoff. It really wasn’t that bad, and it filled the hole in his belly. By the time he was done, Ivy had drifted off to sleep. Frowning, he picked up her bowl. Since she’d turned her nose up at it, he decided not to let it go to waste. He let her sleep, rinsing the bowls and silverware in the sink.

Then he went to check out the food storage—not for the food, but to see the other exit.

Ivy was right—there was another ladder at the end of the food storage room, which had to be the largest room in the bunker. Brian Sullivan had been preparing, all right. Not just for the end of the world for himself and his daughter, but apparently for a small army of people. And there wasn’t just food down here. There was a large cabinet at the end of the room—near the exit. It was locked, but he knew a gun safe when he saw one.

And, apparently, the man also knew his daughter. Caleb smiled when he found oatmeal, along with boxes of raisins. Behind that, he found something he thought Ms. Strawberry Shortcake just might die for, and he grabbed the package, heading back toward the kitchen.

Caleb checked on Ivy. She was still asleep, but she’d changed positions, stretching out on the sofa on her back, her foot up on the end of the sofa, an arm thrown over her eyes. He smiled, hearing her snoring gently, and went about making her two packets of oatmeal. They were the kind that already had sugar in them, and he added a handful of raisins, watching them plump up as he stirred.

He spooned the oatmeal into a bowl and took it out to the living area, setting it on the coffee table and squatting next to the sofa to wake her. She was sleeping peacefully, her lips slightly parted. The rain had washed away any trace of berry juice from her mouth, but her shirt was still stained with it. It had dried a little, but her white t-shirt showed the tawny color of her skin and the gentle rise and fall of her breasts. He hadn’t noticed before, but she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath and he could clearly see the outline of her areola through the thin, tight fabric.

“Do I smell cinnamon?” Ivy asked sleepily.

“Hey, shortcake.” Caleb’s gaze moved up to her face and he smiled. “I found oatmeal.”

“You did?” She half rose, eyes wide with delight. “Oh my God, I haven’t had oatmeal in over a year! I think I love you!”

He handed over the bowl, standing and watching her devour it, making little sounds of pleasure in her throat that drove him mad.

“This is
so good!”
Ivy moaned happily. He watched her pink tongue dart out to lick her spoon.

“Well, if you like that…” Caleb grinned, heading back toward the kitchen as he talked. “You’re going to love these.”

“What?” she called, still making those happy noises as she scraped the bottom of the oatmeal bowl. Ivy glanced up as he came back in, holding out something she looked so shocked to see, it was almost comical. “Are those… oh my fucking God, are you kidding me? Am I high? Am I dreaming? That can’t be…”

“Oreos,” he said, sitting beside her on the sofa and putting the package on the coffee table. “And there are more where that came from.”

“More?” She gaped at him. “Why in the hell didn’t I think to come down here before? These have been here the whole time?”

He laughed as she tore into the package. She offered him one, and he ate it. Pure sugar. The insides were a little waxy, and the cookie part slightly stale, but it was an Oreo all right.

“Now I wish we had milk,” Ivy said through a mouthful of cookies. “Poor Blitzen. I milked her this morning, but she’s going to be miserable by tomorrow.”

“Blitzen’s the cow?” Caleb asked, watching Ivy lick her fingers of cream. It was delightful. “I thought she’d be named Pentax or Polaroid or something.”

“My father didn’t name her,” Ivy said with a laugh. “I have to go back and feed them, at least. We can’t stay here long…”

Caleb didn’t want to tell her that her farm animals weren’t going to last long. He was surprised they were still alive as it was. He saw this fact cross her expression, hated seeing the light fade from her eyes, the smile wiped from her face.