Rotting to the Core (Keep Your Crowbar Handy Book 2) (3 page)

Third? While they
could
use the
two-way radio Laurel had thrust into Jake's tac-vest to call their
group for a rescue, there was a damn good chance the rest of that
marauder party (who were without a doubt highly motivated to
recapture or kill the lot of them), was nearby. Especially after
Jake, Kat, and Elle had ventilated their entire security force at
the waste treatment plant in the process of rescuing Allan and
Maggie. If the marauders managed to trace their transmissions (or
if said hostiles knew the area at all), when Laurel and the others
arrived to save Jake and Kat's bacon, they could end up in a
firefight, along with having to deal with the thousand or more
zombies currently outside. The survivors couldn't afford to go head
to head with a hostile, heavily-armed group like that if they could
avoid it.

Which was why, after nearly two days, Jake
and Kat quietly sat in one of the second floor offices, drinking
warm Jolt Cola, while snacking on stale peanuts and barbeque
Ruffles potato chips. Yes, they had two MREs left, but they wanted
to save them just in case they had to go on the offensive (i.e. run
like fun for the nearest horizon). If they didn't figure out a way
to slip past the horde soon, the worried pair wouldn't have any
choice but to attempt fighting their way out (if they could) and
pray to lose the zombies under the cover of darkness. Not too
likely on unfamiliar ground, to say the least. Then Jake and Kat
would have to take the long way around Wilmington, which on foot
could take two or three more days, to insure none of the creatures
saw them as they carefully made their way back to the airport.

“There's got to be a way out of this,” Jake
grumbled for the hundredth time in the last few hours.

“I'm all ears.” Kat remained in her
comfortable position on the ugly couch. “But I still say we just
wait until dark and make a break for it.”

Jake looked away from the stumbling horrors
outside long enough to give her a wry grimace. “Kat, we need a
plan. We can’t just stroll out the front door—”

“Actually, I'm for going out the same way we
got in. You know. The fire escape?”

“Fine. We can't just hop off the ladder out
back, start blasting away at those things, and—”

“I was going to stick with my Katana.
Besides, you've got that garden tool there,” she motioned behind
him. “It's fairly quiet and effective. No need for you to whip out
yer hand cannon, Tex.”

Glancing backward, O'Connor saw the hook end
of his crowbar sticking up over his right shoulder. He'd carried it
since the day of the outbreak, when the recently dead started
rising up to feed on the living. Jake had taken it from a small,
empty hardware store on the way back to his apartment, just before
setting out across Columbus proper, intending to make his way to
Laurel or die trying. He'd kept it ever since and attached a
shotgun sheath to the back of his tac-vest to carry the
industrial-tooled steel brain-smasher. While he could've switched
to a machete as most of their group now carried, Jake found the
crowbar's eight-pound weight comforting. Besides, he could use it
to pry open doors, or even move heavy objects if need be. He didn't
know of any machete, regardless of brand name, capable of doing the
same.

“It's not just a question of noise, Kat.”
Jake rubbed his throbbing temple. “We don't really know the area.
We'd have to circle the town and take a long route back, and we
don't know if there's any other defensible buildings we can shelter
in. We don't have much food or water, either. Granted, the Iodine
in my pack, or bleach in the janitor closet, would take care of
most organisms that might contaminate water nearby, but we have no
way to carry more except for my canteen and maybe a couple of those
bottles we found. Why don't you carry a canteen again?”

“It would clash with my outfit. Why do you
think?” Kat crossed her leather-clad legs over the back of the
couch. “Besides, if I get thirsty and don't have any water I just
pop in a piece of gum.”

“Oh, good lord.” Jake began massaging
both
of his temples.

Kat looked confused. “What? You don't like
bubblegum?”

“Dammit, Kat, that's not the point! Without
water you get dehydrated and... You know what? Never mind.” Jake
realized some conversations just wouldn't go anywhere good. “Like I
said, we need a plan.”

“We have one. Bolt when it gets dark.” Kat
looked confused.

“That's not a plan.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.” Jake frowned.

“Is too!”

“Look, just so we're both clear on this?
Making a break for it is not a plan! That's what you do when a plan
fails.
” Jake's headache was in full swing now. “We need to
think of a way out,
before
those things somehow realize
we're in here and
before
the others decide to come looking
for us. Laurel's probably having a full-blown shit-fit right now.
Christ, I'm never going to hear the end of this...”

“You're worrying too much. We'll be fine
taking off once the sun goes down tonight. Beside: ninja,
remember?” Kat pointed one finger at her unconcerned smile. “Those
things can't see that great at night, but me? When it comes to
working in the dark, I'm an expert.”

Kat expected Jake to crack wise, seeing how
she'd all but spoon-fed him that straight line, but he turned back
the window. She frowned, sat up, and took a good look at him as he
stood peeking through a small gap in the blinds.

Jacob O'Connor had never thought of himself
as what most people considered “handsome”. Maybe in the right kind
of light. And from across the room. In his mind, he'd never even be
modeling baseball hats. From the rear. A narrow waist, broad
shoulders, and the weight his serious gaze carried generated an
entirely different opinion on part of Kat's best friend Laurel,
however. If she were to be honest, Kat was of the same mindset. To
her, the sharp lines of Jake's hawk-like face gave him that whole
‘ruggedly handsome” look just marvelously, even without the
patented barbarian-hero block chin.

Besides,
she thought,
tall, light
blue eyes, sandy brown hair, a nice bum?
Hot-tay!

More lean than muscular, Jake's six-foot
frame looked nothing like the hulking behemoths so popular in
action movies or muscle-building magazines, but his chest was deep
and the cords in his arms rippled when he'd crossed them. Both
brought an appreciative smile to Kat's lips. His hair stuck out at
odd angles, almost like a character in the Anime she'd enjoyed
watching before the dead rose, and just seemed naturally messy as
opposed to styled within an inch of its life. It went well with his
punk-rocker CBGB t-shirt, Khakis, and combat boots. It also brought
a few questions to mind. Questions like, what would be the quickest
way to get that shirt
off
, him onto the couch where Kat
could run her fingers through that messy hair while he lay beneath
her, and spend the next few hours getting super-sweaty in the most
enjoyable way possible?

That was something Kat had been struggling
with for a while, and she wasn't willing to admit it to anyone yet.
Especially
Jake. Saying she was strongly attracted to him
would be a supreme understatement. Her feelings were more along the
lines of unbridled affection, coupled with a healthy dose of
absolutely, bug-fuck bonkers, horny cave-woman lust. With the
exception of the odd kiss (and one near-disastrous make-out session
on the roof of an abandoned Agri-supply), Kat had managed to keep
her emotions in check. The fact that Jake and her best friend
Laurel had become seriously involved was the major contributing
factor in that choice. She would do anything for her red-haired
roomie.

Well. Almost anything, as it turned out.

She couldn't bring herself to swear off
hoping she and Jake would be conveniently trapped somehow, away
from the rest of their group, and engage in some friendly
snuggling. Just to pass the time, you understand. Then, maybe,
something a little more serious? Like a ridiculously long session
of wild, Oh-My-God-Did-The-Earth-Move-For-You-Too intensity
lovemaking?

He-e-e-e-ey
... The voice of Kat's
back-brain murmured in her ear.

No. No-no. Not now.

Have you looked out the window lately?
The Voice demanded.
The situation looks pretty bad. Might not
get another chance, you know.

This isn't the time.
She replied,
willing herself to actually believe it.

What the hell?? Did you take a vow of
celibacy when I wasn't paying attention one day or something?
The Voice was having none of it.
Get your tush up off this
couch, walk over there, grab that sexy fellow by his dangly-bits,
and work your magic! You're totally into him and besides, it's been
months since you've been properly…

Kat firmly locked The Voice in her head away
behind the strongest mental doors she could muster, hoping to end
that particular internal conversation. Try as she might, she could
still hear it pounding on the walls in her head, demanding some
nookie in the near future.

Watching him as he scowled at the creatures
outside, Kat noticed, not for the first time, that Jake looked
beyond stressed-out. It wasn't just the constant fear of trying to
survive in the apocalypse, though that would understandably make
anyone a bit unstable. It was the mantle of leadership she and the
others had, in all actuality, forced upon him. She could see how it
weighed on him, pushing down like a mountain's worth of
responsibility Jake hadn't asked for and didn't want. Hell, he'd
been a ghostwriter, editing cookbooks, science fiction, and novels
about sword-swinging time travelers, attempting to forget about all
the awful things he'd seen (and had to do) as a civilian combat
journalist during his time with Britain's Special Air Service. He'd
spent his spare time practicing martial arts, reading, hanging out
with his best friend Allen Ryker, and driving his army surplus Jeep
(affectionately named the Beast). Jake had been, if not happy, at
least content. He'd never wanted to be In Charge, but now was
responsible for whether over a dozen people lived or died on a
daily basis. Kat shuddered and thanked whatever gods were currently
running the planet that she'd never be in the same situation.

“Trust the ninja, 'kay? I got this. We'll
leave tonight.” Kat stood and moved to put a light hand on his
arm.

“Let me get this straight.” Jake pointed
towards the blinds and the rotten crowd beyond. “You have a way for
us to get past all those maggot-heads?”

“Sure. What? Like it'll be hard or
something?”

“Unseen?” he clarified.

“Yeah.” Kat rolled her eyes. “Attracting
zombie attention would, you know, be a bad thing.”

Jake squinted at her. “Does this plan involve
explosions? Lots of shooting? Large, conspicuous fires? Those
raider assholes are still out there somewhere, remember?”

“Sarcasm is not attractive,” she told him,
peeking quickly through the blinds, “
especially
when the
person you're being all snooty with is shortly going to save your
hunky butt.”

Heroically not glancing down in the direction
of her posterior, Jake snorted, “You'll survive. Mind sharing this
grand idea?”

Blue hair bobbed across her eyes as Kat shook
her head. “I want it to be a surprise.”

That was worrying. “When did you come up with
this plan?”

“Oh, the first night here. While you
snoozed,” Kat admitted. “You looked so wiped, I
really
didn't want to wake you. Besides, yesterday we hoped our stinky
friends outside would toddle off like they were supposed to, but
they didn't. So we wouldn't have needed the alternative exit
strategy until today, now would we?”

“You had this plan yesterday?” Jake ground
his teeth.

Kat nodded, still giving him an unconcerned
smile.

“And didn't see fit to tell me about it until
now
?”

“We can't do anything with it till
nightfall.” Kat shrugged, turned, and flounced away to plunk down
again. She leaned back and swung her knees over the arm of the
couch, dangling her calves and absently swinging her booted feet.
“You look way more rested now, too. So you know, much better chance
of not stumbling over anything in the dark when we leave. Or being
fumble-fingered and jittery. That's never helpful when you're
trying to be all sneaky-sneaky.”

He stared at her

“What if they break in before dark?”

Kat moved her arms over her head and
stretched herself along the couch like, well, a cat, arching her
spine and causing Jake to cough in an attempt to cover his bugging
eyes.

“You mean since all the zombies outside
haven't so much as glanced at this place, let alone started
pounding on the walls? Nah. I figure there's no reason to stress
over it. Just so long as we don't do anything dumb. Or loud.” Kat
clasped her palms together and wiggled her shoulders, loosening the
muscles in her lower back. “Why freak about something you don't
have any control over? It's bad for you. Excessive worry will give
you ulcers and it's
terrible
for your digestion. And your
skin. Causes break outs. People don't take the time to think about
how stress can affect their health in negative ways.”

While it was a near thing, he managed to
resist the urge to leap through the room, grab Kat by the
shoulders, and shake her until she came across with the specifics
of her plan. Primarily because he didn't want to cause any noise,
which would alert aforementioned zombies to their presence inside
Old Hall. Also, Jake had some rather strong opinions about men who
put their hands on women in anger. He had some scars on his
knuckles (and one from a knife stabbed into his lower back) from
fighting some of these types of men, too. Lastly, Kat
was
well versed in many deadly styles of martial arts. Ninjutsu,
Ta-Kwan-Do, Jujitsu, and at least one style of Kung-Fu. It would be
a very,
very
sorry man who attempted to put his hands on the
pretty, blue-haired young woman without her consent.