The Thrust (9 page)

“It’s not a safe idea, Clarissa. You could get killed.”

“None of this is safe,” she said, gesturing to the men still out in the field, training, and the papers strewn around them. “We’re not doing what’s safe. We’re doing what’s right.”

That night, Clarissa
undressed and washed with a basin of rainwater in front of the fire. Trent stood in the doorway, watching silently. But she knew he was there.

It made her feel sexy, having him follow her with his eyes. Part of her felt like she was dangling food slightly out of reach of a hungry animal. Maybe it was the way he kept his shoulder up against the doorframe, as if to to keep himself from pouncing on her.

But tonight, she didn’t intend to have him just look at her and not be allowed to touch. She knew her behavior confused him, teased him. Some nights she welcomed his advances, and others, she just . . . couldn’t. Healing was a slow process, and it wasn’t happening as quickly as she’d like it to.

But being around Trent helped. He was balm for her battered soul.

“You look good with ink-stained fingers,” Trent said after watching her scrub her blue hands without removing any of the ink. “Don’t worry about that.”

Clarissa smiled and gave up. “I’m standing here naked, and you’re looking at my fingers?”

Trent moved in closer to her. “No.”

He smelled good. Like a man. He needed a shave, but she didn’t want him clean. Right now, she was clean enough for both of them.

“Don’t move,” Trent whispered, and she stilled.

The floor creaked as he knelt before her, running his large hands over her naked flesh. He grasped her buttocks, pulling her close to his face, and kissed the junction of her thighs.

Clarissa shut her eyes, relishing the pleasure he brought her as he licked her slowly, the heat of his hands burning into her cool skin.

“I think I need to lie down,” she gasped as she rocked back on her heels.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and held her firm. “You won’t fall.”

She rested her ink-stained hands on his broad shoulders, still clad in his sweaty work shirt. Sparks exploded within her, setting her insides on fire when she came.

“Oh my God,” she cried, and in one swoop, he pulled her onto the floor in front of the fireplace next to him.

“You drive me crazy with need, Clarissa,” he said, tearing his shirt off, leaving his muscles exposed, the sheen of perspiration glimmering in the firelight.

“I know,” she said, but she meant,
I know—you do the same to me.

“You do, huh?” Trent straddled her, pinning her arms above her head playfully. “So you do that on purpose?”

She laughed and tried to roll away, but he held her there. For one quick moment, her heart seemed to skip a beat. It was as if her body reacted to being restrained, even though in her mind she knew Trent would never harm her.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately when she tensed, holding his hands up, away from her body. “I forgot. I forgot about everything for a moment.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Someday I’ll forget about everything too. It’s just going to take a while.”

He looked at her with such compassion it broke her heart. There had to be other men like him out there, right? If some of the men at Grand Central were good like him, like Barker, then they’d have a chance.

Humanity would have a chance.

“I die a little,” he said, “every time I see that look on your face.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she reassured him. She took his hand and placed it on her breast, her chest rising and falling quickly with her breath. “I know I’m safe with you.”

He touched the tender peak gently, rolling his thumb over it, pinching it until both her nipples stood erect.

“Good,” he whispered.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him toward her, and he groaned. His cock felt so good, pressing into her, filling her the way she needed to be filled. He rocked, hitting her G-spot deep inside as he stroked in, and sliding past her swollen clit on the way out.

Every move was heaven. Heaven, right there on the living room floor.

Time stopped, disappeared around them as they took comfort in each other’s embrace. In Trent’s strong arms, she melted, moaning with pleasure.

He sped up, his thrusts coming hard and fast, and she clung to him. All of his muscles seemed to tense at once and he cried out, ramming into her one final time before he came.

His body weight settled on top of her when he finished, covering her like a blanket, his breath hot in her ear.

“Is it okay that we’re doing this?” he asked softly. “Or is it too soon for you?”

“It’s okay,” Clarissa said. “More than okay.”

“I worry about you. That I’m taking advantage of you.”

She shook her head. “You’re not. I’m giving myself to you freely.”

“Okay.” He kissed her temple, their breathing slowing in the afterglow.

She stroked his arm, memorizing every plane of his body.

“I’ve never had sex on the living room floor before,” he said.

Clarissa didn’t respond. It felt strange to talk about his wife, to know that she was the type of woman he always carried into the bedroom.

“You’re very different from Karen.” Trent rolled off of her and stared into the flames. “But it would be strange if you were the same.”

“You’re different from any man I’ve been with,” she replied. “And the way we are together—this—this is also different. It’s good.”

But he wasn’t looking at her, just at the fire as it danced. It seemed he was done talking about . . . them, for now.

“No one will ever take Karen’s place,” Clarissa whispered. “If you’re with me, you’re with me, and that’s a separate thing from what you had with Karen. Us being together, like this—it doesn’t diminish what you two had.”

“Yeah.” He turned back to her as if seeing her for the first time. “You’re beautiful.”

She smiled and held her blue ink-stained fingers in front of him. “A beautiful Smurf.”

“Exactly.”

“The pamphlets will be ready to distribute soon,” she said, thinking about the long day she’d spent with the stamps and the ink. “Jenna and I were talking about how that was going to go down.”

He shifted his body weight, as if physically preparing to move from Trent the lover to Trent the battle planner. “Any ideas?”

“Someone needs to infiltrate, to go into Grand Central and get these pamphlets spread to the people, then sneak back out.”

“With Annie,” Trent added.

“Perhaps, yes. But the goal is to get in and get out, so we can prepare the people for freedom. Not to go in and start evacuating right then and there. It’s gotta be two separate missions.”

“I couldn’t go to the camp and leave without her,” Trent said. “That’s crazy! What if something happened before we had a chance to get back? I’d never forgive myself.”

“So you’re volunteering to go?”

Trent sat up. “Of course. They’ll be looking for you guys.”

“That’s what we thought, too. But you won’t know where to go, what to do. It would be so much easier, and faster, if I came with you.”

Trent shook his head, running his hand over her long red hair, the strands filtering through his fingers, glowing even more red in the firelight. “This will give you away. You can’t go anywhere unnoticed. Everyone looks at you.”

“I’ll shave it off,” she said. “I don’t care.”

But that wasn’t quite true. She did care. Her flaming red hair had been a part of her for her whole life. At the diner where she used to work, customers remembered her by it and would ask to be seated in the “redhead’s section.” Would she still be pretty without it?

Would Trent still look at her with that passion, that desire in his eyes if she had a shaved head?

“Maybe you could cover it up,” he suggested. “Did any of the women there wear head coverings?”

“Yeah, some. The ones with shaved heads sometimes did. But then my face will be so noticeable. I wish I had a different haircut, something with long shaggy bangs I could hide behind. A different color.”

“I haven’t seen hair dye in a long time,” Trent said. “All the stores are cleaned out, of everything. Looters took it all.”

“What about a wig? Did they steal the wigs?”

Trent laughed. “I have no idea. Probably.”

“We could make a wig,” she mused, curling one long red strand. “But I wouldn’t feel right asking someone to cut off all of her hair, when I don’t want to do the same thing.”

“I bet we could figure out a way to dye your hair,” Trent said. “Just look at your fingers. That stuff isn’t coming off any time soon. If we could make black dye, or brown, we’d be good to go.”

Clarissa nodded. “I’ll do some research and figure out how people made hair dye in the old days. Someone’s gotta know.”

Trent lifted her up from the floor and kissed her. “Makes you miss Google, am I right?”

Clarissa laughed. “I miss everything, including researching things on the Internet.”

“Yeah? What else do you miss?”

“Hmmm.” Clarissa paused to think. “Well, the basics most of all. Running water, flushing toilets, flipping on a light switch. But I also miss coming home after a long day and crashing on my couch with some wine and a marathon of bad reality television.”

Trent laughed. “I never got into that.
Bachelorette
and whatnot. Karen loved it, but I’d rather watch old movies on Netflix any day.”

“Hmm, yeah, Netflix,” she said dreamily. “I miss everything,” she said again. “Everything.”

So Karen also liked reality TV. In another life, they might have been friends. Instead, Karen was gone, and Clarissa had just slept with her husband.

“I miss everything too.” He closed his eyes, and she knew, knew without a shadow of a doubt, that he was once again remembering his wife.

EMILY, MASON, AND SAMUEL

Traveling up the Connecticut coast

Emily saw the
armed men before Mason or Samuel did.

“Look,” she said. “Up the road on the right. Men.”

“We should get off the road, now,” Mason said, ducking behind a stalled car.

“They’re not the army. They’re not wearing uniforms,” she pointed out. “They look like civilians.”

“Civilians can kill us,” he said, “or rob us and rape you, just as easily as the army can.”

“No, Mason,” Samuel said, pointing to the green freeway sign half a mile up the road. “Can you see that sign? The name of the town is crossed out with spray paint.”

Emily squinted to see the sign, wishing she had glasses. Her eyesight wasn’t bad, but it was getting harder to see things far away.

And then she could read it.

“It’s them! It says
Letliv
. Live and Letliv, that’s what we’re looking for!”

Mason smiled at her. “I can’t believe we found it. Didn’t think we’d actually find it.”

“We have to go up to them.”

“They might shoot us,” he said. Mason was used to not trusting anyone. To hiding from every person that crossed his path.

Emily couldn’t blame him . . . after the Pulse, the jail was emptied of the petty criminals, but all the serious felons were shot dead. And Mason, a convicted murderer, only survived because he’d been able to escape and stay hidden.

“We’ll keep our hands off our guns, in the air, okay?” she said. “I’ll explain we’re here because of the radio transmission. Here to help. Surely they won’t shoot us if they really need help, right?”

Samuel looked uncomfortable. “You never know. How do we even know these men know that guy Trent asked for help? We don’t know.”

“Well,” Emily said, “I’m gonna find out.”

She stuck her gun in the small of her back, in her waistband, and raised her hands, walking forward to the armed men guarding the entrance to Letliv.

An African-American man stepped forward. “On the ground, now. All of you.”

Emily glanced behind her, only half-surprised to see that Mason and Samuel had followed her. She smiled reassuring at them and they dropped to the hard pavement.

Her cheek pressed against the asphalt, her arms at her sides. She didn’t want to move or do anything that these men would consider a threat. Like Samuel said, you never know. Hopefully they wouldn’t shoot first and ask questions later.

Emily gasped as a strong male knee pinned her to the ground. He frisked her, pulling her gun out of her pants and kicking it to the side, out of her reach. His hands were all over her, touching her ankles, her groin, anywhere she may have hidden a weapon.

From her vantage point on the pavement, she could see Mason and Samuel were being subjected to the same.

“Any more of you?” the man asked.

“Just us three,” she said. “I’m Emily, that’s my husband Mason, and that’s our neighbor, Samuel. We came to Letliv because of the radio transmission asking for help. We want to help.”

“Stand up.” The man stepped back and Emily, Mason and Samuel stood slowly.

Her cheek felt dirty where it had been pressed to the ground, but she was too frightened to wipe it. No sudden movements.

“Where are you from?” the man asked.

“Upstate New York,” Emily said, ignoring the harsh look Mason gave her. She knew he wouldn’t want her to give too much away, but upstate New York was a big place, anyway. And the truth always went down smoother than lies.

“We have a cabin and some land there,” Mason added gruffly. “We heard your call and decided to come. Do you still need our help?”

“Why?” one of the other guards asked. “If you had such a sweet set-up, why come to us?”

“Because,” Emily said softly, unsure if this was going to be the wrong thing to say, “I lived at Grand Central before I escaped. I know how bad it is there. And I want to help free my friends.”

“We might have some of your friends here already,” the man said. “All right. You can come in. But I’m holding on to your weapons until we’ve had a chance to talk to Trent.”

“Trent!” Emily said, glad to hear a familiar name. “The man who makes the radio broadcasts. Yes, I’d love to meet him. We all would.”

“I’m Bill,” the man said. “I’ll take you three to Trent, but then I need to get back to my post. A few others have beat you here, but we’re grateful for the extra people. We’ll need every bit of assistance we can get.”