Part 2 (1/2)
He liked feeling Sara cuddled in beside him this way. She fit surprisingly well with him, her presence more comforting than he'd expected.
Such an interesting turn his life had taken today.
Minutes later, they arrived at his front porch. He dropped the buck long enough to unlock the front door and push it open for Sara.
”Go inside, make yourself at home, get cleaned up, whatever you need to do. I'll be a little while. I need to deal with the deer before the meat is unusable.”
She nodded and he collected his kill, heading off toward the garage and his butchering table. Surely he could trust her to be alone in his house for a few minutes while he skinned and hung the venison. With the outbreak, who knew how much longer he'd be able to hunt fresh meat. He wasn't about to waste a single bit of the animal because of worrying about the girl. She'd found her way into the woods on her own; she could find her way around his small cabin too.
As he worked, he couldn't help but wonder where she was really headed. Why wouldn't she tell him?
Why did he care so much?
Sara stood inside the door to the cabin and looked around, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. It was already late in the afternoon. She should light some lamps and settle in for the night. As much as she wanted to keep going on her way to the bunker, there was no way she could continue in the dark.
Her arms and back ached from exertion. Her knee throbbed. She felt as if she was covered in a film of sweat and grime from her trek through the trees.
He'd said to make herself at home, to get cleaned up. Did that include a shower?
Just the thought of the hot water was.h.i.+ng away the last few hours brought a smile to her lips. She hadn't had time for one that morning when she'd been running late to work. And then the outbreak had happened and the emergency broadcast system had sent everyone listening home to ”safety” as instructed by...whom? The World Health Organization? The CDC? The president? It didn't really matter. And she hadn't headed home. She'd stayed on the road, simply changing her destination. Her go bag and bucket of food supplies were already in the truck where she always kept them waiting.
Waiting for this moment.
She bit her lip and sank into the couch, dropping her head into her hands. Had it really happened? Was this really it?
Her family had always warned her not to wait, not to hope that things weren't as bad as they seemed. They'd warned her to take action at the first sign of big trouble-to get out, to stay safe.
And she had. But had she really needed to? Everything felt surreal, almost as if she were in a dream. Or maybe it was all some sort of drill her family had set up to test her. It certainly didn't feel real.
She couldn't wait any longer to find out what was going on. Not knowing the state of the world around her was terrifying. Finding the remote on an end table, she noticed pictures of Dane with an older couple and a girl who looked slightly younger than he was. Of course, the picture must be old because he was a child in it, no more than five or six. His family. Somewhere Dane had a family, too. Was he as worried about them as she was about hers? She bit back another wave of tears at the thought. Were they still on their way to the bunker? Were they okay? Why hadn't they ever come up with a contingency plan for a situation where their cell phones didn't work? They should have thought to buy CB radios or something.
Forcing the thoughts away, she flipped on the flat-screen TV hanging over the fireplace and prayed the signal still worked.
The TV flickered to life. A news anchor sat stone-faced, his tone serious while scenes of chaos played out in the square box beside his head.
Cruise s.h.i.+ps docked in the New York City harbor.
Hazmat tents. Ambulances with flas.h.i.+ng lights. Police in riot gear forming a perimeter.
The words on the screen changed from New York to Miami, Florida.
Highways congested even worse than the one she'd been on earlier. Grocery stores already cleared of bottled water, canned foods, and batteries.
The words changed again. This time Galveston, Texas-a fistfight at the gas station pumps.
Los Angeles-pedestrians on the street in face masks and gloves. A car in flames on a six-lane highway.
Sara watched the images flas.h.i.+ng before her until tears blurred her vision. Covering her face with her hands, she let out the sobs she'd been holding back. Her fears were real. The threat was real. This was all actually happening.
Everything she knew was different. But for how long? Would it always be this way now or was it panic that had caused so much chaos? Maybe they would contain the outbreak, whatever it was, and it wouldn't get a chance to escalate into a pandemic. Then life would go back to normal.
What would the new normal be if the outbreak got out?
She clicked the TV off and stood. She couldn't wallow in worry about what would or wouldn't be the future. The only thing she could do was get to the bunker. Once she was reunited with her family, they would figure out what to do next-together.
Her first step to feeling in control was a shower. A shower would feel real, tangible, normal. Exactly what she needed to ground her in the moment and regain her calm clear-headedness.
Sara slid off her boots, propping them by the front door, and grabbed her backpack, then limped down the hallway looking for a bathroom. The first door on the left proved to be the one she needed. Setting her bag on the counter, she glanced around for a towel. One hung on the back of the door already, but that had to be his and she didn't really feel like sharing. There had to be more towels somewhere.
Not finding a stash anywhere in the small bathroom, she wandered farther down the hall. The next door was a bedroom. The only bedroom in the small cabin. The room was mostly bed, the queen-size frame and mattress barely fitting in the s.p.a.ce. The quilted blanket covering it was soft and warm, although a little tattered around the edges of the st.i.tching as if it had been washed a hundred times already.
She could picture Dane lying on this rustic, homemade-looking furniture. The wooden beams of the frame appeared almost as if they'd been gathered from the woods she'd just walked through. Maybe they had. She didn't know anything about Dane and yet he seemed like the kind of guy who would make furniture with his own hands.
Sara finally found towels in the small linen closet at the end of the hall. Closing and locking the bathroom door, she stripped and climbed into the steaming shower. Ten minutes later, she emerged looking and smelling clean.
In her backpack she found some spare clothes and clean underwear. She only had two extra outfits with her, but it would be enough to get her to the bunker where she and the rest of her family had stored clothes, among other things. She slipped into a pair of mossy-colored cargo pants and a black tank top. It would be warm enough to wear it in the small cabin once they got a fire going and tomorrow she could wear her long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt or sweater over the top for her next trek into the woods.
Sara walked out of the bathroom and directly into Dane's path. ”Watch out for the blood,” he said, sidestepping, barely missing her.
If she thought he'd been messy and disgusting before, it was nothing compared to now. Not a single inch of him looked as if it had been missed by the carnage of the deer.
”I see you found my shower,” he said, pausing in the bathroom door, eyeing her.
”You said to make myself comfortable and get cleaned up, so I did. I hope that's okay.”
His gaze traveled the length of her body, and she was suddenly aware of how formfitting her outfit was. And of how perky her nipples were in the cold breeze he'd dragged into the house with him. He met her eyes again.
”I don't mind.” His voice sounded rougher than before. He pulled his blood- covered s.h.i.+rt over his head and let it drop to the floor.
Now it was her turn to eye him up and down. And she couldn't stop herself even if she'd wanted to. Not that she wanted to. He was even more built than she'd suspected. His shoulders were broad, his chest a landscape of contours and ripples of perfectly formed muscles. His waist was trim with a tuft of hair trailing beneath the waistband of his jeans.
His hands popped the b.u.t.ton and lowered the zipper, giving her a clear view of the elastic rim of his boxers. She stepped back, found the wall, and forced her eyes to the ground. She didn't have time for distractions. Just because her body felt some kind of chemical-based l.u.s.t for him didn't mean her brain would allow her to waste her energies on something trivial like a hot, naked man. Not when the world was falling apart around them.
”I'll leave you to”-she swallowed, pointed at his near nakedness-”whatever it is you're doing there.”
Chapter Four.
Sara crouched in front of the fireplace, stoking the flames so they would catch and throw more heat into the room. When she had a good-sized fire roaring, she sat back and stretched her legs out, rubbing the ache in her knee.
It was stupid to kneel on the floor to build a fire when her knee was already throbbing, but she'd needed to prove to Dane that she wasn't some useless little girl lost in the woods. She'd needed to prove it to herself as well.
But now that the fire was going, the pain in her knee increased, making her vision dance.
She didn't know what she'd done, but she prayed it wasn't bad. She wasn't sure she could hike the rest of the way to the bunker on a bad leg, but she couldn't stay here with Dane forever, either. Hopefully it was nothing more than a bruise and stiffness. With any luck, resting it overnight would be enough to fix it so she could set out again tomorrow.