Wilder Than Fate, page 4
Something caught my eye, black leather peeking out beneath a white plush couch. It was the match for the shoe in the hallway.
“What are you doing?” Wilder whispered as I unlocked the door, peeking out to make sure the coast was clear before I darted out, snatched up the heel, and relocked the door. After retrieving the one from beneath the couch, I set them neatly side-by-side on a tray beneath a key hook.
“There,” I said, eyes flicking to my feet when I found Wilder watching me thoughtfully.
“Seemed like a shame to leave it out there. I doubt anyone will be wearing pretty shoes like that for a long time, though,” I shrugged, reaching out for the case of water so I had something to do with my hands.
“Let’s keep going. Leave that stuff there. We’re going to have to take a bunch of trips.”
Chapter six
Wilder
Only two other apartments on the third floor were open, both doors left ajar. On high alert as I cleared them, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end until I was confident we were alone. Messy compared with the last apartment, it had bachelor pad written all over it. As I adjusted my stupid slipper, Rosie walked out of the only bedroom with a pile of men’s clothing.
“We need food, not clothes,” I told her, unable to even see her eyes over the stack.
“You can’t wear that forever.”
She wasn’t wrong. In fact, there came a point where wearing it made me more of a target. People saw the uniform and they made assumptions. That I had backup. That I knew where food was. That I could help them. Unfortunately for all of us, I didn’t know any of that shit.
“I think this stuff might fit you, that’s why I grabbed it.”
My stomach squeezed at her thoughtfulness, my fingers brushing hers as I accepted the clothing from her arms. The brands and styles weren’t that far from my own clothing.
“Why don’t you check the pantry?” I suggested.
Setting the stack on the edge of the counter, I walked to the rain-streaked window and looked out at the empty street. Litter blocked some of the storm drains, causing deep puddles to stretch from curb to curb. This would be a total mess later in the season. What about in the winter when feet of snow fell and later thawed? The roads wouldn’t be passable.
“So, I was thinking,” Rosie said, her voice slightly muffled as she faced the small kitchen pantry. “Now that I’m feeling a little stronger, and once we get your blisters healed up, we should get out of the city. I know you said I was in no state to travel, but I am feeling better now.”
I couldn’t leave the city yet. Why was Rosie so hell bent on getting a move on? She passed out for god’s sake.
“And I’m not asking you to, like, take me under your wing or anything. But if we could get from a to b together…I think that would benefit both of us.” She sounded slightly nervous, stumbling over her words like she’s been thinking of how to say it all morning.
“Look, Rosie, there’s something I have to do first…”
Movement in the street caught my eye, a group of the undead wandering right through all the puddles. The water splashed up around their feet. One was barefoot, impervious to the icy water and rough concrete. Maybe Rosie was right. These things weren’t going anywhere, and the idea of sitting like a lame duck in the centre of it all felt unsettling at best. But what if Addams was somewhere close by? There was a possibility he’d injured himself and had no way to find me.
With my eyes glued to the procession of feet, my heart sank when I saw the familiar military issue boots. I forced myself to look up but closed my eyes the moment I saw that the rain-soaked camouflage matched my own. My throat ached as I took another glance, making out a blood-soaked right arm in his slightly baggy uniform. The bite would have burned like it had been done with a branding iron. A row of human teeth marks that may as well have been a D shaped brand. Dead. I should take him out. I owed him that. If I ever turned into one of those things…he’d do the same for me. But gunshots made a hell of a lot of noise. The last thing Rosie or I needed was a group like that doing a course correction for our lobby. Worse, the sound of gunfire would only alert any people in the area that somebody had supplies.
“Wilder? Did you hear what I said?”
I was only vaguely aware of Rosie’s voice, and when her hand brushed my shoulder, I startled, hand going automatically to my weapon. Fear flashed in her eyes as she stepped back, out of my reach.
“I’m sorry,” I said, dropping my hands to my sides.
She shrugged but hurt laced her voice. “It’s fine.”
“It’s just that I saw…”
I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want to.
She took a step closer, and I could read her facial expressions like a book. Terror when she first noticed the group of a dozen mindless creatures. Surprise when she saw the camouflage. Sorrow when she put it all together.
“Oh, Wilder.” Rosie held her arms open, but I hesitated, shaking my head as my eyes burned with unshed tears. Addams died a painful, frightening death, but I could stand up here dry and warm and in the arms of a beautiful woman? I sniffed, wiping the back of my hand across my nose. That wasn’t fair. I walked away from her offer of embrace like an asshole.
“We’d better finish up here and move onto the next place. We’re losing the daylight.”
I could hear her sigh even from across the room.
…
Our cereal stash grew by several boxes, and we also found some pancake mix and syrup. I perused the space, a dark cloud over my head while Rosie sifted through the shelves for anything non-perishable. I paused in front of the stainless steel fridge, glancing at the magnets and the photos beneath them. Pulling one down, I traced the edges of the rectangle with my thumb. It was a Banff National Park magnet, a painting of a jagged snow capped mountain with a turquoise glacier-fed lake in the forefront.
“Huh.”
“Find something?”
“Maybe,” I said and slid the magnet into my chest pocket. I thought of the pile of clothes. The outdoors brands and cargo pants, the collection of magnets with different national and provincial parks. This apartment might have more to offer than pancakes and syrup. A single guy that wore that type of clothing and had visited all those wild places might be an outdoorsman. An adventurer. The type of person would have gear. The type of gear I could use.
“Starting a collection?”
“Not quite,” I mumbled, patting my pocket and striding toward the front hall closet, mentally crossing my fingers.
The mirrored door stuck on its tracks, but I slid it open, catching a loose basketball right before it smacked me in the nose. The hangers squeaked along the metal closet rod as I shoved jackets left and right. It was smaller than I’d hoped, and the spark of excitement I’d been holding onto fizzled out. There wasn’t anything of value aside from a nice windbreaker I might snag. I let out a long sigh as I sunk into the leather couch, kicking my slippers clad feet up on the matching ottoman.
“Are you pouting?”
I crossed my arms tighter over my chest. “Maybe. I got my hopes up.”
“That’s dangerous,” she pointed out, blowing a strand of hair out of her eyes. “What were you looking for?”
“I thought the guy that lived here might have some gear we could use. A tent or a camp stove. Something like that.” I shrugged. “These places are so small, though. Doubt anyone could fit very much in these closets.”
Rosie nodded her agreement as she perched on the arm of the couch next to me. “Tell me about it. I grew up in a condo with my mom. I remember when we were searching she refused to look at any that didn’t have storage lockers.”
“What did you say?”
Rosie’s eyebrows scrunched together. “I said she refused to look at any that didn’t have storage lock–”
I shot to my feet, a smile stretching across my face. “You’re a genius.”
“Thanks?”
“Do you think this building has those? Storage lockers?”
“Older buildings usually do. Big ones in the basement.”
Visions of supplies filled my mind. People kept all sorts of stuff in storage. Junk, for sure, but also sports equipment and winter clothing and, hopefully (there was that word again), camping gear.
“You’re freaking me out. What are you planning?”
“A trip to the basement.”
She rolled her eyes at me.
“You know how people like to poke fun at the characters in horror movies for splitting up? This has the same vibe, Wilder.”
I turned away from her, striding back to the window. The rain and wind intensified, leaves blowing along the road, piling up without anyone to collect them. She didn’t mean anything by her comment, but it hurt. Rosie wanted to leave Copper Ridge? Fine. But I wouldn’t let her do that alone. Our haul felt downright abundant, and my biceps burned under the weight of the last box. After several trips up and down, I finally caved, accepting I wouldn’t be able to hold a gun and get this job done with any type of expedience. Rosie looked tired and pale, and my skin itched with the desire to get her safely into our apartment. To slide that heavy as hell dresser across the door and let out a sigh of relief. To make her eat until she couldn’t swallow one bite more and then make her sleep until the worried lines around her eyes softened.
Chapter seven
Rosie
Even though sadness poured off Wilder in waves, we managed to get back to our apartment with all our goods in tow. The small space had already felt cramped, but with boxes of supplies lining the narrow hallway, we had to turn sideways to reach the kitchen.
“We’ll sort through all of this tomorrow.”
A weariness I’d never felt before pressed down on me from all sides. Wilder wouldn’t admit it, but he looked bagged too. I wanted to ask him about the man in the street but anxiety prevented me from broaching what was obviously a painful topic. Who else could he talk to, though, if not me? I promised myself that if he didn’t volunteer any information, I’d ask about it in a day or two.
“We should rest. Maybe your blisters will feel good enough for your boots tomorrow. Then we can look to see if there are storage lockers,” I added, knowing that would make him smile.
Whenever I thought about a field trip to the basement, my stomach ached. I didn’t know how his heart handled the stress of searching and clearing the building.
We didn’t have a way to cook anything, so we ate cold cereal with the almond milk for an early supper. Wilder offered the last canned pear half to me, our attempt at a dessert.
“Don’t waste the juice.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” I tipped the can toward the kitchen ceiling, catching a sticky drip as it tried to roll off my chin.
Somewhere in the street, a dog barked, startling me slightly.
“I hate hearing the animals,” I said, trying not to think of their own fear.
“Do you…did you have pets?”
“No,” I answered resting my chin in my hand, “I was in a dorm. But I had a beagle growing up. What about you?”
He nodded. “A cat. Sort of a stray, really. She’d come around almost every day, beg to come in, howl ‘til she got out. She’s probably living her best bird hunting life now.”
“Where was home for you?”
“My dad was in the military too. We moved a lot, but I was in a little townhouse a few hours from CFB Cumberland. I wouldn’t normally work out of the base. Too far,” he explained, a longing on his face. “Then they called all hands on deck to try and ‘nip this thing in the bud’.” He chuckled, a hint of bitterness beneath it.
“Lots of good that did,” I retort.
We secured our trash in a heavy garbage bag and used the tiniest bit of water to clean out our bowls. Cleanliness was more important than ever, especially in such small quarters.
“You sleep first.”
I did a double take at him. “Can’t we both sleep?”
Aside from the hanging woman in the bathroom and a couple of dead residents, we’d found no threats on our floor or the one above.
He shook his head resolutely. I reached out, angling Wilder’s wrist so I could read the time.
“It’s only seven o’clock.” It felt much later. “Why don’t we both nap and then if you want to take shifts during the night we can,” I said carefully.
I could practically see the gears turning in his mind, warring between his desire to sleep and the need to protect. It was obvious when his exhaustion won the fight.
“I’ll set my watch for two hours.”
I snagged a can of the soda water and shuffled through the crowded hall to the bedroom. Pulling back the blankets, I paused, glancing down at the jeans I’d been wearing for weeks. Now that I wasn’t watching my back every moment, I had a roof over my head, I wondered if I should really crawl into the clean sheets with them on. The door to the bathroom shut quietly, and I figured I’d take the moment of privacy to look for something in the lowboy dresser that remained in the bedroom. The chill of fall raised goosebumps on my arms as I pulled open a heavy drawer, smiling at the rows of neatly folded clothing. Soft flannel pyjama pants felt like heaven as I pulled them over my bare legs, warming me immediately. I paired them with an oversized t-shirt, the sleeves brushing my elbows while I folded my filthy clothes and set them on top of the dresser. Maybe we could find a way to wash them. Movement in the mirror caught my eye, a reflection of the bathroom mirror and the light from Wilder’s flashlight. Manners prodded me to look away but instinct compelled me to watch. A blush rose over my cheeks as he unbuttoned his jacket and let it fall. His arms were just as muscular as they looked beneath his uniform, the t-shirt he wore beneath it stretching over his broad chest, threatening the seams. My breath grew ragged as he gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled it forward over his head. His skin glowed in the light, shadows emphasising the hard planes of his torso. I sighed, leaning against the dresser a little too enthusiastically, knocking a tree of necklaces over.
Shit!
The way Wilder carried himself, how he made hard choices, that confidence combined with the way he affected my body made one thing painfully obvious. I swallowed hard–I was in trouble.
Chapter eight
Wilder
“You good out there?” I grinned as I waited for her response. She stuttered over her words, glancing anywhere but the mirror.
“Um, fine. Yeah! Just…tripped.”
Tripped my ass. Maybe over her tongue. I hadn’t closed the bathroom door all the way, wanting to keep my ear out for anything amiss. I didn’t bank on her peeking at me, not that I minded. Shimmying out of my pants, I slipped on the clothes that Rosie found. She was right. They fit perfectly. I transferred the gear I wanted within arms reach into the pockets of the navy cargo pants. A Zippo lighter and a Leatherman multitool on my left side, my Sig Sauer on my right. While not regular issue for the Canadian Army, these weren’t regular times. I knew more than one of my men threw a few extra goodies into their packs before we rolled out. I’d sleep better with it at my hip.
Rosie lay stiffly on the side of the bed she’d chosen, closest to the closet, arms at her sides and her eyes glued to the ceiling. If she breathed wrong she might roll right off the edge.
“I know I’m big and macho, but I don’t need that much room,” I snorted, coming to stand on my side.
She shrugged, the blankets up to her chin. “I’m good over here.”
“Right.” I’d never spent the whole night sharing a bed with a woman, and I didn’t know if I should pull back the covers or simply lay on top of them.
“Are you cold?”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, then spoke. “Kinda.”
I’d seen extra blankets in the tiny closet that housed towels and extra toilet paper. Soft and white, I carried it over to her side stretching it over her body.
“I can do that myself.”
I shoved the fuzzy blanket beneath her hips, tucking her in tight. “Nah, keep your arms in and stay warm.”
“What about you?”
“I run hot,” I said, straining to keep a smirk off my face as her eyes widened.
Checking the windows and doors one last time, I laid down next to her. Leaving so much space between us felt ridiculous. What was the harm in having our legs brush? I’d already had her cradled against my chest when she passed out. She didn’t know it, but I’d stroked the back of her hand while she slept, murmuring encouragement that I wasn’t sure she could actually hear.
“We’re gonna find a camping stove tomorrow,” I said, my hands folded over my stomach.
“Yeah? You gonna cook me some pancakes?”
“Hell yes.”
Her giggle sounded soft, muffled by the blankets cocooning her.
“You okay with me blowing out that candle?” It made me nervous sleeping with an open flame. Maybe there would be a lantern or something safer that we could use for light at night.
“Sure.”
I turned to my side, propping myself up on my right elbow. The mattress sunk beneath my weight, rolling Rosie ever so slightly in my direction. Our shoulders brushed as I blew out the flame, casting the room into nearly pitch blackness. I could hear her quiet breaths and the creak of the mattress springs, the burnt cotton scent of the wick growing stronger.
“Goodnight,” I whispered.
It took effort to roll back to my side, away from her warmth. She didn’t say it back, but I listened as her breathing slowed, looking in her direction where only a shadow lay.
…
An echoey shout that sounded far too close for comfort filtered in through the bedroom window. I had my flashlight out and clicked on in an instant. Rosie sat up straight, spine stiff, eyes wide with undisguised fear. I held my hand up, listening hard as the man yelled again.
