Devoured, - [chapter books to read to 5 year olds TXT] 📗

“What exactly was that last night?”

“That was us getting it on.”

“No kidding.”

She sighed. “Just spit it out, dumbass. What do you really want to ask me?”

His mouth popped open, but no words came out.

What do I want to know, exactly? That question, as simple as it should have been, felt difficult to answer.

“Why?” he blurted. “Why did you do that?”

“You didn’t seem to mind last night. After I got you to shut up, anyway.”

He found his pants and slid them on. “Hell no, I didn’t mind. After six months, I wouldn’t have minded anything.”

Her movements stopped. “Are you saying that it wasn’t that good?”

So, he thought. She still has some insecurities behind that tough-chick façade.

“Are you kidding me? My legs are still shaking, for Christ’s sake.”

She continued getting dressed. “What then?”

“It was just unexpected, that’s all. It was great, but I never would have thought that would happen.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Cass turned the dome light on. She already had her clothing on and was in the process of looping her belt around her waist.

“That’s it? You couldn’t sleep?”

She polished off the last of her water, tossing the bottle into the front corner. “I don’t know. You’re acting like a woman. We’re probably going to die soon—why not enjoy ourselves when the opportunity presents itself?”

Lance thought about it for a moment. Why should he worry about the meanings behind her actions? They had sex. Big deal.

“Fair enough,” he said.

“We need to find a pharmacy or a Wal-Mart or something.” She lifted her axe from the floor and patted the handle.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t need to get pregnant right now. Why do you think?”

Lance put his Rambo knife in its sheath. The machete stayed in his hand. When they opened the door, he wanted to be ready for whatever waited outside.

“Oh, yeah. You don’t have to worry about that. My boys aren’t the best swimmers.”

She clopped him on the shoulder. “See? What was a problem in another life is a blessing in this new one. You’re no loser. You’re a king now.” She considered him for a second. “Well, maybe you’re more like my jester, but you get the point.”

Lance moved to the door, kneeling in front of the handle. “Just because you’re a monumental lay, doesn’t mean I’m going to take your shit. Ok, it probably does, but still.”

Cass chuckled.

The door opened silently.

Lance poked his head through, scanning the small parking lot behind the bank.

Nothing.

The sun hid behind a row of trees, the morning still young. Fresh, cool air washed over him.

“Looks clear,” he said, climbing out.

A wide, red area dried on the concrete. Streaks and bare footprints led away from it, disappearing into a small area of grass beside the bank’s drive through. Lance pushed away the images of the man’s face as he stabbed him.

Cass hopped to the ground behind him. They went around either side of the truck, spotting each other through the windows in the front doors as they inspected the cabin. Nothing appeared smashed or out of place.

Lance spotted a few daywalkers stumbling across a lawn on the other side of the street. Everything else was calm, quiet.

“If we ever had a chance to get to the stadium, this is it.” Lance met Cass at the front of the truck, both of them inspecting the neighborhood.

“How far away are we?” Cass asked.

“I don’t know—a mile or two I would say.”

“That’s a lot of ground to cover on foot, considering we’re swarmed by those bastards every time we step outside.”

Lance fished the keys to the armored truck from his pocket. “We could try and drive this beast most of the way.”

“There’s a lot of traffic jams from here to there.”

“If we get caught, we’ll just wait in the cab until things clear out. It’s better than going on foot.”

The inside of the truck reeked of death.

Cass climbed onto the passenger seat, frowning at the red smears on the fabric of the bench seat.

The truck’s engine rolled over, but didn’t start when Lance keyed the ignition. He tried it again, getting the same result.

“Shit, we might have killed the battery by using the light in the back.”

“Give it another shot.” Cass held her axe across her lap, her eyes scanning the street in front of them.

Lance cranked it again, the engine rumbling to life.

The fuel needle indicated half a tank—more than enough to make the trip.

Cass flipped the AC on, giving Lance a toothy grin. “I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this.”

“Let’s see if anyone is still out there.” Lance pushed the radio dial in, powering it on. He rolled through the FM stations, hearing nothing but static.

“Try the AM.”

Lance switched it over and started the process again, going back down the radio band. They hit pay dirt halfway through.

“−beautiful morning, Pittsburgh. The sun is up, the breeze is blowing, and your flesh-eating neighbors are still trying to break in and kill you!”

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say this guy isn’t a professional radio jockey.” Cass turned the volume up.

“I guess I should get on with the news, eh? Well, downtown is dead. Literally.” The man spoke with a Pittsburgh drawl, downtown sounding more like dahntahn. “But, I can see PNC Park and Heinz Field from my super-secret location and there is a helluva lot of military activity down there. So someone is still around, fighting the good fight. Of course, they’re all a part of the NWO and they planted the goddamn Xavier virus in the first place, so take that for what you will.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “He’s a loon.”

“How many of you are even listening, at this point? Is there anyone out there at all, or are you too busy hiding in the dark, waiting to come out at night and take a bite out of my ass? Who the hell knows? I’m just gonna keep on yappin’. So, I spent the entire night on the horn with a guy out of Ireland. His handle is Connor, but I don’t know if that’s his real name or not. Hell, he could be a part of the cover up, though that wouldn’t make any sense. Everyone’s dead—there’s no point in covering shit up now, right? Boy, I’m sure swearing a lot over the air. It’s a good thing the FCC is gone or they’d fine me to kingdom come.”

“With our luck, he’s going to recite ‘Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television’.” Lance put the truck into gear, shaking his head at the man on the radio.

“George Carlin used to say that—”

“See?” Lance couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the broadcaster.

Cass turned it down a little. “Hopefully he can give us some more information when he’s done saying every swear word he can think of.”

Lance backed the vehicle up, the bumper dislodging from the brick structure that housed the pneumatic tubes. Parts of the construction fell to the ground in broken pieces, brown dust clouding above them.

They eased into the street, maintaining fifteen miles an hour.

Smoke rose into the sky from various parts of the city. The Gulf Tower was consumed in fire, a black pyre of soot ascending into the clouds.

The truck weaved around wrecked cars and fallen telephone poles. They ran over shredded clothes, luggage, and abandoned, blunt weapons.

“I still can’t believe how fast it all fell apart,” Cass said.

Cool air came from the vents. They pointed them at their bodies and faces, enjoying the chilling effect.

A woman, several days into the infection, ran through a row of shrubs lining the sidewalk and charged the truck. She smashed into Lance’s door at full speed, her head bouncing off the reinforced steel. She fell into the street in a jumble of flailing limbs and hair, blood pouring from her nose.

“I love this truck,” Lance said, watching in his side-mirror as the woman got back to her feet and gave chase.

“Sorry about that tangent, folks. I got a little carried away. Anyway… where was I? Oh yeah, Connor from Ireland. They’re just as screwed as we are, unfortunately. The European Union completely collapsed. They barely put up a fight from what Connor says. The Russians and Swedes are having more luck, apparently. Their geographical advantages are helping them survive. I’ll tell you what, when the Russian winter kicks in, these vampire assholes are going to have a tough time. Let’s see you run through six feet of snow, ya bastards.”

Cass smacked Lance’s arm. “Vampires. Told ya.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let me know when you see Dracula.”

“Dick.”

“Bitch.”

In his peripheral vision, Lance saw her smile.

He still couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Somehow, in the midst of everything, Lance had found a woman to spend what would probably be his final days with. The feeling was odd, foreign.