“We live in the lab,” she murmured and punched a button near the door. A lock clicked, leaving her to yank the handle. She waited for me to step through before she heaved again, until it clicked into place. “Kinda strange, I know. But it’ll make sense in a minute, just you wait and see.”
I hung back as she strode past. The lock unnerved me. Strange building, strange people. Trust…there was that word again. She slowed at the entrance to the hallway, long enough to glance over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed, only for a second. “You know, you could wait here all day, but you’d miss out on roast for dinner.”
“Roast?” My mouth watered with the word. “No one has roast.”
Her eyes shone, lips stretched wide. “We do, and fresh corn. It’s a little rough around the edges, but still tastes the same.”
Roast, and fresh corn? My throat tightened. The click of a door echoed along the hall. Seconds later, a smell wafted through the air. A smell so delicious, I couldn’t stop my feet from moving. It was a trap. A cruel, sadistic trap. My belly bowed, a tiny mewl escaped. The sound so pathetic, so fucking weak. My fingers trembled as I reached for my waist.
“You coming? There’s plenty for all of us.”
Pitt moved, trotting forward. She didn’t care about trust. Not right now—not when that smell filled the air and the hunger we’d lived with for years still raged.
She gave a whine and slowed.
“No one’s gonna hurt you, I promise.”
I wrenched my gaze toward the woman, scanning the corners of the tired waiting room. The gun shuddered, the sight trembled as I clenched the grip.
“No pressure, you don’t want to come in, you don’t have to. You can just stay out here. But if you want food, the food’s inside.”
They could bring it out.
“We got a shower, too, and company, it’s not earth-shattering company—but we can eat and laugh and talk about the shit we used to do. You can trust me, you know.”
I flinched at the word.
Trust.
“Kenya, you okay?” A man’s voice cracked through the hall.
I clenched the gun.
“That’s Damon,” she murmured. “He’s not going to hurt you, neither will the others. Look, you got that gun. You can aim it at me. No one’s going to come near you.”
“Kenya, do you need me?” The man’s voice was urgent.
“No, it’s all good. I got a visitor!” She cocked her head and yelled.
Silence descended. I took a step, and then another, to find the guy at the end of the hall. He leaned on the door, more than held it. I scanned his hands first, looking for weapons, and then his clothes. Clothes could tell you a lot about a person…I used to judge people for the choice of style—but nowadays I judged them by blood-splatter stains.
This one had none.
Kenya took a step, and then another, slowly making her way toward him. It’s funny how your perspective changes when you’re alone with a city full of barbarians. Blood splatter, or no blood splatter—his gaze gravitated toward me, and then widened as he muttered. “You were busy, weren’t you?”
Sometimes the difference of what a person wears is the only thing that keeps you alive.
“Not a stray, or a Lost Boy, she murmured. This one here’s a loner.”
The whites flared in his eyes, although they weren’t exactly white. They were more jaundiced yellow with a road map of thin red veins. He was a little older than me. I want to say twenty-five, but the dark circles under his eyes pushed it to more like thirty.
He glanced at my hands, first the gun, and then the book. “Whatcha got there?”
“What the Hell do you think it is?” the woman snarled. “You gonna let her in, or what?”
He flashed her a look of annoyance, and then returned to me. I was used to people looking, used to people not trusting, and any other time I would’ve turned and walked away.
But the smell…the goddamn smell.
The rich, gamy scent filled my lungs, and coated my insides. I could almost taste it, almost feel my teeth sink into the meat. Pitt gave a small growl, and then a whine.
“Damon, open the damn door.”
“The dog,” Damon muttered. “Kris will pitch a goddamn fit.”
The woman stepped close, and yanked the door from his grip. “When the Hell doesn’t he?”
“True,” Damon stepped from the doorway as she barged through. “Guess you all better come in then.”
My escort turned her head, and gave me the hint of a smile. “I’m Kenya, this is Damon. Chuck is in there,” she jerked her head toward another doorway as she turned left down the hall. “And Kris…well, let’s just hope you don’t see much of Kris.”
The door closed behind me with a whoosh, and the lock clicked shut. I waited for fear to strike, but I was stolen by the glare of white…everything about this place shone…from the steel doors, to the floors, and the walls.
I’d forgotten what clean looked like, forgotten the sharp smell of alcohol—forgotten most things.
“You can put your dog in there,” Kenya lifted her hand and motioned to a door as she shrugged her pack from her shoulders. “There’s a first aid kit, and Damon here is pretty handy with stitches. We’ll get her fixed up in no time.”
I shook my head, the words on the tip of my tongue, but she’s not mine…until I dropped my gaze. Pitt lowered her head, sniffed, and then moved forward. But not too far, not to stray away from me. I guess she really was mine.
“She won’t be a problem,” I muttered. “I’ll keep her fed.”
“She speaks,” Damon muttered behind me, and then gave me a wink as he sidestepped us and pushed ahead. “Starting to think you were a mute. Don’t worry, there’s plenty of food, enough for the mutt.”
“She’s back!” The roar tore through the hallway behind us.
Thunderous steps followed as a giant of a man closed in. He gave me a quick glance as he opened mammoth arms wide. “’Bout damn time you came home. I was gonna have to send out a search party.”
“Who, you mean, Damon here?” Kenya snarled, but her words were muffled against his body as the giant man squeezed her tight.
She slapped his body with feeble blows and muttered, “Chuck, can’t breathe…”
“And you brought a guest…s. You brought guests,” Chuck dropped his killer hug and stepped away, now giving me his full attention. “The dog I like. But this one…” His eyes narrowed and then drifted down my body.
I tightened my grip on the gun, but his focus moved to the book. “A preacher?”
“No, no preacher. Just a girl, Chuck. Just a girl,” Kenya answered with a smirk. “You’ll have to excuse them, they don’t get out much.”
Chuck gave a grin and nodded. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m a germaphobe.”
“And I’m an agoraphobe…can’t leave the building,” Damon muttered.
“But you got to the door today, so I’m impressed,” Kenya called over her shoulder as she turned away. “And dinner smells delicious!”