Miranda Kate Week 114: Home

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Miranda Kate’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Home

Sunlight hit the corridor just right, making it glow. It reflected how she felt about being here. It had taken her so long to get here, and sometimes she had wondered if she would ever make it. The amount of auditions she had come away from, feeling sick to her stomach, sure she had messed up and ruined her chances. The amount of jobs she had worked to try and keep the money coming, to keep a roof over her head and food in her belly, while all the time chipping away at the path to her dreams, tucking away as much as she could to pay for the opportunity to be here. And now she was.

The weeks before moving into the halls of residence had been dark, plagued with thoughts and nightmares of not fitting in, not finding her place among all the other artists and creative folk here, terrified they would see her as a fraud, and not up to scratch or worthy of sharing their space or class with her. But they had all been nothing but fears, and each day her confidence soared as they embraced her and made it clear they saw her as one of their own. She was constantly surprised by their openness to befriend her, and willingness to spend time in her company – sometimes even demanding it.

She smiled. Here she had found it all; the answer to what she had felt was missing inside all these years. She relished it - and cherished it. And every day she awoke she felt like she’d come home.

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J M Blackman Week 114: Raging/love

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J.M. Blackman’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Raging/love

You ever think that we're just not meant to be?"

He turned his head a bit at that; he still didn't quite look at her. But that made him almost look. That was his way when they fought. He couldn't look at her. He took another pull of the joint between his fingers, then passed it to her.

She took two deep gulps, felt the buzz spread from her chest to her ass on the cold curb. She shifted her weight and leaned back against the sign behind her. "Do you?"

"No." He took the joint back. He took another drag.

"Why not? You think it's normal to fight like we do?" Her voice broke a little. Her throat was raw. From the screaming. And the smoking.

"I don't think we're normal. And I think everything worth having, you have to fight for."

"But like that?" She thought of they'd stood and yelled across the table. A glass had fallen to floor and shattered. They'd been asked to leave and she hardly remembered the face of the manager who'd asked. It was all swaths of red and tinkling glass and silence besides their screams. And now they sat a block away, on the curb, high.

"Sometimes." He took another drag. He looked at her then. Right in the eye. "I mean, if that guy behind you can still be happy, we should be able to find a way, right?"

"The guy behind..." She turned slowly, but no one was there. Then, she saw the sign she was leaning against. It was a Viagra advertisement. An old stickman with what had to be a raging boner was stationary with a walker. She stared at it for a minute and then burst into laughter that rolled down the street, up the building, through the alleys. Then, she turned back to her boyfriend. "I guess so."

"Right?" He handed her the joint and leaned his head on top of hers. She put one hand on his knee and took another puff.

"Right," she repeated.

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J.M. Blackman is a Language Arts teacheri and a feminist. She endeavors to review nearly everything she reads and is a happy wife. She's a SFF enthusiast, loves dark humor, and has an unhealthy need to protect the image of Batman.

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Mark Ethridge Week 114: The Whole World Went Insane - Part 14

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Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: The Whole World Went Insane - Part 14

How do you find someone without a GPS, a map, or a phone? I wanted to talk with Jessica, tell her of my plans, but I had to find her first, and I didn’t know where to look. I settled on South and East, the direction toward the stables Kelly and I’d found the others.

But I found no sign of Jessica. I did find what was left of the stables. The bodies were gone, but the burned out building remained. I didn’t waste time there, and headed more toward the south. I didn’t keep track of the days. I searched for books. Libraries. Homes. Anything I could find on guns. How to use them. How to clean them. How to make your own ammo. I didn’t expect to need ammo for a while, I’d found plenty on my walk, and knew I’d find more.

I stopped every day, and practiced. Just a couple of shots. As I studied how the guns worked, how to aim them, how to hit what I wanted to hit. Turned out, that’s how Jessica found me.

I woke up one morning, staring at a wolf. It growled, and barked at me. I got the message, grabbed my backpack, and followed it. I left everything else.

The wolf led me through the woods, over hills, across streams. I didn’t notice the scenery, until the wolf stopped, got behind me, and pushed me toward a waterfall. “What?” The wolf got impatient and snapped at me. Yeah. I headed for the fall.

As I got closer, I noticed a cave behind the fall, hidden. Jessica stepped out. “Frank.”

I didn’t like her tone. “Jessica.”

“Valerie misses you. Kelly too.” She looked at the wolf. It left. “Why?”

She didn’t have to ask what. “Beth.” I watched the waterfall, the unending splash it made in the pool of water at its foot. I didn’t know what else to say.

“Snakes die, you know.” She watched the fall, then stood next to me. “When it’s their time, they die.”

“But I have to do something!” I hadn’t realized how strong my emotions had become. My frustration. My anger. “I can’t go back, and let this happen again. And again.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to beat my fists on the rocks until they bled.

“Then do something. Find more stables. Find more people, more Beths to help.” I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Don’t run off and get yourself killed. Frank. I need you too much. Kelly needs you too much. Valerie…”

“Would be lost without you.” Her hand squeezed my shoulder. “She cries herself to sleep every night. And prays you will come back to her.”

“I miss her.”

“You don’t have to.”

“What should I do?”

She waved at the trees. “Live.”

The big wolf came out of the trees, four others came with him. Several hawks landed on a nearby tree limb. “Hunt the stables. Free the women. Like Beth.” There was an edge in her eyes I’d never seen. “I could use your help. There’s lots of them.” Her hand on my shoulder suddenly felt heavy. “The snake will die. It will starve to death.”

We talked. We ate nuts and berries. “Jessica. I think I miss food the most.”

We laughed, “Peaches. Oranges. Oh, how I’d love some of those.”

Jessica thumped my shoulder, “Chocolate.”

“Oh, God. Don’t go there.”

“And cheesecake.”

After a few hours, she waved at the animals, “They’ll go with you.”

I nodded, and spoke to the wolves and hawks, “Thank you.”

“You’ll have a lot to learn,” she poked me, “they’ll have to teach you to understand what they’re saying. And Frank. Be careful with the guns.”

“I will.”

The wolves led me back to my campsite. I spent the day there, and the night. It was my first solid nights sleep since I’d found Beth’s body. “I tried, Beth. I tried.” I closed my eyes to sleep, and saw her in my dreams.

“Frank. It’s OK.”

“No. It’s not. I wasn’t…”

“You were, Frank. You were.” She had a beautiful smile. “You freed me. You rescued me, and Gina, and the others.” She hugged me, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I wasn’t there to stop you.”

“Frank,” Beth shook her head, “You made my last days happy. You and Kelly.”

I woke up as the sun rose. “You made my last days happy. You freed me.”

I packed my tent. I looked at the wolves. “Let’s go hunting, guys.”

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Mark woke up in 2010, and has been exploring life since then. All his doctors agree. He needs to write.

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Pablo Michael Week 114: Villa Roma #4

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Pablo Michael’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Villa Roma #4

Without explanation Ignacio grabbed one of Anthony's bags, dragging him by a hand, still clutching another suitcase, up the stairs until they reached the next floor. “I hope you like your room. May not be what you expected” He stopped at an open door down the dark, tiled hallway. He set the bags down in the entry, his left arm open, guiding Anthony’s entrance.

Squeezing past Ignacio through the narrow passage, Anthony inspected a small, furnished, lived-in room which appeared to be the living room. Although initially speechless and suspicious, he glanced around, realizing Villa Roma #4 was Ignacio’s apartment. “I don’t know what to say?”

“Just say you like your accommodations for your visit in my city. I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable. But I’d like you to stay with me. While you’re in Florence.”

“But I might be an inconvenience.”

“Nonsense! We’ll get to know each other. Maybe a bit more intimately. If you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, but…” Flustered, Anthony attempted to find an excuse to accept Ignacio’s hospitality but wanted excitement, more than he ventured to imagine, when he had left Stuart in Rome. And even more, he would love to have a man like Ignacio in bed with him, like Stuart had with that hunk. He could erase the image of Giancarlo, naked, in the doorway after having sex with his partner.

“I could show you around the university?”

“Well…,”

“Please,.., I won’t get in the way of your plans, when you need to take care of your business.”

“Okay.” Anthony relented, thinking his company would be more than welcome, and his knowledge of Florence would be an ideal answer for his itinerary.

“Bravisimo!” Ignacio wrapped his arms around Anthony, hugging and kissing him passionately, like a man reunited with his lover after a long separation.

Without hesitation, Ignacio’s kisses and hands graduated into seduction. Slowly and methodically, he undressed Anthony, leading him into the bedroom.

Numb-struck by his own plans to become acquainted, in a less aggressive manner, Anthony welcomed Ignacio’s overpowering, Italian passion, obviously less inhibited than any American gay man he had known.

Anthony lay with Ignacio next to him, admiring his dark, curly haired chest and his sleek, defined body.

Ignacio stared intently, like a frisky puppy anxious to play more.

“What about dinner? Is that a real restaurant or is it someplace you fictionalized?”

“No, it’s a very nice café, just a couple blocks down the street.” Ignacio clutched Anthony’s left hand and kissed his fingers. “But it’s much too early to eat. We have time to fool around more.” He grinned, his dark brown eyes sparkled, begging pretty please.

“I’m very exhausted and in need of a shower.”

“Oo-la la, that sounds good, showering together, where I can lather every inch of your body.” Anthony smiled in agreement, remembering the last time, many years before, when he and Stuart shared a playful time like this.

Anthony’s cell phone reminded him of the outside world. “I better answer that. It might be from the university.” Thinking the call might be about his appointment in the morning, he went to the entryway, Ignacio tagging, closely behind. Retrieving his phone from his trousers, he recognized Stuart’s number super imposed over the picture of the ocean on the screen. “It’s only Stuart. I’m not answering.

“Your boyfriend?” Ignacio stared at the screen on the phone. “Where is that beautiful place?” He admired the narrow crack between two steep cliffs, where waves crashed through from the ocean.

“Uh, it’s at a beach we usually go this time every year. We came to Italy this year instead. And yeah, that was my boyfriend.”

“It’s beautiful. Where is this beach?”

“It’s in Big Sur. Along the coast, north of Los Angeles. That cove was our special place.”

“Maybe I can show you my favorite place on the sea nearby. But now. What about that shower?” Ignacio ran his hands across Anthony’s hairy chest.

“First, let me call the university and confirm my appointment for tomorrow morning.” He tapped the screen on his cell. A different landscape photo popped up.

“Oh, that’s a nice picture too.” Anthony liked the wooded trail along a hillside.

“That’s the path to my secret hideaway. I go there to be by myself.”

“A beautiful place for a beautiful man.”

Anthony kissed him, pleasing Ignacio enough to bring a big smile to his mouth and sparkles in his eyes. “Those deep green eyes are gorgeous.”

Anthony blushed, while he tapped the numbers for his call.

Ignacio left to straighten the bedroom and prepare the bathroom for their shower.

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Pablo Michaels writes LGBT fiction and has published with Naughty Nights Press, http://naughtynightspress.blogspot.com You can follow him at @bell2mike

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Lizzie Koch Week 114: Cross Country

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Lizzie Koch’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Cross Country

(from my WIP: The Sleepless)

After morning break, we changed for PE. I was raring to go but didn’t like the orange t shirt I had to wear. Despite the cool temperature, I omitted the trackies in favours of shorts. It suited my running style. However, my shorts didn’t suit my whiter than white British legs especially against everyone else who seemed to have a healthy glow. I wouldn’t care once we started. My legs would redden quickly and probably be covered in mud (which was the best part of any cross country).

After a few stretches, we were off. The boys had already gone but it wasn’t long before I overtook the stragglers. The terrain was bumpy and then into woodland with tree roots, bracken and small rivers. I’d never run a cross country course like it but it was a challenge and I loved it. Soon, I’d overtaken the bulk of the boys, a few cheers made me smile but didn’t distract me. Then I was on my own with only orange markers to guide me which was perfect as I welcomed the peacefulness and abundant bird song. The pounding of my feet, my steady breathing and my thumping heart accompanied the bird song; a cross country cacophony.

The glade thickened, preventing the sun’s autumn rays peeking through. It was like dusk which changed the atmosphere completely. I felt out of my depth and anxious. Which was silly but I couldn’t shake it. As long as I could see the orange markers, I would be fine and that’s all I focused on. I splashed into another cold shallow stream but didn’t care my feet were sodden.

Shadows started to move, gliding across in different directions. I kept running forward, my stride longer. Another shadow. A chill ran through me. I looked around. There was no one, not even orange shirts in the distance. My heart raced and my breathing lost its controlled rhythm. I started swearing to myself, talking to myself, trying to calm my nerves. I needed to escape the darkness. I felt I was being watched, forest eyes upon me. I shuddered, feeling isolated.

Spinning around, turning my head in all directions, disorientated and panting. Where were the markers? I didn’t see the vine sprawling across the forest floor until I was flying through the air with a scream and landing with a thump and roll. My knees grazed, pride dented and palms sore, I sat, gingerly brushing the debris from my bloodied knees before rising up, wincing with the pain. Something moved . . . in front of me . . . something black, in the shadows . . . moving swiftly. I strained my eyes but couldn’t see anything. I wanted to walk but I didn’t want to go on. I was sure something was there, waiting, watching. I stood still, listening, met only by a dark silence. I realised even the bird song had ceased. No orange shirts were coming up behind me. None were in front. I was alone in a wood. In the dark. A fear began to creep over me. There it was again, the shadows moving, creeping closer, like a blanket of darkness gliding closer and closer. I tried to scream but my throat dried up and closed. The cold shadow was going to swamp me . . .

The forest lit up, with a bluish tinge, like someone had opened the curtains or switched on a light. The shadows vanished. The birds began to sing their chirpy song. A faint smoulder travelled on the welcome breeze. And then I saw an orange shirt running towards me and I’d never been so glad to see someone in my life, even more so when I saw it was Ethan.

“You alright?”

“Yes,”

“I heard a scream.” Ethan looked around him then back to me. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I didn’t know how to answer that one. I didn’t know what I’d seen but I knew how I felt, empty and scared. “Can you walk?” he asked, spying my scuffed up knees, blood slowly trickling down my legs.

“Of course.” I wasn’t some needy-female-damsel- in- distress- type- person. “But I intend to run back.” I needed to get out of the woods, back to open spaces.

“Ok, I’ll run with you if you like.”

“With?” I eyed him, my competitive nature winning through my embarrassment and pain.

My knees stung, but I ignored it, as the cuts split open as I ran, keeping up with Ethan. It wasn’t long before we were out in the open, in natural daylight, bright and beautiful, feeling alive when I noticed what had caused the sudden light that banished the shadows.

“Did you notice the floodlights?” I panted as I saw them looming over the forest.

“Yeah.” Ethan was equally out of breath and there was the finish line and no orange shirts were back yet. I could do this.

Somewhere from deep inside, I found my reserves and picked up the pace . . . so did Ethan. His long stride matching mine and he had longer legs. I had to push and find some more. This was my thing. There was nothing else I was good at and Ethan was not going to take my running away from me. I took a deep breath and found a sudden burst. The finish line was getting closer. We were neck and neck. And with one massive lunge, I broke away and ran as fast as I could, ignoring my aching chest screaming for air, bursting through the finish line at least two seconds in front of Ethan where I collapsed on the soft grass.

“Where did that come from?” he asked as he pulled up next to me as I gulped from a bottle of cold water. I smiled and shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the forest as orange shirts could be seen dotted along the route, the floodlights still burning brightly despite the sun shining overhead.

My run was now the talk of the dorm and the canteen. Apparently, I set a new academy record, thrashing the boys too and even with my fall and slight injuries. But all I kept thinking about was the forest and how it made me feel, and why there were floodlights needed in broad daylight. I didn’t tell anyone about what I had seen or thought I’d seen, didn’t want to be seen as different especially when I seemed to be fitting in now.

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I dream of sharing my work with the big wide world one day as a published author. Right now, I share flash fiction with a wonderful community of writers and friends. If you liked this story, then why not visit my blog at http://40somethingundomesticateddevil.blogspot.co.uk/ for more. Thank you. Love Lizzie x

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Ruth Long Week 113: August

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Ruth Long’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: August

Love envelops her

like the sand surrounds the sea

unmoored, ships sail free

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A reader by birth, paper-pusher by trade and novelist by design, story-telling in my passion. If you enjoyed reading today's story, please consider checking out my blog bullishink.com, joining my creative community sweetbananaink.com or participating in the madcap twitter fun @bullishink.

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Aleea Davidson Week 113: Wither Part 9

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Aleea Davidson’s Picture Choice: One

Title: Wither Part 9

Glen plunged the room back into darkness by extinguishing the single candle he’d lit earlier. The room instantly felt colder and damper without the meager light, and Mara wondered how much of that prior weak glow had permeated the tiny, filth-encrusted window. The silhouette she’d seen vanished, but it was impossible to tell if the person had moved or if it was just too dark to see them any longer.

Mara’s heart felt like it was doing jumping jacks into her throat. Inanely she wondered how much stress she could take before she cracked like an egg. Images of her brothers appeared the instant she squeezed her eyelids shut, and anger peaked amid the panic as the door rattled noisily in its frame again. Imagining them at home, probably still sailing the paper boats she’d made them in the pretend lake they created in the kitchen sink, gave her much needed courage. She instantly began scanning the room in search of a weapon. She wasn’t about to crack, nor was she going to stand there and be a victim. Leaving her boys alone and defenseless wasn’t an option. Teddy and Jeremy needed her, she’d be damned if she let anyone take her away from them.

The candle on the milk crate table was perched in a tarnished silver holder that looked solid. Suspecting Glen had likely pilfered it from the altar upstairs, she lurched away from him and made a grab for it. In her haste she came close to tipping the crates. Glen stopped them from crashing to the floor, giving her an exasperated warning glare. She tossed the stub of a candle onto the cot, mouthing a silent sorry, before wrapping her hand around the base of the holder and wielding it like a club. His expression cleared, and he gave her a nod of approval.

The door to the room they inhabited was partway open. Glen moved, impressively silent, to the right of the jamb, gesturing for her to join him. He poked his head out carefully, his hand moving to his back and drawing out a gun she never knew he had. The sight of it made her bladder spasm with fear. For a nasty second she was once more watching the butcher put the barrel to his temple and pulling the trigger.

Luckily the flashback faded as quickly as it had come, and she didn’t pee herself. Her world reordered itself and time crashed back into the present. She’d never been a fan of guns, and she wasn’t about to start now, but Glen held it like he knew how to use it. She couldn’t deny a part of her felt relief. The heavy candlestick in her hands felt flimsy and silly in comparison, though she kept hold of it, more than ready to bludgeon whoever stepped through that door into a bloody pulp if necessary.

Glen held his hand out behind him, silently asking her to stay, then darted out into the empty room between them and the door that had stopped rattling. That whoever was out there had stopped trying to get in should have filled Mara with a sense of relief. It didn’t. The silence felt thick and ominous. With the absence of sound, a faint ringing in her ears began, distracting and annoying. Unable to keep still, she crept out behind Glen, trying to copy his cat-quiet steps and failing. One of her shoes scraped the bare concrete floor, rasping loudly, seeming to echo off the walls.

Glen spun, briefly lifting the gun her way before dropping it back to his side, his expression tight with tension. Mara mouthed a sorry, understanding why he looked pissed and hating her own clumsiness. Fear was making her feet feel like lead, and the candlestick kept slipping in her hold thanks to a slick dew of perspiration coating her palms.

She switched hands, wiping the sweat off on her skirt before switching again. Glen turned around and resumed his stealthy path to the door. This time Mara stayed put, feeling more inclined to do as she’d been told now that she wasn’t alone in that tiny room. Being able to see Glen and watch what he was doing was infinitely better, though a fine quaking started in the muscles of her calves from the tension it took to keep still. He had the gun, yet she felt oddly protective, every inch of space he gained away from her making it less likely she could help him if the person trying to get in was lurking and waiting. Glen reached the door, and Mara watched, a blizzard of malevolent butterflies in her stomach, as he leaned forward and put his ear against it, listening.

Her breath caught in her lungs. She could see how pale Glen’s complexion had become, but his hand that held the gun was steady. His gaze met hers, and she experienced a moment of intense connection. She didn’t know this man well, yet in that moment it felt as if she’d known him all her life. Her trust in him grew, something within whispering that he would protect her with his life if need be. Funny how she felt the same. She lifted the candlestick, holding it with both hands like a small, odd-shaped bat, and they both waited.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. Just when Mara felt sure whoever it was had left, the door knob turned and a series of knocks startled them both. Glen jumped and stepped back, lifted his arm and pointed the gun.

“Glen? Are you in there? It’s Ben, man. Come on, if you’re in there, open the door.”

Glen froze. For a moment, Mara feared he’d shoot. His finger looked so tight against that trigger it seemed inevitable; an action he wouldn’t be able to stop despite the fact whoever was outside seemed to be someone he knew. As she mentally attempted to prepare herself for the sound of gunfire, she also took a few quick steps, as if she could possibly prevent what might happen next. Instead of a shot, Glen swore, loud enough the vulgar word bounced off the walls and hurt her ears.

He wrenched the door open, and the man outside stumbled in. He must have been doing the same thing as Glen, leaning against it. Glen caught him then instantly shoved him back, his face no longer white, slashes of red high on his cheekbones, his mouth a tight hard line.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled. “I goddamn nearly killed you, you stupid ass.”

The man named Ben, dragged a hand over his face and glared back. “Yeah? Well you might want to stow that gun and give a listen. I’m taking considerable risk coming here to find you this close to damn daylight, in case you didn’t notice.”

Glen shoved the door closed. “I noticed.” He looked down at his watch. “This place isn’t going to protect you. By my time, you’ve got fifteen minutes. Better say what you need to in a hurry.”

The man named Ben looked at her for the first time, noting the candlestick. “Drop it, darlin’. I’m not here to hurt anyone.”

“It’s okay, Mara. I know him,” Glen said.

“I gathered that,” she said. She lowered the candlestick to her side, but kept hold of it. Glen didn’t seem particularly thrilled or happy to see the man. He might know him, but she doubted they considered each other friends, judging by the tension emanating from both.

“I got news you need to hear,” Ben said, looking away from her and back to Glen.

“Say it then.”

“You’re place was raided tonight. Government men. Jigs up, buddy. The way they ransacked the place, it’s pretty clear they’re on to you. If I was you, I wouldn’t go home. Big black fancy looking van, kitted out with UV resistant...everything...has been sitting down the street for hours. Educated guess would be they don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”

Glen closed his eyes, and Ben stepped back. “You got somewhere you can stay?”

Glen shrugged.

“Not here,” Bed said. “Too many nosy people around these parts.”

“You can stay with me.” The words were out before Mara could really think about what she was offering. While Ben had been talking, Mara had closed the distance between her and Glen. She reached out and put her hand on his arm when he looked at her in surprise. “It’s safe. Hardly any neighbours.” She darted a look at Ben and chose to not say anymore. She wasn’t sure if he could be trusted or not. Better to stay vague.

Ben himself seemed uninterested. “Find somewhere and find it fast.” He looked behind them as if he could judge the light through the closed door. “Adios and good luck.” He started to turn around then stopped. “I’d say this makes us even, right?”

Glen’s eyes narrowed. A moment of silence followed before he grudgingly gave a slight nod. Ben grinned, a smile that did nothing to convey warmth or humour.

“Can’t anyone say I don’t pay my debts.” Ben tilted an imaginary hat in her direction, muttered something about it not being a pleasure, then he hurried out into the dwindling night.

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Aleea lives in her imagination most of the time. It's an interesting place to be... Occasionally she can be coaxed out to chat on Twitter, though she finds it akin to torture to stick to that absurd 140 character limit. (@Aleeab4u)

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Michela Walters Week 113: Lost in a Book

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Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: Lost in a Book

Turning the pages, she’s captivated and taken to a far away place. With every new tale, it whisks her from her dismal life and into a fantasy world filled with love, heros and possibility. All things she thinks are outside of her tiny reach.

She slays dragons with ease while rescuing the damsel in distress. In these stories, she never worries about if her mom will come home after work with food, or if she’ll be able to have supplies for school this year. The library is her castle, the beanbag corner in the kids section, her protective dragon, keeping out all the warriors trying to break through her drawbridge and moat. In reality, it’s the one place of solace in her crazy, disorganized life.

So she comes, every day after school and stays well past dinner time, all to avoid the Projects and the chaos that comes no matter what the time of day it is. She dreams of one day writing a book that might grace the shelves of this very place, and maybe, just maybe, help another little girl through her darkest days.

For Tanisha believes the pen and the sword are equally as mighty, especially if you get to write about slaying the big bad wolf.

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Michela Walters is a wife, mother and book enthusiast. She is currently attempting her hand at writing her first romantic fiction novella. You can read her other stories on her blog: michelawalters.wordpress.com

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Sarah Aisling Week 113: A Measure of Grace (Part 12): Alliance

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Sarah Aisling’s Picture Choice:

Title: A Measure of Grace (Part 12): Alliance

Max sets me on my feet, his hands resting on my hips. Grace is already standing at attention and growling low in her throat.

“Stay here.” He cups my cheek and waits for me to look at him. “I'm going to check things out.”

I trap his hand, holding it against my face. “No!”

Max pries my fingers loose, holding them in his own. “I'll be fine. I have a gun hidden in a tree on the edge of the property. I'll come back for you as soon as I can.” He leans in and kisses me hard, tracing his fingers along my hairline, then crouches in front of Grace. “Grace, stay.”

Before I have a chance to say anything else, he takes off.

The dying light of the sunset barely illuminates the lake now, the surface rippling purple and blue. In about ten minutes, darkness will creep in, blanketing the area. The thought of the unknown in the dark sends my heart into palpitations.

I turn my back to the lake, peering into the gloom at the steep and treacherous path before me. It's not going to get any lighter, and I want to be where Max is. I also suck at following directions.

“Come on, girl.” I pat my thigh with more confidence than I feel and start after Max.

It's cooler under the umbrella of thick foliage—and a great deal darker. I stand with my eyes closed for several seconds, allowing my pupils to dilate, then open them. My vision improves enough to find my way without tripping and falling, but it’s slow going. Every so often, I stop and listen to the sounds of the encroaching night. There are no more gunshots, and I don’t hear Max although he had a good head start and knows the area far better than I do.

Grace lopes along, her attention fully on me. She doesn’t stop to sniff anything or chase animals. I wonder what Grace did in her former life. Was she a police dog? She seems trained to protect and serve. Maybe she’s just special. Whatever the reason, I thank God she’s by my side—the world would be much scarier without her.

By the time I reach the edge of the yard, my vision has acclimated to the darkness. Grace paces herself by my steps, stopping when I stop, moving when I move. We creep along the perimeter of the yard, and I listen for signs of Max.

A booming voice yells out, “Jesus! Put that thing down!”

Another voice mutters something back, but I can’t make out the words. I follow the soft drone of conversation, picking my way carefully along the edge of the trees until I see them.

Max leans against the house talking to another man. The guy is built like a tank. The rolled up sleeves of his khaki shirt showcase massive biceps. The sheer size of his chest and shoulders dwarf Max’s by comparison. He has a cap of wavy, cropped hair that probably has a mind of its own when left to grow untamed.

“How did you end up out here, man?” Max asks. His arms are crossed over his broad chest, but his posture seems relaxed.

“Looking for you. Almost got my ass shot up doing it, trigger finger!” His good-natured laugh bellows through the air.

Max knits his eyebrows, and his demeanor changes slightly. “How’d you know where to look, Eric?”

Eric scrubs thick fingers through his short hair. “Tek sent me.”

“Why?”

“He said you should have been back already. Ali’s worried about you.”

Max groans. “There’s nothing to worry about. How did you get free to come here? Did Tek ask you to?”

Eric shakes his head. “Nah. I volunteered. Could you see Tek stumbling over the river and through the woods? Besides, I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave her alone. Max, she’s worse.”

Max’s jaw tightens, and he rakes his fingers through his short hair. “Shit. I hit the pharmacy, but they’re cleaned out.”

“Wish I could help with that.”

“You’ve done plenty.” Max slaps Eric on the arm. “I owe you. Won’t you be missed?”

“I’m entitled to leave time. Most guys don’t want it, but I’ve always enjoyed a good romp in the woods.”

“Was that you shooting before?”

Eric laughs. “Yeah. I saw a deer. Missed.”

“Listen . . . there’s someone else here with me.”

“Who?”

“She stumbled into town a few weeks ago, delirious with fever. I took care of her. She’s been living in one of the houses.”

“Max, are you crazy?”

“She knows what the deal is, and she’s been careful. You haven’t heard any reports, right?”

“No, but you know it’s only a matter of time.”

A short, uncomfortable silence descends between them.

“I left her in the woods. I have to go get her.”

Now what? I can’t go back to the ledge before Max gets there. Do I pretend I didn’t eavesdrop, or should I just come clean? A sinking feeling swirls in the pit of my stomach. There are things I don’t know. Until I do, it’s probably wise not to give too much away.

I backtrack into the woods a short way then come out, making enough noise that Max and his friend will hear me.

Max halts mid-stride. “Marie?”

“Sorry I didn’t listen to you. It was getting dark and creepy.”

When Grace sees Eric, she yips and scuttles over, jumping up on his legs.

“Hey, Nudge!” He ruffles her fur and lets her lick his face then digs in his pocket, bringing out a few dog treats. “Here you go, precious.”

I remain some distance away, nervous about Eric though he seems friendly enough.

Max strides over and grabs my hand. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Who’s he?”

“Come here.” Max tangles our fingers and pulls me along behind him. “Eric, I want you to meet Marie.”

The gargantuan man, still bent down playing with Grace, glances up. Despite his intimidating size, his expression is friendly and open. Grace seems to like him, which is quite an endorsement.

“Hey, Marie!” Eric steps forward, his big blue eyes widening when he notices Max's hold on me. “Oh, I get it now.”

Max follows Eric’s gaze. “It’s not like that, jerk.”

I smile and shake Eric’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

When he leans down to pet Grace again, I notice a patch on his sleeve—half American flag, half Canadian with the inscription American-Canadian Alliance.

The smile freezes on my face, and I can’t stop the words from tumbling out. “What the hell is that?”

Max’s fingers tighten over mine. “Easy.”

Eric stands up, letting out a creepy laugh. “It means I’m one of them.”

I’m speechless, my heart stuttering and racing.

Max kicks Eric in the shin. “Stop it, asshole. You’ll scare her to death.”

“Ow!” Eric hops around on one leg, rubbing his shin. “Sorry.”

Max looks into my eyes. “Marie, listen to me. Eric is technically one of them, but he’s a good guy. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“He’s the source of your inside information.”

“Yes, and a clown.” Max shoots Eric a withering look. “Eric has a heart of gold, but he was holding the door when common sense got handed out.”

“What’s he doing here?” I’m curious if Max will lie to me.

“He came looking for me. I’ve been gone longer than usual, and someone sent him to find me.”

“Oh, it’s my fault—because I got sick.”

Eric looks at me with interest. “Sick how?”

Max shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’re leaving in the morning.”

Eric nods. “I’m heading out tonight. Told them I’d be in the woods nearby. They shouldn’t come looking, but just in case . . .”

“You sure about traveling at night?” Max asks.

“Nothing scares me—except them finding out I’m not where I’m supposed to be.” Eric pats Grace on the head and salutes us. “See you back at the ranch. Marie, it was a pleasure.”

The giant melts stealthily into the darkness, and a few minutes later, it’s almost as if he were never here. Max and I stand awkwardly while Grace wanders around the yard.

I rub my hands up and down the sleeves of my hoodie, looking everywhere but at Max. The evening isn’t that cold; the chill I feel is a knot of icy doubt on the inside, working its way out. Others sent Eric looking for Max, one of them female. Is that why Max kept me separated, like a dirty little secret? Tears sting my eyes.

Max tugs my hood. “I’m going to put this gun away, and then we can get ready for bed. We’ll head out early tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure.”

The darkness is complete now, and I can’t read Max’s expression. I’m relieved he can’t see the tears in my eyes. It seemed like I was getting to know him, and now I wonder.

I find Grace in the yard and hug her neck, pressing my face into her fur for comfort while he's gone.

When Max returns, we use the light of a lantern to clean up the remains of our dinner then pack our things in preparation for the morning.

I can’t shake the disquieting feeling twisting inside me, but I don’t know what to say about it or even how much of a right I have to question Max. Loneliness casts a shadow over me. Tonight, more than any other, I want to pull my phone out and hear Katie’s voice.

Max lets me use the bathroom first. I brush my teeth, splash water on my face, and decide to sleep in the clothes I’m wearing.

A candle flickers on the nightstand in the bedroom. A picture on the wall draws my attention—a group of people on a small airplane pose together, holding drinks in the air. I lean closer to make out the details and realize they’re cast members from The Walking Dead. I wonder where those actors are now and if working on a post-apocalyptic show helped any of them to survive.

I kick off my boots and turn down the comforter, slipping under the sheet. Grace hops up and curls into a ball at my feet. When Max comes in, I don’t mention the photograph though I’m not sure why.

I stare at the ceiling, listening to Max getting ready. He’s in the bathroom for quite a while, and fatigue pulls me under.

The dip of the mattress startles me, and my lids fly open.

“It’s just me.” Max sits on the other side of the bed, also in his clothes, the candlelight playing across his features, leaving them in partial shadow. “Is it all right if I sleep next to you?”

Part of me wants to ask why he wants to sleep beside me when there are several bedrooms in the house, but I simply nod. He draws the sheet over himself and turns to face me, bending one arm to support his head. I wish his expression was discernible. I know he’s watching me but have no idea what he's thinking.

Eventually, Max reaches out and runs a finger across my eyebrow, over my temple, and down the side of my cheek, rubbing it back and forth along the edge of my jaw. “What are you thinking?” he asks.

“I’m not sure what to think . . . about anything.” Vague but true.

“Are you upset with me?” His finger continues its lazy pattern across my skin, causing a sudden warmth to melt some of the ice inside me.

“Should I be?”

“No. I don’t know.” Max looks down for a few seconds before moving closer and spreading his hand across my jaw, his thumb brushing lightly across my bottom lip. “Did I overstep? Out by the lake?”

Desire awakens inside me, the rapidly spreading heat consuming the ice at the memory of him kissing me earlier. The practical part of my brain cries out, warning that Max might be making a fool of me. There are things I don’t know. The war inside keeps me from answering.

“I’m not good at this, Marie. I never have been.” The pad of his thumb keeps up the gentle motion, sending more waves of heat rippling through my abdomen. Now that he’s closer, I can see sincerity and uncertainty in his eyes. “Please say something.” He lifts his thumb from my lip, sliding his hand further back until it cradles my head.

“I’m scared. Who was that guy, and how did he know where to find you? You said you wouldn’t lie to me.”

Max’s brow furrows, and his gaze roams my face. “I won’t lie to you.” He presses his forehead to mine and looks into my eyes. “Eric is part of the American-Canadian Alliance. The virus hit so fast and hard, it wiped out most of our government and Canada’s. A joint government was formed, dedicated to finding a cure in the name of preserving human life. The problem is their methods are cruel and unusual. They’re determined to find a cure as soon as possible, even if it means sucking the life out of the immune to do it.”

I tamp down the fear threatening to overtake me. “How do you know him?”

“He's a perimeter guard at their facility. He was investigating something and took a tumble on some rocks by the ocean. I saved his ass, and now he's helping save mine. Eric's a good guy. He doesn't agree with what they're doing.”

“Why's he with them, then?”

Max sighs and closes his eyes. “Sometimes we make compromises or do things we normally wouldn't consider moral. It's a different world now.” He places a kiss on my forehead. “I hope you never have to face a decision like that.”

We look into each other's eyes, his fingers massaging lightly in the hair at my nape. A shiver rolls through me, and I'm not sure if his touch or his words cause it—probably both.

“You didn't overstep before, unless . . .”

“Unless?”

“Is there someone else? Is that why you tried to run me off and kept me on the outside?”

Max laughs, shaking his head. “There's no one.” He grows serious, intensity burning in his gaze. “I didn't want to care about you—I still don't. It complicates everything and puts us all in danger.”

“Why?”

“There are two other people with me. One of them, I'd do anything to protect. Anything.”

“Who are they?”

“My sister and the guy I found her with after the virus hit. He's in love with her and the only reason I can ever leave her alone.”

“She can't go on supply runs?”

“No. Ali's sickly. She has bad asthma. Eric snuck me some inhalers a while ago, but he doesn't have access anymore. The pharmacy here is cleaned out, so I'll have to search in another town farther away.”

“I might be able to help. My grandma had asthma, but she was into holistic remedies and refused to use an inhaler. I noticed an apothecary in town. We can check it out before we leave in the morning.”

“That would be great.”

“Can I meet Ali?” I look up at him shyly.

“Can't put the horse back in the barn now.” He grins. “When we first met . . . I didn't want to be cruel to you. I just didn't know how to deal—after Gary. I'm still worried about fucking things up and people I care about getting hurt.”

“I understand.” His actions make a lot more sense to me now.

“Thank you.” The look in Max's eyes sends a flash of heat to my nether regions.

“For what?”

“Not judging me. Being willing to help my sister. You're such a good person.”

“So are you.”

“No, I'm not.” His laugh is self-depreciating and ugly. “I've done shit.”

I reach out and caress his cheek. “Everyone's done things.”

Max's lips are suddenly on mine, hungry and devouring. No question. No seeking of permission. He exerts gentle pressure at the nape of my neck, drawing me closer as his mouth moves over mine.

Tingles race through my body, every cell responding. My fingers skim his chest, fisting around the soft cotton of his shirt. His hand leaves my neck, and he shifts, the weight of him pressing me to the mattress as he places hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of my neck.

There’s a thump as Grace leaps to the floor. Dover never thought twice about staying on the bed while action was taking place.

Max holds himself above me, using his arms as support. The rest of his body comes in contact with mine, sending delicious zings everywhere. I lie helpless beneath him—scared of what I'm feeling, scared he'll disappear again once we get back to town, scared to be vulnerable in front of him.

Max returns to my mouth, his tongue sliding deep inside. He groans, flexing his hips when I dig my nails into his shoulders, his hardness jabbing me in the thigh through our jeans. One hot hand slides under the edge of my shirt, the calluses on his palm rasping along my side until encountering the black lace bra. Both nipples pebble, and the gentle kneading sends electric shocks between my legs.

I draw a long, shuddering breath when he breaks away again, heart drumming against my ribs.

Max's touch disappears from beneath my shirt, and he rolls off me, throwing an arm over his face. “Shit.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

Max's sea-glass eyes capture mine, and he cups my jaw. “No . . . no. I got carried away. Practically nailed you right here.” He skims his fingers through my hair and kisses me softly. “Told you I'm not good at this.”

I laugh and mutter, “Seem pretty good at it to me . . .”

“Oh, yeah?” Max smirks and leans his head on his arm, pulling me down to kiss him.

Our lips and tongues explore languidly, but it's no less intense than before—at least for me. He cups my face or wraps his arms around my back, careful to keep his hands above the clothes. Part of me feels disappointed; the other part realizes it's way too soon for more and appreciates the respect he’s showing me.

“We should get some rest. Long day tomorrow.” Max kisses the tip of my nose.

“We should.”

Max blows out the candle. We lie on our sides, kissing slowly and sharing gentle touches until we fall asleep in each other's arms.

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Sarah Aisling hails from the East Coast of the US and loves living by the ocean with her incredibly indulgent husband and precocious daughter. She’s currently editing her upcoming novel, The Weight of Roses. When Sarah isn’t being enslaved by her characters, she can be found with her nose in a book, obsessing over nail polish or anything leopard, biking, hiking, camping, and spending time with friends and family. Twitter: @SarahAisling Facebook