Mark Ethridge Week 152: If It’s Just A Dream, Let Me Dream (Part 9)

Picture 1


Picture 2


Mark Ethridge’s Picture Choice: One

Title: If It’s Just A Dream, Let Me Dream (Part 9)

My wife and daughter were asleep in our room in the cave complex. I kissed them each on the cheek, and went to find Blue. It was time I arranged a visit with the head of the church on Blue’s Earth. Time for him to meet Blue, and learn why we would not allow him to destroy her people in the name of God.

I put on my full armor and then armed myself to the teeth, with every weapon I could carry. It was the first time I fit a suit on Blue. She wasn’t comfortable but understood it would protect her from the nanotech weapons the church carried to all such meetings.

“Notice how they put up a warehouse in the middle of nowhere and requested a meeting there?” She nodded. “They’ll show up heavily armed with a full escort of Marine Dogs.”

Blue laughed, “The don’t learn, do they.”

“No, they don’t.” It was part of their superiority complex. Part of the stupid belief that God was on their side, and they couldn’t lose. That they were doing God’s will, and he would support them, and guarantee their victory. “It’s part of their religion. Their God always gives them victory.”

She stretched. The armor moved with her, with her different anatomy, different shape, different size. Where my armor had a head, arms and legs, as I did, Blue’s armor was almost shapeless, a four-foot tall blob. If she extended part of herself, as I would extend an arm, her armor would adjust, change shape, let her move freely.

It was an exoskeleton the Church had never seen. One we were ready to supply to all Blue’s people.

“Of course, they picked the time best for them when solar radiation levels are at their minimums.” Blue had learned well. “Thinking they’ll be safer without worrying about the flares.”

It was my turn to laugh, “Indeed, they will.” After a few moments I asked, “Are you ready?”

She nodded. It looked like a nod anyway. “I’ve never met one of your people’s holy men.”

“I’m not sure I’d call him that.”

“But it is his title, isn’t it?”

I nodded. It was his title. “Agent of the Pope, Cardinal whatever his name is.” Not that it mattered what his name was. He was, of course, a white male, about 648 years old, and the son of a religious leader. That’s how it worked. Only sons of clergy could rise to high positions in the church. And they lived like kings, with all the benefits, all the money, all the power, food, health care. And an ocean of human slaves bowed to their every wish.

“His royalness will show up with a freaking army.”

“No doubt,” she understood, “I would be surprised if he did otherwise.”

I smiled, though it wasn’t visible in the armor, “They’re called Levites.”

“Levites?”

“It’s an Old Testament thing. The Levites were the strong-arm of the Israelites.” I chuckled. “The power that guaranteed the Israelites listened to Moses, and to the priests.”

“Guaranteed?”

“Yep. They killed those who didn’t.”

Blue’s laugh cheered me up. “So he’ll be surrounded by trained killers?”

“Indeed. And they'll be armed to the teeth.” I realized it was a saying Blue had trouble understanding, given her people didn’t have teeth.

“Ah, you and your sayings.”

“What would your people call it?”

“Fully packed.” I could see that. Fully packed blue blobs, no signs of weapons anywhere, because they were all inside their bodies, hidden from view, and not detectable by our scanning technology. A gift nature had given her people. Their hides were so resistant to the solar flares and their radiatoin, conventional sensor technology couldn’t penetrate their skins.

The Church thought them blue blobs of cells, deserving of death. Abominations created by Satan and his minions. Experiments at creating life gone awry. Imperfect attempts to create synthetic humans, in the image of God.

“His holiness will be waiting.”

She nodded again.

“The first thing he will do is order the Marines to rid God’s universe of us.”

Blue laughed. “He won’t be happy then the Marines turn on his Levites, will he?”

“Not happy at all.”

“Will any of the dogs survive?”

“That’s the plan.”

“None of the Levites will.”

“That’s the plan.”

We headed to the meeting point. I didn’t use the scanners in my armor, I knew they wouldn’t work, knew the church would defend against them. What the church wasn't ready for were the old-fashioned drones. Three of them, two on the ground and one airborne. Drones with old-fashioned optical cameras and old-fashioned broadcast radio data feeds back to Blue and me.

The feeds displayed on the heads up displays of our suits. The feeds showed the arrival of the Levites, with the Marines. We watched them put the Marines beside all the entrances to the warehouse. We watched the Levites shove stakes in the ground inside the warehouse. The stakes mines, the kind that blew up when they detected foreign genetics. Of course, they’d fail to detect Blue, so that wasn’t a problem.

The Levites took positions throughout the warehouse. They wore full suits of armor equipped with both projectile weapon systems, and energy weapon systems. The projectile systems used rail gun technology. Tiny projectiles fired at hyper sonic speeds. Such weapons took full advantage of kinetic energy. The energy weapons used pulsed energy. It wasn’t laser, it wasn’t a particle beam or any kind of beam. It was a concentrated pulse of energy that traveled at the speed of light. A wall of compressed energy destroyed everything in its path.

They saved the big gun for near the seat of his holiness. The antimatter gun. It fired a beam of antiprotons and positrons. That beam annihilated the air it passed through, and everything it hit. It was their Sword of God. Nothing had ever stood before it.

Blue put a hand on my arm, “Are you certain we will survive?”

“I’ve done this before.”

“And you survived?”

“Apparently.”

She laughed. “Is it time to visit then?”

“After his holiness arrives.”

We waited as the drones watched and let us know what was happening inside the warehouse. We waited for the party to begin. It would be a heck of a party. If it went well, Blue and I would walk away, and the Dogs would be free. If it went badly, the Levites might not be the only humans who didn’t see the next solar flare.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

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

#DailyPicspiration

Lizzie Koch Week 152: Evening the Score

Picture 1


Picture 2


Lizzie Koch’s Picture Choice: 2

Title: Evening the Score

Strained and tired eyes squinted through the darkness. Doug hadn’t passed another car for a while now on his long journey south. He hadn’t stopped for a while either but nature demanded he do so. Pulling off the main road, Doug parked in a remote spot and turned off the engine. A heavy silence fell before his ears adjusted to the sounds of the night. He inhaled the cool desert air, enjoying the cricket chorus, the unspoiled starry night and the emptiness.

A series of dull thuds proved a sharp reminder of the job in hand as he marched to the boot of the car, banging it with his fist. Silence fell. Jumping in the car, Doug sped away, back on the mainroad, radio blaring to block out the renewed banging.

Through the rearview mirror, streaks of orange bled into the night sky. Doug was nearing the end of his journey. At least the noise had stopped.

By the time he stopped the car, Doug had to shake awake his cargo, pulling off the tape from her mouth. He pulled the bleary eyed girl from the boot, keeping a tight grip on her trembling arm. Even in her weakened state, he wasn’t going to risk her making another break for freedom. Freedom didn’t exist . . . for either of them.

“Please, let me go.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Please. I have money. My father has money.”
“What have I told you? Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to know anything about you.”
She sobbed as she glanced at her surroundings, noticing the small, stone, rundown building, a sign above the door a clue to her fate.
“Please, you don’t have to do this. Whatever these men are paying you, my father can double, treble!”
“If it was just about the money, I’d consider it. But it’s not. So stop wasting your breath.” He pushed her forward towards the building. “Forget your life. This is your new life.”

She just had time to see another girl, bruised, frightened and semi naked before she was thrown into a room with the sound of the door locking behind her.

Doug collected his money. “And now we’re even, ” he said, leaving the building without a backwards glance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

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

#DailyPicspiration

Aleea Davidson Week 151: Eulogies in Gray

Picture 1


Picture 2


Aleea Davidson’s Picture Choice: Two

Title: Eulogies in Gray

If there was such a thing as a perfect day for a funeral, today would be it. Gabriel—‘Gabe’—Montgomery shrugs his shoulders under his thin coat trying to push the collar up to garner some protection against a witch of a wind trying to scrap her icy fingers down the back of his neck. He tightens the muscles in his core to suppress an urge to shiver. He believes in maintaining complete control over his mind and body. The cold will not dictate how he acts.

Everything is shades of November gray. Slate-gray sky, coal-gray dirt piled by the grave site, naked trees with skeletal talons for limbs turned the dreary colour of ash. He supposes it all fits his gray mood.

Mouth dry and back aching from the frozen ground he’s been standing on for the last half hour, Gabe half-heartedly listens to Father Donahue pepper an impersonal eulogy with bible verses meant to comfort grieving friends and family. It’s all bullshit. The man being buried didn’t engender grief in those he left behind.

Wondering again why he’s here, Gabe comes up void of an answer same as he has every other time he’s asked.

Guilt? Obligation? The search for closure? He fights the urge to laugh out loud at that last one. Closure? Not fucking likely.

He stares at the dark rectangular hole in the ground then glances at the coffin to its side. Like everything else the final resting place for his father’s body is a fitting shade of steel gray—gray like the soul of the man lying inside.

Father Donahue rambles off a line about forgiveness, and Gabe resists the urge to look up and see if the Priest’s eyes are directed at him. He wouldn’t put it past the old codger. Twenty-six years have passed since the last time Gabe felt his ass go numb sitting on a wooden pew in the Saint Michael’s Church. He still, however, remembers the glare Father Donahue would direct his way whenever he had a bit of wisdom he wanted to impart to a headstrong kid with a temper and a penchant for trouble.

Too bad the man never thought to direct some of that advice to Gabe’s father. Guess that would’ve been hard to do though, given Neil Montgomery never stepped a foot into a church his entire life.

Gabe battles back a relentless slew of memories swimming to the surface of his mind. They come anyway, mashing together in a chaotic, toxic swill of images and words. His teeth clench hard enough the joints of his jaw protest with a burst of pain reminiscent of a meaty fist hitting the side of his face.

Useless, stupid, good-for-nothing, idiot, bastard...

The words bounce around inside Gabe’s head, barbed and painful. The old man sure knew how to deliver an insult with his punches. The words, reeking of cheap whiskey and wet with specks of frothy spit, never failed to take their toll. To this day, Gabe struggles against the roots they dug into his psyche. At thirty-six he’s built a veritable business empire. He’s well known and well respected, probably even a little feared, and he has more money than he could ever spend. Despite it all a part of him has never stopped longing for the approval and love he never received as a child. He’s such a fucking cliché.

Up until the day the lawyer called to tell him the old man had passed, Gabe thought he at least had a handle on all his emotional baggage. Guess not. Now he’s here, back in this crummy town, wading through a wealth of unresolved crap and trying to settle the old man’s estate.

‘Estate.’ What a laughable damn word. Neil Montgomery’s ‘estate’ was a shitty little house with a sagging front porch. Tiny rooms with weathered furniture boasted walls stained yellow from cigarette smoke, dingy carpets reeking of nicotine and spilled booze. The entire place needed to be bulldozed. A battered, rusted out truck and a bank account with seven hundred and thirty-six dollars rounds off the entire life achievement of his old man.

Jamming his cold hands into his pockets, Gabe waits out the final minutes of the eulogy then watches the casket lower into the ground. The few mourners—a motley collection of distant cousins and the local bar crowd—scurry away, eager to get out of the cold and away from the reminder their lives have an expiry date.

Gabe stays longer than he should, afternoon darkening into evening, before he finally makes his way to side of his father’s grave where he crouches down, staring at the scraped-smooth dirt walls. From his pocket he removes a tarnished silver flask that he found in a desk drawer in the old man’s bedroom. He drops it down beside the casket, lid off, the glug of draining liquid reaching his ears seconds before his sight registers the darkening soil created by the expensive single-malt Gabe filled it with.

Standing, Gabe impulsively grabs a handful of dirt from the pile and lets it rain down from his hand to the casket.

When he speaks his voice is steady and strong, and the knot in his gut eases just a little. “You used to call me a bastard, dad, but the truth is no one was more of a bastard than you.” Gabe sighs. There are a thousand hurts and accusations he could voice, but the cold wind sucks away the heat of any lingering anger and all he feels is...lost.

“Rest in peace, old man.”

Gabe dusts the grave dirt from his palm and turns, leaving behind the shell of the man who never loved him.

He is not his father’s son.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

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)

#DailyPicspiration

Michela Walters Week 151: Rising Tide

Picture 1


Picture 2


Michela Walters’s Picture Choice: Both

Title: Rising Tide

Water, it is said to be a life giving force and without it we would all perish from the earth. In reality, my worry is more of having too much of a good thing. The water has been rising for the past two hours as the storm roars towards my beachfront home. The basement is already a lost cause, and I helplessly pull soggy box after soggy box upstairs in hopes that my little cottage will still be standing when all is said and done.

The bottom falls out of the waterlogged box i’m carrying, dropping all my precious memories from my trip around the world, onto the basement stairs. My youthful and eager face stare up at me, a reminder of a time when I still believed the world could be a better place and that my life was going to be springtime and roses all the time. I chuck the remnants of wet cardboard over the railing, into the murky water below and slump onto the steps, thumbing through images of pyramids at sunrise, chickens on a bus rumbling through a rural Indian village, a rave in Germany and a sea of crazy outfits in Shinjuku. The images swirl in my mind, remembering how independent and strong I felt doing something so crazy as backpacking around the world after college. Now,after a vicious divorce and a life with not much other than my solitary freelance writing career, I have to wonder where I took a wrong turn.

“Probably in Albuquerque,” I mumble, a nod to my childhood Saturday morning cartoon addiction.

I stand up, knowing my time is running out and stomp up the stairs to find some sort of bin to put what’s left of my youth.

My phone beeps, signaling the storm warning bulletin I need to listen to but am afraid to do. Grabbing a trash bag from under the sink, I load it with all the memorabilia and load it into my gassed up car. There’s a lot of things I will leave behind and pray will be okay, but these mementos are not one of them. I’ve only just realized in the last five minutes that if I’m going to enjoy life and not just let it pass me by, I need to grab hold of the sense of wonder and enchantment from my youth. I haven’t a clue how I’m going to do it, but know I have a long and slow evacuation ahead of me to think about it.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

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

#DailyPicspiration

Sarah Aisling Week 151: A Measure of Grace (Part 31): Family

Picture 1


Picture 2


Sarah Aisling’s Picture Choice: 1

Title: A Measure of Grace (Part 31): Family

We stare until the planes are well out of sight and the rumble of their engines can barely be heard. The jet trails are already beginning to fade; soon any evidence they passed by will be erased.

My heart continues to beat fast. The president is going to visit the alliance.

“What the hell was all that?” Max asks.

I glance at his confused expression and realize he doesn’t know. “We never did have the chance to talk about this. Brace yourself. The President of the former United States is on that plane.”

He laughs. “Ri-ight.”

“Seriously. He is.”

“Want to tell me why you sound so sure?”

“Sit with me.”

We settle on top of the boulder that just provided cover and look out over the valley below. Grace wanders around, rooting through the leaves with her snout.

The rocky hill, dotted with trees and bushes, slopes down to meet brilliant green grass edging a serene pond. I’m struck once again by how beautiful the world is and how nature continues on, oblivious to our pain. Everything and everyone will eventually be reclaimed by the earth. The thought leaves me feeling so vulnerable and inconsequential.

Max waves a hand in front of me. “Still with me?”

“Yeah, sorry.” I wrap my arms around my knees and rest my chin on them. “Just realizing how little we mean in the big scheme of things.”

“Now that’s something I learned the hard way—over and over.” He shrugs. “Guess it doesn’t faze me anymore.”

I digest that for a moment, feeling sad for Max and Ali both. Despite being abandoned by my mother, I had a pretty good life before the virus. “When I was staying at the main compound, we watched a live presidential speech in the cafeteria.” I retell as many details as I can remember.

“Shit. That’s just . . . wow.” Max shakes his head. “Do you think he knows everything?”

“I'm not sure. I’ve wondered that myself.”

“The prime minister, too. And, boy, they don’t play around, huh? Preserve what they consider the 'core of humanity' and fuck the rest of us.”

“Seems that way.”

Angry, he slips off the boulder and paces. Grace stops what she’s doing and watches.

“We’re glorified lab rats. Meanwhile, the crisis has barely touched the elite. They have food, electricity . . . order. Let’s not forget a supply of immune to experiment on. Maybe God should do the world a favor and let their luck run out so—” Max halts mid-stride and mid-sentence, swinging toward me with an apology in his eyes. “China, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. I know what you meant.”

He comes to stand in front of me and takes my hands. “I’d love to see them burn, but I’m also invested in their success because of you. Damn it—I’m so conflicted!”

“Me, too.” I swallow hard, afraid if I try to say more, I’ll start crying.

Throughout the rest of our journey, I fill Max in on the alliance: their hydroponic gardens, societal structure, the clueless and trusting nature of the average citizen. I gloss over the part about the treatments, simply telling him an individualized compound is created for each person. I don't want to think about the sacrifices being made or my refusal to partake.

We’ve just come climbed the treacherous path up the side of the cliff and traversed the scarily deep crevasse, when Max decides to blindside me. The steep stone path lies before us, the smooth stone walls away on each side. Every sound echoes, yet the atmosphere is also hushed, cutting off the whipping wind from the sea.

Max stops walking and faces me, pressing in close. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what?”

“That you refused treatment.”

My breath catches. I can’t see more than a glint of his eyes in the dimness. “I don’t know.” Guilt compresses my chest.

“Were you ever going to?”

“Of course!” I reach up with both hands, cupping his face. “I just didn’t know how. Part of me was hoping I’d never have to if they found another way. Who told you?”

“Eric let it slip in his innocent, bumbling way.” He grasps my wrist and pulls it away from his cheek, turning his head so he can plant a kiss on the tender underside. “Damn it, China . . .”

“I'm sorry.”

Max buries his head in my neck, his breath hot. “What for?”

I stroke his hair, scratching my nails lightly at his nape. “I love you, Max. I love my new family and the promise of surviving together.” Tears well up, and I blink in an effort to stave them. “I don't want . . . to leave you.”

Though I'm sandwiched between cool stone and Max's warmth, it feels as if I'm walking a tightrope with no safety net.

Max groans, wrapping his arms around my waist. He shifts his weight so his back rests against the opposite wall and pulls me with him. “We'll find a way because the alternative is unthinkable.” He nudges his nose alongside mine and kisses me, slow and deep, melting my insides.

I’ve missed this so much, missed him.

When our lips part, he rests our foreheads together and runs a finger across my neck where James’ collar used to lie. “No fucking way I’m letting you go again.” His voice is rough with emotion. “I’ll shake the heavens or go to hell and battle the devil himself if I have to.”

My throat aches. I know he means every word and worry what will happen to him if he can’t defy fate after all. He’s so hard on himself. My death would be a heavy blow.

Acid gnaws at the pit of my stomach. I’m afraid to die. I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife. Part of my fear of the dark has always been the thought that when we die, maybe there’s nothingness forever. Maybe we’ll be trapped inside bodies that no longer work, left to scream with no mouths.

Katie believed we return to spirit, that many come back to earth through reincarnation. I never bought into what our dad used to call her “new age claptrap.” For the first time, I long to believe I won’t spend eternity trapped in a decaying carcass.

Grace’s bark echoes from farther down the tunnel, startling me from the macabre thoughts. Max grabs my hand and leads me the rest of the way to the end. I squint as we emerge into the light. He fishes a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks the heavy metal door. Grace yips happily and races into the dimness, her nails scrabbling against the damp concrete.

Max locks the door behind us. I close my eyes and listen to the rhythmic hum of the power plant as feelings of safety and belonging swell inside me.

“Oh my God . . . I thought I’d never be here again. Thank you for rescuing me and bringing me home.”

“Home. I like the sound of that.” He puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, wincing when my elbow jostles against his sore ribs. “Let’s go home, China.”

When we open the door to our quarters, Grace brushes past us with a joyful bark. Max seems nervous.

Ali’s slight figure appears at the end of the hall. She takes a few halting steps then breaks into a run, launching herself at Max. He catches her mid-flight and expels a grunt of pain but laughs and spins in circles once she grabs onto his neck and clamps her legs around his waist.

Grace races over, jumping on them and barking.

Happy tears blur my vision, and I can't stop smiling. It's so good to witness the love of siblings. My heart catches at the thought, turning the moment bittersweet. I'll never share a moment like that with Katie again, but she'll always be a huge part of me.

Tek hovers at the end of the hall and flips me a wave, obviously enjoying the moment.

Ali continues to screech. I see Max's face over her dark head, his expression a mixture of joy and discomfort. Mostly joy.

“Get off me, Ali-bear. Think I have a . . . collapsed lung!”

“Ali-bear?” I lift a brow.

Ali lets go abruptly, landing on her feet, and looks up at Max. “You haven't called me that since . . . since Mom died.” Her eyes glisten. A slight wheeze sounds with each breath.

I catch Tek's attention and mimic using an inhaler. He nods and disappears toward the bedrooms.

Max clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah . . . well. Anyway, you were grinding my fucking ribs together. Got any pain meds in this joint?”

Ali grins. “Step into my office. I'll hook you up.” She winks, and it's clear she's keeping things light for Max's sake. Next, it's my turn for a bone-crushing hug. “Marie! Welcome home. I knew Connor would bring my new sister back safely!”

I hug her back, feeling an overwhelming sense of belonging. Max rolls his eyes and twirls a finger next to his temple, but I'm touched by Ali's acceptance. “Thanks! I'm honored to be part of this family.”

Up close, Ali's wheeze is more pronounced. Tek moves casually along the hall and holds out the inhaler.

The feminine version of sea-glass eyes flash with annoyance. “Why do I feel as if I'm being handled?” Ali accepts the inhaler with a sigh.

“Just looking out for you.” Tek rubs her shoulder while she takes a hit. He glances at me casually. “We could use more of that special brew of yours, medicine woman.”

“Sure.”

I just hope it won't require another trip to that creepy town. I'm so ready to spend the next ten years right here.

*o*O*o*

My stomach still feels queasy, so we agree to meet in the kitchen in a few hours for a communal dinner. Tek leads Ali away, insisting she needs to rest. Grace follows them, tail wagging.

Max takes my hand and leads me directly to his room, closing and locking the door.

In the middle of the dresser, sits a lovely plant on a doily. The spiky flowers stand proudly in hues of the deepest pink. I run my index finger along a velvety petal. “So beautiful.”

“Nap with me?” Max’s voice breaks the spell, bringing our surroundings into sharper focus.

My guitar rests in the corner next to my rucksack, and the charcoal of Grace from my room is pinned above the bed. I wave a finger around. “Why are my things in your room?”

Max grabs my finger and uses it to draw me closer. “Our room.”

“I don’t have a say in that decision?” I arch a brow, hand on hip. A secret surge of pleasure flows through me.

Max offers a slow smile. “Of course you do.” He backs up and sits on the bed, trapping me between his knees. “But if you want to go back to your old room, you’ll have to lug the mattress back in there and use all your best self-defense moves on me.”

“Is that how it is?”

“That’s how it is.” Max scoots back, taking me with him. We face each other on our sides, and he grazes his knuckles across my cheek. “Any objections?”

“None.”

Max rolls to his back and tucks my head beneath his chin. We fall asleep holding each other tightly, legs tangled, the beat of his heart thrumming in my ear.

When I awaken, we’re still in the same position, and Max is stroking my hair lazily. The parts of me pressed to him are warm and sweaty, but I’m reluctant to break the spell by moving.

He brings one of my hands to his lips to kiss it. “I’m glad you’re up. We almost missed dinner, and I’m really freakin’ hungry.”

As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly. “Guess I am, too.”

I move to sit up, but he stops me. “China.” He waits for our eyes to meet, looking deeply into mine with heated sincerity. “I love you. It took me a while to say the words out loud, but my heart’s been beating for you a lot longer.”

“Yeah?” My fingers curl over his. “How long?”

“Remember when we took that trip to town and you had that fever?”

I nod.

“For a few minutes there, I was afraid you were a goner.” Max kisses my temple and presses his face into my hair. “The thought of never seeing the spark in your eyes again or listening to your sassy mouth or watching the sway of your tight, little ass really bothered me.” He laughs a little after the last part, and I smack his chest.

“If I croaked, you’d miss my tight, little ass?”

“God yes, the way it twitches as you walk—especially when you’re pissed. There’s nothing sexier.” The glint of amusement fades, and his expression turns grim. “Seriously, though, the thought of spending the rest of whatever time I have left without you made me sick.”

“I think I fell for you that day by the lake.”

“Really? I acted like such a tool!”

“Sure did. Good thing I have a knack for seeing beneath the surface.”

A sharp rap sounds on the door. “Dinner’s in five, lovebirds!” Ali trills in a sing-song voice. “Don’t forget to put some clothes on.”

Max leans over to grab his boot and throws it at the door. “Enough already!”

We freshen up quickly then join Ali and Tek in the kitchen. Grace lays stretched out on her side, licking her chops.

I bend down to pet her. “Looks like you gorged yourself, girl.”

She lifts her head for a moment to lick my cheek but returns to her well-deserved nap. I head over to the sink to wash my hands before joining the others at the table, which is only set for four.

“Where’s Andrea?” I ask. “She didn’t leave . . .”

“No, no!” Ali waves a pale hand. “She can be a tad antisocial, needs her alone time, but pitches in where she can. I think she felt intimidated tonight.”

“Of Max?”

“No, you.”

I’m surprised. “Me?”

Ali nods. “Andrea’s embarrassed about the way she treated you that first day.”

“That was weeks ago!”

Tek rubs my shoulder. “Yes, and it sure is nice to have you guys back. I think Andrea’s worried you’re upset with her.”

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” A mouthwatering scent wafts up my nose, distracting me. “Do I smell steak?”

Ali nods, squirming in her chair like a kid. “Yes! We broke out some of the good stuff for this special occasion.”

Max groans, rubbing a hand over his belly. “It’s been a long time since I had grade A beef.”

“That’s not all.” Tek walks over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. He pops the cork and fills four glasses. Then he places plates with steak and baked potatoes in front of us.

When we’re all seated and done exclaiming over the food and wine, Ali raises her cup. “A toast. To love and family. May we triumph over every evil.”

The rest of us raise our glasses.

The kitchen is mostly silent as we eat. The food is superb, the best steak I can ever remember. Maybe I appreciate it so much more now that the world is in shambles.

Tek pours another round of wine, and Ali raises her glass again.

“Another toast, to the woman who finally conquered my brother’s bulletproof heart. I can’t wait to meet my future nieces and nephews!”

Max glares at her. “Ali.”

A sick feeling spreads through my chest, and the food I just consumed sits heavy. There’s nothing I want more than to make a life with Max, for the world to once again be a place I’d feel safe having children. Chances are, I’ll be long dead before any of that comes to pass.

“What, Connor?” Ali emphasizes his given name.

He shakes his head. “Just don’t.”

I lay a hand on his arm. “Max, it’s okay.” He stares back at me, his expression pained. I meet Ali’s steady gaze. “The virus keeps mutating, and the vaccine is losing effectiveness. The alliance has a new treatment that’s promising . . . but it’s not something I’d consider.”

“They’re using the blood of the immune.” Ali exchanges a look with Tek as understanding dawns. “That’s why they almost sucked Andrea dry. It’s what they’ll do to us if we’re caught.”

“Yeah, not something I can live with.”

Max cradles my jaw, guiding my face toward his. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll do whatever’s necessary.”

Ali nods sagely. “He’s right. I’ve already dreamed about your children. You guys are going to make some beautiful kids.”

“Ali!” Max protests.

“Oh, and it’s not you who’s going to save her life. It’s Grace.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like what you just read? Have a question or concern? Leave a note for the author! We appreciate your feedback!

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 BlogThis!Share to XShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest