“The time it takes for The Fever and the decomp.”
He nods. “They want to make sure we weren’t bitten.”
“So that’s why you’re not freaking out? You aren’t worried they’ll kill us.”
“Oh no, they might still kill us. I just don’t think they’re going to do it right away. They could have left us to die outside or shot us when we came in the door. No,” he says slowly, looking at the closed door. “I think they have something else in mind for us entirely.”
Chapter Eleven
In the end they keep us waiting for another half an hour. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. When the door finally opens, we’re met with the same man who led us here and a much younger man most likely in his mid-twenties with short dark hair and fierce brown eyes. He’s short, barely as tall as me, but stocky. I wouldn’t mess with him. Especially considering the matte black handgun he’s carrying. Jordan and I both sit up straighter in our seats when we see it and my heart skips a few beats.
They close the door and the older man sits down across from us while the younger one takes a wide stance a few paces behind him. It occurs to me that his position is foolish. If he has to take a shot at either of us, he runs the risk of putting a round in the back of his partners head. It makes me nervous that he’s made this mistake. I worry he doesn’t truly know how to handle that gun and I firmly believe an unskilled marksman can be more dangerous than a skilled one.
“Why are you here?” the old man asks, getting straight to the point. His voice is gruff and impatient, as though we’ve annoyed him already and we haven’t said a word.
“For the same reason you are.” Jordan says calmly, ignoring the man’s tone.
He’s done this to me before as well, stayed calm in the face of my emotions, and I’m struck again at how very self-possessed he is. I’m grateful for his calm tone because with the gun in the room, the fire in the young man’s eyes and the timbre of the old man’s voice, I’m twitching with nervousness.
“Why do you think we’re here?” the old man asks, his eyes focused hard on Jordan. The question feels like a test.
“To survive.”
There’s no reaction on the man’s face, he doesn’t even blink, and I find I’m holding my breath waiting for his reply.
He looks away from Jordan, studies me briefly then asks him heavily, “What’s she to you?”
“Everything.” he replies instantly, and I struggle to hide my surprise.
I seriously doubt that’s true but there’s a conversation going on beneath this one, a measuring of the men in the room, each by the other, and though I don’t understand it entirely, I know it’s imperative that I keep quiet.
“Is she your wife?”
“As good as.”
The man nods in what I think is approval and sits back slightly.
“Did you come here to hide? Did you plan to stay, bunker down?”
“No,” Jordan replies with a shake of his head. “We came for supplies. We’re going to run, leave the city.”
“You have nothing?”
“Nothing but the weapons you confiscated.”
“Now how is that? How is it that you have weapons, but no other provisions?”
I can feel Jordan tense beside me and I know he doesn’t want to be caught lying to this man. They have our lives in their hands and our weapons in their possession. If they decide to toss us out the door, the waiting swarm will consume us in seconds.
“We were defending our home.” I speak up, reaching for Jordan’s hand and holding it tight. “We hadn’t planned on leaving it. We thought we were safe. Then last night we were attacked.” I let my voice break a bit, bite my lips together tightly and take a shaky breath through my nose. “We tried to defend ourselves but we were overrun. We ran. We ran all night.”
Jordan squeezes my hand gratefully.
The old man nods and when he looks at me I can see his eyes are still hard but his face has softened some. Feminism be damned. Crying
He nods. “They want to make sure we weren’t bitten.”
“So that’s why you’re not freaking out? You aren’t worried they’ll kill us.”
“Oh no, they might still kill us. I just don’t think they’re going to do it right away. They could have left us to die outside or shot us when we came in the door. No,” he says slowly, looking at the closed door. “I think they have something else in mind for us entirely.”
Chapter Eleven
In the end they keep us waiting for another half an hour. Better safe than sorry, I suppose. When the door finally opens, we’re met with the same man who led us here and a much younger man most likely in his mid-twenties with short dark hair and fierce brown eyes. He’s short, barely as tall as me, but stocky. I wouldn’t mess with him. Especially considering the matte black handgun he’s carrying. Jordan and I both sit up straighter in our seats when we see it and my heart skips a few beats.
They close the door and the older man sits down across from us while the younger one takes a wide stance a few paces behind him. It occurs to me that his position is foolish. If he has to take a shot at either of us, he runs the risk of putting a round in the back of his partners head. It makes me nervous that he’s made this mistake. I worry he doesn’t truly know how to handle that gun and I firmly believe an unskilled marksman can be more dangerous than a skilled one.
“Why are you here?” the old man asks, getting straight to the point. His voice is gruff and impatient, as though we’ve annoyed him already and we haven’t said a word.
“For the same reason you are.” Jordan says calmly, ignoring the man’s tone.
He’s done this to me before as well, stayed calm in the face of my emotions, and I’m struck again at how very self-possessed he is. I’m grateful for his calm tone because with the gun in the room, the fire in the young man’s eyes and the timbre of the old man’s voice, I’m twitching with nervousness.
“Why do you think we’re here?” the old man asks, his eyes focused hard on Jordan. The question feels like a test.
“To survive.”
There’s no reaction on the man’s face, he doesn’t even blink, and I find I’m holding my breath waiting for his reply.
He looks away from Jordan, studies me briefly then asks him heavily, “What’s she to you?”
“Everything.” he replies instantly, and I struggle to hide my surprise.
I seriously doubt that’s true but there’s a conversation going on beneath this one, a measuring of the men in the room, each by the other, and though I don’t understand it entirely, I know it’s imperative that I keep quiet.
“Is she your wife?”
“As good as.”
The man nods in what I think is approval and sits back slightly.
“Did you come here to hide? Did you plan to stay, bunker down?”
“No,” Jordan replies with a shake of his head. “We came for supplies. We’re going to run, leave the city.”
“You have nothing?”
“Nothing but the weapons you confiscated.”
“Now how is that? How is it that you have weapons, but no other provisions?”
I can feel Jordan tense beside me and I know he doesn’t want to be caught lying to this man. They have our lives in their hands and our weapons in their possession. If they decide to toss us out the door, the waiting swarm will consume us in seconds.
“We were defending our home.” I speak up, reaching for Jordan’s hand and holding it tight. “We hadn’t planned on leaving it. We thought we were safe. Then last night we were attacked.” I let my voice break a bit, bite my lips together tightly and take a shaky breath through my nose. “We tried to defend ourselves but we were overrun. We ran. We ran all night.”
Jordan squeezes my hand gratefully.
The old man nods and when he looks at me I can see his eyes are still hard but his face has softened some. Feminism be damned. Crying
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