"Ten minutes?" She laughs. "Okay, mountain man."
She’s so beautiful. I can feel myself getting hard again. “Maybe less,” I laugh and kiss the top of her head. I pull her against me, her head on my chest. Her heart's still racing. I can feel it against my ribs.
five
Mayson
Finally,intheearlyhours of morning, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my hand stroking her hair.
"You still leaving tomorrow?" I ask quietly.
"I have to. I need to know if they're there."
"And if they're not?"
She's quiet for a long time. Then: "Then maybe I come back here. If you'll have me."
A bell rings in the distance. One of the early warning systems she set up.
We're both instantly alert, reaching for weapons, pulling on clothes. The bell rings again, more insistent.
"Raiders?" she asks.
"Or zombies. Or your convoy found us."
We move to the window, weapons ready. In the pre-dawn light, I can make out shapes approaching through the trees. Multiple figures, armed, moving with purpose.
"That's a lot of people," Ruby says.
"Too many for raiders."
The lead figure steps into the clearing, and I see him clearly in the growing light. Military bearing, scarred face, rifle held with professional competence.
Ruby gasps. "Holy shit. That's Devin. That's our convoy leader."
"They found you."
"They found me."
She sounds happy. Relieved. And also, unless I'm reading her wrong, a little conflicted.
The group approaches cautiously until Ruby opens the door and steps out onto the porch.
"Devin!" she calls. "I'm here! I'm safe!"
"Ruby!" A man breaks from the group, jogging forward. He's probably mid-forties, built like he was military before the outbreak. "Christ, we've been looking everywhere. When you didn't show at any of the checkpoints, I thought the worst."
"The storm scattered us. Dave died in the crash." Her voice catches. "His truck rolled."
Devin's expression darkens. "We lost two other vehicles too. Storm was worse than we thought, and raiders hit us hard while we were separated. We've been regrouping, but we couldn't leave without checking for survivors."
"How many did we lose?"
"Seven dead. Four missing, including you until now. The others made it to Dawson Ridge. We're staged there now."
While they're talking, the rest of the convoy group fans out, professional and wary. They eye me with suspicion, weapons not quite pointed but ready.
"Who's this?" Devin asks, nodding toward me.
