He smiled, and wiped at his eyes. “You might be my favorite too. Most of the time.”
I took his hand again and we sat in silence, simply staring at each other. If there were a plate of spaghetti between us, we’d probably be sucking on the same noodle.
“So, what do you want to do, cutie? I’m up for making a new plan, so long as we’re together.”
“I want to go with you to Promised Land, to see it for myself. Maybe it is a place where we can be safe and happy.”
“What about your brother?”
“If I tell him where we’re going, he can join us later, can’t he?”
“Of course. We might even be able to come back and visit.”
“That’s what I want then, to go with you.”
My heart squeezed and I absently rubbed at my chest. The smile on my face was so big it made my cheeks hurt. “You got it,” I said.
After so many years of just surviving, I finally felt like I had something–and someone–to live for.
* * *
True to his promise,Kitten demolished the meatballs and did a number on the chicken Alfredo too. The garlic bread was a goner. He was studying the dessert menu when something across the patio caught his attention. I followed his gaze to where a middle-aged man sat, eyes red-rimmed and watery, skin a little sallow. There were beads of sweat dotting his forehead despite the chill of the evening. He wore a suit and tie, the latter of which was now undone and knotted loosely around his neck like a noose. Most suspicious of all, was the way he stared hungrily at Kitten, and for once, I didn’t think it was in a sexual manner.
“Cipher, do you think he’s–” Kitten said at the same time the man lunged from his chair and began to shamble his way in a decidedly Rabid-like fashion toward us. I leapt from my seat and flipped the table to put a barrier between the man and ourselves. Dishes shattered and silverware went flying as I angled the tabletop like a shield. The restaurant’s patrons and staff started screaming and running in all directions. Some had climbed on tables and were shrieking for help.
“Stay down,” I shouted at Kitten loud enough for him to hear me above the chaos. My machete in one hand and my hunting knife in the other, I played a game of chicken with the Rabid, each of us dodging and parrying from left to right.
“Come and get it, big guy,” I said to the Rabid. Now that he was up close I could see the pearlescent film forming over his eyes and the faint white webbing in his irises. A foamy spit gathered at the corners of his mouth as he snapped at me, in hunger or frustration. The virulent parasite had taken over.
I faked left and he lunged, grasping for me with both arms. I pulled back and it took only a split-second for him to right himself and lunge at me again. Distantly, I heard a man shouting, “Everyone please remain calm and do not engage with the Rabid. Authorities are on the way. Again, please do not engage…”
But by the time Rabid Control arrived, this man would have made a chicken dinner out of any one of us, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be me or Kitten.
“You hungry? Come on then, big fella,” I said and beckoned him closer. The Rabid growled and bared his teeth in response; long gobs of drool hung from his lower lip like a Saint Brenard. I swiveled the table so that Kitten remained shielded, then dropped low to the ground. Crouching down on my prosthetic leg (and appreciating the souped-up hydraulics of my bionic knee), I swung out with my other leg and swept the Rabid’s ankles out from under him. He landed on the cobblestone with a magnificent thud, and before he could regain his footing, I was on him. One long vertical slash from the navel upward, like gutting an animal. Messy but effective, the maneuver incapacitated him long enough for me to sever his spinal cord and ensure the fucker was dead as a doornail.
I was sitting on a pile of guts and gore, still catching my breath when the police and Rabid Control finally arrived. The law of the land was that you called the authorities whenever a Rabid was spotted but were allowed to defend yourself if attacked. Luckily there were a few witnesses who’d hung around and offered testimony on my behalf. The man had been dining alone, so there was no companion to question or charge. Whoever let this man out on the streets was definitely getting paid a visit.
One of the staff offered me a change of clothing, but I didn’t want to remove my weapons in case there happened to be another attack. Kitten, still crouched behind the overturned table, was visibly shaken and had already hit the inhaler a few times when I leaned down and said to him, “If you puke up that fancy meal, you’re not getting dessert.”
He managed a weak smile, and gazing up at me, said, “I can’t tell if I’m terrified or turned on right now.”
I dragged him to me by his shirt collar and kissed him, gently, on the mouth. “Why not both?”
* * *
We tookour dessert to go, and the restaurant even comped our meal. I told the manager she might want to invest in better security and screening, to prevent something like that from happening again. Having a Rabid on the loose really fucked up the dining experience. I’d be deducting one star from my Yelp review.
Kitten’s appetite returned once we arrived home, and he devoured both the tiramisù and a cannoli with the tenacity of a lioness with her kill. “Stress eating,” he said, though he did offer me a few bites.
After we’d showered, cleaned my weapons, bagged my clothing for the local incinerator, and brushed our teeth, we lay in bed together with our stomachs uncomfortably full and Kitten said to me, “That was bananas. One minute we were figuring out what to get for dessert and the next minute, you were defending our lives.”
Even with the Rabid attack, I considered our first date a success. I hadn’t expected to have to go into combat mode while romancing Kitten, but that was the problem with city living: you were lulled into a false sense of security and then boom, there was a Rabid munching on your throat.
“That’s why you need to always have a weapon with you,” I told him. “You don’t have to be afraid, but you need to be aware.”
“If you hadn’t been there…”
“Then you would have run, and the Rabid would have gone after someone else.”
