“We did what needed to be done.”
She nodded. “That you did. Thank you for your testimony. You may go now.”
I stood sharply, saluted, and headed for the door.
“Private Kanemoto,” she called.
I paused and looked back, my hand on the doorknob. “Yes, Captain?”
Without looking up from the report on her desk, she said, “Tell Private Perrin-Rogers I said thank you.”
“Yes, ma’am, I will.”
We finishedBasic Training a couple weeks later. Our schedule had been abbreviated due to the high need for soldiers, but we were given extensive instruction on how to disarm and subdue Rabids in the field without getting infected. It seemed we were entering a new era in the war against Rabbit Fever, trying to capture and treat Rabids, rather than eradicate them.
The Assholes surprised us by showing up to our graduation ceremony. It seemed one of Crenshaw’s squad had tipped them off. It was heartening to see our family there on the training field, dressed in their best and waving small American flags, hooting and hollering when our names were called among the two dozen newly minted soldiers. I’d probably never call myself a patriot, but I was proud of what we’d accomplished.
“Thank you for doing this with me,” Kitten said, his sweaty hand gripping mine as we waved back at our friends and the soldiers who’d gathered to witness the occasion. His face beamed with pride, and he looked so sharp in his military fatigues, like a proper soldier. In the days and weeks after the Rabid attack, he’d proven himself more than capable as a field medic too. He’d be a doctor in no time.
“I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else,” I told him and kissed his hand.
“We really did it, Cipher.” Suddenly he was in my arms, squeezing me tightly with his powerful arms wrapped around my shoulders. His voice was giddy with emotion, as if he couldn’t believe it either. “We survived.”
I kissed his forehead and pressed my face against his warm, soft cheek, speaking into his good ear out of habit. “We did more than just survive, babe. We are fucking thriving.”
TWENTY-TWO
KITTEN
Cipher discoveredthe bunker about ten miles from base on one of his missions, a large, twenty-by-twenty-foot concrete square box underground with a solid steel hatch. A doomsday prepper must have built the bunker themselves because it had all the trappings of a DIY project, and most of the equipment looked salvaged or repaired. The canned goods were brands I recognized from Before and some, like the two cases of Mug root beer, were rare and coveted these days.
The space had been furnished with a full-sized bed and well-worn sheets, pillows, and blankets. There was a kitchen area with a countertop, sink, and camp stove to heat up food, a fully functioning bathroom, and a water pump with a filter to make the well water potable for consumption. There was also a floor-to-ceiling locker of weapons, ranging from hunting knives and handguns to rifles and what looked like a rocket launcher. (Cipher had yet to test it out.) Whomever had built the bunker never had the chance to use it, which made us speculate on what sort of apocalypse they’d been anticipating.
In the months since he’d found it, Cipher had made improvements to the bunker too; he brought in a lightly usedsofa and area rugs to warm up the cold, concrete floor, a cooler where we could store raw meat and dairy short-term, and a cold storage box for keeping fruits and vegetables fresh. He’d kept the bunker a secret from me for a while, finally presenting it when he felt it was ready. Blindfolded, he’d led me down the collapsible wooden ladder into the space, which he’d lit with candles and oil lamps. “Our home away from home,” he’d told me. A place where we could get some privacy and pretend like the outside world didn’t exist.
We made the most of it that day and every one since.
We fondly referred to it as “base camp,” and we made it a point to visit regularly. Cipher and I were both field agents, trapping “infecteds” to bring back to the lab for screening and potential rehabilitation. Cipher did more of the tracking and trapping side of things, and I examined the potential patients and administered first aid.
So far, of the two dozen individuals we’d brought back to base, eighteen had survived and were now in recovery. Despite the occasional setback, the treatments were getting better, the survival rate higher. Dr. Godara was preparing to launch pilot programs at three other UF bases. It was an exciting time for us at StarChem Lab with every success story getting us closer to a return to civilization.
But while we were at base camp, all of those concerns faded away, and it was just the two of us in our own little hideaway. Inside our bunker, Cipher slept without his prosthesis, a rare occurrence for him and the biggest indication that here at least, he felt safe. Right then Cipher was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants after his recent shower, rummaging through our cupboards for something to make for dinner. Everywhere else he maintained his modesty, but here at base camp, he’d sometimes dress down as a little treat for me.
I was sitting up in bed, using the light from one of the oil lamps to study for an upcoming bio-chem exam. Dr. Godara decided my medical training would consist of practical field work alongside my more formal education. There was an increasing demand for medical workers, and I was anxious to help out in any way I could.
“Babe, are you feeling pasta or chili tonight?” Cipher asked, turning slightly to call over his shoulder. I loved that gorgeous twist of his body, the curve of his lower back. He was still slim and angular, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, but his arms and back were nicely built thanks to the regular meals and rigorous strength training we had to do, not to mention all the time he spent sparring in hand-to-hand combat. He was lethal when I met him, and his skills had only improved since then.
“Beans make me fart,” I warned and he laughed. The bunker was ventilated but the scents tended to linger.
“Pasta it is then,” he said.
It wasn’t long before the smells coming from the kitchen and the temptation of my shirtless boyfriend lured me away from studying. I put a piece of paper in my textbook to mark the page and set my schoolwork aside. At the counter, I wrapped my arms around him from behind and pressed our bare skin together. He smelled like the lemony shampoo from our shower, still with a metallic tang that I associated with the smell of his guns.
“Mmmm, that feels nice,” he said while stirring the cooked pasta in a white wine sauce with mushrooms, garlic, green onions, and a bit of pork fat. I tucked my nose in the crook of his neck and watched him work.
“Smells good, chef,” I said while running my hands over his pecs, then circling his nipples until they formed hard peaks. Cipher groaned as my hard cock slotted up against the cleft of his ass and he pushed back against me, teasing.
“Whatcha got for a starter?” I asked.
