“Now, you can stay, or you can go. But if you’re staying, then you’d best not try to kill me every time I turn my back. Understand?”
She nods quickly, not trusting herself to speak. It isn’t clear if this one likes begging or silence, so she locks her pleas in her throat.
“I wasn’t expecting company. You aren’t a prisoner here, but I’m making it very clear that this shit hole is my house and I intend to stay.”
“Okay.” She nods. “Okay. I understand.”
They stare at each other a beat before the scowl on his face softens a fraction below the gruffness in his words.
“Give me thirty days,” he says with an indifferent shrug. “If you still think you have to kill me to keep yourself safe after that, then I’ll give you your chance.”
“What?”
He pulls out two granola bars from a bag and tosses them on the table. “Just what I said. I’ll even give you a gun, and then you do whatever you gotta do. Until then, if you’re staying, we need to come to some kinda truce, or no one’s getting any rest in here. Deal?”
She considers her options, which are few.
She could kill him with the rat poison, but if she fails, he might retaliate. If she doesn’t fail, she could lose the only help they have if Vincent never comes back.
She could take Emma and leave, hoping they get lucky and don’t end up as a meal the minute one of those things sets eyes on them.
It’s hard to tell yet, but in a few months, she’ll be too big to move comfortably, let alone fend for both of them out there. Then, she’ll have a newborn, and she sure as hell won’t be able to handle that on the run.
“Deal,” she agrees. “Thirty days? You won’t hurt us until then?”
“Pfft, it’s not me you gotta be afraid of. Between now and then, we focus on getting this place more secure. Start turning some of this land for planting. Can’t live off expired gas station potato chips forever. Fair warning, this deal doesn’t include youliking me. Don’t get it twisted. I’m not here to make friends. I like it quiet. Mind your business, and I’ll mind my own. Fair?”
“You’re not exactly selling me on this,” she replies, surprising herself with her snarky tone.
He huffs. “Not trying to. I’m Wyatt.”
“Addison.”
He points to the granola bars. “For you and your kid. I’m gonna take a nap. I’ve been on the road a while.”
She stops him near the hallway, nodding toward the blood on his shirt. “Wait, are you hurt?”
“I’m not bitten.”
“That’s good to know, but I meant, do you need help? A first aid kit or—”
“Remember what I said about liking it quiet?”
She holds up her hands in mock surrender, keeping her mouth shut. She’s only trying to be decent, but if he wants to bleed to death alone, that’s his choice.
The moment he rounds the corner, the stress of the situation overflows, and she vomits up the peanut butter she ate into the trash can, slides down the wall and tries not to cry before rushing back to Emma.
They’re trapped in this house with a stranger for the foreseeable future while the dead roam the streets and her husband is missing. She can’t imagine trusting Wyatt, which means there’s no way this can end well.
They only have to make it thirty days if he intends to keep his word, which is a questionable assumption. What happens after that is anyone’s guess.
Chapter 2
There are two point five people occupying this house. That’s not what he expected when he decided to come here.
Wyatt almost trashed the whole plan more than once, uncertain if he could trust the people who gave him this address all the way up in Alaska, claiming it was safe. He’s long since run out of options, though, and after a run-in with someone trying to hijack his plane, he fished out the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket that held the location of this farm.
“If you find yourself in need of somewhere safe, this may be a good place to start,”Nora told him, pressing the address into his palm before she chose to stay behind at the arctic outpost he’d been trying to evacuate.
