CHAPTER TWO
Steven had had his share of battles and wars. He had stared down death in the midst of gunfire, and he had taken leaps of faith from many military helicopters. He had battled enemies—human and otherwise—as a part of his life since leaving high school for the Army and beyond, but the internal battle waged when Serena opened her door to him rocked him like no other.
Steven experienced the full range of human emotions as he knew them separately all at once: relief and joy to find Serena alive, dismay and horror at her changed appearance, tenderness and care for her wellbeing, immense hatred and anger toward the forces behind the cause of it, and a deep compassion and regret for the terrible news he had to give her at some point. And underneath it all was something he didn't want to acknowledge yet again, something he had worked hard to suppress for almost three years. Plus, there was something else—something he couldn't quite put words to—like a happy dread he couldn't risk examining at the moment.
He shook off his warring emotions and refocused, and as much as he wanted to, he dared not touch Serena in case hugging her brought all of his emotions back—despite how happy he was to see her alive.
He had to get her to safety.
They had to leave San Diego and get to the safe base that had been communicated to him, fast.
* * *
As they hit the open, outside air, Steven continued clearing the way in his practiced manner, and then, before Serena could register the meaning of the quick positioning of his left arm, a shot rang out.
Serena was so struck by the 'car' Steven was leading them to that she almost didn't notice the bluish-gray body fall as a circle of dirty red appeared on its forehead.
She marveled that the shock of the sight of the military vehicle almost equaled that of seeing someone who was once human get shot in the head.
"We have to kill them all if we're going to survive as a race," Steven said as he put the Glock away, still holding the rifle with his right hand.
It took Serena a second to realize he meant the human race rather than his white race.
She tried not to look at the fallen body near what looked like a tank.
"This is your car?" she said in a failed effort to fully distract herself from what had just happened, unable to keep her eyes from darting to the motionless body near it.
"Are you really surprised?" Steven said, still not looking at her—too busy with his continued assessment of the open area.
She knew that she shouldn't have been surprised at all.
Of course a guy like him would have access to the military's equipment. He was military equipment.
Still, she couldn't help her shock.
"It's an APC," he said.
"Meaning?"
"Armoured personnel carrier."
Finally, Steven seemed to relax a bit as his arms fell and he headed for the body he had dropped, dragging it away from the vehicle. Then he lit a match and set the body on fire.
Serena stared, her mouth hanging open.
"The APC's loaded with supplies," Steven said, coming back toward her as if nothing had happened. "It'll be a bit tight and stuffy back there, but I think it'll have all you need. For now, anyway."
Serena watched the body burning in the distance, the growing flames engulfing it licking the air.
"Burning them ensures that the virus doesn't get to pass on," Steven said, joining her in watching the captivating flames.
Then he nudged her back to life, helping her into the vehicle.
Following her, he closed them in securely.
Serena didn't know where to start as she took in the mounds of food supplies.
"Well, go ahead," Steven said, and then put his hands on his stomach. "I've already had my fill."
Serena began with a few granola bars since they were the closest. She tore off the wrappers, unashamed at the pace and ferocity she attacked the food with.
* * *
Steven watched Serena stuff herself in satisfaction. It warmed him to be able to do something for her—to be able to protect her and to feed her. To have the chance to take her to safety.
What he was supposed to be doing was tracking turned humans and mowing them down, taking out as many as he could. But he couldn't go on without knowing where Serena stood—if she was okay. Once he knew that there was a chance she was still alive and normal, he knew he had to save her.
He was so happy when he realized that she was still untouched, and then he felt a crushing guilt about his best friend. Not only did he not have the heart to tell Serena that Gregory had turned, he didn't have the heart to take Gregory out when he had the chance as he came upon him a few miles from their current location.
Steven witnessed the degenerated form of his ex-best friend, the animalistic hunger in his filmy, coated eyes, but he failed to act.
Steven's duty for the past fourteen years of his life had been to the U.S. military, his country, and the safety of the world, and now his duty to humanity involved taking out creatures like Gregory so that they couldn't keep spreading the disease that turned human beings into Morphs—single-minded creatures of destruction. His training since high school included building the fortitude to pull that trigger when needed. Hesitation—or worse: refusal—was never an option.
But at that moment of locking eyes with his old buddy, he couldn't do it—all he could see, when he looked at his friend's ghoulish form, was the guy he had known since third grade. All he saw in those clouded eyes was yet another change to see him through—like a passing emotion, a seasonal phase. So Steven let him go and left to find Serena, knowing that he could be responsible for the turning and ultimate death of others.
Guilt gnawed at him.
He didn't have the heart to do the right thing at that moment, and he still didn't have the heart to tell Serena that her husband was gone forever.
And he definitely couldn't tell her that part of him was glad to finally have her all to himself.
Steven couldn't deny it any longer and didn't bother to try.
He didn't have the mental space to think about how much he wanted Serena while worried about her safety—his top priority then was making sure she was alive.
He had already lost everyone close to him, and he couldn't imagine that she could be gone too—she was his last tie to caring about anything.
All those times he had thought he was becoming more machine than man as he returned from places where nightmares came to life, he thawed out in the company of his friends and family, and he discovered that most of his hardness was just an armor, a temporary shell. He eventually melted back into teasing, laughter, and silliness. He became nearly fully human again.
But in the past year, his family had stopped bringing out the humanity in him as it became clear that they were just waiting for him to die so that they could claim all of his belongings, properties, and the bank accounts full of pretty pennies paid for his life.
It was only in the company of his childhood friends, Gregory and Jason, that he found normalcy. And when she appeared or hung out with them, he felt even more alive—Serena stirred him in ways they couldn't.
He also sensed that she had an attraction to him, and although her job didn't require it like his did, her poker face was impressive.
He would have believed her indifferent act—as apparently his best friend did—if he didn't have a nibbling gut feeling that she was having at least half as hard a time in his presence as he had in hers; she was a remarkable little actress.
And her body was quite remarkable too.
Even in her present state, while other girls would look like ten-year-old boys at her current weight, her body still had beautiful, womanly curves. Her slender neck looked as inviting as ever, melding into shoulders impossibly well-made and feminine, and her divine bottom, although smaller, still had a juicy curve to it. Where other girls would now look like skin hanging onto bones, the muscles of Serena's previously toned body hung on for dear life, but they were there, and her smooth brown skin was still clear and bright.
He couldn't believe how healthy and strong she looked.
Then again, Serena always struck him as a sort of quiet warrior—a hardy woman unafraid to fend for herself and more than capable of doing so. A woman he would love to take beneath him and show how little her inner strength meant when up against his superior physical strength.
Steven shook his head as if it would help shake away the startling, horribly inappropriate thoughts invading him.
He was disappointed in himself—his inability to control his desire for her as he had before. He felt it rising in him at a different level than ever as if, with the barrier of her marriage to his best friend gone, his control had gone with it.
He had to find a way to restrain himself again; he couldn't risk scaring her.
Then again, what could she do? Run off into Zombie-land alone? She was safer with him, regardless.
"What's wrong?" she asked suddenly, watching him with worried, curious eyes.
Steven realized that he probably looked more than a little weird sitting there shaking his head.
He decided not to answer her; he couldn't think of an excuse quick enough.
"Keep eating," he said instead. "We need to fatten you up again."
He was glad when he realized that his words easily fit his actions, and he saw offense spread through Serena's face, her facial muscles clearly still working just fine as well. She looked about a half-step away from slapping him.
"Excuse you?" she said with narrowed eyes.
"You were never fat," he said quickly, "at least, fat in the right places, I guess." His cheeks burned. "I mean..." Get it together, Steven! "You know what I mean," he said dismissively, in his usual calculated, unaffected tone as he threw off his blunder. "You look like a stick. I've never known you to look like a stick, and what you had going on before all of this madness is a better look for you. That's all I'm saying."
"Oh, so I actually look like I'm starving after starving? Thanks for the newsflash. You're certainly a bringer of great joy."
"You're not just my best friend's wife," he said, his voice softening tremendously without him even trying, "I actually care about you, Serena. I'm here to keep you alive and get you healthy again. You don't look bad—you look as beautiful as ever. It's just that...well, it's clear that your body has started feasting on itself. I've never been a fan of the starving model look, and I know you never went for it either."
He saw that his attempt to soothe things over worked as he watched her body relax.
What he wanted more than anything at that moment was to take her in his arms to comfort her, and he sorely wished he had done so when he first saw her upstairs.
"I kind of dig it, though," she said, smiling. "My stomach hasn't been this flat since I was twenty!"
He knew that she was being modest. Her body had always been fabulous as far as he could tell. Small waist giving in to...
"Steven, what has gotten into you?" she asked suddenly, her eyes slightly widened, the lighter mood quickly evaporating.
I'd like to get into you, he almost said, and then cursed out loud when he realized how close he had been to saying it.
"A lot's been going on in case you haven't noticed," he said coldly, intent on throwing her off of whatever scent she had picked up. "A man can't have a moment to reflect? Do you have any idea what I've seen?"
He watched embarrassment crawl over her face, despite knowing that the look she must have caught on him was not at all a look of far-off reflection since he had been actively scrutinizing her body.
He figured that, at this point, she easily doubted her sight and what her brain told her considering her current condition; her faculties had been starved.
Then he wondered if, when her strength and energy returned, bringing her full personality back with it, she would banter with him and tease him like before—as if she had no fear of him from the safety of her previous position as his best friend's wife.
He couldn't wait to see her try to pretend like she didn't see him as a virile man quite capable of seducing her.