Page 90 of Hell Breaks Loose

Just like winning against Marco is a long shot for us.

“Ready to get wet?” I smirk, giving him the side eye.

Gavin grins wolfishly, kissing the tip of one finger. The one I soaked in the car just now.

“Looks like we’re about to get dirty and wet.”

“My favorite.”

Fortunately, we both brought a change of clothes, shoes, the works. All just in case this place was, well, like it is.

“Gross.” My lip curls as I feel the squish of mud under my old sneakers.

It’s not nearly as bad as the freezing cold water that sloshes into my socks a second later.

Better to rip off the Band-Aid, so to speak.

Lunging forward, we both slog into the drink, our breath catching to the shock of cold on…

parts.

“You take the rooms, I’ll take the office?” I rattle off, standing in the darkened, vacant doorway.

“Great. Send me into the darkest part of the house.”

“Don’t tell me I sucked all the courage out of you?”

“I’ll give you some courage,” he rumbles, sending tingles through my body. He could say anything in that tone and make me lose it.

Clicking on our flashlights, I lead the way, taking the first step into the remnants of our brief life here. Across the rippling black, I see the remains of our last meal here that night. Clothing.

Weeks gone, the smell of the rotting leftovers isn’t as bad as I thought it would be.

But the stench of stagnant water makes my stomach turn.

Not to mention the murky depths that could be hiding any number of awful horrors.

“There’s nothing in the water, nothing in the water…”

Scenes from every scary movie flicker through my mind.

“At least it’s not a trash compactor?” Gavin mumbles, covering a laugh.

“Smells like one. There aren’t alligators in the PNW, right?”

“Nah, just snakes.”

“Not helping!”

“Good luck! I’ll sweep the rooms. I don’t think much was back there, but I’ll see what I can salvage.”

“You’re the damned devil, Gavin.” I slosh my way across the living room, around the couch. “The computer in the office is probably shot, but I’ll check the safe.”

“Copy that.”

“So. Uncomfortable.” I keep talking to comfort myself. “This fucking place was built with a shelter to withstand a freaking bomb, but did Dad think to protect it from flooding? No, why would he?”

Slopping up a T-shirt floating near me, I use it to wipe the hints of our old plans off the white board on the back wall. No sense leaving any clues in case someone finds this place.

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