Page 48 of Glass Rose
A sliver of warm light escapes from the crack under the door, and I grip the handle to open it.
John sits in an office chair, cleaning his shotgun. “There’s coffee.” He points to the desk.
I take it, black and sweet. “Thanks.”
“So.” He sets the rifle aside. “You and the doctor. That a thing?”
“Complicated.” I lean against the desk, observing the security feeds. “Recent.”
“War makes strange bedfellows.”
He’s right.
What am I doing? Playing house in the apocalypse, pretending there’s something real between us when it’s just circumstance. Convenience. The end of the world has a way of making people cling to whatever warmth they can find.
I’ve seen it before in war zones. People who’d never look twice at each other suddenly become inseparable when death lurks around every corner.
Fearmakes for strangebedfellows. Desperation, even stranger ones.
But that doesn’t stop me from wanting her. From imagining what it would be like if this were real. If we had metbefore all this, before Green Research turned me into something not quite human.
“System’s automated. Motion triggers an alert. Cameras on rotation.” He points to another shotgun propped against the wall. “That’s yours tonight. Twelve gauge, loaded with buckshot. Won’t stop a horde, but it’ll slow ‘em down.”
“Anything I should know about your setup? Blind spots? Weaknesses?”
“Smart.” John’s approval is gruff. “Southeast corner. Trees grew too close to the fence. Been meaning to clear ‘em back.”
The coffee burns my throat, wakes me up, as John explains the security system to me.
Yet, my mind drifts to Sofia. To the way she felt pressed against me, her eyes full of lust, her mouth demanding against mine. She’s messing with my head.
“Midnight. Time for me to get some shut-eye.” John hands me a walkie-talkie, its plastic worn smooth from years of handling. “Channel three if you need anything. Otherwise, wake Marcus at four.”
“Copy that.”
“Coffee in the thermos. Bathroom’s downstairs if nature calls.” He pauses at the door. “And Gavin? Don’t shoot at shadows. Ammo’s precious these days.”
He leaves me alone with the soft hum of computers and the blue glow of security monitors. I settle into the chair, feeling the springs protest beneath my weight. The warehouse spreads out below, visible through half-closed blinds.
Forty minutes go by.
The radio crackles with static when I check our agreed-upon frequency. Nothing but dead air. Like my team.
Too far away? Another frequency?
Movement on one of the monitors catches my eye. A figure emerging from the back rooms. Marcus.He glances around, checking if anyone’s watching, then makes his way toward the campers.
I adjust the blinds for a better view. What’s this sneaky bastard up to?
He better not?—
He pauses at Dr. Cho’s camper, hesitating before he knocks—so softly I can barely hear it from here. The door opens, her silhouette backlit from within, and she steps aside, letting him in.
Well, well. Apparently, the apocalypse is good for someone’s love life.
I turn back to the radio, switching through channels methodically. Static. More static. A burst of unintelligible words, then silence again.
“Hart. Reporting in. Anyone copy?” Nothing. “Respond.”
