longer keeping pace with them and circled back, spraying bullets until the sand was blanketed with heaps of corpses.
That was her last day of perimeter bike patrol, and she had this lovely scar to commemorate it.
Don and Private Bernard brought silk flowers and chocolates to her infirmary bed the next day, exclaiming what shitheads they'd been for not noticing that she'd fallen back. She was glad that Mark hadn't been there when they arrived, or he'd probably have decked them. She blamed herself for the incident, though. She'd put herself at risk by not staying with the group.
The memory of that near-death experience receded as she felt Mark's mouth working his way up from the scar. Thankfully, their pleasure-making was not interrupted by the harsh sound of a siren, so they enjoyed their time together with abandon.
Chapter 3
A half hour later, the sheets were twisted into knots and covered in sweat. They laid side by side in silence, resting. There were a lot of things on Cheryl's mind that she wanted to talk about. Even though they shared a room, it seemed that their work schedules kept them from having much quality time together. When they did have time, he was in his dark zone, the withdrawn place that he slipped in and out of on almost daily basis. And when he wasn't brooding, he was immersed in his obsession…
"Mark..."
When he didn't open his eyes, she put a hand on his arm. He didn't stir.
There was no way he was asleep.
When were they going to talk about it?
She still wore her engagement ring. It took some investigative work and a little bribery, but she'd eventually gotten it back from the crooked guard who was in charge of incomer belongings during quarantine. It was dented and no amount of scrubbing seemed to be able to loosen the grime of dried blood in the groove that circled it, but it had been given to her with love and had come through hell with her, so its appearance was insignificant.
Even so, it was a daily reminder that it had been over a year since they'd gotten engaged, including a whole six months since they'd found each other again at the fort, and he hadn't mentioned anything about a wedding since before the epidemic started. She'd held her tongue, feeling selfish for caring about something that seemed so unimportant when the world was in tatters.
And yet…there were four weddings scheduled at the chapel this week. She'd seen the announcements on the chalk board outside the community hall on her way to her post this morning. Weren't rituals like that important to maintain some sense of normalcy, even during the worst of times? Important for some sense of hope that things could return to the way they were—if only on the surface for now?
She wasn't going to harp about it—no good could come of that. For a little while longer, she'd keep silent and hope that when he was ready, he'd bring it up. Maybe, he'd even surprise her with a dress and some ruse to get her to the chapel. It would be better that way, better than dragging him there by an ear.
After lying there for a few minutes, she got up and put on a t-shirt and a pair of clean shorts. Then, she left the room and went down the hall to the women's bathroom to freshen up.
When she came back, Mark was up and dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He had one foot propped up on a folding metal chair while he adjusted an ankle holster. A Glock pistol was next to him on the freshly made bed. It hadn't been issued to him by the Army; he'd purchased it a few days ago from a gun smuggler in the fort who brought in all sorts of contraband.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Getting ready for dinner."
"You know you're not supposed to—"
"I don’t care," he said, fitting the gun in the holster. "I'm not going anywhere without some kind of a weapon. Remember the woman at dinner last week?"
Cheryl couldn't forget. While sitting at a table in the cafeteria, she'd heard a crash behind her. When she turned around, she saw a
That was her last day of perimeter bike patrol, and she had this lovely scar to commemorate it.
Don and Private Bernard brought silk flowers and chocolates to her infirmary bed the next day, exclaiming what shitheads they'd been for not noticing that she'd fallen back. She was glad that Mark hadn't been there when they arrived, or he'd probably have decked them. She blamed herself for the incident, though. She'd put herself at risk by not staying with the group.
The memory of that near-death experience receded as she felt Mark's mouth working his way up from the scar. Thankfully, their pleasure-making was not interrupted by the harsh sound of a siren, so they enjoyed their time together with abandon.
Chapter 3
A half hour later, the sheets were twisted into knots and covered in sweat. They laid side by side in silence, resting. There were a lot of things on Cheryl's mind that she wanted to talk about. Even though they shared a room, it seemed that their work schedules kept them from having much quality time together. When they did have time, he was in his dark zone, the withdrawn place that he slipped in and out of on almost daily basis. And when he wasn't brooding, he was immersed in his obsession…
"Mark..."
When he didn't open his eyes, she put a hand on his arm. He didn't stir.
There was no way he was asleep.
When were they going to talk about it?
She still wore her engagement ring. It took some investigative work and a little bribery, but she'd eventually gotten it back from the crooked guard who was in charge of incomer belongings during quarantine. It was dented and no amount of scrubbing seemed to be able to loosen the grime of dried blood in the groove that circled it, but it had been given to her with love and had come through hell with her, so its appearance was insignificant.
Even so, it was a daily reminder that it had been over a year since they'd gotten engaged, including a whole six months since they'd found each other again at the fort, and he hadn't mentioned anything about a wedding since before the epidemic started. She'd held her tongue, feeling selfish for caring about something that seemed so unimportant when the world was in tatters.
And yet…there were four weddings scheduled at the chapel this week. She'd seen the announcements on the chalk board outside the community hall on her way to her post this morning. Weren't rituals like that important to maintain some sense of normalcy, even during the worst of times? Important for some sense of hope that things could return to the way they were—if only on the surface for now?
She wasn't going to harp about it—no good could come of that. For a little while longer, she'd keep silent and hope that when he was ready, he'd bring it up. Maybe, he'd even surprise her with a dress and some ruse to get her to the chapel. It would be better that way, better than dragging him there by an ear.
After lying there for a few minutes, she got up and put on a t-shirt and a pair of clean shorts. Then, she left the room and went down the hall to the women's bathroom to freshen up.
When she came back, Mark was up and dressed in jeans and a polo shirt. He had one foot propped up on a folding metal chair while he adjusted an ankle holster. A Glock pistol was next to him on the freshly made bed. It hadn't been issued to him by the Army; he'd purchased it a few days ago from a gun smuggler in the fort who brought in all sorts of contraband.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Getting ready for dinner."
"You know you're not supposed to—"
"I don’t care," he said, fitting the gun in the holster. "I'm not going anywhere without some kind of a weapon. Remember the woman at dinner last week?"
Cheryl couldn't forget. While sitting at a table in the cafeteria, she'd heard a crash behind her. When she turned around, she saw a
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