Five O'Clock Shadow: A Standalone Dark Romance (Snow and Ash) Read online

  Time to me is a forgotten concept. There are no more clocks, and there isn’t enough sun to mark the passage of morning to afternoon. We have what seems like endless dark time; obviously that’s when it’s too dark to see. Eventually it grows light enough that it could be a Pre-Ash day, if there was a blizzard coming with heavy, sooty-looking clouds. Light by Ash standards; ugly for the Pre-Ash world.

  My socks are soaked through, and my feet are freezing. I get tired of looking out for taints, soldiers, and other random threats, so I duck into the ruins of a convenience store. It’s picked clean, of course. Even some of the shelves are gone. I slide under the counter.

  Only then do I collapse my head in my hands and let the shaking begin.

  He let me go.

  Whoever he is, he’s the best human friend I ever had. The only friend since the Ash began, and he’ll probably shoot me next time.

  Who are these soldiers and why are they hunting us? Are they American? I’m not even sure if there is an America anymore. Probably not when you figure no one’s come to help us in the years since they bombed Charlotte. All I know is a bunch of heavily armed military types showed up a couple months ago and took over an old block of apartments. They also set up a couple dozen prefab buildings, all in just a few weeks’ time. Once the building stopped, the soldiers started shooting everyone—even non-cannibals like me.

  Every so often I catch the soft crunch of footsteps. Hearing is my best sense. I can pick up a cat’s purr a block away. Well, maybe I’m not that good, but there’s not much that escapes me. I stay where I am until the fall of dark is halfway complete. Only then do I risk going home.

  Home is the shattered remnants of an old church. When they bombed Charlotte, they didn’t seem to mind what they hit so long as they destroyed it. The only things they didn’t bomb were the high-rise towers. I squeeze past a narrow opening between two fallen walls, pick my way along the twists and turns in the rubble until I find the basement stairs. Most of the basement is fine, actually. No light so far inside, but I’ve grown used to that. When I first found the place, I scored some candles. They’re long since gone, of course, but I’ve replaced them with LED lights powered by copper wire, nails, and bottle caps of water—you know, homemade batteries. My home is not the open basement. It’s the wreckage in the corner. Part of the upper floor collapsed into the first floor, which dropped heavy stonework and concrete slabs all the way to the basement. I slip through another crack, and there he is waiting for me. Charlie. The only one I trust, the only one I love. I draw the black-out curtain across the crack and power a couple lights.

  Charlie meows anxiously, trots past my pathetic garden of vegetables, and drops a rat at my feet.

  “Good boy!” I speak softly, but immediately he begins to purr. I stroke his thick coat before I pick him up and hold him to my heart. After I drop a couple of kisses on top of his head, I set him free and plop down beside him. I divvy up the treat. The meat goes to me and everything else to Charlie. He seems to find this a fair arrangement because he keeps coming back. If he wasn’t feeding me like I was his kitten, I’d have starved a long time ago. But even with this meat and the few scraps of broccoli, squash, and kale I grow under the LEDs, it’s not enough. I’m pretty much a thousand calories from starving to death at any given time. These days there aren’t many scraps of food to be found. Every crevice has been searched, every can of tuna claimed.

  I build a tiny fire. Charlie meows at the scent of roasting meat, and I worry that the smell will attract someone. As hungry as I am, though, I risk it. After the feast I dig out my diary and write about that soldier with the five o’clock shadow. He could easily have shot me. Why didn’t he? I write as tiny as I can, taking up only a quarter of the page. There will be no more tablets once this one’s filled.

  Eight folded blankets make up my pallet; I lie down and pull six more over me. Nightmares invade my sleep pretty much every night, and sometimes I scream. In a world where survival depends on my ability to go unnoticed, this is not a good thing. Before Charlie settles over my chest, I gag myself with several strips of cloth I keep in the box beside my bed. This is Charlie’s cue to make bread on my tummy and offer me his butt.

  There are only two places where I know there’s food. The taints have it—plenty of it. Since I don’t want to be their next meal, I’m not going anywhere near them.

  The soldiers, now—their garbage is filled with food wrappers and empty cans. They have real food. It would almost be worth breaking into one of their apartments to see what I could get. It’d be no more dangerous than anything else I do. Every day I face the chance of getting eaten by the taints, shot by the soldiers, or starving to death. I’d rather die fast than little by little.

  Who are they? Who sent them, and why are they killing us? It’s not for the meat. From what I’ve seen, they just leave the bodies where they lay. I clutch Charlie closer and he squirms. If things gets any worse, I’m going to have to leave Charlotte.

  If things get any worse, I’ll starve.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Jackson

  There it is. If I wasn’t listening for it, I would have missed the telltale sound of the kitchen window going up. My heart thunders to life, and a tingle shoots up my back. I get out from under the covers, grab my sidearm, and don my night-vision goggles. It’s my little dancer; I know it is. It has to be.

  If it’s not, I’ll shoot the fucker.

  Stepping as softly as I can, I stop just short of the bedroom door. There’s no hallway, and it opens directly into a room that serves as a living room/kitchen. They didn’t go all-out on us with the apartments. We each got a one-bedroom, but none of them are what you’d call luxurious. Still, it’s better than the bunkhouse I lived in back at the Arc. And they feed us.

  Raising my gun, I peer around the corner, careful to keep most of my body protected behind the wall.

  A small figure in a blue and gray coat uses a gutting knife to slice off a sliver of bread. Her back’s to me, but I recognize that ass; it’s her all right. I start to sweat. Girl’s crazy. This is the second time the little dancer’s broken into my apartment. It happened the second night after I busted her in that old office building. That time she took almost nothing: a slice of cheese and an apple. Not much of a meal if you ask me. I did nothing as she pushed aside the dark blue curtain and climbed back out the window. After she left me, she’d gone to the next ground-floor apartment and climbed in through their window.

  She must really be hungry if she’s daring troop apartments. Not a bad plan, though, if you’re desperate enough. Steal a little from each person, but not so much anyone notices.

  After she left the second apartment, she’d hoisted herself up onto the balcony above her and hit the next one. Tell you what, this girl could give a gymnast a run for their money.

  I’ve been waiting for her to come back.

  Waiting. I’ve even left a tiny LED light on over the kitchen sink just to make sure she can see.

  To make sure I can see her.

  I can’t stop thinking about this girl. It’s driving me nuts. I try drawing pictures of Jenna, the girl from the Arc who would come out sometimes to flirt with me. She’s pretty enough. Bonus, she doesn’t smell like an old alley. But somehow I find myself drawing a pair of thickly lashed eyes. I jack off in the five-minute shower allotted to us, picturing my face buried in those tits. I go out on patrol every day—which, if you want the truth, means looking for her—and by the time I get back, my balls ache so bad I have to beat my meat again.

  She opens the ice box and discovers my eggs. From the way she sucks in her breath, I’d bet she hasn’t seen an egg in years. She takes two and wraps each one oh so carefully inside a rag of its own and places it in her pack. She recoils from the meat and closes the door. Then the half-empty cup of coffee catches her attention. She peers at it, sweeps the room with a glance, and takes it up. She sniffs it, and her expression turns to recognition. She brings it to her lips, and after a slight h
esitation, she takes a sip. She makes this ew face and puts it back down again, and I almost laugh out loud. It’s been sitting there for hours.

  I want to get closer. Now that I have her, I want to touch her. I want to see if that skin of hers is soft or rough from the elements.

  This is just plain ridiculous. The girl’s a scrap—one of the sick tribes who prey on the weak and eat their flesh. No way am I going to touch her. But I can’t stop picturing what it would be like to shove my dick up her ass and hear her scream. I want to twist those nipples until she cries, and then I want to lick up her tears. My cock goes rock hard.

  She glances about the room again as though checking for other treasures. When she spots my rifle, she freezes.

  Leave. Just leave. If she tries to take it, I’ll have to shoot. I promised myself this when I removed the bullets and placed it in plain sight.

  My little dancer draws closer to the weapon and squints at it. She takes a full breath and, eyes wide, runs her hand down the cold metal as though it’s made of warm flesh. She repeats the gesture, and she wears this dreamy, hungry look. I almost groan. I can almost feel her running those hands over my dick. I adjust my package as my heart speeds up and dread settles in my chest. If she picks it up, I’ll shoot.

  And maybe she should. I’ve been planning my scouting in grid sequences around the place I first saw her. To my team, it looks like I’m being thorough. But I’m not. I’m looking for—looking out for—her.

  She needs to go. Now.

  Taking a breath, she drops her hand, and retreats a step. Interesting. She bites her lip and stares longingly between the window and the fridge, before finally reaching into her bag, retrieving one of the eggs, and replacing it in the box.

  If she weighs a hundred pounds, I’d be surprised. I don’t know when she’s eaten last. But she’s putting food back.

  My chest expands as my breath gets heavy. She’s beautiful. Fucking beautiful. The feeling is everything I dreaded, and worse. I’m seriously fucked up, always have been. I’m obsessed with getting her; I’m her stalker and I’ll never stop. I’ve never been able to with any of them. The only reason I didn’t land in jail last time was a super-volcano blew and I got called up to my Guard unit.

  This has got to end. Hanging out, hoping she’ll come, wandering the streets hoping for a glimpse. I need to either fuck her raw and kill her or let her go. One or the other.

  But not tonight.

  I watch as she climbs silently back through the window, and for the first time I realize she’s not wearing any shoes. Of course. Her boots. That must have been her only pair.

  With no more reason to hover in the doorway, I return the sidearm to the top of the dresser and flick the goggles onto the bed. How did I become such a bastard? I sink down and bury my face in my hands. All I can think about is jackhammering her with my cock and shooting cum all over her face. Of shoving myself so far down her throat she gags. Of fisting that mane of hers and riding her so long she bleeds. And I know I’m going to do it.

  I always do.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Amelia

  There aren’t enough socks and old grocery bags on earth to make up for not having, at minimum, a pair of sneakers. I miss my boots, but I don’t dare go back to that building. I’ve already been spotted there once, and that soldier could be watching for me to come back. It’s winter. It’s year-round winter, and without boots I won’t be able to get around Charlotte, let alone leave the area.

  I can’t steal boots from the soldiers. All of them seem to be men, and their feet would be way too big.

  I know where a few other survivors are, sort of. I’ve never followed any of them to their homes; it’s an unspoken taboo. I know the general area where I’ve seen certain people, but I doubt a single one of them has anything extra. There’s only one group of people bold enough to set out openly and take what they want. There’s only one group of people who have tons of women.

  The tainted.

  I shake at the thought. They scare me way more than the soldiers do. So far none of the soldiers seem to have noticed I’m skimming their supplies. Taints, though, they’re street-smart. They’ve been around here for years, and they know how to keep guard.

  Without boots I’ll die.

  I think on this for two solid days before I come up a half-assed plan. I’m so excited I tingle with it. There’s a law office less than a mile away, and I’ve noticed there are still some desks in there. The whole place has been ransacked, of course, but I might as well have a look. I mean, it’s that or taints, right?

  The worst time of day to go into the city is when it’s light out, so I’m extra careful to move carefully and noiselessly. Less than a half hour later, I hop through one of the broken windows. As I said, it’s been pretty well ransacked, but I’m hoping someone, somewhere left a pair of shoes in their desk drawer. Mom said her employees used to do that. They’d go walking on their lunch breaks and change shoes when they got back. Heck, I can make do with a pair of heels if I have to. I climb the stairs to the top of the building and start with a big office that has an oriental carpet and an enormous desk. The whole room smells like mildew, and I find nothing. Not even a paper clip. Same is true of the third floor, and the second. My heart sinks a little lower at each failure. When I hit the first floor and make my final pass, an old box of tissues and a weird gel thingy that fits on the end of my finger are all I find. I sniff; it smells like rubber. The tissues smell like old car.

  Shutting the last drawer, I sink onto the ugly green carpet. Shoes. Just one pair. Too big, too small, it wouldn’t even matter. But there’s nothing.

  My stomach churns. What am I doing to do? The soldiers are getting bolder, and I swear there are more of them now. Just the day before yesterday, I came face to face with another one. This guy was shorter than the other, with blond hair and kind eyes. He’d peered over his shoulder before mouthing the word “run.” I ran.

  The military has wiped out at least one community of taints, but even so I’m afraid to stay anywhere near Charlotte. I can avoid or outsmart other survivors, even the clever ones. But my skills are worthless against a few hundred heavily armed soldiers with long-range scopes and night vision glasses. It’s only a matter of time before they kill me, too.

  I’ve just dropped through the window onto the sidewalk when I hear three gunshots in rapid succession. I feel like my head will explode as I watch three large guys go down. I don’t recognize them, but then there are probably hundreds of survivors haunting the city. They could even be taints. It doesn’t seem to matter to the soldiers which category we fall into. I crouch low. I consider climbing back into the office building, but what if they hear me? On the other hand, what if they check on the bodies and spot me?

  Think, Amelia. Run and get noticed, but perhaps get away. Stay, and maybe be found, and no chance of escape. The odds favor running.

  Like by one percent. Maybe.

  I cup my hands over my nose. I’m shaking. Not good. Survivors stay calm.

  A pile of debris lets loose, and bits of brick and concrete scatter. My stomach turns to rock as I spin around. Oh shit. Shit! It’s that guy from the office building. I should have left Charlotte right after he let me go the first time. He’s holding his weapon semi-ready, and he’s staring right at me. He’s taller than I remember, thicker set. Something electric passes between us—acknowledgment, recognition. Something. For some reason I blush.

  It’s almost dark-fall, which means he’s had time to grow that five o’clock shadow. Yum. Sexy. Well, as sexy as someone can be when he’s pointing a gun at me. He looks me up and down, and I swear I can feel it. He doesn’t aim his rifle, but he’s holding it and to me that means I’m in a bucket load of trouble.

  I’m not a taint. I want to say it out loud, but would it even matter? Being a survivor after all this time should count for something. I mean, I’ve been on my own since I was thirteen and I’ve managed not only to live, but I’ve done so without breaking man’
s biggest taboo. That means I’m smart. It means I still have a few morals left.

  I moisten my lips, and his gaze fixes on them.

  After flicking a glance to his left, he returns his attention to me. Seeing my shoeless feet, he does a double take. He sighs. For a count of three nothing happens, and then he jerks his head, go. Before I can even blink, the soldier turns away.

  “Clear over here!” he calls, moving toward the others.

  I take off in the opposite direction, grateful for the box of tissue, the rubber thingy, and my life. He let me go. He let me go. My heart squiggles in my chest. With that helmet and that uniform, it’s impossible to make out features, especially from a distance, but I got a strong vibe of… I don’t know… presence from him. It almost felt like there was an invisible string between us, pulling me to him.

  I break the string, and five minutes later I’ve put half a mile between us.

  Going out in the light again would be suicide. What am I going to do for shoes? Forget the taints. The soldiers don’t know the area like the savages do, and even they’ve found me twice now.

  If only I could go back to that office building and get my boots. They’re probably gone by now though.

  Once home and safely down in my basement, I squeeze through the crack in the debris, and drag the black-out curtain shut. I huddle in the middle of my pallet and rock.