#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 12:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11

——

WILL

He didn’t have a leash, so he tied a tensor bandage around B.B.’s collar. Together, they silently shifted until they had eyes on Snickers.

Snickers seemed to be scrutinizing a Vanity Fair cover, then, coming to some sort of decision, she turned as if to bring him the magazine. She’d only taken a step when she spotted him and B.B. partway down the aisle. There was chocolate smeared across one of her cheeks.

Then the army-jacketed guy grabbed her, and twisted her into a football tuck as he ripped the magazine from her little hands.

B.B. didn’t even twitch when he decided against the tensor leash — all her muscle was honed on her prey.

“Who’s this, kid? Who’s the pretty on the cover?” Army cajoled, and then slammed Snickers on his shoulder to knock her breath and fight out of her.

B.B. took him out at the knees before Army saw what hit him.

He managed to catch Snickers before she hit the linoleum face first and still stop Army from bludgeoning B.B. with his gun.

Snickers wasn’t happy to be placed to the side and he heard her pump the shotgun a split second before she got it in Army’s snarling face. He yanked the barrel up and to the side as Snickers pulled the trigger and the redirected shot took out an entire window with spray.

Army body slammed into his chest and knocked him back. He further wrenched the shotgun from Snickers’s hands as he fell, and then lost it underneath some of the shelves.

They wrestled, their footing insecure in the fallen magazines. If not for B.B. clamped to Army‘s leg, he’d be seriously outmatched. At the edge of his vision, he could see Snickers burrowing under the shelving to retrieve her gun.

Rhiannon burst through the back door like some avenging angel. Her entrance seriously distracted Army. ‘Course, he felt that way every time her saw her, so it didn’t come as a surprise to him.

He grabbed Snickers and rolled as Rhiannon spun to crack the side of Army’s skull with the butt of her gun.

Snickers scrambled from his arms to stare down at Army, who was out cold but breathing. B.B.‘s lingering snarls summed up his own feelings nicely.

“Move Will,” Rhiannon urged as she wrapped her hand around B.B.’s collar and pulled the dog away. ”There’s no way they’d miss shotgun fire.”

“They?” he groaned as he got up and followed Rhiannon out the alley door.

“Two more and one of — them — The Infected,” she warned as she soothingly smoothed Snickers’s hair and then gave the child her secondary gun.

“We get to the truck and go,” he directed, but Rhiannon just smiled, almost sweetly. “No Rhiannon, not with Snickers here,” he cautioned.

That momentarily stalled Rhiannon, but they didn’t have time for another plan before they heard footsteps, crunching glass and loud cursing coming from inside the drugstore.

“Rhiannon, you take Snickers and hide, somewhere with a big, locked door between you and them. I’ll lead them out of town,” he ordered.

“Oh, yeah? Hide the useless females?” Rhiannon growled, but he cut her off.

“No. You don’t hesitate or compromise. You’re the gunslinger here.”

She wasn’t that easily convinced.

”I need you to do this Rhiannon. Snickers will be safe with you.”

So she scooped Snickers up and was gone.

She left. Just like that. No goodbye — Christ, get your head in the game! You begged. She did. So, heart in his throat, he turned back into the store.

 ——

He almost made it to the truck before he saw it — The Infected. It was lumbering up the far sidewalk towards him. It sniffed the air in his direction and then bellowed.

He was happy he hadn’t eaten, because, despite frozen limbs, he was pretty sure he could and would throw up. It dragged two broken chains.

Two guys, one missing an ear, sprinted from around the side of the drug store after it. They shouted and actually gestured at him to flee.

He did.

Why didn’t he just climb in the Ford and drive off? Because he was an absolute, goddamn, going-to-hell idiot.

He ran; it was faster.

It didn’t care he used to be an All-Star quarterback.

It didn’t care track & field had been his yearly charity gig.

It. Wanted. His. Blood.

He didn’t know the town footprint. He made a wrong turn, but was actually able to leap the fence that blocked his way. It just tore through.

Then it had him pinned.

He noted, as he was choke-pressed against a brick building that he thought might have been the bank, that it still had a couple of fence boards on its arm.

It bit his shoulder.

He screamed. He couldn’t help it.

Then they were there, yanking at its chains, the one-eared guy cursed up a firestorm, but he couldn’t hear him for the pain of being eaten alive.

Seeing the missing ear triggered his deadened brain and he fumbled for his knife, conveniently strapped to his thigh in homage to Rhiannon, and thrust it in its ear. The blade slid in easier than he’d expected and the force of the blow dented the side of its head.

It didn’t like that, but it did drop him.

“Don’t kill it,” One Ear yelled and proved he was insane.

It cat-batted the jutting knife and got it loose along with a chunk of its brain. The mushed brain matter squelched under the knife as it hit ground. They all, including it, just stared, dumbfounded, at the goopy pile.

The pain in his shoulder focused him quicker than the others. He got the chain looped around its neck seconds before its blood lust rewoke.

It thrashed.

He had to climb onto its back to keep the chain tight, but he soon figured out that cutting off its airway had little effect.

One Ear got its attention with a blood pack.

His buddy grabbed for the chain.

It slathered the blood.

They got it, minimally, controlled.

Soon as he stepped back, One Ear had a gun to his head.

“Hurting our pal back there was unnecessary; we only have questions.”

“Army attacked. I responded,” he grimaced and glanced at the burning brand that currently was his shoulder. It wasn’t as mangled as it felt.

“Bite won’t infect you, doesn’t work like that, case you cared,” One Ear offered, as apologetic as someone could be with a gun to your head.

“Doesn’t mean it won’t kill me,” he made a sympathy play, but there was little to be had.

”Drug Mart looked well-stocked. But before you patch yourself up, like I said, we got questions. Answer nice and we won’t let our friend here have another taste,” One Ear bargained.

“This piece of real estate we’re looking for was sighted heading this way about 2 weeks ago; she’s on foot — with a dog,” One Ear’s buddy elaborated.

“Haven’t seen anyone except you-“ he started in denial, but ended in a scream, as One Ear whacked his gun, hard, across his shoulder wound.

He might have blacked out for a bit, because, when he came aware, he was on his hands and knees staring at his bile mixed with its brains.

“We’ve been gone way long,” One Ear rambled, “I’m real tried of walking ‘cause we got to drag it with us, and we’re super-low on pre-packs.”

He really didn’t feel like engaging in woe-is-me conversation so he kept quiet and listened for a way out, but One Ear wasn’t forthcoming on that topic.

“Point is, it needs feeding and, excepting your blood immunity, you’re no value to us,” One Ear finished with an almost friendly toe nudge.

He didn’t doubt the truth of those few words, but he’d never heard his self-worth laid out so precisely and with such doom saying before. One man could repopulate the earth with enough fertile women. He wasn’t that man. ‘Course, in a generation, inbreeding would be a problem. He continued to keep quiet.

It didn’t seem to be doing well without its missing brain chunk. The right side of its face was running down into its neck.

“Shit, this guy don’t know,” the buddy winged.

“Of the two of you fools, why Hal had to be the one to get his head bashed in,” One Ear griped. “He doesn’t ask questions, not about us, who we’re looking for, or it, means he knows or has heard about The Infected, about us,” One Ear explained.

“Right,” despite his agreement, Buddy didn’t get the drift.

As he hunkered down beside him, One Ear twirled his gun, once, like his wrist ached.

“You’re going to want to bind that bite, before you lose so much blood — ,” One Ear got his gun grabbed as punishment for his near friendliness. He twisted One Ear’s wrist to the breaking point, got his own finger also over the trigger and the barrel up One Ear’s rather wide nostril. One Ear was more angry than scared. It bothered him that, even with the upper hand, he just pissed people off. At least Buddy freaked out.

It, done with the packed blood, sniffed the air and started pawing the ground in his direction. One Ear smirked, ”It takes two of us to hold it.”

“How do you know, with me and my bloody wound so near, it won’t take a bite of you by mistake? It don’t seem to hold its relationships too close.”

One Ear looked uneasy at that line of reasoning and they slowly negotiated a standing position that placed One Ear’s back to it and Buddy.

“I’m just passing through, you’re just passing through,” he suggested, “we continue on, forget we met and, you two, try to not get eaten.”

“You don’t get it, Cowboy,” One Ear nasally explained. ”The Boss don’t accept no empty hands or, worse, excuses,” he indicated his lack of ear.

“Listen,” he countered, getting frustrated, “I think we — “

“They aren’t going to listen to your negotiations, Will.”  Rhiannon, armed and dangerous, stepped into the alley.

It groaned and strained at its neck chain enough that Buddy’s feet slipped a bit in the packed dirt.

He felt his blood pressure spike, but not in a good way, at Rhiannon’s appearance.

“Hello, dolly! Remember me?” One Ear practically beamed.

“Sure do,” Rhiannon answered and then, leveling her shotgun, blew Its head off.

The close range blast destroyed what was left of its brain.

It crumpled.

Buddy, shrieking, dropped the now useless chain and pawed at the splatter of brain remnants on his face.

One Ear’s mouth hung limp even as his eyes bulged. He shoved the gun away from his nose, and, still staring at it on the ground, let out a keening moan.

In a step, Rhiannon had Buddy knocked down with her foot on his chest.

“Will, have you got the asshole covered or not?” she demanded.

One Ear had fallen to his knees by it and seemed to be having some sort of breakdown. He began wailing and practically foaming at the mouth.

“Jesus, oh, Jesus, oh Jesus,” Buddy, completely terrified of One Ear’s behavior, blubbered. He didn’t get what the hell was going on either.

Even Rhiannon was thrown and, characteristically, she responded with anger, ”Fuck, asshole. It was already dead. I did it a fucking favor.”

One Ear shut up. He just stopped — wailing, moving, everything. Even the echo of his howls abandoned the alley. Then, finally, One Ear turned his red, deadened eyes to Rhiannon. She met his gaze.

“It was my brother,” he said, “you killed my brother.”

“You chained him, it, made it eat people, prolonged its unnatural and painful existence, and you call yourself brother?” Rhiannon retorted.

“I’ll have you, bitch. Own you. Boss or no Boss, not to kill, no, but you’ll beg for a bullet every time I rip you-,“ One Ear snarled.

“That’s enough!” he shouted. “You attack? You better expect people to defend! Now, get your asses out of town before I regret letting you.”

“Watch it, Cowboy,” One Ear sneered, “you’ll find there’s lots of people willing to kill for her.”

“And die, it seems,” Rhiannon, rather inappropriately, retorted.

 ——

He watched, for what he was aware was the second time, as morally challenged men left town. The difference was he was pretty sure these guys would be back, bigger and stronger. He figured it was better they assumed they’d settled in this place, but there was no way he’d let them lay eyes on Snickers.

They didn’t take Army with them, and, while he figured that was a good deal for Army, he was aware of what it said about One Ear and his Buddy and how far they’d go to get hands on Rhiannon.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 11:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

——

RHIANNON

She didn’t know at the time what the fuck she’d ever do with the grenades, but she took them anyway. She also scored a cool MEC backpack. She remembered her hair had almost been that orange, same as the pack, in her first starring rolekicking vampire ass with great dialogue — still one of her favorites. The side pocket was perfect for grenades, and the water bottle holder adapted nicely to a shotgun. She took as much ammo as she could carry.

The bullet belt was too big for Snickers, but she punched another hole with her Swiss army knife. She’d always had to be easily adaptable.

Currently, she was appalled at the plethora of pink in the girls clothing section; maybe Snickers would prefer boys’ browns and blues? She grabbed and stuffed; she’d never been much of a shopper even when it had been expected — with her millions and all that. She got winter stuff too, in case it got picked over.

It was at that moment she realized she was planning to stay.

Was such domestic happiness even possible? She’d stopped dreaming of such; young, around the time she’d torn the horse photos off her walls. Around the time her childhood had been forcefully, or perhaps sneakily, stolen from her. Around the time she’d learnt that no one, no matter their title or blood tie, would step up to protect her — even when she’d asked for help. She guessed she’d been just a little older than Snickers currently was —

She heard the chains dragging on the concrete sidewalks before she saw them. Asked earlier, she would have thought she’d freeze in fear, but she didn’t.

It was him: Shotgun—Fucking-Asshole, though he was missing an ear. She was going to fucking blow his head off, right through the store window.

Then, like a cold shower, she thought of Snickers. Had she and Will moved from the Drug Store? Still hidden, she spied through the window.

The Ford was still parked by the gun shop. She couldn’t see anything through the Drug Mart windows. Fuck.

And where the fuck was B.B.?

She left the clothing box by the front door, because she’d fucking be back for it, and then slipped into the back alley.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 10:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

——

WILL

He thought he’d heard Rhiannon scream, but as he continued to try to sense her through the multiple walls that separated them, he got nothing. He’d been awake all night, his brain too full to turn off, not a problem he’d ever had in the past. He’d watched her, collecting clues. Perfect table manners, hesitation with the dishwashing — she wasn’t used to this life. Again, it’d nagged him, that feeling that he knew her. He wondered if she was going to stay. He wondered, if it came to it, whether or not he’d ask her too. For himself? Or Snickers?

He was pretty sure Snickers should be talking by now. He was starting to think maybe she was mute; maybe he shouldn’t have given her the gun, but he couldn’t start second guessing, not even with Rhiannon’s doubt. He thought of the Fleetwood Mac song and wondered if he could still play it.

There was movement at the door and he turned his head expecting Snickers but, traitorously, hoping for Rhiannon. It was Snickers, sans gun. He patted the bed beside him and Snickers, dragging all her bedding, climbed up. Maybe one of her parents might have been part Asian?

Now, with Snickers awake, he was pretty sure Rhiannon must have screamed because it’d been days since the child had needed to crawl in with him.

Snickers stared at him with her almond-colored cat eyes, and as he always did, not knowing what she needed, he just let her look. She raised her hand to suck on her thumb and he pulled it gently away with a smirk. She smiled at this — their habitual, familiar behavior.

There was more movement at the door as Rhiannon and B.B. silently slipped in. They curled into bed with Snickers wedged in the middle.

Snickers curled her hand in the hair at the side of his neck and he realized how long it was getting. B.B. sighed as only a satisfied dog can.

He was glad he’d claimed the master bedroom with its king-sized bed; the responsibility had scared him at first, but now there was Rhiannon. Smiling, as he closed his eyes to finally sleep, he thought maybe he could see the first glimmer of dawn at the edges of the blinds.

 ——

He later thought it was the worst damn idea he’d ever had, and he’d done many stupid things. Taking the girls with him — beyond stupidity.

A road trip, he’d suggested. The girls glowed in excitement and he’d felt so damn satisfied. Only four hours south, they‘d be back before dark.

He’d been systematically collecting supplies from the surrounding towns, to restock the store, hotel, and houses. He didn’t know why.

He hadn’t ventured this far since he’d acquired Snickers, but he’d thought it would be fun and get Rhiannon out for the first time in weeks.

They’d relaxed into a rhythm, but he had noticed the strawberry plant in her bedroom. Even with room in the garden, she hadn’t planted it.

 ——

Rhiannon saw the gun shop as soon they entered town and, in minutes, the bullet belt was around Snickers’ waist. So the gun idea was okay now — he attempted to be pleased rather than smug.

Rhiannon went clothes hunting. Snickers stuck with him. He hoped to add rarities to the hotel library, but prioritized medical supplies.

He left Snickers by the magazines, she liked the pictures, and went to box as much penicillin, painkillers and whatever else he could carry.

He hadn’t realized that B.B. was with him until she started to growl a deep warning just as his hand reached for the box of condoms.

“Hey, it’s not like that,” he started to back away. Then he saw the hulking shadow by the window. Jesus. H. Christ, what the hell was that?

B.B. couldn’t get lower to the ground and still move, and she was scaring the hell out of him with her noises. He placed his box down.

He suddenly had a terrible feeling he was about to come face-to-face with Rhiannon’s and B.B.’s past.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 9:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

——

RHIANNON

The clothes didn’t fit, but she didn’t care. They were clean and actually pretty, well, compared to the black cargo she’d been swathed in. The shower had been hot, just like he, Will, had said. There was honey and vanilla in the soap and she’d almost started crying at the smell.

When she’d stepped out of the shower to make sure the door was locked, for the second time, she noticed that B.B. was asleep on the floor. B.B. feels safe, she chided, but then chafed at the idea of a man protecting her. What if, what if, her brain clamored, but never completed.

She’d heard him calling when she was dressing but, still testing him, didn’t answer. He passed her open door on the way to the bathroom.

“Rhiannon? Dinner,” he called.

“Yeah?” she murmured. He turned back, and she, only wearing a skirt, made sure her bareback faced the door. She knew he’d caught sight. All the air sucked from the room. She pulled her shirt on, noting in the mirror that he stared steadily away.

“You up for some dinner? We found some canned meat for B.B.,” his voice broke slightly, but maybe only a trained ear would have caught it.

“Thanks. We’ll be right there,” she turned towards him, but he didn’t look at her as he left. She felt oddly aroused, or maybe disappointed, but definitely awake.

——

Later, post dish washing — he’d dried — she sat in the living room bay window and watched the sunset burn the sky behind the mountains.

B.B. slept by the unlit fireplace.

Will read a book, World War Z, of all choices.

She breathed. She hadn’t been this calm in — maybe ever. She watched Snickers, who was crashed on the sofa and cuddled up with her shotgun. She felt the moment Will’s attention hit her.

“We’re locked in for the night, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he whispered.

She shook her head and indicated the gun, ”Not loaded, is it?”

“Wouldn’t do her much good if it wasn’t,” he replied and returned to his book.

“That your answer for everything?” she asked.

He laughed and then soberly stated, “It’s a world gone mad.”

Quickly changing the subject, she tried, “How long have you guys been here?”

He shrugged and guessed, ”Two months, maybe, for me. Ten days for Snickers.”

“Snickers?” she asked.

“Were what she was eating,” he answered.

“Amazing she didn’t get snatched; if it’s not the rebuild humanity one-rape-at-a-time group, it’s murderers or The Infected,” she sneered.

“The Infected?” he asked and she was glad she had recent news to offer for his generosity. She never did like owing anyone.

“They figured out how to stave off death.”

“What?” he couldn’t get his jaw up. “Jesus. Not a cure, though?”

“No,” she replied, “but the blood of the immune can sustain them indefinitely.”

He was reeling, working it out, “But the virus burns through the body’s resources, like consuming The Infected from the inside out — “

“Large doses of blood,” she added, “sustains them, but the virus symptoms are still present, so they’re sick, but fast, strong, angry — “

“ — And in need of our blood,” he whispered and glanced at Snickers, who was now sucking her thumb. “Living, breathing, monsters. Nice.”

“Rebuild Humanity keeps them as pets,” she added casually; nevertheless, she could feel the questions he didn’t ask practically burning her.

He settled on, “You lost someone?”

“With 99.9% of the worldwide population wiped out, we all lost,” she countered, but he just shrugged. Then there’d been no one special for him, before. She could say the same and they could bond over never being truly loved, but she didn’t.

——

That night the terrors started. She was trapped in utter darkness with one of them, The Infected, its putrid snot dripped on her face right before it-

She woke, hoping she hadn’t screamed.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 8:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

——

WILL

He’d been worried about the introduction, had hoped the presence of the dog would smooth it, but B.B. didn’t seem to register for Snickers. He felt off. Snicker’s shotgun swung from her shoulders, Rhiannon all but radiated heat behind him, and B.B.’s nails clicked on the hardwood.

They’d settled into a kind of routine, Snickers and him, for the last ten days, but Rhiannon was an unknown, another in a long list.

Snickers climbed on her stool to stir the pasta sauce she had made. He put the box on the table and turned to catch Rhiannon’s reaction. Rhiannon stared at the working electric stove and raised her hand to flick the light switch. The light over the kitchen table turned on.

“Electricity?” she asked.

“Multiple generators,” he answered, trying to stop his chest from swelling too large, but enjoying her amazement.

Snickers crossed to turn off the light and then resumed chopping carrots.

“We’re still careful about how much we use,” he apologized.

“Fresh veggies?” Rhiannon moaned as she removed her hat to expose her golden hair. He could feel the silly grin taking over his face again.

“Greenhouse out back, self-watering. It was crazy overgrown, but Snickers has tamed it,” he was happy he sounded steady, despite the grin.

Rhiannon swayed, dead on her feet, and he reached for her, despite the wary look Snickers threw his way, but she stepped out of his grasp.

“You’ll want a shower,” he offered as cover. “The bedroom to the left of the main bath has clothes that might fit.” He indicated the stairs.

Rhiannon looked unsure, but seemed compelled to ask, “A hot shower?”

“You wouldn’t want a cold one,” he teased.

“Right,” she seemed to be lost within her own thoughts.

“Snickers, we’ll have to pick up dog food for B.B.,” he prompted. Snickers leaped down to write DOG FOOD on the magnetic list on the fridge.

Rhiannon looked like her head might implode and he worried he was playing it too cool. If B.B.’s appearance was any indication, they’d been in hell and more.

“Or you could sleep,” he started, but then Rhiannon snapped to awareness.

“Yes, thank you…I…thank you,” she backed out of the room with B.B.

He stepped forward to watch Rhiannon climb the stairs.

Snickers tossed carrots into the sauce.

He placed a hand on her tiny head, a gesture she accepted now.

“Maybe she’ll stay, maybe not,” he soothed, “but we’ll be okay either way. I found some wagon wheels,” he pulled the peace offering from the box of supplies.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 7:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

——

RHIANNON

He held her eyes with his own, which were dark brown, and then, with a grin, offered his name. ”Will.” She remembered she should let go of his hand.

He sauntered around the store with B.B. at his heels. She knew she would follow, but momentarily thought of the freedom she had found alone. He looked back, not assuming her compliance, but really genuine, which was almost impossible to fake, even for the most cunningly skilled.

B.B. trusts him, her weary brain offered, while her gut screamed to keep on moving and moving on. She was just too tired to keep walking.

B.B. climbed into the back of the truck like she did it every day — maybe she had; her history was a mystery, not like her own puppet strings. The truck was an old red Ford and she wondered if he liked pretending to be a cliché; there was a certain safety in playing a role. He opened the door for her, but then crossed to the driver’s side.

“You have gasoline,” she stated.

“No one to compete with,” he replied.

She climbed in and immediately started digging through the glove box. He didn’t seem to mind; she found a handgun, a knife, and granola bars.

“Perhaps it’s rude to mention, but the two of you look more than a little banged up, tho’ mostly healed, so,“ he let the question linger.

“I took care of it,” she answered, tersely. True, that billboard still haunted her, but there’s no way they’d be following her random turns.

“I’m sorry it was necessary at all,” he started, but she cut him off.

“That’s just the world we live in now.”

He didn’t push the subject.

——

They continued in silence for another ten minutes. Here the road rapidly left the little town behind and curved into the mountain valley. Seemingly randomly, Will stopped and hopped out of the truck to clear some brush, drove in, and then re-hid the entrance to the turn-off. So he left the town open and inviting, but hid where he laid his head. She wondered what that said about him, but was really not into analyzing anything at the moment.

A large, well-kept house was nestled in the evergreens at the end of a long driveway. Its cedar shingles had grayed. Will parked by the front double doors.

Still not sure about this, she crossed to the truck bed and lowered the gate to put B.B. on leash. Will grabbed a box of supplies, which included Froot Loop cereal — odd choice for a grown man.

She turned to the house and saw a nine-year-old girl holding a sawed-off shotgun trained on her. The girl held the gun hip high and wedged against a front patio post.

“Ahh.” Actually she didn’t know what to say. Will carted his box up the stairs, and the girl adjusted her aim around him as he passed.

“This is Snickers,” Will offered as he entered the house.

The girl didn’t move, so she didn’t move.

B.B. also seemed a little unsure.

Will crossed back out.

“Um, she’s your sister?” she asked him as he grabbed another box from the truck.

“Nope,” he unhelpfully responded.

“Hello, Snickers,” she tried.

No response.

“Snickers doesn’t talk much, like, not once since we met, but she’s a great cook!” Will supplied.

“And, I’m guessing, she can shoot that gun,” she asked grimly.

“Wouldn’t do her much good if she couldn’t. We practice, lots,” he replied.

“Snickers,” he continued, “that’s enough aiming of the gun. This is B.B. and Rhiannon. I wouldn’t bring them here if I thought they’d hurt you.”

Snickers grudgingly lowered the shotgun, slung it across her shoulders with a silk scarf she had tied to each end, and entered the house.

So we’re not his first strays, she thought, and instantly felt more at ease. The girl looked unscathed, definitely loopy, but no bruises. And, even though she knew it was a dangerous thought to have in this chaotic reality, she actually whispered out loud, “Maybe, maybe this is all going to be okay.”

Then she followed B.B., who was already loping off into the house.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 6:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Read Chapter 1 Read Chapter 2 Read Chapter 3 Read Chapter 4 Read Chapter 5

——

WILL

Her sky blue eyes cut his soul, though then he instantly felt stupid for thinking so. He also thought he might know her, but dismissed that.

“About the same,” he drawled, glad, not for the first time, that his sister’s tendency to leap around corners had made him hard to surprise.

He glanced at the gun on her hip, the knife strapped to her leg, and slowly gained his feet. He didn’t want to stare, but couldn’t help it. She’d looked away to survey Main Street, so he could really only see the line of her jaw. She must be sweltering under all those layers.

“Where are all the bodies?” she asked and he noted that she had no distinguishable accent.

“I cleaned,” he replied, blunt but kind about it.

“Ah,” she breathed and then actually raised her perfect nose to sniff the air. “Bonfire,” she concluded.

“Seemed best,” he agreed.

She stepped away to look into the store. He’d been restocking the shelves, which, he was aware, might make him seem more than a little crazy.

“You alone?” he called her attention back, but then instantly regretted the tension his aggression evoked as she placed her hand on her gun.

“Just B.B. and me,” she answered, testily. The dog glanced at the woman, opened its mouth in a big grin and lifted its nose for another pat.

“Well, I imagine you’re both hungry,” he offered, and was confused when her jaw clenched and she looked out of town as if planning to leave.

“Just because you didn’t rape me at first sight doesn’t mean I’m your friend,” she finally sneered, and he caught the edge of fear in her.

“I never did make friends easy,” he spoke in a light tone, like he would with a wounded animal, which, he didn’t have to guess, she’d been. The woman looked at the dog, B.B., who hadn’t left his side and, then, suddenly, he could feel the utter weariness she didn’t let show.

She pulled a glove off and offered him her gun hand. “Rhiannon,” she said. Her skin seared his when he folded his callused hand around hers.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 5:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Read Chapter 1 Read Chapter 2 Read Chapter 3 Read Chapter 4

——

RHIANNON

Other than evidence of travelers along the road, she hadn’t seen anyone since Wee Wee a week back, after which she’d changed course twice.

She knew something was up the second she’d entered this middle-of-nowhere town. Except for a few boarded windows, the buildings were…tidy. Even though the place looked deserted, she leashed B.B. The mountains loomed immediately behind them, but here the land was flat and dry.

After she’d found the Beretta, she traveled by day. It was easier to shoot what you could see and, thanks to lots of film prep, she was deadly.

She eyed the almost inviting hotel but, as she approached the general store, she heard the music. Paul Simon, she thought. He’s old then.

She adjusted her hat so it was low, but without compromising her sight lines. She’d been dressing as manly as possible for her slight frame.

As if he’d heard her approach, he stepped around the corner of the store. His rifle was slung over his shoulder. He stopped when he saw them.

B.B. didn’t growl.

He grinned and she was surprised that she noticed he was oddly beautiful — rough, tanned and manly, not her usual type. He threw his head back and laughed, delighted, and then hunkered back on his heels and held his hand out to B.B. She let B.B. off the leash.

B.B. hesitated. The guy wiggled his fingers, still grinning, and, to her surprise, B.B. wagged the tail she barely had and bounded to him. B.B. nuzzled his hand. Then he let her lick his face, all the while laughing like a kid. She was unjustifiably jealous of B.B.’s affection.

She moved closer and caught the dark look that passed across his face when he saw B.B.’s numerous newly healed wounds. Then he looked up.

He wasn’t old. Maybe younger than her — if she ever admitted her true age. Then, with a thrill, she thought, there was no reason not to.

“It’s been months since I’ve seen a dog,” he said.

Now that she was near, she thought he might be part native, but that didn’t fit her impression of the twang in his accent. A native cowboy? She shouldn’t tease, but she thought it best to know quickly how easily he rattled, so she pulled off her glasses and asked, “And a woman?”

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 4:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. Oh, and not to play favourites, but this is one of my all time favourite chapters – that I have even written. – Meghan

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

Read Chapter 3

——

WILL

The crinkle of wrappers drew his attention. He guessed she was about nine; huddled in an aisle at the Drug Mart and inhaling chocolate bars. The absolute terror in her eyes made his stomach knot. This was what the world had become: a girl, mortally terrified, when she saw any man. He couldn’t think what the hell to say or do that wouldn’t be a threat — keep holding the rifle or put it down? Are you alone? Are you okay? 

He was pretty sure that was blood caked underneath her ragged fingernails.

He finally settled for, “Hey, sorry to sneak up on you. I was just gathering some supplies. I live the next town over. My name is Will.”

She didn’t answer, but her grip on the snickers bar eased. He continued, “Don’t mind me. I’m just going to pick up some shampoo and stuff.”

He eased back and crossed into the next aisle to stare at the still stocked shelves. He didn’t need shampoo, but he added it to his box anyway. He could hear her gathering chocolate bars into the sack she wore slung across her shoulders, then silence. He sidestepped to the soap.

Aware of her tracking him, he slowly moved around the store. He fought the urge to grab, feed, and scrub her clean of the blood and bruises.

He briefly contemplated the barrettes and, after he turned the corner, he heard plastic torn and wondered if she’d picked the pink ones. He was amazed she’d survived alone all these months, and then realized she probably hadn’t been on her own all this time. Was this her home? Were her parents and siblings now stinking, bloated corpses in a nearby house? Did she still return to them at night? Who’d been feeding her? Or what had happened to her caretakers to force them to abandon her here? Or, even more sickeningly, whose clutches had she escaped?

He didn’t think he was up for this. There’d been a few children in the survivor groups he’d drifted, but he hadn’t taken any responsibility.

He paused in the magazine section and, briefly, wondered if the actress on the Vanity Fair cover still had eyes that blue even in death.

The girl’s eyes were dark like her matted hair. He felt like a pedophile as he placed a coloring book and crayons in his now full box.

She was waiting for him by the entrance, and he briefly wondered how she had gotten in when he’d struggled to prop open the automatic door. He smiled, and she didn’t return the gesture. She was clutching another snickers bar and heavily weighing her options; trying to figure him.

“That’s my truck,” he gestured with the box towards his Ford and then stepped by her to load the box and the other supplies in the back.

He closed the tailgate just as he heard the passenger door slam. She buckled up, then sat, clutching her sack and staring straight ahead. He might vomit. He wasn’t sure if it was the fear of hurting her further, or the trust she’d so readily placed in him, that made him ill.

He ripped open a box of granola bars and climbed into the truck. He placed the bars on the seat beside him and shifted the truck into gear.

“Might be stale,” he warned, then he ate one anyway.

She reached a tentative hand, caked in dirt and blood, to press play on the stereo. He’d been listening to this on the drive over, but now, the third verse of Paul Simon’s “Call Me Al” hit him in the gut. He finally got it. He clenched his jaw to quell the rising emotion. The girl bobbed her head along with the bass line. He’d never had an epiphany before.

In this moment, he chose to become the man he’d always wanted his father to be.

 ——

 It had taken one day and three snickers bars to coax the girl out of the truck, then four more days to convince her that an upstairs bedroom was just as safe as the front hall closet. He wasn’t too sure when she began, finally, to sleep a full night in the bed, but he didn’t manage to get her in the bath until he remembered he’d found some animals soaps in the grocery. He’d also offered her a choice between Star Wars and Barbie sheets – she’d picked Star Wars and he wondered if she’d ever seen the movies.

He really didn’t know what he was doing and the people who’d built this home hadn’t exactly left self-help child rearing books lying around, but he figured she would need to feel safe alone before she would allow him to be her protector. So, to that end, he put together a backpack under her watchful eye.

He, pleased that he’d collected extras, carefully placed all the survival supplies he had on hand on the old farm-style kitchen table. A mini first aid kit, solar blanket, batteryless flashlight, waterproof matches, water packs, and granola bars.

He talked about each item in terms of function and safety as he tucked it away in the backpack. She watched his hands more than his face, but as he zipped the pack and crossed around the table to hand it to her, she slipped off her stool and turned her back so he could slip it over her too-slim-for-such-a-burden arms. She patted his knee and later added her crayons and coloring book to the empty outside pocket.

Then he taught her how to shoot a gun.

#SampleSunday – After The Virus, Chapter 3:

Over the next 12 weeks I will be sharing a chapter of my novel After The Virus  each sunday. Warning: for coarse language and brutal content. This is a post-apocalyptic love story. I hope you enjoy getting a peek. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated. If you are so inclined, purchase links can be found on the side bar. – Meghan

Read Chapter 1

Read Chapter 2

——

RHIANNON

She’d found a wheelbarrow for the dog from one of those urban garden centres. The place seemed stripped of anything remotely food related. A motorcycle with a sidecar, even if she could drive one, would be too conspicuous. Her last group had figured that out the hard way.

The dog’s leg was dislocated. She certainly wasn’t a vet, but she could read. Finding medical books was as simple as opening the front door of a veterinarian. Stitching through actual flesh was gut wrenching. And still, even calculating for weight, she’d worried about dosage.

She’d also found a tiny strawberry plant under the mulch she’d salvaged as rain protection. Wasting precious time, she’d repotted it.

——

She was headed to the haven of the mountains. There was no reason for them to follow, except revenge, which, she hoped, wasn’t worth it.

Then she saw the sign: REWARD FOR LIVE CAPTURE. The words a child-like scrawl in red paint slashed across a billboard from her last modeling gig. The campaign itself was so recent she hadn’t cashed the cheque before the dying started. She’d never thought her eyes looked that blue in real life, but they sure did when her face was hawking mascara. So…they’d recognized her.

She glanced down at her chipped fingernails. She was sure she didn’t resemble her last film; she’d spent the entire time in a wedding dress and wielding a gun. She wondered what the reward would be; valuables held no value now. This wasn’t the first time her face — and body — had gotten her in trouble. Even he had told her, he, her stepfather, that he only touched her because she was so beautiful. She was a prize or a pricey piece of meat.

She named the dog B.B., because she was just blood and bones when she found, rescued, and patched her up. B.B. didn’t mind the wheelbarrow.

They traveled evenings to early morning, and got off the highway ASAP. When you had no idea where you were going, time didn’t factor at all.

She hoped they’d assume she’d head down the coast to LA, but she hadn’t been there when the chaos had really hit and wasn’t ever going back.

 —–

B.B. didn’t stay in the wheelbarrow for more than a few days, which was good, because, despite all the Pilates, her shoulders screamed.

Going was slow with B.B. limping. They stopped, often, for supplies, but never slept where they scavenged. Dog food was oddly easy to find. She tried to not let B.B. gorge, but it was difficult, rationing a starving animal, and, despite her injury, B.B. bulked up fast.

It was four days before they saw another human.

 ——

Memory was a trap as sure as chain or concrete; one that she’d armored against even before she found herself living in a post-apocalyptic wasteland — were haunting and terror were everyday events. It didn’t do to dwell, wasn’t a functional way for her at least, but some days, like today, with the sun warm on her back, and B.B.’s nails click, click, clicking on the pavement, her mind wandered.

Often, when people got hint of the bits of terrible she’d confronted in her life, they wondered at the fact that she wasn’t lying in a basement somewhere with a needle in her arm and a hole in her soul.

She couldn’t answer those survivor questions, couldn’t be a life coach or some sort of role model, because she had no idea what made her different, what made her brain different than others who had suffered — she’d made the best of the situation, controlled it as much as possible and walked away when she got the chance, though some ties proved harder to break than others.

Sometimes the other person refused to let go.

In moments of weakness, she worried that the armor — all the years of protective layers built up around her heart and soul — had nothing underneath to protect.

Enough dwelling, Rhiannon. Keep on moving onwards. She had a plan — get away — and someone to protect — B.B. — that was as far as she needed to focus.

Except, except — the billboard haunted. She’d thought, when she’d had time to even think, she could shed that image and become, what, she didn’t know, but something other than herself. But that billboard, the fact they hadn’t raped her, the fact they’d given her a guided tour on the way in; it felt — planned? Contrived? Maybe she was just paranoid after so many years of so many fan stalkers, only one of which had ever laid violent hands on her and she had to admit, if only to herself, she had had some culpability in that situation.

B.B. pressed a shoulder against her knee and even before her brain cleared of its memory fog she could feel the tension rippling through the dog’s flank.

B.B. must have sensed the man about a mile before, because her nose was glued to the ground.

She, confident they’d left the city behind, had carelessly pushed their traveling further into daylight.

He, the man, had laid traps.

B.B.’s questing nose dislodged a pile of ripped up, wilted wildflowers and she yanked the dog backwards seconds from triggering a wicked leg hold trap — a trap big enough for a bear.

She froze, standing in the middle of the road with her fist clench around B.B.’s collar; every muscle in her body screamed exposure. Sheer rock rose to her left and dropped into a massive river to her right. No one was crazy enough to ride those rapids. Not any more.

She tamped down on her flight instinct. She let her gaze wander further up the road where seemingly random piles of leaves, weeds, and grass barely covered more traps. So, he was a moron then, but, obviously, violent.

Whistling.

B.B. growled; her target uncertain, but her belly low. She finally unfroze, had sense enough to drop to the ground, and crawl to the cliff edge. B.B. followed.

He was a hundred feet below: naked, hairy and fishing. Weren’t two of those three illegal? Or at least they used to be. She’d be worried about that hook, as a man.

The idea of fresh salmon beckoned, but leg traps? That’s a big no way, no how.

She tried to ease back, but then, just as she thought she was out of sight, she dislodged some rock — shale, her useless brain offered — with a twist of her foot. In the endless second it took for rock to hit river rock, she wondered if she should put more stock in astrology and that doomsday horoscope she’d read before this bad run.

He saw her.

He shouted.

She ran.

She ran forward not back, because she was miles past any decent place to hide. B.B. could barely keep up and wouldn’t be able to maintain.

She twisted her ankle, fell, and bloodied her palms. B.B. whined through her panting.

She looked up to find her forehead inches from a trap.

Fucking bastard. Fuck, fuck, fucking bastard with his little shriveled dick — and she didn’t give a shit if that river was fed by a glacier or what.

This wasn’t the time to fall and stay down. That time had passed, years before this shit. If her mother hadn’t destroyed her, nothing would.

So she got up.

Only then did she see the path carved in the cliff. Unless he had a fucking elevator, they’d be gone long before he got here.

——

He came for them that night, reeking of rotting fish and human waste. He hadn’t bothered to dress, perhaps clothing would have slowed down the plan that was evident by his engorged dick; it was, she noticed, as puny as she’d thought it would be.

He slunk in by the light of her embers, his belly low as he, on all fours, stalked her. She’d expected him, but was still thrown by the sudden, full body, vicious attack.

Of course, not as thrown as he was by the bear trap in her sleeping bag.

He screamed and thrashed, but still managed to show surprise when she swung down from the tree. Unbelievably, lust hardened his face even more than the pain. She didn’t take this as a compliment, knowing that any woman or maybe any warm body would do for this crazy — he considered himself a hunter, after all.

She was sorry to see that the sleeping bag softened the teeth of the trap. Unless it got infected, he probably wouldn’t lose the leg. What a pity.

“Get this the hell off me!” he demanded, “I wasn’t coming to kill you! I haven’t seen a…woman…talk… I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“I believe the common way a living being is forced to get out of this sort of mess is to chew their own leg off,” she sneered. “Try that.”

“Fucking bitch!”

B.B. lunged for his throat and she half-heartedly held her off. Revoltingly, he fear pissed; the spray soiled her runners.

“You’re right about the bitch part, on two counts, but certainly not the fucking.” And, leaving him to his hopefully dire fate, she pulled the still snapping and snarling B.B. away.

She always did like a great exit line, though she mourned the loss of a perfectly good sleeping bag.