play such games. You know I am right,” she said, giving him a measured glance. She began setting bowls around the wide marble table. It was flanked by a pair of benches cut from some sort of foam. There was enough room to seat twenty, so they only took up a very small corner.
“You’re right,” Blair admitted, surprising himself. He picked up the packet of stroganoff by the top edges and carried it to the table. “Bridget is bad news. I know that."
Cyntia stopped, turning slowly to face him. She gestured with a fistful of plastic spoons. “Then you have no business cavorting with her. She is a harlot. You should tell her you will never be with her again.”
Realization struck like a bolt of lightning. He’d never told Bridget to leave. Or even to leave him alone. He’d accepted, even welcomed the attention. Why? It wasn’t fair unless he wanted to get back together with her. Did he?
“Stroganoff again?” Jordan boomed as he strode into the chamber. He was almost as menacing in human form, all muscle and stubble. “What I wouldn't give for a sixteen-ounce cut of prime rib.”
“You are a stupid man too, Aaron Jordan,” Cyntia said, a grin slipping into place. She sat languidly at the table, placing the last spoon next to her bowl. “But you are very easy on the eyes. Not so easy as Trevor, but he would not mind me looking, I think.”
“There you go again,” Jordan said, sliding his massive frame onto the bench across from Cyntia. He shook his head, giving her a warm smile. “You’re a passable soldier, but you’re not at all my type.”
“Stroganoff again?” Liz said, striding into the room with the grace of a panther. She really was beautiful, in a wholly different way than Bridget. Liz’s long copper hair was more honest, her sapphire gaze something he could imagine waking up to. That said nothing of her figure, even wrapped in the baggy green fatigues that Mohn had unintentionally provided. She was a lot taller, almost eye level. That had really grown on him.
Bridget strolled in afterwards. She darted Blair a shy smile, then quickly looked away.
“Yes, it is just about ready. Sit and I will serve you,” Cyntia said. She took the role of hostess very seriously, something that could almost never be said of her. She popped open the packet, using a large plastic spoon to ladle the steaming stroganoff into bowls. It smelled heavenly despite being freeze dried, but it didn't satisfy the primal urge for meat that he'd been saddled with since his transformation.
Liz and Bridget dropped onto the bench next to Jordan, so Blair slid in next to Cyntia. He picked up his spoon, but it would be several minutes before the food was cool enough to eat. “It’s been a week now. I wonder what things are like back in the states.”
“Bad,” Jordan said. He shoveled a spoonful of stroganoff into his mouth. “Oww. Hot. Yeah, it will be bad. The power would have gone out even without the second wave. It takes people to run power plants and zombies would have made that impossible. So you’ve got isolated groups everywhere because no one can communicate. Food will be a serious issue. So will medicine. Not to mention the zombies themselves.”
“I could have told you that. I watched The Walking Dead , too,” Bridget said with a little smirk.
“The writers of that show were wise men,” Jordan replied, shoveling a second spoonful.
“I have to wonder how far the werewolves have spread,” Blair added. He took his first tentative bite. Still hot, but good. “Peru was the epicenter and we still have problems with zombies. There were less werewolves in the United States, especially the east coast. They’ve got to be in bad shape.”
A figure glided into the room, snuffing the conversation like a candle. The Mother had returned. Her ivory garments were spattered with blood but were otherwise undamaged. He still hadn’t figured out how she shifted with her clothes. Was it the garment or some power? A
“You’re right,” Blair admitted, surprising himself. He picked up the packet of stroganoff by the top edges and carried it to the table. “Bridget is bad news. I know that."
Cyntia stopped, turning slowly to face him. She gestured with a fistful of plastic spoons. “Then you have no business cavorting with her. She is a harlot. You should tell her you will never be with her again.”
Realization struck like a bolt of lightning. He’d never told Bridget to leave. Or even to leave him alone. He’d accepted, even welcomed the attention. Why? It wasn’t fair unless he wanted to get back together with her. Did he?
“Stroganoff again?” Jordan boomed as he strode into the chamber. He was almost as menacing in human form, all muscle and stubble. “What I wouldn't give for a sixteen-ounce cut of prime rib.”
“You are a stupid man too, Aaron Jordan,” Cyntia said, a grin slipping into place. She sat languidly at the table, placing the last spoon next to her bowl. “But you are very easy on the eyes. Not so easy as Trevor, but he would not mind me looking, I think.”
“There you go again,” Jordan said, sliding his massive frame onto the bench across from Cyntia. He shook his head, giving her a warm smile. “You’re a passable soldier, but you’re not at all my type.”
“Stroganoff again?” Liz said, striding into the room with the grace of a panther. She really was beautiful, in a wholly different way than Bridget. Liz’s long copper hair was more honest, her sapphire gaze something he could imagine waking up to. That said nothing of her figure, even wrapped in the baggy green fatigues that Mohn had unintentionally provided. She was a lot taller, almost eye level. That had really grown on him.
Bridget strolled in afterwards. She darted Blair a shy smile, then quickly looked away.
“Yes, it is just about ready. Sit and I will serve you,” Cyntia said. She took the role of hostess very seriously, something that could almost never be said of her. She popped open the packet, using a large plastic spoon to ladle the steaming stroganoff into bowls. It smelled heavenly despite being freeze dried, but it didn't satisfy the primal urge for meat that he'd been saddled with since his transformation.
Liz and Bridget dropped onto the bench next to Jordan, so Blair slid in next to Cyntia. He picked up his spoon, but it would be several minutes before the food was cool enough to eat. “It’s been a week now. I wonder what things are like back in the states.”
“Bad,” Jordan said. He shoveled a spoonful of stroganoff into his mouth. “Oww. Hot. Yeah, it will be bad. The power would have gone out even without the second wave. It takes people to run power plants and zombies would have made that impossible. So you’ve got isolated groups everywhere because no one can communicate. Food will be a serious issue. So will medicine. Not to mention the zombies themselves.”
“I could have told you that. I watched The Walking Dead , too,” Bridget said with a little smirk.
“The writers of that show were wise men,” Jordan replied, shoveling a second spoonful.
“I have to wonder how far the werewolves have spread,” Blair added. He took his first tentative bite. Still hot, but good. “Peru was the epicenter and we still have problems with zombies. There were less werewolves in the United States, especially the east coast. They’ve got to be in bad shape.”
A figure glided into the room, snuffing the conversation like a candle. The Mother had returned. Her ivory garments were spattered with blood but were otherwise undamaged. He still hadn’t figured out how she shifted with her clothes. Was it the garment or some power? A
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