When she’d fled, she’d had only the clothes on her back and a few changes of clothing in the bugout bag she’d grabbed from her car.
She collected a few personal items, toiletries, and some novels—she’d read and reread all the romance ones from her teenage years. “I’ll have to drop by the library one day.” She gave the street a final perusal and then left the apartment.
“Can’t leave the alien unattended for too long. He already lit the cave on fire.”
Guarding a prisoner had become a big pain in the ass. While he’d been truthful about the town, she didn’t doubt those blue-blue earnest eyes concealed more secrets than they revealed. Now that she’d had time to think about it, she wondered if he’d been as freaked out as he appeared. Maybe it had been an act. Maybe the admiral hadn’t died at all.
“But he knocked over the oil lamp and started a fire,” she mused as she walked to her car. “Maybe he was trying to get me to release him.
“Hell of a risk to take. We both could have been killed. Maybe he felt it was worth the risk. Or he knew I’d save him since I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.
“I still have a chance to kill him.” She could go back to the cave and shoot him in the head.
She shuddered.It would be cold-blooded murder, not self-defense. If I do what they do, then I’m no better than them.
She drove away, vowing to return soon for medical supplies and books. Besides novels, she’d get some survival manuals, home remedy books, and edible-plant field guides.
Most of her books were on her eReader, and its battery was stone-cold dead.
Except…if the aliens weren’t around to hear, she could use the generator. She’d have electricity for light and heat and charging stuff. It would make life much more comfortable.
What I wouldn’t give for a hot shower.She’d never take hot water for granted again.
She’d been reduced to sponge baths and a weekly “sun shower” in the metal washtub she used for laundry. To save potable water, she hauled water from the creek to fill the shower bag, heating it first, pot by pot, on the alcohol or propane stoves. By the time she got enough water heated to fill the bag, the first batches had cooled off. Showers were lukewarm, labor-intensive affairs.
Survival was a never-ending camping trip. She used to love to camp when she could go home afterward, and when she still had the option to check into the Hilton.
“Ungrateful much? Billions have perished, and I’m upset about a tepid shower?”
She redirected her thoughts to what she did have. The ability to use the generator—
“Oh my god! Mom and Dad have a generator!” She could run the well pump, fill the water tank, get the water heater running, and take a hot shower in less time than it took to haul water from the creek.
Excited, she pressed the pedal to the metal and sped to her parents’ house.
* * * *
“Oh, my god.” Laurel groaned as she stood under the glorious hot spray. She could stay here forever—or at least until the water ran cold, except she’d left her prisoner alone for much longer than intended. Reluctantly, she shut the water off and stepped out of the stall.
She couldn’t forget how he pretended to not speak English and doubted usingplaguehad been a simple language error.Freudian slip, more likely.He’d freaked when she sneezed, which suggested whatever the admiral had caught had spread to others.
Then again, as she’d already considered, maybe the panic had been a ruse.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she said as she toweled off.
She dressed in fresh clothes from her apartment, combed the tangles out of her long hair, and blew it dry. Her brunette hair hung to the middle of her back, having grown a good six inches. The ends were a little straggly—she needed a trim. She jotted a mental note to do it the next time she came for a shower—which would be soon. No more hauling water from the creek for baths and laundry. She could bring her dirty clothes here and use the washing machine. When she depleted the fuel for the generator, she could siphon more out of the cars in town.
“I’d better quit dawdling and go tend to my guest.”
She deposited her dirty clothes in the laundry room and left through the side door.
Chapter Eight
Almost there. Almost.Only a slender thread kept his left arm tethered to the bedpost. Grav had considered which limb to free first and had decided to work on the left arm, sawing at the chain closest to the one encircling the bedpost.
And…got it!The rung cut all the way through the plastic. He pumped his left fist in the air, the loose chain dangling from his wrist. He’d worry about how to get the chain off after he escaped. He reconnected the dangling chain to the bedpost by inserting a tie the “wrong” way so it looked connected but could be removed.
Legs or right arm next? Once both arms were free, he could escape at the first opportunity—but being hobbled would slow him down. However, once unchained from the bed, he could search for a better implement and cut all the bands and be totally free within minutes.
