Jason Frost - Warlord 05 - Terminal Island (14 page)

“Homey,” Eric said.

She shrugged out of her khaki shirt. She began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Not much on small talk, huh?” he said.

“You want to talk or you want to screw?”

“You pick that up in Cambridge?”

“I picked it up living alone here for almost a year.” She stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his. They were slightly chapped from the sun and tasted a little salty, but they also had a moist sweetness that drew Eric closer. He pulled her tight against him, her hard body feeling weightless in his arms.

After a minute she pulled back, her eyes open, looking at him. “I understand American men prefer their women passive.”

“Some do,” Eric said.

“You?”

Eric kissed her over each eye. “You want to arm wrestle first?”

She laughed. “I have a better idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I hope not.” She unfastened her bra and shook it off. Then she pulled off her safari shorts. Underneath she wore men’s boxer shorts. “All I could find,” she explained.

Eric watched her closely as he undressed. Her movements were not shy or consciously sexy. She disrobed as simply as if she were alone preparing for bed. He liked that.

She stepped out of the boxer shorts and stood next to the bed wearing only her blue Rebock aerobic shoes. “Sometimes Spock gets in here and breaks something,” she said, “then tries to hide it by sweeping it under the bed. I leave the shoes for last so I don’t step on any stray pieces.” She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off one shoe. A ring of dirt circled the ankle, just above where the shoe had been. From working in the garden, Eric realized. “I used to take aerobics classes every evening before the quakes. Funny, but my cadiovascular system feels stronger now than it ever did then.” She kicked off her other shoe and had a matching ring of dirt. She licked her finger and rubbed at the dirt. It did little good. She laughed. “Well, what did you expect? A virgin princess?”

Eric stripped off the rest of his clothes while she sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. She looked so small naked, that he was aware of his own broad chest and heavily veined arms as he removed the last of his clothing.

She leaned back onto the bed and patted the space next to her. “I know it’s a small bed, but you’ll fit. Spock and I have both fit before.”

She saw an expression flicker across Eric’s face.

“I don’t mean
that
way. Just sitting.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but you were curious. I know I would be if I were you. Lonely woman living happily alone with apes. When real men come in she throws them in cages. Sounds screwy to me.”

Eric stretched out beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Her toes grazed his shins.

“It’s just that I didn’t want sex with just anyone. Not that I’m looking for anything long term. I just wanted it to be nice, the way I remember it.”

Eric kissed her. Their lips ground against each other, tongues rubbing against each other like cats. His hand cupped her buttocks and pulled her closer. Her hand slipped between them and held his penis tight. He could feel it growing even harder in her grasp.

“Let’s just get the suspense over with,” she urged. “We can go for fireworks later.”

Eric didn’t mind occasional hasty sex. He remembered how often he’d met Annie home for lunch for what she called her One-hour Workout. She had it timed perfectly: ten minutes to drive home, five minutes for chit-chat and undressing, ten minutes for sex, five minutes for washing and redressing, twenty minutes for lunch together, and ten minutes to drive back to work. Sometimes they skipped lunch altogether.

Usually he preferred a longer, more relaxed encounter. He wanted the tenderness, which was rarer than food or ammunition.

Wendy grabbed Eric around his waist and rolled him over on top of her. She spread her legs and guided him inside, hooking her legs over his hips before he got a deep breath. Now she was arching her pelvis toward him, her hip bones bumping his with a rhythmic grace. Soon he was matching her, thrust for thrust. Her movements quickened, became more insistent. Greedy. Her breathing was ragged, gasping. Eric felt both their bodies slicken with sweat. Her ankles slid down his hips to the backs of his thighs.

She spoke softly in Chinese and he answered her in Chinese. It was nothing specific, no vows. Just encouragement, gentle thoughts of pleasure. An image of Annie fought into his mind and he pushed it away.

Suddenly she tensed, her body slapping against his, her arms curled around his neck. Her hips were off the bed, pushed against his as hard as they could go. Her face clenched, the eyes disappearing into lines of passion. Her mouth was open and she pulled his lips to hers, pushing her tongue into his mouth. As she came, he felt a hum at the back of her throat travelling along her tongue and into his mouth. It was a thrilling sensation. He came seconds after her, his body quivering with each spasm.

“I feel guilty,” she said, huddled against Eric’s side. Her fingernails grated through his chest hair.

“Why?”

“I thought of my boyfriend just as I came. I didn’t want to, but I did.”

Eric smiled. “We all have our ghosts.”

“You don’t understand. Gregory survived the quakes with me. The Zoo had let me keep my trailer here while I worked with Spock and Madonna. Gregory had been a photojournalist doing a story on my work. That’s how we met. Anyway, when the quakes hit, a lot of people here were killed, not from the actual quake, but trampling each other on their way to the parking lot. Gregory made his way here to find me and I convinced him to stay here and help me rebuild the zoo. He did.” She rolled away from him, tucking her knees up.

He ran his hand along her arm. “And then?”

“He was killed. The quake had freed two Brazilian jaguars. They’d been killing and eating some of the other animals so Greg and I tried to trap them. Only they got Greg first. He was dead by the time I arrived, though while they were feeding off him, I managed to net them both. They’re back in their cages now.”

“And you had to bury Greg.”

“Not exactly.” She turned around to face Eric. “Before I got my garden going, I had to rely on the zoo’s storeroom to feed all these animals. You have no idea how much they eat and how scientifically controlled it is. Anyway, we knew it wouldn’t take long for us to run out of food, so Greg and I supplemented their diet.”

Eric lifted himself onto his elbow. “The bodies.”

“Yes. We dragged in as many as we could from the parking lot and adjacent areas, chopped them up, and fed them to the animals. We debated the whole thing for two days before noticing that the other animals on the outside were already starting to nibble away on them. That convinced us.” She looked at Eric. “When Greg died it was just a natural extension of what we’d already done. I fed him to the Asian lions. It’s what I’d have expected him to do if it were me.”

Eric flopped back down onto the pillow.

She sat up. “I’m terrible, aren’t I?”

Eric didn’t answer for a while. He thought about all that he’d done since the world changed, all that he’d seen people doing to each other. What had Wendy Chen done so awful? Made use of what resources were available to keep lives going. Perhaps the outside world would never understand, but then they didn’t have to. They could make judgments from their tables at restaurants while waiters stuffed doggie bags with leftovers.

She pounded her fist into her pillow. “Sometimes I think I’m really insane. All this work and anguish over some cockeyed notion of turning this wasteland into paradise.”

Eric pulled her on top of him. “We could use a little paradise around here.”

They kissed. Slowly they explored each other. Lips, fingers, skin, and hair touched and mixed in one long movement. This time they went for fireworks.

Hours later, as Wendy slept quietly next to him, Eric slipped out of bed, dressed, picked up his crossbow, and took the keys from her pants. He eased out of the trailer without a sound. It took him less than five minutes to cross the zoo to the Primate Propogation Center where Seaman Washington and Petty Officer Bolinski were imprisoned.

“Well, gentlemen,” he said, standing in front of their cage, his crossbow pointed at them. “It’s truth or consequences time.”

Eric dangled the key to their cage. “Want to go for a walk, boys?”

Bolinski eyed Eric skeptically. “What do you want?”

“Freedom. Freedom for my fellow man.”

“For a price?”

Eric shrugged. “There’s always a price on freedom.”

Washington sat at the back of the cage. His shoes were five feet away. His socks were balled up and he was lobbing them toward the empty shoes in a makeshift game of basketball. He tossed his sock. It dropped neatly into the shoe. He looked at Eric. “Don’t jerk us around, man. You gonna let us out, fine. Do it. You gonna jerk us around, get lost.”

Eric smiled broadly. “Just had to be sure.” He inserted the key and unlocked the cage. He pulled open the door. “Last stop before Trenton.”

The two men scrambled out of the cage, Washington grabbing his shoes and socks on the way. Now that they were out, he sat on the ground and pulled them onto his feet.

“Who are you?” Bolinski asked. His tiny eyes were fixed on Eric like barnacles.

“I’m the guy who just let you out.”

“Why? What do you want? And don’t give me none of that freedom bullshit.”

Eric’s face went hard. “Fallows sent me.”

The two men exchanged looks. Petty Officer Bolinski sneered, his upper lip curling to reveal lower teeth so crowded some were wedged in sideways like packed subway riders. “We already told you, we don’t know no Fallows.”

“Suit yourself,” Eric said. “He sent me here to get you out and bring you back. He’s a little pissed at you boys for screwing everything up. But maybe I’ve got the wrong guys. There must be plenty of salt and pepper teams with submarine uniforms.” He motioned with his crossbow. “Back inside, fellas. I’ve got to keep hunting.”

“No, wait,” Washington said. He finished tying his shoes and stood up. A splash of freckles marked his forehead. His hair had a hint of red beneath the black curls. “We’ll go with you.”

Eric lowered his crossbow a little, his finger drifting from the trigger. He knew that’s what they were waiting for. If Washington kept talking and Bolinksi began inching to Eric’s side, he knew he was right about them. Then there would be only one thing to do.

“What about the women?” Washington asked, grinning at Eric.

“What about them?” Eric said.

“Shit, man, we’re talking about women! You want the chink, fine. I like ’em young anyway. I’ll take the skinny kid in the dog collar. I mean, whatever is right —”

As he talked, Eric could sense Bolinski’s movements, slight, almost imperceptible. Mostly he was shifting his body weight, balancing himself for leverage. But he was hesitating, unsure. Eric decided to make it easy for him. He switched the crossbow to his left hand and used his right hand to scratch the back of his head.

Bolinksi lunged.

Eric could tell from the body position what form the attack would take before it happened. Nothing fancy. Bolinski was no martial arts expert. He was the kind of man who’d relied on sheer size and brute strength all his life. He would simply try to hammer Eric with his meaty fists.