Hollow Men Read online

  I pulled back, gasping for air. “I have dog breath!”

  “My dog breath cancels yours out,” he said, grinning.

  The fear that had been stamped all over his handsome features was fading. “I’m sorry. I’m just glad you’re okay. Let’s call that kiss a celebration of life.”

  I wiped my hand across my mouth to cover an almost smile. “Yeah, well, celebrate life with less spit next time.”

  He snorted and smoothed my hair with his hands.

  “Bed head,” I growled, embarrassed.

  “Sexy,” he countered. I could tell he meant it.

  “I really have to pee.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go to the front of the bus.”

  He moved away from me as I went back to the composting toilet installed at the very back of the bus. They hadn’t thought to enclose it fully. Or maybe they just ran out of time. But a folding screen was bolted to the wall by the thing, and I unfolded it so it was open and protecting me. After I was done and had sanitized my hands, I felt much better.

  “Are we going to this thing? This update?” I called.

  Evan came back and said, “My turn. And yes.”

  I moved away from him to give him privacy and went to check out the grounds from the bus’s huge windshield. People milled about, some crying, some smiling. To some of these people that was their daily dose of excitement.

  “Don’t know what happened,” Evan said right in my ear, and I jumped. “I woke from the shots and then jumped on you.”

  “Crushed me.”

  “Protected you.”

  I laughed. “Smashed me. But thank you. I get it.”

  He said nothing, just rested his chin on my shoulder as we watched the crowd filtering toward the meeting. “We should go,” he said.

  “First, we brush our teeth,” I said, wrinkling my nose.

  He wrinkled his right back. “Agreed.”

  * * * *

  The man’s name was Lieutenant Henderson, and he was about as big as a tree. I watched him as he spoke. His body language said he was accustomed to addressing large groups of people. And having them listen to what he had to say.

  “We had a breach in the campground. The good news is, this is a campground. We can accommodate a large amount of travelers. The bad news is, this is a campground so we are butted up to a lot of woods. We cannot watch you twenty-four, seven, or keep you safe all the time. We are a finite number, my men and I, and we do not turn anyone away. The lake does take up a large portion of the eastern border of the grounds, however, the rest is woodland. So you must at all times be alert and look out for yourself.”

  He waited for the bristling to settle down and for people to focus again. “My estimation is for every thirty to forty of you, there is one of us. Therefore, you must take your own safety extremely seriously. This means do not go to the bathhouses alone. Do not wander the grounds if you don’t have to. Stay in your vehicle or tent a good portion of the time and always be alert. If you see anything or suspect anything, find a soldier and report it.”

  Silence.

  Then: “What happened just now, lieutenant?”

  “We had several hollows come into camp. Two male, one female…” His voice seemed to waver. “One child. They came in to camp, probably drawn by fire, cooking smells, noise, the crowd, basically. One camper was attacked. One was…lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “Injured—probably fatally, from what we understand—and dragged off into the woods.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled and rose. Evan put his arm around me, and I didn’t pull away.

  “Jesus,” I whispered.

  “We tried to pursue, but we think the hollows that took him are more familiar with this area than our soldiers. We were unable to recover the…” He cleared his throat. “Victim.”

  Someone started to cry. I wondered, with a lump in my throat, if that person was related to the victim. Or traveling with him or her.

  “As I said, it appeared from reports and the amount of…” Again he stalled but then came back, the no-nonsense soldier bite in his voice increasing as he steeled himself. “Blood from the victim, he is most likely deceased right now.”

  “So he won’t mind being eaten,” I said to Evan.

  He squeezed my shoulder. Shut-up-Eleanor, that squeeze said.

  “We have all available soldiers patrolling. Please be your own security, though, people. Please be aware and please be smart and safe. If you have any questions, find an officer, one-on-one, and ask.”

  Translation: this is not a town meeting. Not a press conference. I’m done talking.

  “Look out for yourselves and your neighbors,” he reiterated and then dismissed the gathering.

  “I’m starving,” Evan said.

  “So were the hollows.”

  “El.”

  “Sorry. Dark fucking sense of humor. You know that. Let’s go reconstitute some noodles and desiccated tiny little shrimp.”

  “I’ll just stick with the kimchi flavor if you don’t mind.”

  I waved a hand in front of my face and wrinkled my nose. “Suit yourself.”

  Before long, we were hunkered down together. We ate noodles, and we watched the travelers around us. Most were spooked, some were armed, some just looked angry. A toddler ran, laughing and shrieking, from a sibling only to be reprimanded by a clearly worried and frazzled mother. My heart seized up. This generation of children was being raised in fear. They were being taught to be alert and worried and neurotic.

  It hurt my heart.

  “I’ll cover you while you shower if you’ll cover me,” Evan said, watching me polish off my noodle bowl. I stabbed the last freeze-dried shrimp and ate it.

  “Deal. I think I’d sell my soul for ten minutes under hot water.”

  “No need to sell your soul,” he said, pushing my thigh with his foot. I pushed back. Smiled at him. “Just show me a boob, and I’ll make it so.”

  I laughed, surprised at his humor. Surprised after the night before that he’d joke with me about sex. “Pervert.”

  “For sure.”

  We each grabbed a bug-out bag—a small pack stuffed with bare-bones essentials designed to be snagged on the run in an emergency—always good to have handy, and locked the bus.

  I looked at him and said, “I’m so tired of this world we’re living in, Evan.”

  It was an admission that surprised me. I had no idea I was going to confess to him until I heard myself blurt it out.

  “I know, baby.” He touched my hair. “Me, too.”

  I wanted to say fuck it to all my stubbornness. My resolve. My idea that I had to keep him at arm’s length and not get attached. I wanted to say fuck it right then and there and let him hold me. I wanted to be held and warm and safe. Instead, I gave him a brisk nod.

  “Well, at least we agree.”

  Chapter Ten

  I was clean, and I was restless. There weren’t even any crickets. Too many people, both normal and hollow, I guess.

  I rolled to my side, hoping I wasn’t keeping Evan awake. I’d insisted he sleep on the bed and not on the recliner. There was no reason for him to be uncomfortable when the bed was big enough for both of us.

  People moved around outside, fires crackled, boots crunched over gravel. Normal sounds of a campground. Even one in our former reality. But every noise plucked at my nerves like a pin being scraped over my skin.

  I missed my home. The actual home itself and what it represented. My past. My memories of my parents. My security in this bizarre and frightening world.

  I sat up and put my head in my hands. Then I put my head between my legs because I was lightheaded and on the verge of tears. That just pissed me off.

  A warm hand brushed my lower back. Spread wide to span my skin and offer reassurance.

  “You okay, El?”

  “Fine.” My voice was clipped, and I didn’t mean for it to be. I had lost the ability, from living alone, maybe, to school my tone when I wa
nted to hide my feelings.

  “El,” he sighed and rubbed soothing circles on my skin.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I am.”

  He sat up, and I heard him crack open a bottle of water. A minute later, he was crouching in front of me, his hands on my thighs.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry you had to leave your home.”

  “Stop,” I warned. Grief, so large and consuming it threatened to crush me, slammed around inside me, and I sobbed.

  “I know you probably feel alone and—”

  He didn’t get to finish. Anger lit me up inside as a brushfire. At the world, the loss, the circumstances—even him. Part of me couldn’t help but wonder if he’d never spotted my house—never stopped to check on me—would this be happening.

  No. You’d probably be dead. Or robbed, raped and then dead.

  It all happened in a blink, and I slapped at him. He caught my hand, shock on his handsome face. I noted, oddly, even in the dim light of the campground, he was already sporting stubble. And I thought it made him even more handsome than he was.

  “Eleanor,” he said.

  “Stop,” I said again, flexing my hand so he released my wrist. “Just shut up. Shut up, Evan.”

  “Is that what you need?” he asked. His face narrowing down in anger. “To hit someone.”

  I clenched my fists, wanting to do just that. Wanting to strike out and punch and do damage. It wasn’t even at him. It was just an urge—a desire. To inflict pain and hurt. Because then it would match what I felt inside.

  I said nothing.

  He shook me. “Is that it, Eleanor? Will it make you feel better to hit me?”

  Another sob tore out of me, and it enraged me. Who the fuck was he to corner me and make me feel this way?

  He grabbed my wrists and yanked me to standing. But then he threw his hands up and snarled, “Then go ahead. Hit me. I can take it. I can take a lot. Apparently, you cannot.”

  I snapped. My fist rocketed out, hammered his cheekbone and slid down to brush his collar bone. It was a sloppy punch that shocked my bones. But it was still a strike. And then I was moving. He’d grabbed me and twisted, turning me as he moved. We landed on the bed together, me sprawled over the bed across his lap. He flipped up the back of my long tee and delivered three brisk smacks to my ass.

  Shock rolled through me. I tried to gasp, but no noise came out of me, just startled silence. My skin sang with blood and pain but something more coursed through me. A defiant attraction. A heavy, thick lust. My pussy pulsed in time with my heart.

  “There,” he said, his hand suddenly sliding gently over my bottom. Stroking the skin he’d just inflamed. “Now we both feel better.”

  I simply laid there, my pulse pounding. My body was hot. One big nerve ending. I wriggled. A moan slipped out of me. Evan’s finger slid beneath the elastic at the leg hole of my panties. He stroked that finger back and forth.

  I struggled to my back. Touched his face where I had punched him. “Evan,” I said. My voice husky and needy.

  “El,” he said.

  He pushed his hands into my panties. Touched me. Dragged his finger over my thrumming clit. I wriggled to help him get them down and off. I pulled at him as if I was desperate, and he could save me. Because that was how I felt.

  “Evan,” I said again. Then: “Evan, Evan, Evan,” as I kissed his face, his lips, his neck.

  I tugged impatiently at his clothes until he whispered, “Stop. Let me,” and then he took them off himself.

  He turned me to my side, lifted my leg, and ran the thick head of his cock to my opening. I was shaking, my whole body moving with the need I found suddenly overwhelming. The feel of his hand—just his big, strong hand—holding my thigh up so he could penetrate me, was enough to have me struggling for air.

  “Hurry,” I said. I pushed back to try to make him enter me.

  He stilled me. His lips brushed my shoulder, and my entire body seemed to sparkle with the sensation. “No, not hurry. Slow. We go slow, Eleanor. You’re going to let me take my time. I’m going to take my time. And I’m going to take you.”

  I chewed my lower lip as he slipped into me taking his own sweet time. His free hand came up under me to press against my throat. His fingers curled over me, reminding me with their girth and grip I was vulnerable. We all were. And I hated it so much. But in that moment, my pulse trapped beneath his cradling hand as the other held my right leg aloft, I relished it.

  It was okay to be vulnerable to Evan. I’d never admit it aloud, but I felt it in the quiet darkness of the bus that was our temporary home.

  I pushed my bottom back, clenching my cunt tight around his thrusting cock. He groaned in my ear, sounding every bit as desperate as I felt.

  “Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he growled, and I didn’t even hesitate. I circled my clitoris with trembling fingers and pushed back every time he thrust into me. I wanted him to fill me up, stretch me, shut the world down. I wanted it to simply be about us in that moment, trapped together, his body in mine as the whole fucked-up rest of the world melted away.

  Another sob slipped free of me, and I let it go. No sense trying to stop it. It was born of pain and pleasure, and it was better out of me than trapped inside.

  “Shh,” he said, soothing me. He let my leg go, but kept the hand at my throat. It stuttered my breath and made the pleasure between my thighs that much better. Deep inside me a blissful, warm spasm was building.

  “I’m going to—” I shut up and shook my head.

  “Good. Do it. Come for me.”

  His free hand grabbed my hip, and he pulled me back to go deeper. He stopped thrusting, cock filling me, hips grinding back and forth. My legs were now close together as he took me from behind. The added friction from the position was staggering.

  “I’m—” I shut my eyes, rubbed my clit harder, using a rougher touch.

  His fingers gripped my throat just a shade tighter. Just enough for me to notice a hitch in my breath. I came, my body bucking against his as he continued to rock his hips forward and back.

  When the intensity passed, he pulled out. “Evan!” I said, startled.

  “Shh. Roll on your back.”

  I obeyed, spreading my thighs for him to come between them. He levered back to watch as he entered me again. Shocks of pleasure rolled through me. I arched up with my hips, touched his face with my fingertips.

  “I love you, Eleanor,” he said.

  I shook my head. Wanting to unhear what he’d said. But then he grabbed my hips hard, pinned them to the bed and slammed into me. We both scooted up on the bed some. The homemade structure even gave a groan. I gave a groan as well as the base of his cock brushed over my tender clitoris.

  I clenched up around him. Yanked his hair hard enough to make him hiss. I wrapped my legs around his slim waist, feeling his muscles flex and bunch as he fucked me. The effort of his body entering mine was easy to gauge if I touched his flanks. I opened my mouth to protest, to ask him to take it back, but he brushed his mouth over mine, and I got lost in it.

  I whimpered, and he framed my face with his big hands and held me still to kiss me, his body filling mine with every move he made.

  I hooked my ankles behind his back. I think I was afraid he’d disappear. I wanted to do anything I could to keep him here. Keep him close. I just didn’t want to admit the emotions.

  He moved his hands to shove them under my ass and hike me up higher. “Yeah. Right like that,” he said, grinning in the dark. He reminded me of the Cheshire cat, the subtle glow of his white teeth in the gloom.

  His cock slid against my G-spot with every motion. Every brush, every nudge, filled my insides with warmth, triggering me to grow tighter around him.

  We both groaned simultaneously. Laughed. Then back to kissing.

  “I’ve got about three seconds in me,” he said in my ear, nipping the lobe.

  He stopped thrusting and dragged his hips back and forth so his pelvis ground against my clitoris.


  “Yeah,” I said. I sighed. “Me, too—”

  He thrust hard, and my words dissolved into moans as I came.

  “Shh,” he said and kissed me quiet. “We don’t want to wake up the campground.”

  My body flickered, twitched, spasmed around him, and I let him eat up every sound I made. When I touched his face, he grew still, then one more thrust, and he was coming.

  “Eleanor,” he said, and I smiled.

  He rolled off me and without letting me even consider fleeing, he wrapped a big arm around me and pulled me close.

  “You spanked me,” I whispered.

  “Yeah.” He squeezed me. “You liked it. A little.”

  “A little,” I said, and he laughed. Truth was: a lot.

  Chapter Eleven

  “El? Wake up, El.”

  I sat up, reaching for a gun that wasn’t near me. It was over in the corner. It lay abandoned after our impromptu fight-fuck the night before.

  Evan was standing by the bus door, holding coffee. The wonderful smell of it hit me. I wanted it, but I heard a tone in his voice that set me on edge.

  “Coming,” I muttered. “Hold on.”

  I growled under my breath. It would help if I had pants. I spotted my jeans crumpled on the seat of one of the recliners and snagged them while keeping the blanket around my waist. I slid them on, shoved my feet into a pair of Vans and grabbed my gun. The rest of me would have to wait. Something in his voice told me this wasn’t a social thing—whatever it was.

  “Yeah?” I came up behind him to see two people at the base of the bus steps. Both thin. Both sunburned. Both looking quite like refugees. I say they were thin—and they were—but for her belly.

  Pregnant.

  “What’s up?” I asked. My heart and stomach sank a little bit.

  “These folks are travelers. Walking—” He barely looked at me from the corner of his eyes. I put a hand on his shoulder and waited. “As you can see, Sally is in a family way. They were wondering if we could give them a ride. Connecticut. She has family.”

  “I—” I shut my mouth. I had no idea what to say.