Consume bunker 12 4, p.17
Consume (Bunker 12, #4), page 17
A tear slipped down her cheek. She tried to turn away to hide it, knowing it was visible to him. But another part wanted him to see it, and when he failed to react, she swiped angrily at her face and glared at him. No hint of understanding entered his eyes, no acknowledgment of the pain he caused her. A whimper of despair escaped her throat, and this time she turned fully away, hoping he didn’t notice. She felt suddenly embarrassed and vulnerable. He grabbed her hand and yanked her around, forcing her back.
“You’re hurting me,” she whispered.
He didn’t let go.
“Finn, please.”
“Brehhhn?”
“What’s happening to you?” she whispered.
He didn’t answer.
“Are we . . . ? What’s happening to us, Finn?”
Still nothing.
“I don’t know if I can—”
“What?” he demanded.
“I— I love you, Finn. Don’t you love me?”
“You don’t know,” he said. He raised his other hand and made a fist. His knuckles cracked with the pressure. He remained like that for several seconds, then relaxed again. “You don’t know what . . . it’s like.”
“I’m trying to understand.”
“I am trying,” he echoed, almost mockingly. “I just . . . I can’t.”
“Can’t what, Finn? Can’t feel? Can’t remember? Please tell me.”
At last he released her, and he seemed to crumble. His shoulders sagged and he lowered his face into his hands. “You don’t . . . understand. I feel everything. Pain, healing, anger, hatred, love . . . . Death. It scares the hell out of me.”
“Love, Finn?” she said, hopefully. “You feel love?”
He looked up at her, as if startled, and reached out. She shied away, but he was too quick. He grabbed her and pulled her to him, slipping off the examination table and pressing himself against her. The towel about his waist slipped to the floor. He didn’t retrieve it. He leaned forward and buried his nose in the hollow of her neck, and breathed deep.
She whimpered as their lips met, gasped at the brutality of his embrace, moaned at the vulnerability of his kiss. She gave herself over to the desire that had been building within her ever since they first left the bunker all those months before. She reveled in the familiarity of his body.
And yet he was a complete stranger to her.
“WHAT IS EVERYONE TALKING about?” Bren asked.
Her arrival with Finn into the kitchen abruptly cut short the discussion the others had been having. There were a few uncomfortable throat clearings, and most of them avoided making eye contact with the couple. Bren turned to her mother and saw that her face was bright red, and so she realized that they all knew what had transpired down in the medical bay. She felt her own cheeks flush with heat.
Finn sat down, apparently oblivious to it all.
“Hungry?” Bix squeaked at them. “We’re having soup.”
“Starving,” Finn grunted.
“It’s cream of broccoli.”
“Okay.”
Bix jumped up and grabbed a couple bowls and took them over to the stove, where Kaleagh stood. Dinner was from a can Bix had rescued from the bunker’s plundered stores downstairs, which were now nearly fully depleted.
Months before, when the majority of the bunker survivors left, there had been enough food to last the dozen or so people who chose to stay behind at least another decade. Much of that had been left after Adrian’s raid, as food hadn’t been his primary objective. The uncertainty of who had since come and taken the items put the group on edge. When had they been here? When would they return?
“So, uh, you guys must be famished then,” Bix said.
“Gee, what makes you say that?” muttered Jonah.
Kaleagh set the first bowl of soup before Finn. “Here you go. Careful, it’s very hot.”
He took it from her, hesitated as if trying to remember something, then slid it over to Bren. He leaned over the second bowl and began to feed himself. His attempts were still stiff, mechanical, but markedly more improved since just the day before. Strength had returned to him early, and in spades. The fine motor skills finally seemed to be catching up.
“So, you’re feeling better then, Finn?” Eddie asked tentatively. “More like your old self?”
“You might want to ask Bren how he feels.”
“Bix,” Harrison warned.
“To be . . . honest,” Finn replied, haltingly, “I don’t know what that . . . is anymore, my old self.” The spoon felt far too small for his hand and was taking too long transferring the food into his mouth. He dropped it and lifted the bowl and slurped the soup instead. He barely flinched when it scalded his lips, and when some of it spilled onto his hands, he didn’t even seem to notice. “I feel like my . . . insides are changing by the . . . minute. My brain can’t catch up. It’s very . . . tuh— tuh—”
“Titillating?” Bix suggested.
Harrison groaned.
“Troubling. I don’t . . . . It’s . . . disturbing.”
“It’s not the only thing that’s disturbing,” Jonah muttered darkly.
“Not you, too, Jonah,” Eddie said.
“He always has to make it about himself,” Bix piped in. “He hates not being the focus of attention.”
“It wasn’t about him,” Finn said dismissively. He drained the bowl, then gestured for the pot. “Eddie . . . knows.”
“Um, what were you guys talking about before we came in?” Bren asked, desperate to change the subject.
“Searching for your father’s secret laboratory,” Eddie said, his gaze dwelling on Finn’s face a moment longer. “We were just saying that—”
“I really think we need to talk about what happened downstairs,” Jonah interrupted. “Now that we’re all together again.”
“I’d rather not,” Kaleagh muttered.
“Yeah, they’re both consenting adults,” Bix said.
Jonah rolled his eyes. “I meant Finn going off half-cocked in the tunnel. Oh for Christ’s sake, Bix! Stop with the damn innuendos. Him taking on the Wraiths by himself put us all in danger!”
“Later,” Eddie advised.
“No, now,” Jonah insisted. “We were attacked. We had guns, but instead of using them, Finn goes in and confronts them alone, not knowing how many there were, to fight them by hand.”
“Seven,” Finn said. “I knew there were seven. I heard their . . . heartbeats.”
This shocked them all into silence.
“And we need to save . . . bullets.”
“It was totally irresponsible.”
“What matters is that he took care of them,” Harrison said.
“He put us all at risk!”
“Never at risk,” Finn hissed. He set the bowl down so hard that soup splashed onto the table. His spoon skittered away onto the floor. “I did what I . . . had to. Should be thankful.”
“What?” Jonah cried. “You want us to thank you? You think you’re a hero? You’re a damn liability!”
“Jonah!” Eddie barked.
“How are we supposed to trust him when he acts like that?”
“Like what?” Finn challenged, and started to rise out of his seat. He seemed to change right before their very eyes, growing larger, more . . . present. Something was happening inside of him. They could sense it more than see it. “Better than you, Jonah? Is that what you mean? Stronger? Smarter?”
“Unpredictable. Irrational. Impulsive.”
“I said enough, Jonah,” Eddie growled, and slapped his palm on the table. He didn’t notice how the force of it caused the metal to dent, but the others did. “What Finn did was . . . . It wasn’t what I would’ve done. Or recommended. But we need to cut him some slack. He’s still finding his way. What he experienced these past few weeks, none of us can fully understand, not even me. One thing we can be sure of, however, is that it’s going to take some time for him to figure out. He will get through it. We need to help him.”
“Can’t help him if we don’t survive,” Jonah muttered, crossing his arms.
“Finn needs our support,” Eddie reminded them all. “For god’s sake, he nearly died back there at Ten. We’re fortunate he didn’t, so cut him some slack. He deserves a little leeway.”
He turned to Finn, whose demeanor had turned impassive again. “That being said, Jonah has a valid point, even if it was poorly made. We all need to be smart out there, for everyone’s sake, and that means not putting ourselves or our colleagues in positions of greater risk. There are better ways to deal with Wraiths than taking them on hand-to-hand. Can I get your promise to try next time to let us deal with the Wraiths as a team?”
Finn said nothing. He just picked up his bowl and brought it to his lips.
“Y’all ask me,” Adrian said, speaking up from a table in the corner, “yer boy dispatched them ferals right quick, and none of y’all got hurt. So, no harm, no foul.”
“Shut the hell up,” Jonah growled.
“Finn took care of them for us,” Bren said. “And like he said, no one got hurt. That’s what’s important.”
“Finn got hurt.”
“And he’s already healing.”
“And what about next time?”
“I can handle it,” Finn said.
“Next time might not be just seven Wraiths,” Eddie quietly advised. “You’re not indestructible, Finn. I’m not indestructible. We’re stronger working together.”
“I’m stronger alone.”
Eddie pursed his lips. He looked like he wanted to disagree, but he didn’t. “It’s done. Let’s just move on.”
Harrison nodded. “I agree. We need to stay focused. The cure is what’s important.”
“You still believe Mister . . . Ay— abra— able—” Finn clenched his fists, his face twisting in frustration.
“Seth’s notes are our best lead at the moment,” Harrison said.
“For now,” Eddie agreed. “We’re here, so we might as well look.”
“Maybe,” Finn said. “I— I—”
“Christ. Just spit it out already,” Jonah grumbled.
Everyone glared at him, but he refused to apologize.
“May . . . be. Maybe— maybe a cure isn’t . . . the best thing.”
They gawped at him in disbelief.
“I would be dead . . . without nanites, so . . . .”
“Don’t go there, Finn,” Eddie warned. “That’s dangerous thinking.”
“You wouldn’t be dead, Finn,” Jonah asserted. “You’d be home. With your whole family. We all would be. The Flense would never have happened, and your father would be alive, and—”
“Yours, too.”
“As I was saying before,” Eddie said stiffly, stopping them, “there weren’t many rooms left unused inside the bunker or hadn’t been accessed by at least one of us present in this room at various times, so that fact alone should help us narrow down where Seth hid his work. There were a couple dozen or so unoccupied units on the residence level that no one ever bothered to open up. He might’ve used one of those, although I doubt it. He would’ve had a hard time getting in and out of them without being noticed. On the remaining levels, I can think of maybe a half dozen to a dozen rooms. Getting into some of them might be a challenge without the codes.”
“Y’all’s assumin the man just left everythin behind,” Adrian noted.
“Will someone please shove a butt plug in that asshole?” Bix spat.
“Language, Bix.”
“I just know if’n it were me, I’da got rid of the evidence.”
“Well, it’s not you,” Kaleagh said thinly. “You and my husband were nothing alike. He documented everything he did very carefully. He had reasons for every experiment, hypotheses based on solid evidence.”
“Real scientists don’t create monsters,” Bren muttered, drawing a sharp look from her mother. “They don’t ruin the world, Mom.”
“Your father was trying to save it, honey. He’s not responsible for the Flense. I know he made some terrible choices afterward, unforgivable choices, but only because he thought he was protecting us. He just wanted to help everyone.”
“Was he helping when he pushed Finn into the elevator shaft?”
Kaleagh slapped her daughter hard across the face. “Don’t you ever speak about your father that way again!”
“Yikes,” Bix whispered, and threw a worried glance over at Finn, who didn’t react at all.
“Can it,” Jonah said, elbowing him.
“I’m sorry for what your father did, young lady, but he was a good man put in a terrible situation. What he did, he did out of good intentions.”
She waited until Bren nodded.
“I’ve done a mental accounting,” Eddie said, pressing on. “Besides the unused, locked rooms on the residence level, a couple to either side of the watch room, and a few in the dungeon levels, where else could he have worked?”
They shook their heads.
“Okay, then I say we start here on Level One and work our way down, checking every room, forcing open every locked door. We search every square in—”
“Not . . . ness . . . nest.” Finn growled, his face twisting in concentration. “Necessary. Adrian has it.”
“Has what, Finn?”
“Book. Door c-codes.”
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “Y’all talkin about that diary I found the night y’all ran from the ranch? Thought nothin of it at the time.”
“Where is it now?” Jonah demanded.
“Well, I figured it might be important to y’all, so I kept it.”
“Where is it?” Jonah growled impatiently.
“In the truck. Glove box.”
Jonah stood up. “I did see a bunch of papers there, but I thought they were junk.”
Bix groaned. “Please tell us you didn’t throw them away.”
“I put them back. I’ll go check right now.”
“Go with him, son,” Harrison told Bix.
But it was Finn who stood up. “No, I . . . will.”
“Stay here, Finn. It’s just the top of the loading ramp.”
“I’m still coming.”
“Please be careful,” Bren said. “Both of you.”
“I’ll watch my own back,” Jonah said, his eyes locked on Finn’s as he walked stiffly out of the room.
“Is that normal?” Harper asked, after the boys left.
“Not that I’ve ever seen,” Bix answered. “For either of them.”
Harper shook his head. “Finn’s nothing like I remember before the Flense.”
“Yeah, well, it’s still a huge improvement from what he was just two weeks ago.”
The others nodded, but they didn’t look so convinced.
“OKAY, SPILL IT,” JONAH called out to Finn, who refused to slow down. Finn slammed through the stairwell door and into the hallway on Level Four. He’d nearly reached the last security door before the tunnel leading to the loading ramp when Jonah caught up to him. “Finn!”
The corpses were now gone from the tunnel, and the floor had been sprayed down, but the stench lingered.
Finn unwound the chain wrapped around the handles and stepped through, Jonah still tight against his side. A trace of the message Adrian had painted on the wall in the blood of the people Ramsey had slain was still visible: Salvation or damnation. At the moment, it felt particularly relevant to Finn, who was in a state of flux between the two.
“Finn!”
He stopped and turned. “What?”
Jonah shook his head. “Stop playing games, man. You didn’t volunteer to come up here just to watch my back — or have me watch yours — so what is it?”
“Fresh air.”
“I don’t believe you. You obviously have something you want to say, so say it.”
Finn hesitated a moment, and Jonah thought he might actually open up. But he gave his head a quick shake and tried to turn.
“What the hell is happening to you, Finn? You’ve changed.”
“Nothing’s changed.”
“Bullshit. Everything’s changed.”
“You’re still you, and I’m still . . . .”
“What? You can’t even say it.”
Finn glared at him for a moment. “Like Eddie said. I’m still . . . reek— reek— healing. I can’t explain it. Not to you.”
“Try. I think that’s why you asked to go with me. You know I’ll take you seriously.”
“I— You have no idea what it’s like . . . to die, or nearly die, and then come back and be—” He stopped himself.
“Different?” Jonah asked. He stepped forward tentatively. “Or afraid you’ll end up the same?”
“Are you afraid?”
“Of what?”
“That I won’t be the same. Or that I will.”
“Everything changes us, Finn, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.”
“Not me.”
Jonah sniffed and stepped past him, shaking his head. “You keep telling yourself that. Whatever gets you through the day.”
“Exactly,” Finn said, continuing on.
Jonah paused for several seconds, then ran to catch up again. “Let’s just get the damn book,” he said. “The sooner we find Seth’s secret room, the sooner we can get back to Westerton.”
“Then what?” Finn asked. “Make a cuh— a cuh— a cure? Will that really make things better?”
“For some of us, yeah.”
Finn grabbed Jonah’s arm. “How can you be sure?”
Jonah shook him off. “It has to.”
He turned toward the door, one hand reaching instinctively for the handle, the other curling around the pistol in his waistband.
“Relax. There’s nothing out there,” Finn said. “You won’t need that.”
Jonah stared down at the weapon in his own hand. He glanced up at Finn, finally realizing why he’d come. Then he pushed out into the loading ramp, the pistol raised and ready to shoot.
They had moved the broken vehicle, rolling it out of the way after failing to get it running again. Jonah hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong with it, and Eddie thought it was too much of a hassle to try and hook it up and tow it out. There was enough room to bring the bus in almost three-quarters of the way down the ramp. The pickup sat at the top, off to one side, the tailgate lowered, but the tarp was still in place. Jennifer remained tied up inside the bed.
