Breakout Page 10

  “Get down!” they shouted, their voices muffled.

  Bone-deep despair settled inside her, overtaking the survival instinct that had kept her going for so long, and for the first time since this whole ordeal began almost a year before, Monarch felt hopeless. As she got down on her knees and readied for the gas masks to shoot her, or even worse, quarantine her and wait for her to die a horrid death, Monarch simply gave up. She gazed at poor Waters, who was now writhing on the floor, the final throes of the infection beginning to set in, and felt only…detachment.

  It was all for nothing. The life they had tried to make for themselves at this camp was meaningless. The P virus would take no prisoners. It would kill indiscriminately and leave the few survivors to fend for themselves like animals, hearts and wills broken. Monarch no longer cared about herself but why did this have to happen to Jordan? And to Corbin? A tear tracked down her cheek as she thought about the only two people on Earth she gave a shit about. The two people she loved.

  This moment of despair also served as one of clarity.

  Too little, too late.

  The soldiers surrounded her. She would never have known Corbin if it weren’t for the P virus. He was like a poisoned apple, offered up to a starving woman in a weak moment. He was the gift she could never keep, so sweet and delicious in the beginning yet heartbreaking in the end. But she wouldn’t trade one second with him. He was still the best gift she’d ever received and she’d been dumb to give him up without a fight.

  And as the gas masks closed in, she only wished she could tell him so.

  Chapter 10

  Monarch sat up, disoriented until reality slithered around her, the grip of its icy fingers reminding her it was much scarier than the nightmares she just escaped. She was still in quarantine, locked in a small room with no furnishings other than the cot she lay on, and she waited to die. How she ever fell asleep in the first place was a mystery.

  Her makeshift cell, once an office, was cold and sterile. The wall to her right, which faced the hallway, was solid glass from waist height all the way to the ceiling, allowing her to look out into the hallway. There was still a small name plaque affixed to the glass near the door. Jennifer Ramirez it read, the name of the person who once worked here in this cramped office, back when life was normal and hell hadn’t yet arrived on earth.

  There were ten offices along this hallway, and if she had counted correctly on the way in, eight of them were occupied with exposed victims, including herself. When she’d been brought in by two of the gas mask soldiers hours earlier, Monarch tried to take in as much detail as possible. Her main concern was finding out if Jordan or Corbin were safe. So far she could only assume they were, but this building had multiple stories and hallways and she had no idea how many exposed were quarantined throughout.

  Monarch once told Corbin she figured she was immune to the P virus. That was from a shell-shocked woman struggling to understand how she of all people managed to survive an apocalypse. But she wasn’t fooling herself anymore. Monarch didn’t know if she was immune or not. How could she know if she’d survive coming face to face with a person infected with the P virus, especially if the virus had actually mutated? Her hours could be numbered and it made her want to scream and kick and claw the walls. To think you were going to die was bad enough, but to suffer the final hours in isolation, going over all the things you’d done wrong in your mind, all the things you would never do again, was a torment worse than death itself.

  Monarch held her head in her hands, her palms against her temples, her red curls flattened against her face and neck. She sat like that on the bed for several minutes, with her knees pulled up as she rocked back and forth. She might finally be losing it, her tethers to reality snapping one by one, each one a blessing. Monarch could only hope that she would be completely mad by the time the P virus had its grip on her.

  As she rocked she heard a hollow, echoing sound in the hallway. She cocked her head and realized it was the same sound that had woken her minutes before. She heard the sound again and curiosity won out. As much as she hated looking out the window, not wanting to see the gas masks drag in yet another dead man walking, she couldn’t help but turn her head in the direction of the thud.

  She let out a cry.

  Corbin stood in the hallway, on the other side of the glass, next to the locked door. He looked disheveled, as if he had been in a scuffle, his face bruised and ashen.

  “Corbin, w-what are you doing here? Were you…exposed?”

  Please God, no…

  “No,” was all he said as he leaned his forehead and hands against the window, his breath fogging the glass. “Are you okay?”

  His intense blue stare, once so disconcerting, caused a lump in her throat. Monarch threw back the blanket and walked to the window. Corbin had broken into a prison for her?

  She wore nothing but a t-shirt and underwear, her shorts and bra lying at the foot of the cot. She came to stand just in front of him, their faces separated by a pane of glass that felt like a vast ocean. “I’m fine. I feel fine. I’m just…” she trailed off, hesitant to admit how scared she was, to show how weak she turned out to be.

  “Monarch, look at me.”

  The words were a command, delivered in a harsh tone. And yet they brought her much more comfort than any soothing words could ever do. Monarch lifted her eyes to meet his and raised her hands to place her palms flat against the glass, against his. “I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be. You’re immune, remember? This is all just a security measure. You’ll be fine.” Corbin curled his fingers against the window as if he wanted to claw his way through to her.

  Tears leaked from her eyes as she met his gaze but she said nothing, letting his words fold around her like a blanket. There was no one in this world or the next that she would rather be with at this moment than him. She honestly couldn’t remember what it was she had been so mad at him about just yesterday. Whatever the reason was, it was trite and ridiculous now, as she stared down the barrel of pestilence. “I was immune to the original strain. Now it’s anyone’s guess. You need to go, Corbin. You can’t be here.”

  “Most of us still alive at this point have to be immune. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” he said vehemently, as if willing her too to believe.

  “You need to go, Corbin. You can’t be here.”

  “I need to make sure you’re all right.”

  “Well, now you know I am. Please leave. I don’t want you risking your life to be here. I want you to live. You and Jordan need to leave the base.” Monarch’s green eyes were pleading.

  Corbin ignored her. “Jordan’s fine, she’s locked down with Ian. How many hours since your exposure?”

  Monarch’s blood turned to ice in her veins. She had been trying to think of anything but. Anything but the image of Lieutenant Waters sweating, writhing, froth collecting at the corners of his mouth as he reached out to her… “About t-twelve.”

  He nodded. “Then we only have twenty-four more til you’re in the clear,” Corbin said. It was the incubation period of the P virus and the bug was efficient and fast-moving. Victims would invariably show symptoms within hours after initial exposure. The thirty-six hour rule was often referred to by experts in the beginning, as the safe point.

  “You can’t stay with me. You need to go back to the safe side while you still can.”

  No response.

  “Corbin, please,” Monarch begged as she leaned her forehead against the glass with his.

  “Don’t you think we’ve wasted enough time?” he asked, sounding angry.

  Monarch searched his chiseled face. “What?”

  “Babe, If the P Virus tells us anything, it’s that life is short. We’ve spent a shit ton of the last several months wasting time. I’m done.”

  With that Corbin shifted to his right and kicked the locked door in.

  Monarch flinched and shuffled backwards, not out of fear as much as complete surprise. She heard footsteps echoing i
n the hall outside, knew the gas mask soldiers were coming.

  “Sir, step out of the room!” came the muffled command from gas mask number one, who Monarch was pretty sure was a friend of Ian’s, a private first class named Brandon she met a few times.

  Corbin strode into the room and turned, facing them while in front of Monarch. “Why? So you can put me in another quarantine cell? I’m exposed at this point, I’m staying where I am. Neither one of us have any plans to leave this cell.” He turned to her, “Do you, Monarch?”

  She obediently shook her head, still in shock.

  Corbin turned back to the gas masks. “See? Now piss off.”

  The gas masks seemed unsure of what to do, obviously not expecting someone to break in to a cell. Finally number two said, “Fine, neither of you better move from this room; we’ll be monitoring. And we have orders that anyone trying to escape quarantine is to be shot on sight.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Corbin said dismissively and turned back to Monarch as the gas masks headed back toward their posts outside the exits on either end of the hallway.

  Monarch asked, “How did you get past them anyway?”

  “The one guy was taking a leak.”

  “How did you get all bruised up?”

  “I wasn’t getting the answers I needed earlier today.”

  Now in the aftermath of the confrontation with the gas masks, now that things were eerily quiet once more, they were both well aware of how alone they were. And how close they stood to one another, no glass separating them, with Monarch in nothing but a t-shirt and underwear.

  She felt incredibly vulnerable, and a bit awkward. She fidgeted as Corbin pinned her with another one of his stares. “So what now?” Monarch whispered as she tugged the hem of her t-shirt down.

  Corbin leaned in, his breath fanning her cheek as he framed her face in his hands. “Now we stop wasting time.”

  When his lips touched hers, time stopped. If Corbin hadn’t been holding her face, Monarch would have dropped to her knees. She kissed him back with everything she had, as if she had no voice, and the only way she could convey her feelings was through this one kiss.

  She clung to him as he continued to plunder her mouth. For long moments they stayed like that, and when he finally pulled back, Monarch felt a loss so profound she whimpered.

  Corbin caressed her cheek with his thumb. “We need to talk, babe.”

  “Corbin, I need to tell you, I’m sorry about—”

  He put his finger over her lips to silence her. “Me first. It’s past time.”

  Corbin leaned toward her, and Monarch shook in anticipation, expecting him to kiss her again.

  But he didn’t, instead he looked away and started talking. “I came from a shitty family. You know the type, the one from the wrong side of the tracks with a bad reputation. Where the father’s no good and the sons are worse.”

  Monarch’s jaw slack with shock. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  “You wanted to hear all this right?”

  She nodded dumbly.

  “Okay then.” Corbin took a deep breath and started again. “My father was a drunk and a deadbeat, in and out of jail and never able to hold down a job. My older brother was a chip off the old block, quitting school at sixteen and getting hooked on drugs.” He turned back to look at her. “My whole life I’ve had people judging me, not because of things I’d done, but because of my last name. It was assumed I was a low-life who would never amount to anything, that I was only capable of doing shitty things. If a kid’s lunch money got stolen in my class, everyone automatically blamed me because I was a Tate. I worked so hard to try to climb out from the shadow of my family, of my father and my brother. And just when I had, when people finally started to think I was worth associating with, when my garage finally started turning a decent profit, I ruined everything.”

  Monarch could tell how hard this was for him, like at any moment he might be spooked and bail out before finishing the story. “Why are you telling me this now? Because you think we’re gonna die?”

  Corbin whispered in her ear, “I’m telling you this because you think you want to know.”

  Monarch couldn’t argue that she did. “I don’t want secrets between us. But I also know that you acted like you couldn’t stand the sight of me a few days ago.”

  “I was pissed at you, at our whole situation. You’re better than me and every time I’m reminded of that I go crazy.” He breathed against her lips.

  “I’m not better than you! I—”

  “You drive me out of my damn mind. But you’re also the only person on this crappy rock called Earth that I give two shits about. So can I continue with my story before I lose my nerve?”

  She nodded and he began, pacing as he did so. “I was having a drink with my buddy Wyatt, one night at a shit hole little bar outside town. We were just throwing back a few beers, relaxing after a long week of work, when some guy bumped into him. I told Wyatt to let it go, the other guy had a reputation for being a hothead. But when the guy mouthed off, Wyatt did too. Next thing I knew they were brawling, and the other guy’s friends were closing in. For a split second I thought about leaving, I had a bad feeling in my gut. But I just couldn’t leave Wyatt to the wolves. He was a good guy and I knew what they would do to him.”

  Corbin was no longer in the tiny room with her, his eyes said he was miles away, at that hole in the wall bar where his life changed forever. “It was just about under control, when the guy I was fighting pulled out a knife and came at me. I mean, he really came at me, he was aiming for my jugular and I knew it. This guy, whose nickname around town was Freak, had just gotten out of prison a month before for gouging a man’s eyes out. We went down, and it seemed like forever that we grappled on the floor, him trying to stab me while I tried to gain control of the knife.” Corbin ran a hand over his face and finished the story in a voice raw with regret. “And then it was over, next thing I knew he stopped moving. In the struggle for the knife it ended up lodged in his gut, severing an artery. I killed him.”

  Monarch wept openly. The story was gut-wrenching, one of those that makes you shake your head at the senseless violence. “It was him or you, Corbin,” Monarch whispered the words he had said to her that night after she shot Byron. “So there was really no choice at all.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her. “There were a few witnesses in the bar, none of whom remembered seeing his knife aimed at my throat but all of whom managed to get a clear picture of me stabbing him in the scuffle. They were all friends of his of course. Wyatt was out cold under the bar. I didn’t stand a chance. I lost my business, what semblance of a good name I made for myself, and got a fifteen-year prison sentence. But Freak lost his life at my hand.”

  Monarch stood and went to him, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Corbin whipped around, grabbing that hand and throwing her down on the cot, coming down on top of her. “You were my fresh start, Monarch. A person who didn’t have pre-conceived notions of the guy named Corbin Tate other than what you assumed from the orange jumpsuit. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, or that I didn’t want a deeper connection with you or any of that bullshit. It’s because I didn’t want my past in the way. For once I wanted to be just Corbin, I wanted a fresh start even though I didn’t deserve it, as if I was born the moment I crawled out of that goddamn wrecked bus.”

  Monarch longed to touch him, to comfort him, but he held her hands over her head. Corbin’s heavy breaths puffed against her lips. “Now you know everything. You know that I’m a convicted murderer. I killed a guy in a bar fight. All the Tates are rotten to the core just like everyone always thought. I’m not good enough to lay my hands on you,” he rasped, his gaze raking up and down her body. “So tell me to stop, Monarch. Tell me to piss off and never touch you again.”

  She hesitated, seeking the right words to say. Did she condone violence? No. But she too had killed a man.

  Desperate people do desperate things.

  And maybe Corbin was right
about the apocalypse. The one good thing was that it meant a fresh start for those left behind. The one thing she knew for sure was that Corbin was inherently good. “I can’t tell you that. Because I want your hands on me more than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

  Corbin kissed her, hard. “Are you for real?”

  She kissed him back. “Considering we are in quarantine and have been exposed to a lethal disease, I’d say shit is as real as it gets.”

  He grabbed her chin roughly. “But that’s not why, right?”

  “Not why what?”

  “That’s not why you want me? Tell me it’s not because you might be dying and you have no other options.”

  His blue eyes had never told her more. Monarch’s heart ached for him. She hadn’t been the only one with insecurities in this, the only one afraid to get hurt. “Corbin, don’t you know? I’d want you if I had a million days left or just one. The P virus might be why we met but it has absolutely nothing to do with how I feel about you. I’m empty inside without you.”

  “Then I’ll fill you up, baby.” Corbin kissed her hotly again and again as he pulled her t-shirt up, exposing her breasts. Corbin gazed down at her, from her breasts to calves and back up again, taking in her pale skin and lithe form. She had gained a little weight since he had last seen her, and she hoped it pleased him.

  “You’re so damn sexy, you make me crazy.” he breathed and then took the peak of her left breast in his mouth. “I’ve missed…this.”

  “I’ve missed you, Corbin,” Monarch whispered.

  Corbin shifted until his face was hovering over hers, his body covering her completely. He cupped her cheek roughly in his right hand. “As much as I never wanted to come to a place like this camp, I couldn’t stay away from you.”

  When he leaned down and kissed her, it was altogether different than any kiss before. It was filled with heat but also tenderness. Their lips met in a dance that seemed almost choreographed, every movement in sync.