Apocalypse Cowboy

she’d been alone, Hannah doubted she would have fought to survive. What did she have to look forward to? The world had died. The only two other living people she’d seen apart from her family had gone crazy. Years of being alone stretched in front of her. Never again to be loved or touched. She dreaded the day her battery stash ran out. Her handy-dandy pocket rocket wouldn’t last forever. A hysterical giggle bubbled inside her. How could she think of pleasuring herself when billions had died?

Masturbation became her last escape, sometimes the only thing that reminded her she was still alive. In the quiet of the night, she let her fingers dance over her flesh, and she remembered better days. Or, more specifically, days spent with Brody, her first and only love. Rugged, dark-haired, and blue-eyed. Just looking at him had always made her breath hitch and her panties damp. His face still dominated her dreams and erotic fantasies even though she continued to hate him for what he’d done. When she touched herself, she would pretend he lay in bed with her, his mouth and hands pleasuring her.

But his phantom actions would never give her the family she longed for.

Part of her now wished she’d thrown responsibility to the wind and enjoyed those few blissful months with him before tragedy stuck, but who would have taken care of her family?

And why did gardening always make her thoughts turn to her memories of the past?

She ripped at the weeds that had cropped up in more aggressive numbers than the vegetables, an ongoing battle she used to vent her frequent frustration. Why do I bother? We’ve got enough canned vegetables to last us a lifetime. Hannah shuddered at the thought of eating mushy peas for the next forty or fifty years. With renewed vigor, she hacked at the thick root of a dandelion.

It took her a moment to register the sound in the distance. Like an audio mirage, her ears didn’t believe what they heard and when she did clue in, her jaw dropped.

That sounds like a motorcycle.

Pulling off her gloves and with a rapidly beating heart, she strode to the front of the house to see Uncle Fred peering at a cloud of dust fast approaching.

“Get the gun,” Fred said, his eyes squinting in the sun. “And help me get into the house.”

Hannah wanted to protest that they couldn’t be sure whoever approached meant them harm, but the wild eyes of her assailant in the spring floated in her mind and she might have whimpered.

Wheeling her uncle’s wheelchair quickly into the house, Hannah bolted the door and called for her sister. “Beth! Get down here.”

The long, tanned legs of her sister, followed by the rest of her, came skipping down the stairs. “What’s got your panties in a knot?” asked her blonde sibling. “I thought you wanted that bathroom clean.”

“I still do, but someone’s coming. Quick, get into the cellar and take Uncle Fred with you.” She grabbed the shotgun from its spot in the corner by the front door.

But Beth didn’t budge. With bright eyes, she asked, “Why are we hiding then? Maybe they’ve got news of other survivors. Maybe it’s a man.” She clasped her hands together and bounced a bit in excitement.

Fred snorted. “You’ve got less brains than most blondes, Bethie. What if it’s a scout for some gang looking for gals to sell? What if-”

Hannah cut off her uncle before he listed all the possibilities that could befall two girls in a lawless land-it tended to be lengthy. “Just get your ass downstairs now. I’m not taking any chances.”

“That’s the problem,” Beth grumbled as she grabbed the handles to Fred’s wheelchair. “We finally find someone alive, and we’re going to hide like rabbits in a burrow instead of befriending him.” Even as she complained, Beth wheeled their uncle down to the cellar using the rickety ramp they’d built for emergencies.

With the door shut behind them and the sounds of the motorcycle closer, Hannah cracked open the shotgun and made sure it held some casings before she snapped it shut. Sliding the pump forward, she chambered a shell and then stood behind the front door, resisting an urge to go on tiptoe and peer through the half-moon window.

I hate to say Beth is right, but what if whoever is coming is friendly? It would be nice to see other people again.

Or the person coming could be a psycho rapist who would hurt her and Beth before killing them all. Hell, it could even be the man she’d maimed, looking for revenge.

Safety lay in staying here, undiscovered. She wouldn’t chance the well-being of her family, no matter how lonely it got.

The sound of the revving engine echoed loudly in the still house, and Hannah found her hands sweating around the stock of the gun. Taking deep breaths, she tried to calm down. The chances of the person stopping where small, infinitesimally so.

Hannah’s heart stuttered when the bike stopped right out front. What had they left lying around that had given them away? At Uncle Fred’s urging, they’d made sure the front of the house looked abandoned with the lawn growing wild. But, to her uncle’s chagrin, she drew the line at breaking windows for a more authentic look. When she’d taken the rock from his hand he’d claimed was for staging, he’d pouted until she let him trash the Jeep Cherokee that no longer had gas to run it.

Boards on the front porch creaked as someone stepped on them. Hannah’s breath came fast as she moved back and shouldered the shotgun, aiming it at the door. Silly, because the door was locked and whoever stood out there couldn’t get in.

She watched in terrified fascination as the handle turned, first one way then the other. A muffled curse and a thump sounded as the visitor kicked it. Hannah stifled a scream, her finger trembling on the trigger. More creaking was heard as the person went back down the steps and then silence.

Hannah let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Safe. She hadn’t heard the sound of the bike starting back up. But why isn’t the stranger leaving? What is he doing?

The tinkling of glass breaking in the kitchen made her swing around to the doorway that led into the kitchen. Hannah had a clear view of the side door and the hand that came through the opening and turned the knob. She stared in frozen disbelief as the kitchen door swung open, the tall, dark figure entering her home. Suddenly terrified, not just for herself, but for her family in the cellar, Hannah pulled the trigger.

Chapter Three

The blast took him by surprise. He’d thought the house vacant, but he hadn’t survived the apocalypse by being foolish or slow. Ducking, he covered his face, even as splinters flew from the doorjamb above him. When a second blast didn’t follow, he peered around the edge of the door that had changed little since the last time he’d seen it.

He heard the slide of a shotgun click as someone chambered a shell. The barrel came poking through the kitchen archway, followed by a miracle he hadn’t expected and certainly didn’t deserve.

“That’s the only warning I’m giving you, mister,” said a voice he’d dreamed about and never thought to hear again. “Get out before I blow your fucking head off.” Her vulgar language made him want to laugh. The little kitten he’d left had grown into a tigress.

As he watched the nervous waver of the shotgun, it occurred to him he’d better declare who he was before he found out if she meant her threat. “Hannah, is that you?”

He heard her gasp of surprise, and he stood up slowly in the doorway, showing himself to the woman he’d foolishly left behind. A wide smile spread across his face, a motion so unfamiliar this past year, he could feel his muscles stretch even as his heart stuttered in his chest.

She’s alive! And she’s more beautiful than ever.

“Brody?” Uncertainty colored her familiar features, and she lowered the barrel of the gun.

Brody drank her in, from the golden curls forming halo around the face he’d never forgotten to her upturned nose sprinkled with freckles. Bright, brown eyes regarded him with confusion, and she bit one of her full, luscious lips. Lips that tasted sweeter than any dessert. His gaze flicked over her figure, still generously proportioned with a bosom he’d loved burying his face in and rounded hips he’d held onto to for many wild rides. A tightness in his groin showed that more than one part of his body remembered the passion they’d shared. He took a step toward her,