“What are we doing here?” Lana asked. “Are we moving in?”
He shook his head. “Hell no. Even I wouldn’t live in a dump like this.” He crossed the living room and entered the narrow hallway.
Lana stayed close, her eyes scanning for any possible sign of trouble. “Simon, just tell me what—”
“Here we go.” He pushed the bedroom door open farther and waved her in.
“Ooh. We’re moving up from the dog food bags, eh?” She laughed as she bounced on the springy mattress.
“We could.” He gave her an impish grin. “But I had something else in mind.” He tugged at her arm with his good hand and lifted her to her feet. He gave her a steamy look. “Take off your clothes.”
Lana chuckled as she began to peel her tattered clothing off. “I knew you were up to no good.”
“I’m good.” He gave her a hurt look. “Well, I can be good at it.”
She watched him step aside and pull open a closet door. “I promised you clothes.”
Her face fell as he began pulling ladies clothing from the closet rod. “Find something that suits your taste.” He held up what looked like an oversized nightgown. “If you can.”
She lifted a pair of lime-colored pants with an elastic waistband. “I don’t think so.” She tossed them aside and picked up another. “These would fall off of me.”
Simon raised a brow then stepped out of the room. “Over here.”
She followed him out and saw him holding another door open. “This looks like a teenager’s room.” She frowned at the posters and mementos stuck to the walls. “I’m probably too old for these as well.”
He chuckled as he dumped clothes from the closet. “But they’re probably a lot closer to your size.”
She lifted a pair of jeans and held them to her hips. “Hey…” She slipped them on and began to laugh. “They fit around the middle, but…” She pointed down. They barely covered her knees.
He gave her a shrug. “It’s better than what you had.”
She had to agree.
Lana glanced through the open door and stepped out of the room. Simon’s head whipped around. “Where you going? Are they that bad?”
She pushed open the bathroom door and twisted the knob on the sink.
Nothing.
She sighed as she reentered the room. “New clothes. I just thought I’d clean up a bit first.”
Simon held a finger up. “Hold on. I spotted something in the kitchen.”
He disappeared for a moment then returned with a gallon jug of water. “Sponge bath?” Her eyes lit up as she reached for it. “There’s a couple more in there if you need them.”
She soaked a washcloth and stood in the dirty tub, scrubbing away months of filth. Simon brought a second jug and grabbed a hand towel from the bar. He soaked the small towel and began to wash her back. She stiffened slightly and he whispered, “I didn’t know if you could reach.”
She turned to face him and gave him an approving nod. “You could use a good scrubbing too.”
“Maybe later. This is your time.”
She continued to wash and glanced over her shoulder. She caught her reflection in the mirror and froze. “I knew it was bad, but…”
Simon stepped between her and the mirror and shook his head. “New beginning, remember? Let go of the past.”
She tugged gently at the wisps of hair clinging to her scalp. “Do you think it will grow back?”
He gave her a slight shrug. “No idea.” He suddenly brightened. “But, what say we get rid of it? Until it starts to grow back, I mean.”
She gave him a concerned stare. “You mean…cut it off?”
He smiled. “Not just cut.” He dug through the medicine cabinet and removed a disposable razor. “I say, go all the way.”
Lana raised a brow at him. “Seriously?”
“Why not?” He leaned closer and wagged his eyebrows at her. “I think you’d look hot.”
Lana blew her breath out slowly and reached for the razor. “Find me some shaving cream.”
12
Hatcher rode in silence as Buck navigated the abandoned city streets. He glanced to the rear and saw the red hatchback following closely.
“They couldn’t just ride with us?” Buck asked.
“Hank was afraid we’d all be walking if we took one car.” He glanced at Buck. “The Zulus did kill a flatbed.”
Buck grinned as he drove. “Momma always told me that I had to eat what I killed.” He glanced at Hatcher, his smile widening. “I’m picturing those nutjobs chewing on a truck tire.”
“Plenty of fiber.” Hatcher pointed ahead of them. “Go up another block. Let’s approach them from the side. Maybe we won’t get as many arrows shot at us.”
Buck stared down the road leading to the front of the grocery as he crossed through the intersection. “I couldn’t see anything.”
“It’s too far,” Hatcher commented as they approached the next intersection. “Cut across here.” He glanced to the rearview mirror and noted that the red car was still behind them.
Buck slowed the truck and parked it across the street from the grocery store. “Do you think they heard us?”
Hatcher shrugged. “Not if they were inside.” He glanced at the early morning sun and could imagine that the rays were just the right angle to wash the front of the store with plenty of light. “I doubt any of them will be pissing out the front door this early. Not unless they want to sunburn their pecker.”
Buck opened the truck door and reached across the steering wheel to grab the shotgun. He slipped a bandolier of shells over his shoulder and jacked a round into the 12 gauge. “I’m ready.”
“Slow your roll, Rambo.” Hatcher opened the back door and lifted out the short-barreled M4. He buckled the utility belt to his waist and began loading
