Tower in the Woods (4 page)

Uneasily, Nel checked and reloaded her weapon, slipping it back into the holster before answering. “Yes.”

“Yes what, sweetheart? Say the words,” the man reiterated in a commanding voice laced with a hint of something more dangerous. Clearly he had caught on to the fact that Nel was uncomfortable disobeying direct orders, even when they were coming from a complete stranger.

Cursing her own training, Nel fought the compulsion to answer and lost. Oh well, this wasn’t a battle worth fighting. “Yes, I understand you could have hurt me but you didn’t. You want me to believe your actions prove you are safe,” she answered, her feet firmly planted on the floor. There was something about the way his gaze was fixed on her that made Nel hesitate to move. This man commanded more power by his mere presence than any of her drill sergeants at the WITCH. Even Mother Gothel did not have the almost hypnotic charisma this man exuded without even trying.

“My name is Dane. I would very much appreciate hearing you say it,” the man requested. Despite the politeness of his speech, Nel recognized another order when she heard one.

“All right. Dane. And I already told you my name isn’t sweetheart.” Nel acquiesced, not seeing much point in continuing to refer to him in her mind as “the man.” She was more interested in figuring out what exactly this person wanted from her.

“It might as well be. Now, Nel, why don’t you help me board up this window,” Dane casually suggested as he took a step back, his long stride easily taking him across the small space. The wind howled loudly, and gusts of cold air had long since turned the temperature in the sniper’s nest frigid.

“I can’t keep watch against the zombies if it is closed,” Nel argued even as she looked out the window and frowned with concern. Heavy gray sleet was quickly covering the landscape, the chilly swirls of wind growing colder by the minute. Ominous thick clouds covered the sky, thick enough she could see neither the moon nor the stars. It had never gotten this cold before, not since she had been stationed in the Tower, and the dropping temperature was making her uneasy. But her duty was to guard the border, and Mother Gothel’s orders superseded this man’s request as well as any concern Nel had for her own safety.

Dane looked at her through narrowed eyes, as if he were trying to gauge if she was serious or simply making an excuse. “Brain-eaters can’t move far in this weather. As their blood gets colder they move slower because the virus can’t reproduce as quickly. At this point, I can safely say you have killed any zombie out there within a walking distance of this tower. The ones farther away will probably be buried under the ice until this winter thaws.”

Nel furrowed her brows as she tried to gauge Dane’s honesty. She was out of practice at speaking but she had been very articulate in her youth. The more she spoke with him the easier conversation became. “I’ve never heard of zombies being affected by the cold. How do you know it’s true?”

Dane hesitated before answering in a much softer voice. “There are people out there who study brain-eaters. We’ve been fighting the undead for fifty years now. Trust me, we’ve turned killing them into an art form.”

Curiosity overrode caution and Nel stepped closer so she could hear him more clearly. Only once she almost reached the window did she realize she had been maneuvered by a master. He had spoken softer on purpose so she would follow him toward it. Bristling at the manipulation, she asked, “Who is we? Other men? How many of you are out there?”

Those dark brown eyes scrutinized Nel’s face. “How many have you seen?” he asked.

Confusedly, Nel met Dane’s questioning gaze. “None, except you, of course. All men became zombies or were killed a long time ago. They were punished by Mother because they are the source of all evil.” The problem with her dogmatic recitation, however, was evidence to the contrary stared her in the face. Dane was a man and he wasn’t a zombie. He most certainly wasn’t dead.

“Shit,” Dane muttered. “I hate to break this to you, sweetheart, but you’ve been fed a load of crap. Who the hell is your mother?”

*

He was a bastard, Dane concluded as he looked at Nel. Here he was faced with perhaps the most innocent little virgin on the face of the planet and he was getting the biggest boner in memory. He had wondered why the woman hadn’t noticed his erection pressing on her belly, why she hadn’t in any way reacted to the fact he was so horny the bulge in his pants hurt. Now he knew—she had no idea he reacted to her sexually. In fact, she might not even know what sex was. The knowledge really should have turned him off; it should have made any hint of arousal go away in a flash, but instead it made him even hornier.

Dane didn’t like complicating sex, he didn’t like having to be careful, and he didn’t like having to take it slow. Having sex with a virgin who had never met a man before in her life was the antithesis of what he wanted. But was his erection listening to his brain? No, of course not. Every male instinct in him jumped up and down, clapping with glee, yelling “Mine, all mine!” His randy body was practically demanding he grab those hips and teach innocent little Nel every trick he knew, to hammer into that tight body so many times she’d never forget the feel of his shaft inside her.

He didn’t understand it one bit. Nel wasn’t the most beautiful woman Dane had ever met. After lying on top of her, he had realized she was in no way voluptuously built. Her breasts were probably smaller than he liked, and her butt was going to be hard and firm rather than the soft cushion he preferred. But his penis wasn’t listening to any of that. His boner wasn’t going away, and it probably was going to stay that way until he screwed the sexy little sniper.

And they were going to have sex. There was no doubt about that. Dane still had every intention of seducing sweet blue-eyed Nel. After all, just because it was all going to be too easy didn’t mean he could deviate from his mission. The best way to make her talk was to make her think she was in love with him, and that meant having sex with her. Repeatedly, mainly because his penis wasn’t going to be satisfied with a single round. No, he was going to splay her body and bury himself to the hilt more times than either of them could count. He would bet his life on that.

First, however, Dane needed to convince her to not let them freeze to death. This snowstorm wasn’t going away for days, and unless that window was sealed they didn’t have a chance at surviving.

“Mother is our god. She saved women from the zombies and created this sanctuary,” Nel explained, her tone indicating this was something she assumed everyone knew.

Dane waited for a lightning bolt to strike him for thinking such lascivious thoughts about a woman who clearly had been brainwashed and imprisoned in this tower, but he waited in vain. No, Nel’s mother obviously didn’t exist, for nothing, not even what was left of his conscience, dampened his lust for the sweet-smelling disciple.

“Is she going to save you from freezing too? That excuse of a fire you’ve started won’t do jack if we don’t seal this window off,” Dane said, wondering if she could detect his sarcasm. He wasn’t going to combat decades of brainwashing with a single conversation, but her blind faith really aggravated him.

He could tell Nel wasn’t dumb. She too had been uneasily looking out the window, and she wore a lot less insulation than Dane. It occurred to him that she must be freezing. Shoving down a rare and sudden urge to be chivalrous, he ignored the instinct to take off his jacket and drape it around her shoulders. The colder she was the faster she would decide to seal off the damn window.

“I still have time to decide,” Nel argued as she continued to hesitate. When Dane quirked a questioning brow, she pointed at a lightweight six-foot high bookcase at the corner of the small room. Comprised of what looked like plywood and cardboard, the large piece of furniture wasn’t heavy enough to act as an anchor for climbing up and down, but it should serve the purpose of blocking out the cold wind. “Do you think I have not already considered this problem? I made sure there was a way to seal off the window before Mother blew up the staircase.”

“Mother? As in your god?” Dane questioned as he moved a myriad of boxes out of the way, clearing a path between the window and the bookcase.

“No, Mother Gothel. As in the prophet. Where have you been living, under a rock?” Nel asked as she bent to help him. Her compliance made Dane take a closer look at her face and he saw immediately that her lips were blue, her face a good deal paler than it had been just moments before. She shivered; he could see it clearly now. Her movements were slow and labored, and she stumbled as she pushed a light crate aside with her foot. She was shod in only a pair of what looked like tattered cheap cotton-polyester socks. The little idiot suffered from moderate hypothermia and she probably would have let herself die with brainwashed obedience if Dane hadn’t shown up.

“Damn it, woman. Where the hell are your shoes?” Dane yelled as cold calculation lost the fight against protective instincts. He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around those small shoulders, pointing toward the pathetically burning fireplace at the other end of the room. “Go over there and get warm while I save you from certain death.”

The sky-blue eyes looking back at him were slightly glazed and clearly confused. “Being in the Tower, I have no need for shoes. They are hard to come by, don’t you know, and the other members would derive more utility from them. You’re injured,” the girl managed to say through chattering teeth, her gaze fixed on the bloody smears on his left shoulder. All he had been wearing under the jacket was a thin white T-shirt, which was now all colors but white. Dane had suffered worse wounds in the past, so he was certain he was going to be just fine, although he couldn’t say the same about Nel.

“I’ve been vaccinated against URV so you don’t have to worry that I’ll go zombie on you. Now go and warm yourself by the fire,” Dane ordered, trying to inject gentleness into his exasperated voice. Nel was confused and her brain function was degrading with every moment the cold, blistering wind poured into the room.

“URV?” she asked as, to Dane’s relief, she stumbled toward the fire.

“The Undead Reanimation Virus. Let me guess, you cultists haven’t heard of it,” Dane muttered as he finally finished clearing the way. Thankfully the bookcase was on the same wall as the window so he only needed to push it in a single straight line for about fifteen feet. The bookcase was light enough he could have picked the thing up over his head and walked it over so the process took little to no time. With the small window completely blocked the temperature in the room remained arctic but at least it wasn’t getting any colder.

Almost light-headed with relief, Dane turned to find Nel simply standing there, watching the nearly dying flames. “I should get some firewood,” she murmured absently as she turned to face him.

Fighting down uncharacteristic panic, Dane marched over to the girl and gently lowered her into a seated position by the fire. Cupping her face with his hands, he let his voice drop to a soothing croon. “Listen to me, sweetheart. I need you to stay here and try to get warm. You’re suffering from hypothermia. Do you know what that means?”

Sluggishly, Nel’s blonde head bobbed up and down. “I like reading medical textbooks. Management of hypothermia involves active external rewarming and removal from the cold environment. A minimum of patient movement is recommended as aggressive handling may increase risks of dysrhythmia.”

A nerdy, cultist sniper; who would have thought that was even possible? “Okay. Any chance this medical textbook is sitting around this room? Paper makes for excellent fuel.”

Nel glared at him. “Wood makes a better one. When most of the building was blown up to isolate the Tower, all the wood was collected and stored in the room next door so as to eliminate the need to deliver it over the coming decades. The prophet thought of everything.”

“Well, hell, sweetheart. Why didn’t you make a bigger fire?” Dane asked, aghast.

Those blue eyes rolled dramatically as if the answer was obvious. “Mother commanded that only very small fires be made. She said smoke attracts attention, especially from zombies.”

Smoke did nothing of the sort to the undead. What it did do was attract attention from other humans, namely the federal government that was situated less than a four-hour drive to the north. When Dane got his hands on this mother of Nel’s, he was going to wring her neck. Kidnapping or no kidnapping, this cult was going down.

“Right now, freezing trumps zombies. Don’t move. I’ll be right back,” Dane bit out as he hurried away, feeling angry enough he wanted to punch a hole through the wall.

Once he opened the door leading out from the sniper’s quarters, Dane let out another flurry of curses. Nel was very literally a prisoner in this place. Barely a few steps from the door was a sheer drop where stairs once were, and the scorch marks along the exposed brick walls indicated the building had been destroyed on purpose. This mother of Nel’s clearly hadn’t been willing to take any chances on the sniper’s loyalty. Even if Nel wanted to leave—like the couple that had escaped to Washington, D.C.—she couldn’t have. There was no way in or out of the place that didn’t risk death or serious injury, especially with the poor excuse of a rope Dane had used to climb up the tower in the first place.

Carefully sidling over to the left, Dane turned into an even smaller room that was filled with broken pieces of wood. From the looks of the randomly sized splinters, everything that had been blown up by the explosion had been carted into the small closet, ensuring Nel would have enough firewood for the foreseeable future. There was another room slightly farther down the hall that seemed filled with an assortment of books—it looked as if a small public library had been raided and the entire contents brought into the tower. Dane figured this cult leader wanted to make sure Nel didn’t blow her brains out due to boredom. It was a good thing the sniper liked to read.

It then occurred to Dane that if Nel had really wanted to leave she could have brought over a large enough pile of wood and textbooks to create a weighted anchor before tying the rope around the collected mass in order to climb down. It wouldn’t be the safest way out but it definitely was possible. Then he remembered she didn’t even have shoes let alone any kind of backpack to hold items necessary for survival. She was situated in a forest literally filled with the undead. She didn’t even know the URV vaccine existed so she couldn’t possibly have been inoculated. Even taking the cult’s propaganda out of the equation, leaving the tower blind would be a death sentence.