CROSS MY HEART // dystopian romance

8. after the storm, comes another one

I'm not sure how I regain consciousness, but I do. I start coughing water out of my lungs hysterically. I'm trembling. I can barely stand on my arms. Someone is patting my back, caressing up and down gently. It feels nice, motherly. I haven't been touched in a motherly way since before the Falling Month.

"Shit." that goddamn british deep voice curses. "They're here. We gotta move. Now !"

I open my eyes and look ahead : a horde of Dead-Alives is coming toward us. They must have been attracted by that stupid alarm.

I look up at Turner, who's standing above me. He's completely soaked, head to toe. His dark wet hair covers his forehead. I don't have time to understand what that means, or even wonder, because Big Ben lifts me up effortlessly like I'm just a feather. He carries me princess style, and starts running like the others.

I look over Big Ben's shoulder, to see that Turner is running last, covering everyone's backs. He shoots Dead-Alives in the head with his rifle, and he's fast and skilled too. But he aims for the head.

"Hey !" I shout to him over the growling noise. "Shoot the heart !"

"I know what I'm doing, thank you very much !" he replies irritated.

"The heart Turner! You wanna die ?" I shout back.

He groans in exasperation, and starts shooting them in the heart reluctantly. Though I can see that he missed the heart by an inch each time.

"Happy ?"

"When you'll learn to aim properly, yeah !" I clap back.

He rolls his eyes at me, clearly infuriated by my comment. Poor little Turner is vexed. I restrain a smirk, enjoying the fact that I touched his ego.

Once we've ran enough, and found refuge in an old military base, Big Ben lets me go so that we can barricade everything. After turning the closing wheel, and sealing the iron doors, we all sigh in exhaustion.

The sound of muffled growling and scratching fills the room, and Turner, soaked to the bone, lashes out at me out of nowhere.

"What the hell was that ?" he snapped, his enraged gaze meeting mine.

"My bunker got flooded. You saw." I try to hide my sadness but my voice cracks. I lost my home.

"We almost died because of your fucking alarm !" he points his finger at me, walking closer.

"I never asked you to come rescue me. You made that decision on your own." I defy him, raising my chin up.

"Oh please," he scoffs like I've just said something ridiculous, "I only did it for Mihan, because for a reason I cannot begin to even comprehend, he likes you."

He's now dangerously close to me, and I stand my guard. I have no weapon whatsoever, but I clench my fists. I can see the wrinkle between his eyebrows discern itself much clearer as he frowns.

"If it was only up to me..." he shakes his head slowly, "I would've let you drown at the bottom of that bunker, and use you as bait for the Dead-Alives."

"That's because you're a selfish prick." I reply, looking up more so that I can hold the stare, as he gets closer to me.

"You lied. About your key. You had a safe place, and you kept it all to yourself." he sneers. "Talk about selfish."

His black irises derive from my face, and fall onto my upper body. When I check what he's lurking at, I'm suddenly very aware of the awkward situation. I'm still soaking wet, head to toe, and I realize in horror that my white tee-shirt is completely transparent and sticking to my skin.

I can feel my cheeks burning as Turner looks back at my face, and his tongue licks the exterior side of his teeth. He doesn't say anything, and just walks away from the room. Big Ben throws his jacket at me with the politeness of not peaking, which I gladly thank him mentally for.

"Come on. I'll lend you some of my clothes." that's the first time I hear Althea talk. Her voice is confident and suave. "I'm Althea Khan, by the way. People call me Thea."

I haven't really taken the time to look at her. She's incredibly pretty. She's tall and thin, her brown caramel-ish skin glowing and smooth. Her hair is long, goes to right above her hips, and is jet-black and wavy. She has black doe eyes, a small feminine nose and a square jaw.

I follow her to one of the old military dorms. Judging by the vintage-ish vibes of the beds and the furniture, it may be an old bunker from the first world war. I change into some baggy jeans and a black tank top. Althea's clothes smell like vanilla perfume.

"He's not always like that, you know." she speaks from the top mattress of the bunk bed, which she apparently chose as her own. "Turner."

"What's his problem ?" I ask, coldly.

"There's a big gang out there, they call themselves the Claws." she informs me. "They steal and they kill but they accept bargains."

"What's your point ?" I urge.

"He wanted to use you as an offering. Something that could buy us food and supplies."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"It's survival or death, Heart-Slayer." there's that name again. "Scar is many things, but he's not pitiful."

"Why spare me then ?"

"Mihan likes you. Big Ben too."

"And you ?" I ask.

"I trust Mihan. Mihan trusts you. Therefore, I do too." she stares at me with an expression I cannot discern.

"You shouldn't." I just say. "I don't trust any of you."

"We'll see how that evolves." she replies. "You can't stay hidden alone forever. One day or another, you're gonna need allies. Especially when the Claws find you."

I don't know what to answer to this, so I don't answer at all. I just lay in the bottom bed below hers, my hands resting on my sternum.

"I know Scar seems like a bad person, but he's not." she adds, a few minutes later. "He's brave, and smart, and he does everything to protect us."

"What is he, your boyfriend or something ?" I chuckle at the eulogy she paints of his portrait.

"Oh god, no." she scoffs like it's the most absurd thing I could ever say. "He's handsome sure, but let's just say he's not exactly my type."

"You mean your type isn't arrogant stubborn men who try to sell people ?" I joke. "Shocking."

"I mean my type is women, Heart-Slayer." she laughs at me. "I've got a girlfriend. We got separated by the falling, but I'll find her soon."

"Good luck for that." I reply, with no sarcasm whatsoever. I just admire her strength to keep hoping and trying.

I gave up on my mother two months after the Falling started. That was the last day we talked, the last day I heard her voice. Then the transmitter went quiet, and I never heard it ever again for three years straight.