Angel of Fire - the Breath of Immortality - Book One #Wattys2014

Mysterious Drifter

Chapter 4 - Mysterious Drifter

On the long, lonely walk home the sun decided to peek out from behind stormy gray clouds, offering some warmth if only for a moment. I swear, the weather in Michigan could be so bi-polar. Thankfully it had finally stopped raining, which was a good thing because I don't own an umbrella.

The stifling summer heat of just last month – now a distant memory – had finally lifted. Birds flitted about, chirping overhead as if it were spring. The heavy smells of fall with its tangy aroma of pine trees filled the air while a steady, coldish breeze brushed my cheeks and played with my hair.

October was the heart of autumn in Michigan, and leaves on the trees had already changed from greens into yellows, oranges, and crimson reds. In a few more days the colors would be even more glorious when the leaves reached their peak. I might have enjoyed the walk if I hadn't been so preoccupied with searching the woods for Beastie, while at the same time trying to remember every tip I could think of for surviving a zombie attack.

Since my mouth had failed to protect me, I did the first smart thing I could think of. I grabbed a nice thick, sturdy tree limb and practiced swinging it. Satisfied, I ignored my mom's warnings about walking in the road and strolled right down the middle, careful to avoid the dense shrubbery and bushes along the shoulder. I didn't plan on being surprised twice in one day if I could help it. Usually, I didn't pass by a single soul on the way to my house.

With the exception of today, that is.

Far off in the distance a male figure stood beside one of the many ancient oak trees lining the humble country road. I glanced over my shoulder in case I needed to call for help, knowing full well that nobody else lived on this road but me.

As far as I could tell, I had only two options. First, I could run in the opposite direction, screaming my head off. Or second, I could trust that I was capable of swinging my trusty tree limb, and aiming for the brain. I opted for the latter.

Time to put my big girl panties on.

With each step I took, a cold knot of panic started to grow in the center of my gut. I braved a harder glance as I approached and was sure...well, I was mostly sure (hoped was more like it) that this guy wasn't Beastie.

Or what was left of him anyway.

I did the slow head turning thing just in case as I carefully made my way past him. Nope, definitely not Beastie. Besides, this guy was a tall drink of handsome with extra ice. He was simply too delicious looking to be dead. He had one of those utterly masculine faces that you always see in GQ magazine; strong square jaw, finely chiseled cheekbones, and broad forehead with heavy, dark brows that tossed deep shadows over his eyes. Confident eyes that were bold and unafraid. The way he wore his chocolaty brown hair short on the sides and longer on top, combed back in a pompadour, reminded me of a throwback to the 1950s tough look. He even managed to dress like a caricature of that bygone era. Wearing a crisp white T-shirt, black leather jacket, black biker boots, and jeans so snug they looked painted on, he could've played the lead heartthrob in the movie, Rebel Without A Cause.

Eyebrows furrowed tightly together, he stood with both hands buried in his front pant pockets, one leg bent, back pressed up and leaning...no, not leaning exactly...more like leaning with major attitude against the tree, while absolutely glowering at me.

He looked like a total bad-ass. Intimidating much?

"You don't look dangerous," he finally admitted, sounding thoughtful.

I stopped walking and made a slight U-turn to face him, careful to keep my distance. "What did you say, James Dean?"

He wrinkled his forehead in confusion. "Who's James Dean?"