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Dax glares at me. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Trying to get your attention, obviously." I mop sweat from my forehead with the only part of my shirt's hem that's not soiled with things I refuse to identify. "We have to stop and rest. I'm hungry, exhausted, and probably dehydrated. You've already dragged me miles across the city, and now you're doing it again. I'm not a robot."
He stares at me without expression, though I swear I see a muscle in his jaw ticking.
My knees buckle. I hit the ground hard, slumping my entire body, though my left hand remains bound to his wrist. My arm hangs from his, and it's the only thing that keeps me from collapsing on the ground.
With a growl, Dax squats in front of me. He removes the leather belt that shackles us to each other and shoves it into the pocket of his coat. Then he picks me up and throws me over his shoulders in a fireman's hold. I'd already felt slightly nauseous and dizzy, but with my head upside down, I feel like the world is gyrating around me.
Dax sets off down the street again.
This makes no sense. The man who threatened to cut off my fingers is carrying me because I'm too weak to walk anymore. He terrifies me. I hate him, and he hates me. Yet we kissed, and now he's carrying me, which implies he cares about my welfare.
Minutes tick by, though I have no way to gauge how many. Hazily, I notice when we cross the Paddock Viaduct that spans the West Fork of the Trinity River, though I shut my eyes while we traverse the bridge because I know it must be littered with bodies. I can't take seeing more carnage. After a span of minutes that I can't count, he gently sets me down on what used to be a sidewalk, though the remnants around me only hint at the original purpose. I'm too exhausted to move, and I slip into a restless sleep.
Strong hands shake me. "Wake up, Allison. I found food and water."
I recognize that gruff voice. It's Dax.
"Huh?" I'm gradually rousing, but my head feels like it's full of cotton balls instead of brain cells.
"I have food." He slaps my cheek, though not hard. "Wake up and eat."
I push myself into a more upright position and realize I'm leaning against the brick wall of what used to be a building.
Dax hands me a plastic bag. "Your meal."
I notice he's holding an identical bag in his other hand. I take the one he offered me and pull out the contents—a sub sandwich, a bag of chips, and a bottle of water. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder. It's pooched out like he's filled it with stuff.
"What's that?" I ask, nodding toward the backpack.
"Enough water and food to keep us going for a while." He sits down near me, though not too close, and pulls out his own food. "There was a sandwich shop in a building over there"—He waves toward a semi-ruined structure across the street—"and I took all the food I could find."
"Where did the backpack come from?"
He turns his head to the side, almost as if he's ashamed to tell me. "The person it belonged to no longer needed it."
"Oh."
My throat goes thick when I consider the ramifications of his statement. The original owner of the backpack has no use for it now, but that bag might save our lives.
I dig into my food, wolfing down my sub sandwich faster than I probably should, but I can't help it. Ham and cheese with tomatoes, onions, and fresh spinach never tasted so good in my life. I devour the jalapeno cheddar potato chips too, despite the fact I hate spicy stuff. Can't be choosy when the world is transforming. Into what, I have no clue. Dax doesn't want to tell me.
He studies me while I eat, his eyes flicking this way and that like he's searching for something in my expression. "Why aren't you worried about your family?"
"What?" I say with my mouth crammed full of food. A sliver of lettuce tumbles from my lips, and mayo dribbles down my chin. I swipe it away with the back of my hand.
His mouth twitches, almost like he wants to smile, but the expression fades quickly. "You haven't once expressed concern for your family or your mates."
"Neither have you."
He squints at me, which he seems to think will intimidate me.Sorry, pal, no dice.I've been through literal hell today, and I've grown a much thicker skin.
But I decide to be honest. "I don't have a family anymore. My parents died in a plane crash when I was eighteen, and I was an only child. As for friends, those were people I worked with and never saw outside of the library."
"Why don't you have real mates?"
"None of your business." No, I don't want to share my painful past with him. I've given him enough info for now.
