“Right. I kept this area clean. Ye seemed to have brought them with ye.”
“No. I—”
A groan bellowed from the kitchen.
“Oh, shit. Lloyd,” Roark breathed as he ran to the bar and lit a candle. I hurried after him, clenching my teeth at the soreness on my chest. The bodies led us to the back room.
Lloyd’s mouth hung open, foaming into a gory puddle. Sightless orbs fixated on the ceiling. His torso twisted in alien contortions. I drew the blade. Roark’s hand caught my wrist.
I pulled away. “We have to—”
“The Extreme Unction. I need to administer Last Rites.”
“Oh.”
He gestured toward the front. “Will ye stand watch? I just need a moment.”
I nodded and went back to the bar. A few minutes later, Lloyd’s cries quieted.
Roark emerged in the doorway and thrust a thumb over a slumped shoulder. “This way.”
We stepped around Lloyd’s headless body on the way to the back door. I dug my nails into my palms to distract me from the fist of remorse punching my gut.
Sword drawn, he walked the back lot. Thanks to the mysterious sensor that rattled my insides when aphids approached, I knew there wasn’t an immediate threat, but I wasn’t about to announce it.
He stopped behind a dumpster and rolled out an enduro.
“What is that?” It was more than a dirt bike fitted for street riding. Olive-drab paint, knobby tires, a weapon carrier and luggage rack?
“Ah, now this is a bloody Harley Davidson MT 350E army bike.” He smirked and regarded the ground. After a few moments, he met my eyes. “Ye must be knackered. Come with me. You’ll be safe. It’s dodgy, but—”
“Do you live alone?”
His nod gave me the answer I needed. I didn’t think I misjudged him, but I wouldn’t want to be outnumbered if I found out I was wrong.
I had to ditch Jesse’s bike miles back because the sound attracted aphids. Was riding Roark’s bike worth the risk just for the chance at a full night’s rest under the protection of a sword toting priest? “Yeah. That would be nice.”
He saddled the bike and patted the seat behind him. “Just a few kilometers up the road.”
I hugged his waist and clenched my thighs around his. Heat spread through me. Was it from the sharing of body warmth? Or was it a sudden surge in my libido?
He sped out of the lot. The moldering bones of the surrounding buildings chipped away in the absence of life.
Where was Jesse? A void resonated in my chest. A wanting wrenched my gut. He was a piece of me and that piece wasn’t where it should be. At that moment, that piece could be anywhere, fighting to stay alive, or already dead.
As the wind whipped past us and battered my body to exhaustion, I clung to the priest and what was left of my composure.
Roark slowed the bike on a narrow street lined with skinny double story pads set a few feet from the road, all connected with single garages. He throttled the motor. We coasted in front of their brick facades and picture windows bordered with frozen flowering baskets. The bike stopped at a white garage door, which looked identical to all the others in the row.
He lifted the unlocked door. Once inside, he locked it behind us.
I paused at an uncovered window. A graveyard of flies and gnats littered the sill. Brittle legs curled against dried up bodies. How different were their humanoid adaptations?
“How long do they live?” I turned to find him staring at me.
“Who?”
“Aphids.”
His expression transformed from quizzical to pained, taking me with him. “I den’ know.”
Did anyone know what we were up against? “Can they starve to death?”
He pushed a ropelike braid behind his ear. “I should bloody well hope so. This way.” He pulled a large duffel off the bike’s luggage carrier and strode to an opaque corner in front of a short bed Nissan truck.
His broad body folded into a graceful squat beside a lid on the concrete floor. “It’s gonna be a wee bit baltic.” He slid the lid to the side and eyed my feet. “But your stonking boots should keep ye dry.”
A ladder receded into a dark cavity under the garage floor. “What the hell is that?”
“No foostering. We’re not safe till we’re through the tunnel.” He threw our gear in the hole and descended. From the bottom, he shouted, “Pull the lid back on your way down.”
An underground tunnel was not what I expected. If Darwin was with me, I’d know if I could trust that man. I eyed the enduro. What I needed was clean clothes to redress my wound, and a good-night’s sleep. The priest was my best option.
I drew a knife from each arm sheath and dropped in the hole.
The bore at the bottom stretched six feet in diameter and held about a foot of water. I followed the priest through the tunnel system. For the first ten minutes, I kept a map in my head of the paces between left and right turns, but as we sloshed on I gave up.