Aftershock. Jill Sorenson
mouth with fresh water. It was amazing how thirsty one could get when fluids were scarce. He wanted to drink and drink and drink.
Instead he offered the tube to Lauren. She stood on tiptoe to reach, placing her hand on his shoulder. Her breasts pressed against his arm. While he watched, entranced, her lips closed around the tube, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she sucked.
Only a horny bastard would continue to stare, and think dirty thoughts, at a time like this. He dragged his gaze away from her pretty mouth and slender throat, but even the sound of her swallowing struck him as erotic.
Focus on something else, Garrett. He grappled for a new topic and found only a random Dune quote: “‘Your water shall mingle with our water.’”
She laughed, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Fremen.”
Shaking his head at himself, he added the climbing gear to the supplies he’d stockpiled yesterday. They had crates, blankets, first-aid kits, empty containers, rope, tools and a number of other items that might prove useful.
But what they needed most, other than water—and a weapon—was a way to communicate with the outside world.
“Where should we search next? Use your Bene Gesserit powers.”
She smiled at the idea. “If I’m Lady Jessica, who are you?”
“Duke Leto,” he said, naming her lover.
“He dies.”
“Oh. Right. That’s okay.” Totally worth it.
Giving him a weird look, she pointed to the west side of the structure. “I think I saw a semitruck over there. Just the cab.”
Now that she mentioned it, he remembered walking by the Kenworth. Stress and lack of sleep, or maybe sensory overload, had caused the semi to slip from his mind. “Perfect,” he said. “Truckers always have radios.”
She had to check on her patients again, so he went to a far corner and unzipped his pants. The women had been using the bathroom in the RV, and flushing infrequently to save water. He preferred this, more primitive method, though neither was ideal.
When he was finished, he rejoined Lauren in front of the motor home. The temperature inside the collapsed freeway had been comfortable all morning, but now it was heating up. Her cheeks were flushed, her forehead shiny with perspiration.
“I need something else to wear,” she said, taking off her jacket.
He waited while she found a clean tank top in the pile of supplies. Rather than going inside the RV to change clothes, she ducked behind it, shrugging out of the torn uniform shirt. Garrett caught a glimpse of her naked shoulders, bisected by thin bra straps. He averted his gaze, feeling heat creep up his neck. When she put on the top and turned around, he tried not to notice the soft white cotton molded to her breasts.
She didn’t match his mental picture of the regal, dark-haired Lady Jessica. With her sun-streaked blond ponytail, ocean-blue eyes and perky figure, she looked more like a bikini model. Or a sexy lifeguard. She was lovely.
The Kenworth cab was sitting near the south edge of the structure, unoccupied. Perhaps that was why it hadn’t tripped his radar. Over the past twenty-four hours, he’d been focused on bodies, dead or alive.
“Where do you think the driver went?” Lauren asked.
Garrett shrugged. There were several empty cars beneath the structure. He assumed that some of the inhabitants had abandoned their vehicles, only to be crushed by debris during the first aftershock. If Garrett had gone the opposite direction, he’d have been buried alive himself. “Maybe he escaped.”
The Kenworth appeared no worse for the wear. Many of the other vehicles inside the structure had been smashed beyond recognition. He opened the driver’s-side door of the semi and climbed inside. The interior was clean and organized. It had a sleeper cab, with a narrow bed in the back, and a shiny black CB radio under the dash.
The keys dangled from the ignition.
Flashing a grin at Lauren, he sat down and fired it up. The engine roared to life. Garrett realized that they’d found a pot of gold. The truck could be used for communication, shelter, even transportation.
He rose to check the glove compartment, his pulse accelerating with hope. Unfortunately, it didn’t contain any weapons.
Lauren came in to investigate. Brushing by him, she scanned the sleeping area. Their eyes connected for a moment. She glanced away quickly, clearing her throat. While he turned on the radio, she searched the contents of the cab for any supplies they could use.
Garrett didn’t find a clean channel. There was nothing but static and interference. He picked up the receiver anyway, handing it to Lauren.
After a short hesitation, she sat down in the passenger seat and pressed the talk button. “This is Lauren Boyer of San Diego, California. We have an emergency situation and need immediate help.” She paused. “Over.”
“Tell them where we are,” he said.
“We’re trapped in a freeway collapse at the Interstate 8 and Highway 163 connection. There are ten survivors, some critically wounded. Please respond, over.”
Her plea was met with the flat crackle of white noise. They waited a few minutes, and she repeated the message, with no success.
“Morse code might work better,” he said. “It can be heard at long distances when voice communication isn’t viable.”
She set aside the receiver, her hands trembling. Garrett understood how she felt. They were on an emotional roller coaster. The ups and downs were more difficult to stomach than a steady barrage of bad news.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.
She looked startled. “In this?”
“Sure. Let’s take her back to camp. We need the radio nearby in case someone answers. If she feels up to it, Penny can send out a call in Spanish.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said. Some of the despair drained from her eyes. “Let’s do it.”
He put the truck into gear, released the hand brake and stepped on the gas. They took a serpentine route back to the RV because there were so many obstacles. He parked next to the triage area, facing the north corner.
Jeb and Mickey would have a hard time sneaking up on this baby. Tonight, Lauren could sleep in the back while Garrett stayed up front.
When he hazarded a glance at her, he realized that she also understood the benefits. Her lips curved into an appreciative smile, as if he’d done something special. She seemed grateful, and he didn’t know what to say.
She was the one who’d fought hard all night, trying to save lives. He’d just thrown a few punches after falling asleep on the job.
He scolded himself for being flattered by her attention. There wasn’t anyone else she could count on. It didn’t take any skill to tap out an SOS code, or do the heavy lifting. But he loved the way she looked at him, as if he were smart and honorable and strong. He wanted to be that man, the superhero she thought he was.
“You must have been a good soldier.”
He’d been a Marine, not a soldier, but he didn’t bother to correct her. “I was okay,” he said, shrugging. Off duty, he’d been pretty dishonorable.
“How many years did you serve?”
“In the Marine Corps?”
A crease formed between her brows. “Were you in another branch of the military?”
“No,” he said, tightening his hands on the steering wheel. “I served four years, two overseas.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“I had PTSD.” It was the truth, but such a small part of the truth that it felt like a lie. “After my second