Page 12 of Outbreak

My truck is already pretty much my home away from home with as much as I travel for work. Sometimes, sleeping in my truck is unavoidable, so you bet your ass I bought one of those blow-up air beds for the back seat. I work on autopilot, unfolding it and laying it out on the backseat, plugging it in.

Rue watches quietly from the front seat; thank fuck. I’m scared I’ll bite her head off again if she decides to come out of her panic with more sass. I just want to get some sleep and get back on the road.

The longer we are out here, the crazier shit gets. We need to get to the cabin and find out what is actually happening here. Reaper has connections. Hopefully he has some answers because I sure as fuck don’t. I feel like we’ve been dumped in a bad sci-fi movie with no clue what we're up against.

This is not how I wanted my reunion with my girl to go, but I’ll make the best of it. The important thing is she’s back where she belongs, whether she likes it or not. She’ll learn to.

Once the bed is aired up and ready to go, I grab my pillow and blanket from behind the back seat and throw it on top.

“You hungry?” I ask, going to the truck bed and lifting my cooler out. Putting the tailgate down, I sit the cooler on top and start taking out the sandwich stuff. I packed some easy shit in it before I picked her up.

I don’t wait for her to respond, making her a turkey and cheese sandwich with extra meat and light mayo. The bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips opening is loud in the silence of the night, and I see her turning in her seat to try and see what I’m doing. I carefully place a layer of her favorite chips on the sandwich, just like she used to do when we were kids.

My nose wrinkles at the vinegar smell wafting from the bag. They stink, but she loves them, so I’ve been buying them and eating them since I lost her. They’ve grown on me, but I still hate the fucking smell.

Pulling out some napkins from the side pocket on the cooler, I wrap her sandwich up and grab a bottle of water, walking around to her door. I can’t open it all the way because she’s still cuffed to it, but I open it enough to slip the things through. She stares at them for a few seconds before she takes it from my hand, sits them on her lap, and goes back to looking out through the windshield glass. I want to yell at her and shake some fight back into her. I hate seeing her like this, a shell of her smartass self. But I don’t trust myself with her right now. I don’t trust myself not to make it worse.

“Eat up. Then we’ll sleep for a couple of hours,” I say gently before closing her door softly.

Closing myself off from her right now is the best thing I can do. Our sleeping arrangement is going to be interesting enough. She’ll hate it, but she’ll get over it.

CHAPTER 12

Rue

Idon’t even know what to think when he slips the sandwich and water through the door. My mind is still reeling from everything that’s happened in less than 24 hours, and this asshole makes me a fucking sandwich? I can feel myself closing up, shutting myself off from feeling anything to the point where I might as well be a catatonic lump on a log.

The last time that happened, I snapped and did something I can never take back. I don’t regret it, but it took a long time to drag myself out of that dark pit of despair it put me in.I can’t go back there.Noah and Mallory played a huge part in pulling me out. Now I don’t even know if I’ll ever see them again.

There is so much—too much. I don’t even know where to start.

My probably-dead cheating boyfriend and his weird bleeding eyes?

The dead girl he was fucking who looked the same?

Getting separated from my best and only friends in the world during a mass panic?

Or being kidnapped by an asshole that calls himselfGhost—who also happens to be my stalker apparently, if the way he made my sandwich is anything to go by.

Oh!And he claims to have killed an already dead, dead man?

Are you fucking kidding me right now?!

This sounds like the makings of a grippy-sock vacation sans the shoelaces. I mean, who the fuck rolled the Jumanji dice? Could you please box that shit back up?

Picking up the sandwich, because I am fucking hungry and stress eating is a real thing, the tangy vinegar of my favorite chips hits me, confirming my suspicions. How does this fucker know everything about me? My name, my favorite foods, how I eat my goddamn sandwich? He really must be my stalker. How long has he been watching me? My mind tries to filter through anytime I thought I was being watched or had the hairs on the back of my neck stand up from something not being quite right. But I don’t recall anything, which isn’t all that surprising considering the state of my head right now. It’s a fucking dumpster fire up there.

I know there is something wrong with me when the idea of this man stalking me doesn’t exactly piss me off. It intrigues me. Maybe I can lie to myself that it doesn't wet my panties a little bit. Did he watch me fuck Josh in my dorm room last week? Did he see me get myself off when Josh left? Did he want to step out of the shadows and finish me himself? Would I have screamed? Or opened my legs wider and invited him into my bed?

I’m clenching my thighs and stuffing my face like the classy bitch I am, lost in my fucked-up head when he opens my door again, and I nearly jump out of my skin and throw the last bite of my sandwich in his face. “Fuck a duck, you scared me!”

“Oh, come on now. Nothing scares you, Rue,” he says, taunting me.

Well then. See if I pretend to fuck him in my head again! Asshole.

I wish my face was masked like his—I can feel the flush crawling up my chest and heating my cheeks by the second. Iwasn’t doing anything, but I feel like a kid with my hand caught in the cookie jar.

“What’s wrong with you?”

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