Page 30 of Once Upon an Apocalypse

Amos sits back in his chair, getting himself comfortable as he decides what to tell me. He takes a large bite of his sandwich, delaying his answer. Just as I open my mouth to ask another question, Amos says, “For the past two years, I’ve been looking for traces of the man who is responsible for the end of the world. Dr. Gabriel Tuwile. In the before, he was testing genetic modifications on humans which he planned to sell to the military. Make soldiers immune to biological warfare, heal wounds so they can jump right back into battle, and carry more weapons and ammunition on their backs. Super soldiers. Norman had worked with Dr. Tuwile for years, but left the project just before the outbreak.”

Amos takes another bite of his sandwich as I fiddle with mine. “You need to eat,” he says with food in his mouth and points to the sandwich in my hands. I take a big bite, slowly chewing on the soft bread and peanut butter. I might not have starved in the bunker, but they didn’t have peanut butter.

“We heard rumors that Dr. Tuwile was still alive and continuing his research. Rumors that he was abducting survivors. I made it my mission to hunt him down. A year or so ago, I heard about the Colosseum. It took me months to get an invitation, as it was an exclusive venue. So I made friends with someone I knew to be a sort of investor. He took me to see you fight. Everyone around me was betting each other over how long you would last, how many biters you’d take down. It was disgusting.”

With a little too much aggression, Amos tears into his sandwich, dripping peanut butter on his hands. He licks his fingers slowly and I cannot stop staring. When his golden eyes look up at mine, that half smirk appears again. I quickly look away and bring my mind back to what Amos was saying.

“Did you place a bet?” I ask.

Amos’ face falls, looking ashamed. “I had to in order to fit in. But I bet on you.”

“That’s a shame, considering I lost that day.” The memory of my flesh being ripped from my bones until the tendons snapped threatened to consume every corner of my brain.

“My bet was that you would survive. And you did.” Amos reaches out a hand, pinching my chin ever so slightly. “You might be small, but I knew you were a viper.”

We stare into each other’s eyes for longer than should be acceptable. I should feel uncomfortable with the way he is staring at me, but I’m staring back with the same intensity. Amos finally breaks our connection by lifting my hands—still holding my sandwich—to my mouth and saying, “Eat.”

After we finish our sandwiches in comfortable silence, I ask, “How did you end up at The Valley?”

Figuring he’d brush this question off, I try to think of another question to ask. To my surprise, he answers. “I was a professor here. Music.”

“Music professor?” Two things I would never have guessed.

“You look shocked.” And Amos looks amused.

“Yeah, well, I just can’t see you being a professor or even knowing how to hold a tune. You are just so…so…”muscular, big, deadly, sexy. “Tall,” I say after fumbling for an appropriate word to use. What a stupid thing to say.

Amos’ amusement travels to his eyes, the golden flecks sparkling as he laughs. “Musicians come in all shapes and sizes, Copperhead. So do professors.”

“Sorry.” I drop my gaze to the ground, unable to look at him as my face burns with embarrassment.

“It’s okay, Lori. If it makes you feel better, you don’t look like a super soldier.”

And here we are, back on the topic I’ve been burning to discuss with anyone. But I don’t want to talk about it right now. So I turn the discussion back on him. “How old are you? You look so young, like my age.”

“How old are you?” Amos asks, his eyebrow askew.

I squint at him with a challenging glare. He stares back. His eyes aglow with curiosity and mischief, making my stomach do a backflip. Or maybe that’s from the peanut butter. I haven’t had something so rich in years. My tastebuds are still doing a giddy dance.

Amos holds his stare, waiting for me to answer. So I give in, breaking our gaze and ask, “It’s been four years since the outbreak, right?”

“Four and a half.” Amos nods, the mischief in his eyes fading to sadness, which I ignore because I will not take anyone’s pity.

“That makes me twenty-two. My birthday is February 26,” I say.

“I’m twenty-nine. May 2nd.”

Twenty-nine. That feels like so much older than I am, yet he looks so young. I cross my arms, suddenly feeling awkward as Amos continues to look at me with sympathy in his golden eyes.

He startles me as he shoots out of his seat. “You must be tired. I’ll walk you to your room.”

I nod, standing up while keeping my arms crossed and my head down as I follow Amos out of the building and across the academic quad. As we walk by the music building, a question falls out from my lips. “Do you still teach music?”

“No,” Amos says curtly, letting me know with one word he won’t be giving me a reason. But I can tell there’s something in that answer. Pain that goes deep. I harden my face, not wanting to show pity or sympathy, but I need him to know I understand his pain. My hand instinctively reaches for him, landing gently on his elbow. His fast pace halts quickly and he turns to look at me.

Our eyes lock onto each other as I say, “I’m sorry.”

A simple thing to say, but I hope he can hear all the words behind them. He nods, grasping my hand before I release my loose hold on his arm. A second later, we are walking side-by-side down a walkway leading to the main road on this side of campus.

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