Page 24 of Savagely Yours
“Same thing happens if you die,” I countered. “I don’t want that.”
“It’s not about what you want. It’s about what’s safest for you.”
“If you get killed in front of me, what do you think will happen to me? How do you think that would affect me with all the shit that’s already going on? I care about you, Dez. I care about youa lot.”
He searched my eyes.
A soldier walked up to us. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice gentler than I’d been anticipating. “Men stay here. Women will be screened at a different tent.”
“Screened for what?” Dez asked.
“Infection.”
Dez’s jaw ticked.
I attempted to recall the only military code of conduct I was familiar with: the SERE principles—survival, escape, resisting, and evasion, and never surrendering based on free will. This was more than likely how Dez’s mind operated; however, this wouldn’t be a surrender based on free will, and I needed to find a way to get him to comprehend that before we were both gunned down.
“You’ll be reunited once you’re cleared,” the soldier added.
Dez looked skeptical.
Iwasskeptical.
Yet, we had no choice. Surrender was how we would live to fight another day. In order to have a leg up in that fight, we first had to know what we were facing.
I eased my hand out of Dez’s, his hold gradually slackening until I was free.
The soldier gestured. “Right this way, miss. If you’ll follow me.”
I followed, taking a breath deeper than I had the lung capacity for. Then, the sound of my name brought my sneakers to a halt, and I looked back, waiting.
Dez groaned. “Tapley, I…”
I didn’t know what I wanted him to say, but I knew I wanted him to say something. I would have even accepted a“Tapley, I think I kinda might like you a little bit…maybe,”considering the dire straits of our circumstances. If it was the last bit of affection I would ever know in this life, it didn’t have to be grand or spectacular. All I needed was for it to come from someone I trusted, cared for, and respected.
“I’ll see you inside,” he finished.
I nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you inside.”
“Wait for me.”
“Always.”
I continued until I came to a long line that stopped at a green tent, the flap raised and two soldiers posted outside on guard. A sign affixed to the fabric with duct tape read:Females,which rubbed me the wrong way. The tent was longer than it looked from the outside, with multiple tables stationed along the interior and haggard-looking women, some with children, positioned at each one. The workers were also women, wearing white T-shirts, red jackets, and blue pants. Their heads bobbed as they scribbled on clipboards and handed over bags, all with medical insignia printed on the front in different colors.
“Next!” A stout, tanned arm waved in my direction. “You, with the head scarf. You’re next.”
I walked up to her table.
She looked up at me from over a pair of plastic-framed glasses. “Name.”
“Larke Tapley,” I said.
“Age.”
“Thirty-something.”
She rolled her eyes. “Occupation.”
