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  Cover

  Title Page

  Love at the End of Days

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  Tera Shanley

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  Omnific Publishing

  Los Angeles

  Copyright Information

  Love at the End of Days, Copyright © 2014 by Tera Shanley

  All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

  ...

  Omnific Publishing

  1901 Avenue of the Stars, 2nd Floor

  Los Angeles, California 90067

  www.omnificpublishing.com

  ...

  First Omnific eBook edition, October 2014

  First Omnific trade paperback edition, October 2014

  ...

  The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

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  Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

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  Shanley, Tera.

  Love at the End of Days / Tera Shanley – 1st ed

  ISBN: 978-1-623421-56-4

  1. Contemporary Romance—Fiction. 2. Zombies—Fiction. 3. Apocalypse—Fiction. 4. Urban Fantasy—Fiction. I. Title

  ...

  Cover Design by Micha Stone and Amy Brokaw

  Interior Book Design by Coreen Montagna

  Dedication

  For zombie slaying warrior woman, Midian.

  Chapter One

  NO ONE, IN THE HISTORY of all of mankind, had ever been as big an idiot as Sean Daniels.

  He tapped the yellow number two pencil in quick rhythm against the stack of weekly guard assignments and stilled his drumming foot. He had to settle down. She was taken. He had missed his chance and missed it big.

  Laney Landry was perfect, and he hadn’t seen it until it was too late. Until she’d given her heart to another man because Sean hadn’t nurtured it enough. Hell, he hadn’t nurtured it at all.

  He let out an explosive sigh and leaned back into the creaking office chair. Dead Run River hadn’t changed all that much in the year since she’d left with Derek Mitchell. But him? She’d started a change in him the likes of which he’d never undergone his entire twenty-eight years.

  It had started slowly, like a small ember throwing a lazy spark onto dry tinder. The night she’d admitted she was leaving with Mitchell, something had gone cold in his gut, a clawing at him that said he’d made a terrible mistake, and it was much too late to right the wrong. She’d chosen, and it hadn’t been him. It’s not like he could blame her. She’d put herself out there time and time again only for him to swat her down like some jungle cat teaching its young to stop playing with mice and hunt them instead.

  But there had been Aria. Aria-the-Dead, the wife he’d coveted even after her heart stopped beating. Even after she had come looking for him with her empty eyes and bloodstained summer dress. He hadn’t been worthy of Laney when she’d been ready. He’d only just laid Aria to rest, and if he was honest with himself, Laney scared the shit out of him.

  She was impulsive, deadly, brave, smart-mouthed, and wouldn’t take an order from him if her life depended on it. She was perfect. He had just been too messed up with the second death of his wife to see it.

  “Sean!” Mel snapped from the open doorway. “I’ve called you three times. You alive in here?”

  He jumped up like he’d been caught rifling through someone else’s underwear drawer. “What?”

  She took a long, slow breath, and her moss green eyes focused on him. “She’s here.”

  His face was a careful mask of ambivalence, but inside, tiny explosions were pinging against his organs. Laney.

  His hand shook so badly as he set the number two on the stack of papers, he accidentally knocked a jar of paperclips to the ground with a clatter.

  Well, hiding his emotions from Mel to spare her feelings was going swimmingly.

  Her eyes held the slightest hint of sadness in their seafoam depths before she washed her face clean of the vulnerability. “Leave them. And Sean?”

  He hesitated just a moment before bringing his apologetic gaze to hers. He really was sorry they hadn’t managed to be more than friends. She deserved more. “Yeah?”

  A slow grin crooked her lips. “It’s okay. I know what she meant to you.” She turned, and he followed her out of the small log cabin that served as guard headquarters and his office.

  Maybe if he could explain. “I just thought I’d never have to see her and Mitchell again and I would eventually be able to move on. And now she’s back and it’s making me—”

  “Crazy?” she offered.

  He huffed a surprised laugh. “Yeah. Crazy works.”

  “Have you made any headway with moving on over the past year?” she asked.

  He couldn’t bring himself to admit such a weakness out loud, so he shook his head instead.

  “Then maybe seeing her will be your answer. She’s moved on. It’s time you do too.”

  The Dead Run River colony leader set a quick pace, and Sean jogged to keep up. The winding trail that led to the front gates was littered with dry plants curling into themselves in preparation for the long, frigid Rocky Mountain winter, and pines that stretched to the clouds towered over them in a protective canopy.

  Finn, his second-in-command, was talking to Sean’s four-year-old daughter, Adrianna, just inside the towering wooden front gates of the colony. The gates that kept humans in and Deads out.

  “Hey, Ade,” he said as the little dark-headed girl waved. She looked so much like her mother, it sometimes struck him like a blow. “You been good for Mr. Finn today?”

  “Yeah, and he taught me how to aim his gun.”

  Sean arched an eyebrow at the muscle-bound behemoth. “Unloaded?”

  Finn cocked a toothy grin. “For now.”

  A clearing stood between the treeline and the large felled timbers constructed in an impenetrable wall to keep Deads out. And in that clearing was the red truck they’d come into Dead Run River in after the fall of his own colony near Denver the year before. The paint was chipped in a few places, and the Chevy sported a few new dings here and there, but it was mostly as he remembered it. Guist, who had asked for gate duty that day, was clapping Mitchell on the back and grinning from ear to ear. Sean’s heart picked up in a thumping cadence to match the pounding of peppered gunfire.

  There she was.

  From where he stood, he had a perfect view of her face. She smiled at Eloise who had already made her way to them. Laney’s dark hair was pulled back from her face, and her cheeks glowed with a rosy hue to match her full and smiling lips.

  He closed his eyes to steady himself, and Mel leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s hard having something you want so badly just out of your reach, isn’t it?”

  He draped his arm around her shoulder in understanding. Nothing had worked out the way it was supposed to. Not for him and not for Mel.

  Laney unzipped her jacket and exposed a sweater-clad belly swelling with child.

  A knife. It was a knife in his gut.

  “Steady there, Captain,” Mel murmured. “You’ll give yourself away with that face.”

  “Did you know?”

  “No. Doesn’t even look like they told Guist.”

  Indeed, it didn’t. Guist’s expression had gone completely blank, and a big dumb smile slowly spread across his face, wide enough to crack it open completely.

  “Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak,” Me
l murmured.

  “Quoting The Art of War to me right now isn’t really helping. That’s the book I gave her last year.”

  Mel looked steadily at the happy reunion in front of them. “I know.”

  Vanessa chatted with her brother Nelson as they strolled along the barbed wire path that led from the garden gates to the colony entrance.

  “Well if I show you favoritism, it’ll cause dissension among the ranks,” she said.

  “Yeah, but it’s garden duty. It’s not guard duty. Everyone knows I’m your brother, and nobody cares if I get a longer lunch than them. Plus, Laney is going to teach me to shoot, and there isn’t enough time if I don’t have a longer lunch.”

  Vanessa pulled a face. Laney. There she was again, all pretty and irresistible and irritating. Even Nelson couldn’t hide his gigantic crush on the canker sore. What was it about her?

  “Eloise!” a ragged scream sounded.

  Vanessa jerked her head up. Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

  “What the hell is Laney screeching about,” she mumbled.

  It was then that she saw the unbridled fear in her nemesis’s face. And she wasn’t looking at Vanessa or Nelson. She was looking off into the woods.

  Fear crashed against her insides, filling her until it was difficult to breathe and even harder to move. “Nelson,” she whispered, shoving her brother behind her.

  The monster crashing through the woods was huge. How had a creature so foul looking once been human? Even hunched over in full sprint, he had to be six-five. His face was the color of a gray-sky morning and tatters of flesh hung from his sagging cheeks. His filmy, empty eyes were trained on her as he picked up speed and bellowed. The fence between them wouldn’t hold him—not at his size. Not with his determination.

  A shot zinged through the woods, echoing as the bullet found nothing to lodge itself in. Laney had missed, and he was bearing down on them. Too late to run. They’d never make it to the gate in front of or behind them. She was so frozen, the cry for help that bubbled forth sat lodged in her closing throat.

  The Dead lifted his hands and lunged the last few yards between them, and she screamed as the final shot rang out.

  Vanessa sat up, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come easily. Her lungs burned to be fed oxygen, but her tensed body wouldn’t give it. Sweat trickled between her breasts, at odds with the cold autumn air that seeped in through the sealant between the logs of her small room to prickle her skin.

  That dream. No, that nightmare. She hadn’t had that nightmare since she’d started the guard training program three months earlier. Why her dream decided to edit out her friend, Eloise, was a mystery. She was always missing, though her real memories of that day included the strawberry blonde down to the most minute details. She could see the way Eloise crumpled to the ground in a faint. She could see Laney cradling her friend’s limp body and yelling for help. The monster’s body, jerking and stilling across the electrified fence just feet from them, and Mitchell. Mitchell had come running at Laney’s cry and had eyes only for her. Vanessa should’ve known right then. He hadn’t even spared her a glance as he passed. How had she ever thought she stood a chance with him after that moment?

  Stupid. It was the apocalypse for chrissakes. It was the dumbest move to get attached to a zombie snack. Everyone left or died.

  Dim morning light filtered through the simple window by the door into her small cabin room. Her table sat cluttered with notes on guns and ammunition, knife positions, and saber strokes. Drawings of night-vision glasses and lists of bug-out bag essentials littered the ground beneath. She’d be more prepared for the monsters next time. Training kept the fear at bay.

  A cold and unlit lantern sat over the pages, waiting to illuminate the darkness. A crudely made table sat under a weathered mirror and served as home to an old fashioned washbasin filled with clean water. She’d collected the splinters from the floor boards in her tender feet the first few months she’d lived here, and now they were worn and smooth. Her bed was on the wall beside an old wood-burning stove, her savior on cold Colorado nights. Pictures Nelson had sketched for her dotted the wall above the writing table, and a small chest of drawers filled the corner, holding everything she owned. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

  The water from the washbasin was as cold as a mountain spring, but it washed away the last shaking rivulets of that awful dream. With her teeth newly brushed, she gave the mirror a quick glance before turning around and leaning against the table. She used to love the routine of primping and preening in the mornings. Of brushing every hair into place and slathering on the perfect shade of lip gloss. Even after the Dead outbreak, she’d kept up appearances. Now, she looked like a ghost of her former self. What fun was it to look in the mirror every day and see the haunted planes of her face that were so unlike her old self? Besides, guard training didn’t require perfectly rosed cheeks and mascara. It required a competent trigger finger and more care for the person next to you than for yourself. And for some reason, over the past year, one had become more important than the other.

  She dressed quickly in standard-issue gray cargo pants and a tight-fitting, black, thermal sweater. The leather of her holster let off a familiar fragrance as she latched it around her waist, and she checked her Glock 17 before sliding it into place. A simple, plum-colored hairband held her long, blond tresses away from her face, and a pair of sturdy hiking boots covered her woolen-socked feet. With one last look at the room, she strapped an M16A2 across her back and shut the door behind her. The definition of “accessorizing” sure had changed since the outbreak.

  Frozen breath puffed in front of her as she jogged up the winding dirt path that led to the mess hall. The trail snaked around clusters of giant pines and huge ferns and foliage growing dormant with the cold weather. The end of the world had been great for plant life. The jungle was retaking the earth without droves of humans to pollute it and cut it down. Go weeds.

  If she was early enough to the mess hall, she’d be able to snag a seat for both her and Nelson, and maybe a few of her teammates who were straggling in for a quick breakfast before PT.

  Just as she threw open the door, a mountain of a man, not paying attention in the least bit, crashed into her like a Mac truck.

  “Whoa!” he yelled as he caught her arms, preventing her from falling backward. His fingers seriously almost fit all the way around her puny bicep.

  “What the hell?” she groused, upright again. His hands were annoying, touching her like they were. She judo-chopped one, and he let go.

  Staring at her stiffened palm like it had grown a brain of its own, she lifted her gaze to the most intense pair of blue eyes she’d ever seen. Oh, she knew who he was. Anyone with the ability to ovulate had every angle of Sean-freaking-sexy-man-Daniels’ face memorized.

  “You just karate-chopped me.” He sounded almost hurt as he rubbed the inside of his thumb slowly. The smirk on his face said she hadn’t hurt him at all.

  “I don’t know why I just did that. I don’t even know karate.”

  “Hey, I know you. You’re…”

  Seconds ticked by, and she snorted. “Nicely done. You can’t even remember my name? It’s not like there’re millions of us here.”

  His eyes narrowed, and she blew past him. He made her heart do flip-flops in an uncomfortable way when he was standing so close to her, and escape seemed like the best option to be able to breathe again. Damn his beautiful face.

  She hunched against the humor in his voice when he called, “It was nice to meet you.”

  She wouldn’t look back at him—no way. Her neck itched where he was no doubt staring at her as she left, and she didn’t want to see whatever expression was on his face. Nice to meet her? He’d been her commanding officer for months! Granted he wasn’t in charge of training new recruits, but it wasn’t as if there were a ton of girls signing up to brain Deads. And Dead Run River numbered in the hundreds, not thousands. And thirdly, she wasn’t exactly an eyesore.
r />   Nelson waved from a table in the back. She should’ve known he’d be there even earlier than her. He rose with the dawn even more readily than she did. The breakfast line was long, and by the time she finally sidled up next to her brother on the bench seat, she only had a few minutes to eat. Her teammates were nowhere to be found, so she ate with the tenacity of a starving wolfhound gnawing on a bone.

  Nelson stared. “What’s wrong with you?”

  A bite of egg flopped out of her mouth, and she frowned at its gumption. “Nothing. Had a bad dream is all. And I’m going to be late to PT if I don’t hurry.”

  “Oh, that reminds me. Steven said—” Nelson searched the rafters for inspiration “—Finn is out. Brewster is in.”

  She choked on a half-chewed biscuit. “Bruiser’s in?”

  “No, Brewster,” he clarified.

  “Same thing.” She gulped her warm milk and bolted for the trashcan. “See you at dinner.”

  Brewster was the worst. He was mean, tyrannical, and had a particular taste for picking on five-foot-two blond girls with meagerly controlled bitchy retorts. Where the hell was Finn this morning? What could be so important that he’d bail on early morning PT and leave the new recruits in the hands of that pretentious pride-squisher?

  She ran. Finn was good with on time, but old Bruiser’s mantra was that ten minutes early meant you were late.

  With a silent curse on Finn flung out into the universe, she rounded a trio of fat-trunked pines that hid guard headquarters. Freaking seriously? All seven of the other new recruits were lined up doing jumping jacks, and from the sweat pouring down Boris Finch’s face, they’d likely been at it for a while. Fantastic. Maybe Brewster wouldn’t notice if she just slid on into the back row and looked sweaty.

  “Summers!” he barked as she jumped into her first jack. “Up front and center!”

  “What crappy timing,” she muttered as she made her way to the front.

  “What’s that, recruit?”

  She smiled cheerily. “What happy timing, sir.”