Chapter 2
It was getting hotter. The sun had climbed higher in the sky as the morning wore on, and the gloom in the old generator room lightened, the dampness lifting as the walls warmed through.
It had been two hours since Tara and Brodie had taken refuge within its thick walls, and so far the baboons had left them alone. The screams from the creatures had come closer, then – unaccountably – stopped. Whether they had retreated to the ruins of their lair or just given up their attack for the moment, Tara couldn’t figure out, but she was grateful for the respite. But she knew in her heart of hearts that it wouldn’t last. The animals would overcome their fear of burnt flesh and the scent of human destruction to venture into the compound sooner or later. She hoped it would be later.
Brodie moaned. He had slipped in and out of consciousness as she treated his injuries, but now he was awake. The pain nagged at him, refusing to let him rest, so he had watched feverishly as Tara explored the room, turning over old wooden boxes and searching for anything that could be useful during their time there.
He smiled as she exclaimed her delight at discovering the three two-litre bottles of water were still there from the previous night.Brodie had insisted on the water - he didn’t know how long they would have until the baboons plucked up the courage to climb into the abandoned tower. Luckily their curiosity had got the better of them, and they had inadvertently sealed their fate as they clambered into the uppermost rooms. The explosion had killed dozens.
She also found a jerry-can of fuel for the generator. Under Brodie’s direction she made a few petrol-bombs with the half-dozen or so empty soda bottles she unearthed from a trash-filled box.
Finishing her search she returned to Brodie’s side and offered him some of the stale water, pleased when he swallowed a few mouthfuls greedily. She then proceeded to check his wounds, using more of the water to clean him up a little and make him more comfortable. But he was beginning to have problems coping with the pain.
The moan came again through clenched teeth, Brodie trying hard to control it but failing miserably.
“Damnation … that hurts …”
Tara put a restraining hand on his chest as he shifted, his body desperate for some respite from the pain. “Take it easy, Frank – try to keep still. You don’t want to open up your wounds …”
“Worried I’m gonna … bleed to death … and stink up the place … as I rot in a corner, huh?”
Tara’s mouth twitched at the sarcasm in Brodie’s weak voice.
“Well,” she said, “Since you mention it …”
He let loose a hoarse chuckle then, flinching at the agony it cost him but revelling in the lightness in her voice. For a fleeting moment her hand brushed his forehead, feeling the heat beginning to emanate from him, but she surreptitiously turned the movement into a brushing-back of a damp curl on his brow.
She frowned. “How do you feel?”
Brodie raised an eyebrow. How the hell did she think he felt? Like he’d been hauled ass-backwards through a pile of broken glass, like he’d been trampled by a herd of buffalo, like – he decided it was too much effort to go into detail.
“I feel … shitty.” He grimaced. “And cold.”
“Hmmm. You’re burning up. Probably some of these bites are infected. God knows what bacteria those things carry on their teeth, especially since they’re carnivorous …” She was thoughtful, her mind clicking through various medical scenarios and options.
Brodie scowled.
“You have no idea … how much better … that makes me feel …”
She was instantly repentant. She had forgotten how vulnerable he was, despite his laconic reply.
“God, Brodie, I’m sorry.” She leaned forward and gripped his hand. “When we get out of here, a few days on a good broad-spectrum antibiotic will do the trick. That, and plenty of rest …”
He snorted, then instantly regretted it as his ribs objected.
“Damn … you’re optimistic …”
But a spasm of pain cut him short, and Tara felt him grip her hand tight as he rode through the pain. He gave an involuntary shiver. He was beginning to shake with chills, and Tara could stand it no longer.
She eased herself down beside him, curling into his side and trying to use her body heat to ease the cold in him. Her shoulder settled beside his head, and she was surprised and touched as he turned towards her, his head coming to rest just above her breast. Carefully, so as not to jar him, she lifted her arm and cradled him into the hollow of her shoulder, and before she could stop herself she dropped a kiss on sweat-damp curls.
She felt him settle painfully against her, and sigh softly. Then his ragged breathing began to even out into fitful sleep as he gave in to the exhaustion.
Tara lay quietly, listening to the sounds of birds outside and the shallow
breathing of this big man she held in her arms, hoping against hope that
Kelsey and Davis were rescued soon, because she knew that Brodie didn’t
have much time left …
*****************
He was dreaming. At least, she thought he was dreaming. Brodie had
been asleep for about an hour, shifting occasionally as the pain percolated
through to disturb his slumber.
Tara felt him twitch, and then he nuzzled towards her breast, a soft mumble of words breathing against her bare skin. His unhurt right hand shifted and came to rest on her bare stomach, long fingers stroking her skin as it slid upwards over her ribs. It finally came to rest covering her left breast, cupping it gently, Brodie unconsciously rubbing a thumb against the nipple through the black lace of her bra.
Tara was at a loss as to what to do. Given what had happened between them, she would normally have revelled in the attention, but it was plain that he was dreaming about their encounter. It had been less than a day since the moment that had irrevocably changed their relationship, the fever in him rousing memories still fresh in his subconscious, but Tara didn’t have the heart to wake him up. So she shushed him gently, easing his hand away from her breast – although normally she could not have thought of anything sweeter than to have him touch her there. He needed to rest, and his feverish dream of their loving was disturbing them both.
She soothed him with soft words and he began to settle, his body relaxing once more into her arms. The murmur dwindled, then stopped, and he sighed quietly. She shifted slightly to ease a cramp in her arm, and his head moved so she could see the sweep of his right collarbone revealed by the gaping neck of his torn tee-shirt, the chain that carried the dog tag he wore gleaming dully against the sweat-sheened skin.
She suddenly found she couldn’t take her eyes from the glimpse of powerful chest muscles, and she discovered she could study him as he rested, wounded and hurting as he was. Her eyes ran over his broad frame under the threadbare blanket, the fall of his muscular arm across her torso sparking memories of those big hands easing her downwards to lie beneath him. Her gaze travelled down his body to the long legs stretched out on the floor, then she knew she could not resist looking at the soft fullness at the juncture of his thighs. She knew this body; not well, but she was familiar with the planes and hollows of muscles and bone, and she ached to trace once more the outline of hip and the flat hardness of his belly.
But more than anything else, Tara wanted him to live.
Fighting the urge to hold him tight, she rested her head against his as he moved painfully to settle his cheekbone against the hollow of her throat. Brodie groaned and she murmured quietly, soothing him. Then she relaxed, letting her own exhaustion take over as she eased her body against Brodie’s, careful not to put pressure on his wounds. Pulling the old blanket over them both, she drifted slowly into a fitful sleep, her mind – like Brodie’s – lingering unchecked on the remembered pleasure that haunted their restless dreams …
***************
Tara frowned wistfully as she dreamed, her mind wandering back to the
previous day.
That afternoon, she and Brodie had sat on the walkway at the top of the lookout tower, each immersed in guilt and pain – Tara trying to understand the desire of her genius father to play God by creating these creatures, and Brodie had finally let down his defences. His pain at leaving all those people to die had bubbled unbidden to the surface as Tara spoke of her father’s legacy to her – to them all. And Brodie had paid the price.
She remembered sensing Brodie marshalling his thoughts, his face crumpling as tears glistened unshed in his blue eyes. She had wanted then to touch his arm, tell him he wasn’t alone … but she didn’t. She was still trying to absorb everything she had discovered about her father, that flawed man who had gone unbidden into a world he couldn’t control. In the end it had killed him – and left this scarred shell of a man called Frank Brodie behind to bear the brunt of his actions. Although Brodie had his back to her she could see the almost imperceptible hunch of his shoulders as he struggled to get his emotions under some sort of control.
Brodie had taken a healthy slosh of tequila, hoping the fiery liquid would burn some semblance of normality into his soul, but it didn’t work. Not really. They sat for long moments, both absorbed in their own thoughts until Brodie sighed. Tara thought he was about to say something when a spate of cursing wafted outside from the radio room.
“Godammit!!! Brodie, I thought you said the generator was fixed! I need juice in here!” Davis threw down a bunch of wires from the radio set in exasperation, his need to get the ancient piece of junk working making him short-tempered.
Brodie slowly screwed the top back on the tequila bottle and grunted with the effort as he hauled himself to his feet. But Tara saw the defences had slipped back into place – Brodie had retreated back into his shell, the blueness of his gaze deadened as he battened down his emotions.
“Gotta go.” His voice was a mere growling whisper.
And then he was making his way down the metal stairway of the lookout tower and walking across the sun-baked compound to the dark shadows of the squat generator room, his long-limbed stride moving his big frame easily in the mid-afternoon light.
Tara watched him go, her hands still clutching her father’s journal. She had spent a long time just sitting and thinking about what she found both on tape and written in her father’s sprawling hand, discovering how he had planned to experiment surreptitiously on the local village children next, giving them vaccinations that were really DNA boosts. Brodie hadn’t known. Even if he had known, Tara was sure Brodie could not have stopped him short of killing him. Good ol’ Doc Matthews … a man Brodie had called ‘friend’.
She suddenly got on her feet and hurried into her father’s office, leaving the journal on the dust-thick desktop beside the tape recorder that had confirmed her suspicion that her father was – as her mother had tearfully told her – a madman. Brodie had to know; he had to be told that he wasn’t to blame, either for her father’s death or his madness. Brodie’s ten years of pain had to come to an end, and Tara was determined to see he understood that she didn’t blame him for any of it. There was no one to blame other than one man – Doctor Charles Matthews – for the whole tragic mess.
Decision made, she clattered her way down the steel stairway, her boots sending metallic echoes through the still afternoon air. She reached the ground and began to walk determinedly across the compound, the heat of the sun bouncing in a glassy glare from dusty windows in the abandoned huts.
As she neared the generator room she heard a dull clanging sound, metal on metal. As she entered through the low doorway and her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she saw Brodie leaning over the antiquated generator, banging with an equally ancient hammer at the pulley that held the belt in a machined groove around its rim. The belt had obviously escaped the groove and the generator had ground to a halt, the pulley still revolving uselessly until Brodie switched the generator off. Brodie grunted in satisfaction as the pulley shifted slightly under his controlled assault, obviously oblivious to her presence.
Tara leaned in the doorway, watching him. She was surprised to realise she enjoyed watching him work. She saw the play of the long muscles of his back as he yanked at the stubborn pulley, knowing if it remained out of kilter the belt would keep sliding off, or even worse, break.
It was then she realised she liked him. He was cynical, rude, bad-tempered, and a drunk to boot, she was sure. She had been prepared to dislike him on sight, and he had done nothing to sway her opinion when they met. But he had gone out of his way to keep her safe – it was Brodie who showed her how to use a revolver, and it had been Brodie who – albeit reluctantly – saved her in the cave. There was something about this morose man she actually liked – and liked a lot.
“Brodie …”
His body stilled for a moment. He had been so absorbed in his work he
hadn’t noticed her slip into the room. But the moment passed, and he returned
to his task of fitting the belt back on the generator pulley. 
“Pass me the screwdriver … over there, by the table.” He didn’t look at her.
Tara lifted the tool and handed it to him and he proceeded to use it to ease the belt onto the pulley, slowly rotating it as he fed the recalcitrant belt into the groove.
She stood beside him, feeling useless and beginning to have second thoughts about the whole business – Brodie wasn’t exactly making it easy. She took a deep breath and tried again.
“Brodie - ”
“Yep – that’s me.” She couldn’t miss the heavy sarcasm in the soft baritone. He carried on working.
“Dammit Brodie … I’m trying to apologise here! You could at least look at me!” Now she was exasperated.
She got the result she wanted – Brodie paused and looked up at her. He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“Apologise for what?”
Tara let the words come out in a rush – Brodie’s steady, blue gaze had begun to un-nerve her.
“For everything … for all of this! For what my father did all those years ago! It should never have happened and I’m so, so sorry you got involved … I know it’s been hard but - ” She stopped short.
Brodie began to laugh. A soft, rueful chuckle that accompanied a wry grin that lit up the man’s tired features. He sighed, still smiling, as the chuckle faded. He shook his head.
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
Now it was Tara’s turn to be puzzled.
Brodie continued, “You’re ten years too late, girl. Ten years too late …” Still smiling, he turned back to the pulley.
But Tara wasn’t going to let it go so easily. She leaned forward and touched his shoulder, and was surprised by the flinch that came from the big man.
“Brodie … Frank … you weren’t to blame … there was nothing you could have done to stop him – or save those people …”
But this time she wasn’t prepared for the reaction from him. Brodie straightened and turned, grabbing her by the shoulders, his face a mask of anger and hurt. Big hands tightened on her muscles, and Tara blinked in shock. But somewhere deep inside her she knew he wouldn’t hurt her, knew that the violence in him was not aimed at her.
“Don’t you understand? Don’t you get it at all??” His voice was a low snarl. “I should have died with them!!!”
He pushed her backwards and she went stumbling into the open steel door, her slight weight enough to swing it shut with a loud thunk. Then her back was tight against the cool metal and Brodie towered over her, fingers digging into the unresisting muscles of her slender shoulders. His breath came heavy and ragged with distress and his gaunt features were only inches away from her face.
For long moments they stood, both breathing heavily, Brodie’s big body close to hers as he looked into huge brown eyes. Eyes that were unafraid, he was suddenly amazed to discover. He felt a small hand against his chest, pushing gently, and he unconsciously moved back a little and released her shoulders, his realization of what he had done tightening in his throat. He had almost hurt her.
Elegant, fine-boned features gazed up at him.
“I know, Frank. I know how hard it has been for you.” Tara’s voice was soft and very calm. “I found out today that the man who was my father was everything they said he was, and more. And I’m going to have to live with that knowledge for the rest of my life.”
Something in Frank Brodie’s chest snapped. Pain bubbled to the surface and Tara’s heart broke as she saw him begin to let go, saw a huge gusty sigh break from him as his face became lined with grief. But he still held himself back from the full force of it, the effect of ten years of despair that was eating him alive until there was nothing left but an empty shell. He couldn’t. Not now. Not when they had so much more to face yet.
“You know we probably won’t make it off this damn’ island, don’t you?”
His voice was a gruff whisper.
Tara smiled through unshed tears.
“Yeah – I know. But don’t give up, Frank – have faith.” Her smile widened to a shaky grin. “A leap of faith, Frank. That’s what we need … a simple leap of faith …”
Brodie studied this young woman who looked so slight and fragile but who had a will and determination the like of which he had never seen - other than in her father. But in her it was something beautiful.
But then she did something so unexpected it made him gasp. She reached
up with both hands and cradled his face, then kissed him gently on the
lips. She broke off for a moment to catch her breath at the feel of him,
and then her hands left his face and slid around his neck as her lips met
his once more. But this time it was a full-blooded kiss, and he found himself
answering, his hands sliding around her to gather her body into his embrace.
He heard her moan and he broke from the kiss for a moment, needing to
know if she was all right. But instead of the fear he expected … he found
desire. A hot, dark desire deep in those luminous eyes, a desire that made
him shake with need. He felt her arms slide from his neck but her body
didn’t pull away as he thought it would – one hand fell to his waist and
began to tug at the bottom of his tee shirt, lifting it urgently so she
could trace cool fingers over his ribs and back.
Brodie shuddered at her touch, only vaguely aware of her other hand reaching behind her to shoot home the bolt on the heavy door. Once done, the hand joined its mate in pulling up the tee shirt on his other side, and then he felt her wrap bare arms around him, exploring the lines of bone and muscle beneath his heated skin.
“Tara …”
For a moment Tara Matthews stopped her gentle exploration of Brodie’s body as he spoke, his voice husky as he looked at her, wonder on his tired face.
She smiled.
“It’s all right, Brodie – I want this too … I want you. I always have …”
Then Brodie saw the truth of it. This wasn’t merely lust, although they both felt the driving need, but there was more to it than that – a common bond, a common pain … a common destiny. Whatever happened afterwards, they both knew life would never be the same again.
His answer was immediate. His big body surged against hers, his mouth falling to nuzzle and nip at her throat, his long-fingered hands travelling down to cup her buttocks, kneading them gently. Then he pulled her hips close so she could feel his burgeoning arousal, the blood burning through him like fire to settle at his groin.
Then their hands were everywhere, his working their way under her shirt to travel upwards, searching desperately to undo the fastenings of her brassiere, Tara stroking and teasing his skin then pushing small hands down past his waist and into his pants, needing to trace the line of his hip and flank. Then a small hand crept around to brush his straining erection through the heavy material of his combat pants. His soft grunt of pleasure made her gasp.
And then her breasts were free, Brodie’s big hands cupping their fullness, their nipples hard against his palms. His mouth sought hers once more but she caught his tee shirt and lifted, pulling upwards, and they broke apart for a moment so she could ease it from his broad frame. She stood long moments, studying the powerful chest with its dusting of soft curls and dark line of hair that ran enticingly down his flat belly to disappear into the top of his pants.
They were both panting now, the need for each other overwhelming, and Brodie surprised her by lifting her in his long arms and carrying her over to the heavy steel table, sitting her on the edge. Before she could take a breath his curly head was at her breasts, and she groaned with delight at the tickle of his moustache as he suckled, tongue flicking the nipples as he nuzzled and licked. Tara’s fingers entwined convulsively in his hair, but Brodie didn’t stop there – his hands undid the belt of her shorts and tipped her backwards on the table, its only covering an old, dusty blanket. He leaned over her, mouth now beginning to trail needy kisses down her rib cage and soft stomach, all the while his hands slowly slipping the shorts from gently thrusting hips, listening to her moan with delight at his attention.
Tara felt heat pooling in her loins as Brodie finally eased the shorts from her lower body and slipped them over her long legs. He became impatient as he tugged them over her boots and for a moment Tara thought of removing them, but then the shorts were gone and Brodie was parting her thighs, his big body settling between them, the heat of his erection pressing through the heavy material of his pants.
For the first time Tara heard him groan loudly, his need taking him fully, and he began to undo the belt at his waist – but then he felt small hands push his away and he straightened from caressing her body, barely able to hold back pushing her down and taking her then and there.
But Tara raised herself up and Brodie threw his head back in ecstasy as he felt her fingers deftly undo the belt and unfasten his pants, sliding them down far enough to free his hips … and then she was touching him, stroking, teasing, feeling the length of him, gently running her thumb over the crown of his penis, now so engorged as to be almost painful. Her other hand slipped lower to cup the full heaviness of his testes, and the combination of both drove him wild. He thrust hard into her hand, her voice murmuring words only meant for him, and his hands clutched her thighs, wanting desperately to lie buried deep between them.
“Tara … now … I want …”
One of Brodie’s hands fell from her thigh to stroke and probe between her legs, long fingers reached through dark curls and then he was inside her, feeling the clutch of her inner muscles around his touch. She was ready for him, he knew, as he felt her sheath become slick with her own desires. Tara buried her face in his chest as she cried out at the pleasure of his touch, her fingers tightening around his engorged phallus and urging him towards the place where his touch was driving her insensible with want.
Brodie thrust instinctively, feeling Tara’s fingers guide him into her and he gently pushed her back down on the table. He stood between her thighs, legs braced against the edge of the heavy tabletop. She lay open to him, skin flushed with desire, legs wide and inviting as he looked down and watched his manhood slowly enter her tight channel. It was too much.
“Now Frank … please, now … I want you inside me …” The quiver in her voice sent jolts to his penis as he felt himself thicken even more. He was sure that if Tara had touched him so intimately any longer he would have come then and there, but – thankfully – her hands stroked his ribs, urging, kneading, wanting …
He took her then, unable to wait any longer. His entry was forceful, hard, sliding easily into her depths, knowing it was all right to let this moment drive away the demons. His thrust slammed into her, making her gasp with the power of it. He began to move in her, his big powerful body possessing her, driving into her inexorably, each rhythmic thrust piercing deep within Tara's slender body. Her legs wrapped around his waist, cradling his hips as he sank repeatedly into her slick channel, his moans hoarse with want.
Dimly he felt her body begin to tremble beneath him, and Tara's hands clutched at the small of his back, begging, wanting, feeling the play of his muscles. They slid down to his hips, pulling him deeper inside her, her own need mirrored in the dark brown eyes. He plunged harder, longer, hands tight at her hips holding her steady as he took his pleasure, his thrusts driving into her, and he could hear a voice sobbing, and he realised it was his own.
He felt her suddenly pulse around his shaft, the flutter of inner muscles driving him wild, and she cried out, long sighs of completion, her body arching against his as she lay beneath him. He couldn't wait any longer, the sensation almost painful, his shaft rigid with need. His thrusts became ragged with passion, pile-driving, hard, uncontrolled.
He buried himself in her, and, finally, desperately, he exploded, his semen spilling into her with each stroke, filling her. His final shuddering thrusts emptied him, and his deep, throaty cries called her name, joining hers in the still of the late afternoon.
They lay joined, both too spent to move, his weight sprawled against the length of her strong body. Brodie thought his legs would give way but then Tara encircled him with her arms, holding him close. She kissed his cheekbone as he laid his head in the hollow of her neck as he felt the pulse of her blood racing through her. He became aware of the musky scent of their lovemaking and shifted, withdrawing from her welcoming embrace, easing himself from the deep comfort of her body. She moaned softly at the regret of his withdrawal, feeling his semen spill from her. Gasping at the sensation, he leaned his forehead against hers and propped himself on his elbows, reluctant to lose contact with her sated body.
A long-fingered hand stroked his damp hair back from his forehead, soothing his brow and easing his turmoil, calming him. For long moments they lay entwined, their breathing returning to normal, the aftermath of the ferocity of their lovemaking full of soft murmurs and tender touches.
“Brodie!!!!” Davis’ voice shook them from their dream-like state. He was obviously still on the tower, shouting down and trying to get Brodie’s attention. “Brodie, I need some electricity here!!! C’mon, will ya, I need to get this damn radio working!!”
“Damn …” Brodie’s eyes closed as his long body tensed, the stress of their situation back in full measure. The moment was gone.
He straightened and began dressing, and Tara sat up, watching as he shrugged into his tee shirt after fastening his pants and belt. She reached for her shorts and eased them on over her boots, then fastened her bra and pulled down her shirt.
All was back as it was, including the almost immeasurable distance between them. It was as though their loving had never happened.
Sliding off the table, her dark eyes glistened with tears as she saw Brodie turn himself once more to the task of starting the generator, but she saw his hands shake for a moment as he took a swig of tequila.
“You okay Frank?” There was no reply. She tried again. “Brodie? Are you all right?”
He looked at her for long seconds. The pain in those azure eyes made her flinch. But then he looked away, something inside making him break the eye contact. He nodded.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
But she knew he wasn’t. Their lovemaking had been desperate, needy, but incredibly tender, which had stunned the young woman – she didn’t think Brodie had a tender bone in his rangy body. And she knew he had felt more than lust; he had felt wanted.
“It’s okay, Frank. We’ll talk later …” She had touched him reassuringly on the shoulder, and then left him to his work.
But they never got the chance to talk again …
*****************
BANG!!!!!!
Tara awoke with a start. For long moments she was confused, uncertain as to where she was. Then she noticed long shadows creeping through the mesh-and-slat covered windows. The generator room on San Miguel Island … that’s where she was. What time was it? She looked at her watch. She had slept for six hours!!
Hurriedly she looked down at Brodie.
Thank God!! He was still alive, his head tucked into her shoulder, long legs stretched out in front of him. His wounds still relatively clean, although it was now obvious he had a raging fever.
“Brodie! Brodie, can you hear me??”
He stirred weakly.
“Y – yeah, I can hear you …” His head lifted and he opened his eyes, blinking wearily. “Thirsty …”
Tara was in the middle of giving him a trickle of lukewarm, stale water when the noise came again – a loud Whomp!!! Terror seized her heart as it was followed by a scream of anger and she heard bodies scurry across the roof, soft grunts echoing from behind the heavy steel door. Another barrage of blows from powerful arms battered against the barrier, the door thankfully bolted and locked.
The baboons.
They were back.
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