Kumbaya Much

  Kumbaya Much

  by

  Bella Street

  Apocalypse Babes | Book Four

  Firefly Press

  Nashville, TN

  © 2011 Kindle Edition

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover by Palindrome Design

  Photos © Valua Vitaly

  © Tomislav Zivkovic

  © Chrisharvey

  Playlist at ApocalypseBabes.com

  When a mysterious faction at the compound begins an attempt at crowd control, problems intensify, threatening not only life and limb, but the already fragile state of affairs between the Apocalypse Babes and the Others.

  For Cassandra Pearson

  (Monkeycstars)

  I'll stop the world and melt with you

  —Robbie Grey and Modern English

  (used with permission)

  Chapter One

  Now that Seffy had the gun, she wasn't sure what to do with it.

  But the rage crackling along her nerves screamed for release—and for an end to those who'd caused this pain.

  She crouched in the dark, in a passage just behind the panel inside a storage closet—close enough not to get lost, hidden enough not to get caught. Trent would be looking for her...heading to Fenn's quarters to stop her. But she'd learned a thing or two from him—one of which was how to move about the compound undetected. She had Malone to thank for her ability to handle a firearm.

  And in the absence of a post-apocalyptic super power, low cunning would serve in a pinch.

  Seffy dropped the clip and counted the rounds present by feel, accounting for the one in chamber. Three shots remained. How to make them the most useful? One for Fenn, one for Fiona and one for herself—finishing what she'd almost started in the desert? Maybe if she had, she wouldn't be hiding in a dark hole trembling with grief and the overwhelming need for revenge.

  She closed her eyes against the anguished vision of Gareth unconscious and covered with blood—and in Addison's lap instead of hers.

  “Seffy, damn it, where are you?”

  Trent.

  The door of the closet opened. She shifted further into the passage, holding her breath.

  “Sef, if you can hear me, you need to come out.” He paused. “You should be with Gareth.”

  Seffy pressed her fingers against her mouth to avoid responding out loud. Addison's with him. Besides, he's done with me. Heat built behind her eyes but she fought for control. She needed all her strength to take care of what should've been dealt with a long time ago. The closet door shut, but Seffy remained motionless in case Trent was trying to trick her. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades as she waited. Finally claustrophobia got the best of her.

  Easing the panel open as silently as possible, she peeked into the closet. The light was off. Seffy strained her ears to hear if Trent was in there waiting for her in the darkness. After several minutes, she was convinced she was alone. She climbed out of the passage and stood up in the closet, pulling in a deep breath.

  Now for the second hurdle. Seffy felt for the door knob and turned it slowly, opening the door a crack and scanning what she could see of the hallway. The sound of quick footsteps made her pull back. A small group of guards ran past, no doubt heading to the scene of the shooting she'd just left. When all was silent, Seffy eeled out of the closet. She set off on a light run to the west section of the compound where Fiona had her quarters close to Fenn's.

  Fiona. Just the thought of her name twisted Seffy's gut. The woman's small size hid a massive Machiavellian complex. What Fenn ever saw in her, Seffy didn't know. But killing her would solve many, many problems—namely ridding the earth of one more über-bitch. With Fiona gone, maybe she and the others could return to 2006 West Hollywood where they belonged—not in the year 1980, in this defunct military compound now inhabited by strangely villainous organic gardeners.

  An eerie silence reverberated through the drab-colored concrete halls as she made her way through the now-familiar twists and turns of the concentrically-designed building. The only sound was the thundering of her heart—from an organ that continued to beat despite all she'd gone through—weighted with an ache that would never go away if Gareth died.

  Ever.

  Seffy arrived at Fiona's door. She tried the knob and found it locked. Naturally. She jimmied the knob hard in frustration. Looking over her shoulder, she decided to take a chance and shoot the lock. If she got hit by the ricocheting bullet, it would at least one problem. Seffy angled the gun at the lock beneath the knob and pulled the trigger. The 9mm made an impressive noise and left a scorch mark on the metal plate. She tried the handle and was surprised when it turned.

  Seffy slipped inside the door and looked around, not sure what she was expecting to see. The living room was Spartan, with no-nonsense furnishings and conspicuous lack of knick knacks. She went further in, and the absence of personal touches confirmed her suspicions that Fiona was living with Fenn under the radar, and just used this residence to satisfy conventions.

  Seffy experienced a pang of disappointment that the little tyrant wasn't there. If anyone deserved a bullet between the eyes, it was Fiona. The woman was, after all, the one who'd pulled her from a carefully constructed life in 2006—a life she desperately wanted back.

  When convinced that the rooms were empty, Seffy went back to the main door and checked to make sure the halls were clear. She hurried down the hallway, listening hard for any footsteps that weren't her own.

  Stopping at the last corner, she peered around the edge. Her eyes widened at the lack of guards in front of Fenn's door. Were they all at the site of the shooting? He was the leader of the place—they couldn't even leave one guard behind for protection? It didn't matter—this was the opportunity she needed. Looking to the left and right, she hustled across the hall and tried the door. Open. Were there guards inside?

  Arriving inside the dim antechamber, she struggled to quell her rapid respiration as she opened the main door leading into Fenn's main quarters. A lone floor lamp illuminated the space. Seffy drew the gun and glided silently into the living room. The black leather couches and potted palms became sinister shapes in the dimly lit space. She checked the kitchen and study and found them empty. Next, the bedrooms. The two guest rooms were empty. Fenn's bedroom showed signs of recent occupation—an unmade bed and clothes on the floor. That left the master bathroom. The last time she'd opened this door, she'd found Fenn vomiting into the toilet while in the clutches of heroin withdrawals. What would she find now?

  Using the barrel of the gun, Seffy nudged the door open. She sucked in her breath at the tableau of Fenn laying on the floor—his head pressed up at an odd angle against the base of the toilet—a needle and ampule on the floor tiles next to his body. A thin line of blood leaked from the injection site on the inside of his arm. Seffy fought against a surge of bile burning in the back of her throat.

  If Fenn wasn't already dead, she had to make sure. His life was a waste anyway. Despite the time travel trip she and Trent had taken to bring back meds for his addiction, he was still just a junkie. Fenn and his girlfriend were just as poisonous to the compound as the smack he shot into his veins. And he was at least partly responsible for yanking her and her friends from their happy lives in West Hollywood and bringing them back in time to this isolated hell-hole, using them for guinea pigs and instruments of manipulation.

  It was time to go cold turkey on the guy.

  Seffy pointed the gun and took aim. Fenn's image wavered in front of her eyes. Furious that her hand was shaking, she brought up her other hand to steady the weapon. Where to shoot? Head? Chest? Malone had once told her females were usually more accurate shooters than men because their hearts were smaller—which meant smaller beats—and less shaking. But
hers galloped like a horse beneath her sternum and she couldn't seem to control her breathing.

  I've already killed two men today. I can do this. It's just a matter of willpower.

  ***

  Droplets leaked into Trent's eyes, making them sting. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his arm as he ran. Where the hell was Seffy? He'd been to Fenn's once—and the guards had told him no one had been around. He'd tried Fiona's, the computer lab, the Light Room, and storage closets along the way. Nothing.

  Seffy's last words ran on a loop in his mind. But first, I take out Eugene, Fiona, and most of all...Fenn.

  He had some understanding of her rage. Her closest friend had been gunned down by a hired thug who'd followed them through time. Eugene was the science behind the time travel, Fiona the impetus, and Fenn—in theory—in control of it all. All this coming off seeing her friends murdered in a tangent universe. Seffy was about to blow—and it wouldn't be pretty.

  Trent headed back to Fenn's, deciding to continue the circuit until he caught up with her. He'd found her before when she was hiding, he'd find her again. When he turned the corner to Fenn's residence, he skidded to a stop. Where the hell were the guards?

  This cannot be good.

  Trent rushed to the door and pulled it open. He hurried through the antechamber and quietly entered the living room. He wanted to call out, but didn't dare. Was she here? Checking the front rooms first proved fruitless. He headed to the bedroom and in Fenn's room, saw a triangle of light on the carpet from the open bathroom door. He stopped and listened. Heavy breathing coincided with the dripping of a faucet.

  Stepping to the side of the doorway, Trent peeked past the door jamb and went very still. Seffy stood over the body of Fenn, angling a gun with violently trembling hands. A vein stood out in her forehead and her feral eyes gleamed in the bright vanity lights above the sink. His attention dropped to Fenn who lay motionless—post fix—on the floor wearing only a pair of sweatpants. A syringe and glass ampule lay nearby. He swallowed convulsively at the way the needle glinted in the light. The ampule was on its side, obviously empty. Based on his pallor, Fenn appeared to be dead. Trent looked back at Seffy.

  Had she already done the deed? Or was she trying to gin up her nerve?

  He was unsure how to proceed. He knew Seffy was out of her mind with grief and fear, and the weeks of being subjected to invasive experimentation and psychotropic drugs wouldn't exactly contribute to her rationale. But he had to do something quick. If the guards returned and saw her pointing a gun at their leader—whether or not he was already dead—they'd kill her first and ask questions later.

  Trent silently stepped into the doorway, his hands raised. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Sef.”

  At first she didn't seem to hear him. Her gaze was locked on her target, the gun still bouncing in her grip. He said her name again, this time a little louder.

  Her eyes lifted, widening when she saw him. “Is he dead?”

  Trent frowned at her flat tone. “Did you shoot him?”

  Her dark eyes returned to Fenn's body. “He shot himself.”

  He wondered if she referred to the drugs. “Can you lower your gun?”

  “You're not going to get it away from me. Fenn has to die.”

  Trent took a step into the bathroom. “Why does Fenn have to die?”

  “Because he killed Gareth.”

  “A gunman shot Gareth.”

  “But Fenn brought him here.”

  Trent took another step. “Seffy, look at me.” She didn't, but he continued. “I know you're scared and angry, but you don't want to do this.”

  That got a look. “Of course I do. Why do you think I'm here?”

  “I mean you'll regret making this choice.”

  “No, I'll have one less problem.”

  Trent edged closer, keeping one eye on the firearm. “Sweetheart, you're not a killer.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes I am. I've killed two people just today.” A hysterical bark of laughter escaped her. “I've never added them all up before. Let's see, the first was Popov, then at least two in Tangentland—”

  “Those were all in self-defense—not cold blood.”

  “What's the difference? Dead is dead.”

  He stared at the bleak expression in her brown eyes and wondered if she was talking about herself on some level. Two more steps in. Trent tried to figure out the best way to resolve the situation. Time was running out. “C'mon, Sef, just hand me the gun and let's talk this through.”

  “Piss off, Trent.”

  “Can't do that.”

  “You know, for being the bad boy of the group, you're acting like an old lady.”

  “Well, I'm glad to see you still have your sense of humor,” he said, keeping his tone light. One more step. She was within reach if he lunged.

  A groan made him freeze. Trent looked at Fenn and saw the man's eyes flutter. Not dead yet. He glanced at Seffy and saw her lips turn white to match her knuckles gripping the gun.

  Fenn groaned again. He opened his eyes, slowly focusing on Seffy, and lifted a hand toward her, looking not unlike the zombies they'd fought a few months back. Seffy's breathing accelerated. Trent's muscles coiled, ready to spring.

  “Sarah.” Fenn's arm dropped, his head sagged. “Sarah.”

  Trent blinked and stared at Fenn. The dude's delirious. He turned to Seffy and blinked again.

  She was focused on Fenn with wild eyes in a bloodless face. The gun fell from her hands and clattered onto the tiles. It took a second for Trent to realize she was crumpling to the ground. He dove for her and caught her body before she hit the floor. What the hell? She dangled in his arms in a dead faint.

  Trent twisted around to glare at Fenn. “Who the hell is Sarah?”

  Fenn reached for the syringe with trembling hands and glanced up at him, his eyes bleary. “Fiona.”

  Hoisting Seffy into his arms, Trent stepped past the de facto leader of the compound, pity mixed with fury making his voice shake. “I'll send her right in, pal.”

  Chapter Two

  “I had a dream that I wore a polka dotted dress,” Seffy said softly as the images dissolved. Her voice sounded far away. “But I never had one in real life even though I wanted one so bad. Brown with pink dots.” Seffy opened her eyes, stiffening when she didn't recognize her dim surroundings. She felt a hand touch her arm and looked up to see Trent's tense expression.

  “Sef, we have some problems. I need you to focus.”

  Disappointed once again to find herself in an unwanted predicament, she squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate and suddenly remembered Fenn's prone form on the bathroom floor. She opened her eyes. “Did I kill him?”

  Trent shook his head and sat next to her...on a bed. It took her a moment to comprehend she was stretched out on Fenn's bed. Oh God—

  “Who's Sarah?”

  Seffy's gaze flew to Trent's as she sank back against the pillows. “I don't understand. What are you asking me?”

  “I said—”

  “Where's Fenn now?”

  Trent firmed his lips. “The medics are treating him. Fiona's in there with him.” He reached up and brushed a lock of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek.

  “So whose mess is this?”

  Seffy glanced over at the unexpected voice and saw Fiona suddenly standing over them. The brown-eyed tyrant stared at where Trent's hand was, her gaze narrowing.

  He pulled his hand away and straightened. “Seffy found Fenn like that. It has nothing to do with us.”

  “Us,” Fiona said in a chilly little voice. “I'm starting to notice that whenever there's trouble, you two are together.”

  “Like I said, that's how we found him,” he said through gritted teeth. “Leave us out of it.”

  “How did the gun get in there?”

  Seffy caught her breath as more memories rushed to the surface. She looked at Trent for help.

  He stared at Fiona with heavy-lidded eyes
. “And I suggest you start asking yourself some hard questions about your boyfriend and his rotten mismanagement of the compound.”

  “Get out of here,” she ground out.

  Despite being several inches taller than Fiona, Seffy experienced a spasm of fear at the woman's fury.

  Trent stood and glanced at Seffy. “Can you walk?”

  “I'll be fine.” Struggling to a sitting position, she rose from the bed. Without thinking, Seffy reached out and grasped his hand. The action earned another suspicious look from Fiona.

  Before she could pull away, Trent's fingers tightened around hers and he tugged her toward the bedroom door. After passing into the dark hallway and living room, Seffy saw a nurse bustle into the room. Not Olga. She missed her personal compound nurse. She missed...a lot of things.

  Understatement of a lifetime.

  Once they made it out to the hall, Seffy released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Did I really try to kill Fenn? Am I losing it more than usual?

  Most likely.

  “What happened in there?” Trent asked in a low voice.

  Seffy kept her attention straight ahead and picked up her pace. She needed to get back to her room and think. And figure out a way to see Gareth. Right after the shooting, the guards had not only shoved her to the floor, but one tried to kill her. She was not on anyone's 'in' list at the moment.

  Trent sighed. “We'll talk when we get back to our rooms.”

  The silent trip went too fast through the compound on the way to the defunct psychiatric wing where they were expected to stay like good little boys and girls, waiting for the time travel fairy to wave her magic wand and get them home again.

  Suddenly Trent was closing her bedroom door behind him and pinning her with a determined look. “Who the hell's Sarah?”