Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 90

Day 66: June 13th, Sunday

It was still dark when I woke up sweaty, naked, and with a pounding headache. I had a faint ringing on my right ear, probably from firing the weapons yesterday, though I couldn't do anything to alleviate it except take it for what it was. I grumbled out of bed, confused for a second whose house I was at, expecting to find myself in my own room back in Portland, only to be hit by the realization that I was in Hell.

How long did I sleep? An hour? Two? Five? It felt like I needed more, but there were so many things to do, so much to cover. Finally, I swung my feet off the bed and planted them firmly on the floor, and since I'd gone this far, I might as well wake up fully.

I strode toward the dresser where my new clothes were, sniffed the shirt once, and didn't smell the usual blood and guts since it had been stored safely in the closet since the beginning of the apocalypse. The jeans didn't see much action, either. I was happy to wear new clothes after what happened yesterday, mostly on what went down in the basement. I only managed to get my underwear and jeans on when a light knock sounded on my door.

I grabbed my gun and crept closer to the door, and pressed the barrel of the gun on the wall right next to the door, ready to fire. I had no idea who was behind the door or if the entire house was compromised while I was asleep, but it wouldn't hurt to be very careful. I waited for the other's next move.

There was another light knock.

"Hey, Bren. It's me. Open up."

It was Logan.

"I'm up. I'm up," I said and opened the door.

Logan had leaned his arms against the doorframe while waiting, his other hand on his hips, greeting me with his usual confident, laid-back swagger. He cleaned up pretty well, and I noticed instantly that he had shaved his beard off and cut some of his hair on the sides.

Stifling a smile, I said, "Wow. You shaved. Is that really you?"

"No, I'm Logan's twin brother, Rogan," he said impassively, but then he cracked that goofy, crooked smile of his. "You like it?" He asked, swiping a finger under his chin.

"Yeah. It's nice not having to talk to a Neanderthal werewolf but a well-cultured human being. And don't call yourself Rogan. You sound like a roided-up pornstar."

"Eh. I always put it as Plan D that if my career as a football player didn't pan out, I'd enter the adult industry." He waited for my response, but all I did was shrug as I put my gun back on the nightstand. Logan sighed, disappointed. "Get it? Plan D?"

"Dear lord," I muttered under my breath, letting Logan inside my room as he laughed at his own joke. "What are you doing here? Is it my turn for the watch?"

"What? No. I'm getting you for breakfast. Alfie fixed us some powdered eggs and oatmeal. Well, we can't really complain. Food is food."

"What are you talking about? It's still dark out." I looked around and stopped. All the windows were barricaded; sunlight was seeping through the narrow slits between the wooden boards. "Uh, what time is it?"

"Nine-thirty in the morning. You slept for nine hours, you know. We thought it best not to wake you up. I noticed that you didn't get enough sleep two nights in a row, and Pete agreed with me for the first time. Can you believe that?"

"Logan, you could have at least asked me first."

"That's...not what I was expecting."

"What were you expecting?"