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miracle. That even when she was worn-out from terror, exhausted from fighting and running, her body could still be made to feel so good, was a blessing.
    And also a curse.
    Swept up in the spasms of desire coursing through her, Lira gave herself up to Anthony’s touch. His kisses, always his kisses. When he pushed inside her, she held him close. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. They moved together.
    “You fit me just right.” The words slipped out of her on a murmur.
    Anthony shuddered and buried his face in her neck. At the press of his teeth on the soft flesh, Lira arched. She threaded her fingers through his thick, dark hair. She lost herself in him, this time not as release.
    This time, as salvation.
    Her climax rolled over her in waves, and she rode them. With her fingers locked in his hair, she pulled him closer. She breathed in as he breathed out. He filled her in every way.
    She said his name, over and over as she came. She laughed with it, helpless not to in what she realized suddenly was joy. Pure and unfettered, her laughter was as much a release as her orgasm. It lifted her high, and when she came down, floating slowly, Anthony was right there with her.
    Nothing was attractive in the bright white light of his LED lantern, but Lira couldn’t be roused enough to care about how the shadows carved her up into pieces or emphasized the parts of her she’d rather have kept hidden. She kissed him again with him still inside her, then found his shoulder with her lips when he rolled onto his side next to her.
    Anthony put his hand on her belly and kissed her mouth. He lingered. When he pulled away, he put a finger to her chin and tipped her head to one side, then the other. He traced her collarbones. He touched what she knew must be a pattern of bruises on her skin.
    “I was sure you weren’t coming back.”
    She touched his face. “But I did. But, Anthony . . . we have to get out of here. Today. This morning. We have to move—”
    Before she could tell him why, a muffled series of shouts rang in the corridor outside. The door to his room flew open. Candace was there, holding a camping lantern high.
    Lira didn’t even bother with the sheet as she sat. “Is it Heather? What’s going on?”
    “No. It’s not Heather.” Candace’s eyes glittered, her mouth wide. Her gaze skittered over Anthony’s naked backside, lingering in a way Lira would’ve laughed at if she wasn’t so busy trying to figure out why Candace was bursting in.
    Lira got out of bed. She thought she had an idea of the reason for Candace’s dismay. “What’s going on?”
    Candace’s gaze darted back and forth before settling on Lira, still naked. “It’s a man. From outside. He says he knows you.”

 
    Chapter Four
    M AC LOOKED TOO big in the dining hall. Too broad. Nervous energy crackled off him, almost visible in the dining room’s harsh yellow overhead light. He was surrounded by the rabbi and Candace. Heather stood in the corner, hands on her huge belly, eyes wide, with Danny and John flanking her. Danny had a golf club and John a baseball bat. They all looked terrified.
    “Mac!”
    He turned, gaze taking in Anthony beside her. “Lira. You all need to move. Now. They’re into downtown already. Street by street, but they’ll be here within hours. We need to keep ahead of them. Get across the bridge.”
    “What’s he talking about?” asked Rabbi Cohen. “Who is this?”
    “Mac. Jason Macnamara,” he offered.
    “You’re a soldier, son?”
    Mac shook his head. “Not anymore. They’re coming through with guns and fire and gas. Reclaiming the city.”
    “From the undead?” the rabbi said.
    Mac shook his head, giving Lira a look. “No, sir. From everything inside it. If you all don’t get out of here, you’re going to be killed along with everything else.”
    Anthony’s hand had been resting on her shoulder. Now he stepped forward. “What do we need to do?”
    Mac looked at him, his gaze sliding over Lira