Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

Home Sweet Home

Attention to detail was never my strong suit. When August suggested that I could stay at the house to train, I never imagined that it meant her, Devin, and Haden would leave me behind with no vehicles and an arrogant prick for a trainer.

I stared out at the empty driveway. I hadn't heard the engines start, but sometime last night they had left to stock up groceries and left again with their travel bags. They weren't planning on returning any time soon. A week, a month... I hoped not more than a month. I was mad, but I had made my promise, so I started doing whatever Garrett asked, as if he were August.

He started me out on basic calisthenics and running. If all else failed, he would have me ready to outrun a mature grim in no time. We started swordplay, which was kind of fun, except that when I stumbled he would thwack me with the side of his blade until I got back up. It was the type of negative reinforcement that I didn't respond to well.

After two weeks, I came to realize that this was not going to be just a month of training. I was disappointed, but I didn't have time to gripe about it, since every day was packed full of training exercises. The only conversation Garrett and I had was instructional, or necessary. Do you want gravy?—wasn't exactly what I called small talk.

Still, I endured everything he shoved at me, including the ridiculous wrestling moves that I recognized from high school competitions. It wasn't until the beginning of week three that I got to try out some actual self-defense moves, and that was only because I literally had to defend myself.

"Dinner will be done in a few minutes," I said as Garrett came into the kitchen. I expected that the comment would be met with the same wordless grunt that it usually was, but instead he pulled me away from the stove with a thick arm around my waist and bent me face first over the table.

I screamed or cursed or something, but it all blurred into shock and fear. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head back. His other hand was down my shirt, gripping my breast. "I need an appetizer," he said and I could smell the alcohol on his breath.

I kicked and screamed, but he slammed my head into the table and started undoing my pants. I leaned onto the table further and used both my feet to kick the inside of his knee. He yelled and stumbled back in pain, freeing me to escape.

I ran for the back door, but he tackled me. He pressed a chef's knife to my throat—he had grabbed it from my wood block. I shoved his hand away and pushed myself up to crawl from underneath him. He hooked his finger in the belt loop on my jeans and flipped me over. He pressed the tip of the blade sharply into my throat. "Undo your pants, or I'll slice you open and finish with your corpse."

There might have been more to that sentence, but I punched him in his Adam's apple. He withdrew the knife, unable to resist clasping his hands on his aching throat. I thought I would be able to get away, but he punched me in the face. The blinding pain paralyzed me for a moment. It took me a second to realize the tongue in my mouth was not my own.

Garrett was on top of me, pushing his lips onto mine. I bit his tongue and he pulled away. He slapped me, but I ignored the pain. I pushed his knife-wielding hand into his still cocked slapping hand, forcing him to gouge his own flesh. He must have been surprised by that move, because I was still able to punch his crotch and upper-cut his chin before he had a chance to slash me with the knife.

My forearm bled heavily from the retaliation, but I wasn't concerned. I pushed the knife up again. As I suspected, he overcompensated to push against me so I didn't cut him again. I turned his wrist as he pushed back. The knife embedded firmly in the linoleum beside me. He pulled back on it, but it slipped from his grip.

I grabbed the blade prepared for the extra tug it would take to release it. He jumped off me to avoid my newly acquired weapon, and I threw it at his head. It was intended to be my shining moment in the battle, but the hilt hit his shoulder impotently, shattering any hopes I might have had about joining the circus.

Luckily, I was an ever devoted scaredy-cat and already had my exit strategy in motion. I was up and opening the door before the knife hit the floor. I slipped out just as he started to charge after me.

I hadn't planned what to do when I got outside, but I did what I do best. I ran. As an afterthought, I realized what I needed to do. There was only one person left in my life to run to.