Hell on Earth (Doom Book 2) by Dafydd ab Hugh

Author:Dafydd ab Hugh [ab Hugh, Dafydd]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2016-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

18

I kind of felt bad leaving Fly and the kid to go traipsing off with this geek.

The first time I saw Albert, I thought he was a trog. Maybe it was the way he held his weapon against the head of the only other man in my life besides Wilhelm Dodd who’s ever been really worth a damn: Flynn Taggart, corporal, United States Monkey Corps. As I joined this Mormon beefcake on the grocery store expedition, I found myself sneaking glances at his’ profile, and finding strength where I’d first suspected weakness.

I’ve always loved strong men. That’s how I remember my father. He died when I was only ten, so I may not remember him with complete objectivity. But that’s the way I want to think of him. I grew up defending his memory against my brother, who acted like a snot and said Dad deserted us.

I hadn’t thought about my family since the invasion began, except when Fly got me going on my brother and the Mormon Church. I’d be happy to keep it out of my mind and off my tongue, except that Albert asked me: “You don’t like Mormons much, do you?”

We were in an alley outside a likely grocery store, taking a breather. Zombies were unloading bread from a bread truck, an eighteen wheeler. Bet the boxes didn’t contain bread; and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what was really in them.

“I have a problem with all institutional churches,” I said. “It’s nothing personal.” Of course, it was personal and I’m not a very good liar.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand,” said Albert diplomatically. The big dork had some smarts.

Maybe I should talk to him. Fly and I were so close that we couldn’t verbalize everything there was between us. He had a little-boy quality that was attractive in a friend but definitely not what I wanted in a lover. Maybe it was part of the Mormon conditioning, but Albert projected father qualities.

The one time I let myself be talked into therapy, back in college when my family was exploding, I dropped hundreds of dollars to be told what I already knew. My ideal male friend would be the brother I never had. Fly was just what the doctor ordered. My ideal lover was Daddy. The therapist was a Freudian so he didn’t have much imagination.

The women’s group I hung out with for one summer had a lot more imagination. It wasn’t my fault that the experiences of my youth fit the Freudian pattern better than they did the theories of the sisterhood. It just came down that way.

So I saw the concern in Albert’s face, a guy who wanted to be a pillar of strength to some All-American Gal, and it was hard not to cut him some slack. Here we were, huddled down together in a dark, smelly alley, ready to save the human race from all the denizens of hell, and poor old Albert was concerned about how i felt about his religion.

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