I Am Eve

By Nicolina Martin

I survived the fall of civilization, but I didn't live… until I met him.

Adam is not a good man. He's a criminal. A warlord. Someone who takes without asking. He is guarded and cold.

 

But that's not all he is. He's also a father. A leader. A battered soul who refuses to stop fighting.

 

I'm blind, but I see the real man behind the wounded, world-weary façade, and I want him more than I've ever wanted anything. His touch sets my skin ablaze. He fills my house with laughter and light, and then leaves me with a gift that might bring life to a dying world.

 

It seems our love can save… everything.

 

*Intended for an 18+ audience*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Heart Pen Publications
• Release date: Jan 2, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393125839

Nicolina Martin

Nicolina Martin is a Swedish author whose passion for the written word began during her teenage years. While she is deeply influenced by Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Jodi Picoult, and many more, she doesn’t limit herself to just one genre, and dabbles in dark, steamy romance, suspense, erotica shorts, and contemporary fiction. Nicolina enjoys singing, practicing martial arts, and gardening. She is also a music enthusiast, movie fanatic, and bibliophile. Above all, she loves spending quality time with her three beautiful daughters and three feline fur-babies. To Nicolina, life is far too short for regrets, and she is a firm believer in looking forward no matter what to avoid repeating past mistakes. She also believes in thoroughly enjoying each and every moment as it comes because tomorrow is never guaranteed.

Book preview

Introduction

‘I Am Eve’ is the book I wrote when I could no longer write.

The stress of the pandemic in the spring of 2020, and how to manage this new version of life, tore at my soul and the contemporary romance I was writing came to a screeching halt. How do you write touching and kissing when you live in a world with social distancing?

I was also in love, in a new relationship, and it’s a beautiful thing, but it also messes with the creative juices for other reasons.

‘I Am Eve’ is what came pouring out of me when my emotions ran both high and low, when life got crazy and turned upside down.

‘I Am Eve’ is love.

Chapter One

Eve

They burn the dead again. The stench makes my eyes water. I’m too close. The heat from the flames should scorch my skin, but it doesn’t touch me. A voice comes through the billowing smoke. It calls my name. I can’t decide if it’s male or female, and perhaps it doesn’t matter.

It’s time, Eve. He has arrived.

I jerk awake, lurch to my feet, and listen to the house while my heart slams in my chest.

Nothing.

The deceptive calm of the early morning does nothing to soothe me. It’s only temporary. The next disaster is always around the corner.

And sure enough.

From across the street, the neighbor’s three-year-old is repeatedly shouting for his mommy, to the point where I begin to worry that I need to try to make it outside today. Finally, Mrs. Hood’s unmistakable, sharp voice cuts through the air.

Callahan, I swear to God. If you don’t get that kid to shut up, I’m gonna fucking shoot myself!

I recoil and pat along the backrest of the armchair as I approach the window. A child cries.

Muuhhuuummyyy!

"Bea, you bitch! A man’s voice. You’re scaring the kid!"

A loud bang makes me jerk hard, and my heart shoots to my throat. It could have been just a door slamming shut, but I can’t shake the fear that it was something much worse. I’m not sure it’s a relief or if it’s horrifying, knowing there’s nothing I can do.

I find the frame then push the window closed, shutting out most of the noises from outside. Inhaling deeply of the air that slipped in, I detect grass, birch pollen, sun against warm concrete. Winter is coming to an end, but this year no one will have the time to enjoy the new season, not with everyone scurrying to see to their most basic needs. To simply stay alive.

He has arrived.

My skin feels two sizes too small, and the dream clings to my consciousness no matter how hard I try to shake it off. Who has arrived?

Once I’ve locked the window, I decide to make sure all doors and windows are properly sealed. No one will come here today. My next delivery is in two days. I’ll be alone until then. I really want to make sure it stays that way.

It’s not much of a life, but it’s the only one I have. People are so much worse off than I am, and as long as we can wait it out, contained in our little bubbles of isolation, we’ll be good.

Or so they say.

I move from window to window, making sure the hooks are in place, cursing my grandmother’s too-large house, God rest her soul. It was built for a family of seven. Whatever happened to them all? Seeing my aunts and uncles before me, my cousins, with their faith in the congregation and that it would save them, my chest tightens. I hope they’re safe. I curse them for leaving Grams behind on her deathbed, but I also know there was nothing that could be done at that point. The disease took her, like it has taken so many. Half the houses on my street are empty, says Kiki. I know my friend means well, bringing me news from the outside world, but there is never any good news. I smile and keep my distance. If something happens to her, I’ll be forced to go outside, and I’ll be at the mercy of strangers. Kiki Kann, a tall woman in her thirties, with a long, narrow nose, and hair the texture of a horse’s mane, sold my sculptures. We both made a bit of money out of my ability to create shapes that the seeing world apparently finds fascinating.

Money doesn’t matter much now. Having a patch of fertile soil does, and farmers have become kings with their own armies. Blessed be the one who lives under the protection of the new rulers. Blessed, and cursed. It’s not an easy life. Or so Kiki has told me. She has started having thoughts lately, dark thoughts that worry me. If she were to join a farmer’s harem, then she’d go away. No one stays in the city if they can avoid it. She promises she’ll make sure I’m all right, but she can’t guarantee anything. No one can. If she leaves, I’ll have no one. She says it’s a lot better than going to a crime lord, and I’m sure she’s right. She tells me people are desperate, that she has heard of cannibalism. If you’re not strong enough, or don’t have a protector or something to bargain with… then you’re doomed.

Most of the time it’s calm out here in the suburbs, but there are nights when I cower in fear, locking myself inside a closet, slamming my hands over my ears to shut out the hoots and the racing engines. I don’t know what happens. I can’t even sneak a peek. I can only pray that no one comes into my home.

I tug lightly at the security chain, then pat the lock on the front door to make sure it’s twisted the right way. Leaning my forehead against the cool, indifferent surface of the door, I let my mind walk through the basement and the upper floor. All those stairs. I’ve roamed this house my entire life, so it’s not like I don’t know it by heart, it’s just that the steps to the basement are short, and even a sighted person can lose their footing there. I try to avoid taking them if I’m in a hurry, or if I’m upset. It’s too easy to slip, and there’s no one who can help me if I get hurt.

There are so many things I miss. My steps are heavy as I trudge up the stairs to the upper floor.

I miss a cup of coffee on the porch, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, listening to children playing on the neighbors’ lawns.

I miss not being afraid.

I miss my grandmother.

I carry her name. Eve Agnes Adise.

It’s all I have left: my name, and the house. Everything else is gone.

It pains me that I’ve lost count of the days since she died, since this whole nightmare started. It feels as if it’s been going on forever.

Adam

The murmur from the generators is loud but steady and rhythmic. No hiccups. It’s the belly of the beast, and it’s how we keep our parts of the city running. Food. Electricity. Water. These have become the luxuries in a day and place where no one cares about your Louis Vuitton purse anymore. Everything smells of diesel and dust. Walls, floor, bed linen, clothes – every surface is covered in filth. It’s the price we pay to stay alive. We’ve kept the city running while everyone has died around us. We should be hailed as heroes, yet they have us pegged as the bad guys, hunting our asses.

The ceiling is high, though. The vast space over my head is a maze of pipes and cables, of mesh metal walkways, and stairs leading even higher into the building.

I crouch by the little bed and brush off a few bread crumbs from the sheet, then I smooth out some folds before I caress the soft, rosy cheek of my son.

Little toad? Time to wake up.

Pi! The voice comes from further down the corridor. I spin around from the sound of my call name. My knuckles still rest against my son’s cheek, and at the same time as one of the generators coughs, I realize something is wrong.

Toad? I put my palm on his feverish forehead. Oh fucking hell, no! My stomach churns. Thomas? I shake him, the sudden surge of fear making me call out his birth name, the name his mother chose, bless her heart wherever she might have disappeared to. It doesn’t fit my little guy at all, but she will never know. The disease came, she dumped the kid on me, and then left. I never really knew her. She was just one of the girls who liked to hang around the men with the power.

I close my eyes and listen to the rapidly approaching footsteps of Coran, my closest man.

Papa? Toad’s faint voice makes me meet his clear blue gaze.

Pi! Coran has a massive, booming voice, and is used to making himself heard over the loud noise from the machines.

Hi there, I whisper to Toad. It’s time to wake up.

Pi.

I grit my teeth and look over my shoulder. Can you give me one fucking minute?

The truck with the automatics was lost. He stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

My head hurts, says my son.

I’m still holding my hand on his hot forehead. The worry festers, gnaws, grows. There are no simple illnesses anymore. People will kill a diseased rather than risk getting infected themselves.

I know, baby, I say. I’ll take care of it. I hold Coran’s pitch-black gaze. With half his face tattooed in a tribal pattern, he looks vicious. He’s also one of my most loyal men. A long time ago I saved his family from looters, and we’ve worked together since. People like us need to stick together. Lost? I ask. When?

He steps into the room, swats at a fly then nods at Toad. Hi there, froggie. What’s up, dude?

Hi, Coran. Toad reaches for a glass of water that stands on the side table next to him. I help him drink as I listen to Coran.

He last radioed us at four. So— He glances at his wristwatch. Like two hours ago. He was in the next city over and was gonna be here an hour ago. No contact since, and he’s not responding.

Can we trust him? Did he go and sell to a higher bidder?

Eidan Hank was driving.

I narrow my eyes. He’s worked for us for a while.

I never trusted Hank, says Coran.

Because he played for your rival team?

Coran scoffs. Who the fuck cares about sports anymore? But sure. A team is a testament to a man’s character.

I grimace. Yeah. No one cares about sports anymore. Old rivalry has become new rivalry, though.

Did anyone look for him?

Not yet, boss. I haven’t told anyone else. Thought I’d run it by you first.

I sigh. All right. Get one of the women up here to care for Toad. Do we have aspirin? Or some other fucking pain killer?

I’ll find something, says Coran, and straightens.

Standing, I put my hand on his forearm. Keep this between us. I shift my gaze to Toad and then back to Coran.

He gets it. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. But he backs up a step, and the muscles in his arm tense. Behind the rough façade he’s as afraid as everyone else of the invisible threat.

Go disinfect, then meet up in the garage. Take Brody and Trent with you.

Yes, boss.

We’re going manhunting, I say.

Daddy?

Coran hurries off through the corridor. I watch until he disappears around a corner, then I turn. Yes, son?

I’m okay.

I smile. A three-year-old trying to comfort his beast of a father, a father who will most likely have more blood on his hands before the sun sets.

Of course you are. Know what? Sleep a little longer today. Everything will be all right. Daddy’s going on some business. We need to eat, yeah? And stay warm.

Can I go to the pit? My kid scrambles to sit. As the comforter falls off him, a whole row of teddy bears is revealed, arranged by size along his body.

I smile and flick over the floppy ear of one of the bears, which looks more like a rabbit to me than a bear. A rabbear, maybe? The one behind the house? It’s a dirty old sewer, not fit for a child, but he won’t be alone, and it’s on our secured ground, meaning no strangers. See if you’re up for it after breakfast, yeah?

Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.

Quick pitter patter of light feet on metal from outside our chambers makes me stand and look up. A thin, dark-skinned girl comes running toward us. I think her name is Lee. She’s a survivor, and as