Carlie Simmons (Book 1): Until Morning Comes by JT Sawyer

Mondays on the job are
always dull,” said Shane, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering if Carlie
was at the university. He had worked with various female federal agents over
the years and found them all to fit the same profile: square-jawed tomboys that
were emotionally aloof. Not Carlie—she had the usual cool exterior and
confident sensuality of a fighter but exuded a sunny disposition beneath her
jade green eyes.
    “Monday…is it really Monday? This feels
more like Dia de los Muertos to me,” said Matias.

Chapter 21
     
    “So how long y’all been holed up in here?”
said Jared to Amy, while looking over the eight college students slumped on
chairs around the mortuary science room. Some were sitting while others were in
clusters, leaning against each other, trying to feverishly call out on their smartphones.
    “Since Tucson became cannibal central,”
said Amy, folding her arms and brushing a lock of brunette hair off her shoulder.
“How is it you made it here?”
    Jared tucked the Glock in his beltline
and ran his fingers over his day-old scruff. “Just out for a morning jog when everything
went to hell in the city. I hunkered down near a bank a few blocks from here
and then made a dash for it when I saw some lights on campus.”
    “And you always go for a jog with two
pistols, eh?” said Amy.
    “Yeah, well, I happened across these on
my sprint through downtown.” He leaned a hand on the wall and looked over Amy’s
figure and into her eyes, then down at her left hand, which had a gold
engagement ring. “And what’s your story, sister—you an ambulance driver for the
university?”
    “Paramedic for the city,” she said,
flicking her badge with a finger. “But I teach on campus two days a week and
was prepping for a lecture tomorrow—until I saw the rampage outside. I gathered
up anyone I could find in the building and we headed down here, figuring it was
the most secure place in the area. That was probably fifteen hours ago.”
    “I don’t know what’s safe anymore,”
Jared said, slumping against the cool concrete wall. “This day sure turned out
a lot different than I ever expected,” he said, thinking back to the marshal
who had planted his face on the pavement.
    Amy tossed him a bottle of water. “Stay
hydrated. By your accent, it doesn’t sound like you’re from around here, and being
out in the heat all day can turn you into jerky pretty fast.”
    “You got it, Doc, thanks,” he said,
twisting off the cap and gulping down the liquid. He reached into his back pocket
and pulled out the package of slightly squashed Gummi Bears. “Here,” he said,
tossing them to Amy. “My admission fee for letting me enter your fine abode.”
    Amy opened the package and pried out a
single sweet, then she walked over to the others and began dispensing what
remained.
    Jared looked around the dimly lit room.
The stainless-steel tables had become makeshift workbenches filled with gauze,
water bottles, and an assortment of bludgeoning weapons like an ax, splintered
broom handles, and golf clubs. On the rear wall was a garden hose and spray
nozzle along with bottles of bleach that were used for sanitizing the floor
after autopsies. The entire room had a strong clinical odor, and the floor was
slightly sloped, with a small drain at the center.
    Jared scanned the other people slumped
around him, taking in their features along with anything shapely or sparkly that
caught his eye. Sitting in the corner closest to Jared were three women in
their late teens. One was short with a round face and red hair. She had on a
silver watch and dangling gold hoop earrings with a high luster that looked
like the real thing. Next to Pumpkin Head was a blond woman who had a splatter
of blemishes on her face and was wearing a faux-gold necklace with a ruby-red
insert that looked like it was from Malaysia. Lying beside Freckles was a tiny
woman with silky black hair that stretched past the soft curve of her back, but
she was