Bloody Sunrise: A Zombie Apocalypse Romance

by Gwendolyn Harper

  “But my mama wanted sit down style, real classy to impress her friends. And then her daddy—”

  “Oh gosh.”

  “Her daddy refused to walk her down the aisle if she wasn’t wearin’ pure white.”

  Caitlin feigned a giggle. “I’m fair skinned, pure white looks awful on me.”

  “I still think you looked gorgeous,” Booker said, looking to her.

  “You have to say that, you married me.”

  Booker squeezed her hand again, reassuring her.

  “Anyway, when it was all said and done, the day itself was a disaster.” He tilted his head towards her once more. “But every day since then has been a blessin’. And it ain’t really ‘bout the day, it’s ‘bout the marriage, right?”

  Jeremiah took the bait, believed them totally by the look in his eyes. “That’s right, son. A marriage bond is a blessed thing, ain’t that right Constance?”

  Returning from the kitchen with a pitcher of iced tea, Constance nodded jerkily. “Sure is.”

  Booker’s thumb pressed against Caitlin’s palm, and it instantly grounded her. The twisting in her gut, the dark edges of panic, all seemed to fade if only for a moment.

  “Then the boys can bunk up and they can take the spare,” Constance offered, pouring tea for Jeremiah first. Looking over at them, she said, “It’s not much, but it’s comfy.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” Caitlin assured her. Her empathy for the woman was growing by the hour.

  While convinced, Jeremiah still didn’t look exactly happy. “Guess that’s settled then.”

  His tone was one she knew too well, and the dread returned, threatening to choke her.

  She didn’t even realize she’d been clutching Booker’s arm with a vice grip until he caught her eye.

  ***

  A mattress. A real mattress.

  They were getting to sleep on a real bed, with sheets and pillows and a floral quilted bedspread.

  Caitlin wanted to pinch herself.

  “See?” Booker whispered, shutting the door. “Silver lining.”

  “It’s a little small… We’re gonna get extra cozy.”

  Booker faltered from where he was grabbing a pillow off the bed. “I was… just gonna…” He motioned to the floor.

  Caitlin wanted to smack him. “I’m not gonna deprive you of sleeping in a real bed, Booker. You’re just as exhausted as I am. Besides, what if they walk in and see you on the floor?”

  “We pretend we had a fight and you kicked me outta bed?”

  “And you really think they’ll buy that?”

  “Prob’ly not.”

  “Exactly. So be an adult and pretend to be my husband already.”

  She turned down the covers and started to climb in when Booker made a noise.

  “You’re sleepin’ in a bed with your shoes on?”

  Caitlin leveled her stare on him. “I have slept with my shoes on every night since this hell began. And I’ve never been woken up in the middle of the night and had to run. So…”

  He nodded. “Ahh, so it’s a Murphy’s Law kinda situation.”

  “Yup,” she said, settling in on her side of the twin bed.

  “Want me to do the same?”

  She grinned. “I should tell you no, so I’ll have a thirty second head start, just in case.”

  Booker shook his head at her and climbed in, still in his boots. “One of these days, you’re gunna feel real bad ‘bout these jokes if somethin’ happens to me.”

  “Maybe. Maybe I’ll pour one out for you and move on.”

  Shifting to get comfortable against the pillows, he said, “I prefer Johnny Walker Blue, if the occasion ever comes.”

  “Noted.”

  The bed really was small for two people, but Caitlin was so bone-deep tired, she was already dozing off halfway through rolling onto her side. She vaguely remembered mumbling ‘goodnight’ to Booker before she was out.

  ***

  Run! Run! Run!

  Caitlin awoke with a violent jerk, gasping for air.

  “Shh, shh, hey,” Booker’s voice was right in her ear. “It’s alright, you’re safe, Cae.”

  Sucking air into her lungs, she tried to sit up, but something kept her pinned. “Jack?”

  “Y’started kickin’ in your sleep,” he murmured. “I was worried you’d roll outta bed, so…”

  She slowly understood, could feel in the dark what he meant. Her back was pressed firmly against Booker’s chest, his thick arm around her waist. His hand was balled into a fist against the mattress, she guessed as his way of assuring her he wasn’t coping a feel.

  “Y’want some water, or--?”

  She shook her head. “No, no, I’m…” She took a deep breath. “I’m alright. Thank you.”

  He started to lift his arm off her when she grabbed his wrist and kept him where he was.

  “Just in case,” she murmured, letting her head settle back on the pillows.

  She felt him nod and adjust his position a little, attempting to give her space.

  It wasn’t necessary. They might’ve lied about being married, but they’d gained a level of intimacy in their time together. To call each other friends felt weirdly hollow, but there wasn’t another, more accurate word for them.

  Friends. They were friends.

  Easing into the mattress, Caitlin closed her eyes and tried to remember the sounds from the trees. The birds. The crickets.

  And then Booker started humming “Jolene” by Dolly Parton, and she almost cried.

  They weren’t friends. They were something else, something more careful, something fiercer. Viscerally interdependent. A blood oath made by children in a backyard fort—Innocent and vicious with the same swipe of a blade.

  “Thank you,” Caitlin croaked, pressing her face into her pillow.

  Booker’s response was a soft pull of his arm, securing her, and a smooth transition to the next verse.

  Chapter Eight

  The next day was a floor of eggshells spread over unknown landmines.

  Caitlin spent most of her time outside, insisting she help Constance with the household chores. Breakfast, followed by dishes, then laundry while Jeremiah taught his version of Sunday school to their children. He’d extended the offer to Booker, but he politely declined, saying instead he would happily go around the property to check their perimeter lines and security.

  Jeremiah thanked him, and as Booker started off, he cast Caitlin a glance.

  He was checking the perimeter alright… Looking for the best place to sneak through if and when the time came.

  Caitlin made cheerful small talk with Constance as they hung laundry to dry, all the while thankful for the gift Booker had given her tucked into her sock—a folding pocket knife he’d sharpened before dawn.

  Lunchtime came and the children all milled around, some playing, some checking the small garden along the side of the house or discussing if they should make a trip to a fishing hole soon.

  Caitlin declined eating, saying she wasn’t very hungry. The truth was, she didn’t want to sit alone in their dining room with the heavy watch of Jeremiah on her.

  Ever since their marriage story, he’d never fully taken his gaze off her when she was around. And like a rabbit in a pen with dogs, she was hyper aware of his attention.

  He didn’t trust her. Didn’t like her. Probably disapproved of everything about her, from her hair, to her jeans, to the cut of her V-neck tee-shirt.

  Just like her stepdad once upon a time.

  She saw the same hard glint in Jeremiah’s eyes. The look of a man who was attracted and repulsed simultaneously.

  She wondered how he’d react if she quoted Jesus’ pronouncement to pluck thine own eyes out if the sight of something created such dangerous lust in a man.

  Probably not well.

  Booker returned before dinner, carrying a possum he caught.

  “I’m not eating that,” she said firmly.

  He chuckled, holding up the l
ifeless animal. “What? It’s good meat.”

  “Nope.” She swiftly turned and started for the house.

  “Don’t tell me you’re on a diet now.”

  Caitlin gasped, offended, and glared at him. “Jackass,” she muttered as he laughed behind her.

  Entering the kitchen, she found herself alone with Jeremiah and any lightheartedness she felt crumbled.

  “Afternoon,” Jeremiah said, voice a little too deep to be friendly.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  “Nonsense. I was just havin’ a glass of tea,” he said, swirling the drink around. “Have some.”

  The eggshell floor under her feet started to feel like a landmine. This was the trick, wasn’t it? Giving the right response, the pleasing response, the submissive response. Which would make him happier—to have her refuse and get to add another thing to his list that made her ‘unsuitable and wrong’ or for her to accept and force her to spend time with him, around him, pinned by his dominance and open for inquisitions?

  Caitlin smiled tightly. “If you’re sure.”

  “Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t.”

  Landmine momentarily avoided.

  She took a tentative step closer and picked up the glass pitcher. “Thank you.”

  Silently, he watched her pour a small amount into a glass and bring it to her lips.

  “Haven’t seen ya in the house much,” Jeremiah commented.

  Caitlin sipped her tea. “I like being outside.”

  “Seems t’me y’all’ve been outside plenty.”

  She couldn’t come up with a reply fast enough—Not one that danced the line he was rapidly moving.

  “I hope my Bible teachin’s weren’t offendin’ your modern woman sensibilities.”

  First direct jab. It wouldn’t be his last, she knew.

  Caitlin offered a polite smile. “No, not at all. What you teach your family isn’t any of my business.”

  His eyes darkened for a moment and she knew. She knew she’d tripped on that line.

  Her stomach swooped, as if the floor fell out from under her.

  “I’d think the wife of a godly man such as your husband would be interested in the word of the Lord.”

  Her mind froze. She was panicking. She needed to keep calm, regain her footing, he wasn’t her stepfather, he didn’t have power—

  “You’d prob’ly learn a thing or two about bein’ an obedient wife.”

  Caitlin set her glass down on the table. “Thank you for the tea. I’m gonna see if Booker needs help.”

  “’M sure my sons have helped him. They’re good like that.”

  Another trap.

  “Still. I’m just going to go check on him.”

  She didn’t hesitate. Turning on her heel, she strode out of the kitchen with even steps but she felt like she was fleeing.

  Booker was in the yard, squatting down by a tree with a metal bucket next to him.

  She nearly jogged over, refusing to look back. She knew Jeremiah was watching.

  “Y’might not wanna come over here,” Booker said, still looking down at the possum he was cleaning. “Don’t wanna upset your delicate sensibilities.”

  He’d said it as a joke, unaware of how the word had been used against her just moments earlier.

  “To hell with my sensibilities, Booker,” she snapped.

  That got him to look up, and as soon as he did, he made a move to stand.

  She motioned for him to stay.

  “Don’t. I think he’s watching.”

  “Who?”

  “Who the fuck do you think?” she whispered.

  Despite the fury etching into her face, she slipped into playing the wife part, running her hand over Booker’s shoulder in a display of affection she knew would be visible from the porch.

  “Cae?” He stared up at her, knife still lodged in the possum’s gut.

  Before she could answer, the screen door swung open and the heavy steps of Jeremiah announced his presence.

  “Y’catch us somethin’ for supper?”

  Caitlin’s eyes squeezed shut. The trembling started in her hands, and she had to fight not to grip the plaid shirt under her fingers.

  Booker glanced around her but didn’t move. He knew he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

  “Yessir,” he called. “I hope y’all don’t mind possum.”

  Jeremiah laughed, and Caitlin struggled not to jerk.

  “Not at all, son. Constance’ll fix that up nice for us.”

  Booker smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. She waited for the sounds of Jeremiah retreating into the house, but they never came. Instead he groaned as he sat in one of the porch rockers.

  “Easy,” Booker whispered to her. “It’s alright.”

  It was then she realized she was shaking down to her ankles.

  “Did he do somethin’?”

  Caitlin shook her head. “No, he… It’s fine.”

  “Cae…”

  “Teach me,” she said suddenly, lowering onto her knees by the metal bucket. “I gotta… Just give me something else to think about.”

  Booker eyed her. “Y’wanna learn to clean possum?”

  “Yes. Very much so.”

  She hoped he understood why.

  I can’t trust my own mind.

  I can’t go back inside.

  Please just help me forget.

  Booker didn’t argue. Instead he started talking—walking her through it all, step by gory step.

  She clung to the timbre of his voice like a life raft.

  The past is the past. It’s all in your head. He can’t hurt you.

  “We’ll leave,” Booker said quietly, scooping innards into the bucket. “First thing tomorrow.”

  Relief washed over her, ripping a broken laugh out of her tightened throat. It was a jagged sound, like a broken wind chime.

  “Okay.”

  He nodded and held her gaze for a beat longer than usual.

  You’re safe.

  You’re safe.

  You’re safe.

  ***

  They were in the middle of supper when the first thunder clap tore through the sky.

  The storm rolled in swiftly, rain first and then splintering winds. More thunder shook the house to the foundation.

  “That’s a nasty storm,” Jeremiah said, going to the window.

  Constance sent the eldest boys to check all the shutters upstairs, and then sent the younger children to fetch candles and matches.

  “I sure hope that’s not a tornado,” she said, clearing plates from the table.

  Caitlin grabbed Booker’s arm under the table, genuine fear causing her vision to blur at the edges.

  “Good thing y’all are in here with us, huh?” Jeremiah said, coming back to the table. “Hate to think what’d happen if y’all were out in it.”

  She saw his gaze shift, from her to Booker and then back to her. But he wasn’t making eye contact, he was checking if Booker was paying attention.

  When his stare dropped to the inch of cleavage visible from her neckline, she felt it like a hot ember.

  Caitlin immediately looked to his youngest daughter—Mary, with the pigtails and pink dress. She was so innocent, so fragile… and in constant danger.

  The storm only got worse as the night went on. The children played board games to pass the time. Jeremiah took it upon himself to read aloud from the Old Testament.

  He had her trapped inside now. He’d be sure to rattle her ‘modern woman sensibilities’ with scripture.

  Booker smiled as he agreed to play with the children when they asked if he’d be their fourth player. It was a momentary bright spot, watching him making the younger boy and girl giggle as they moved their pieces around the board.

  Constance got up to finish cleaning and Caitlin followed her, insisting on helping.

  Anything to relieve the clawing panic inside her mind.

  If the storm didn’t let up, they couldn’t leave. If they coul
dn’t leave, they were trapped inside. If they were trapped, she didn’t have anywhere to hide. Jeremiah’s contempt was showing more frequently. It was only a matter of time before...

  Caitlin shoved her hand into the scalding hot water to rinse the dish she held and didn’t flinch.

  “Oh, careful sweetheart,” Constance said, tapping her wrist. “That’s hot, you’ll hurt yourself.”

  She blinked. “Oh, I…”

  She’d talked about dissociation in therapy. Hadn’t thought much about any of her past traumas since zombies had started walking the earth.

  But as the raging storm made clear, she was stuck in a house of her own nightmares.

  I need to get a grip, she thought as she scrubbed the plates of possum-pot-pie.

  “I know it can be hard,” Constance murmured. “Bein’ away from family. Unsure if they’re alright.”

  Caitlin looked to the woman and nodded.

  “My sister is in Mobile,” Constance said. “I pray for her safety every day.”

  “Mobile isn’t too far, is it?”

  Constance shook her head.

  “Did you think about going to get her, or…” Caitlin trailed off, realizing she sounded accusatory. “I mean. Were you able?”

  “We thought it best to come straight here,” Constance said. “Better for the children. Go ‘head and set up camp, protect ourselves from those… things.”

  On one level, Caitlin understood the reasons. Didn’t blame them.

  But on another, she heard ‘isolation, removal, destruction of family bonds’ and it made her skin crawl.

  She replied with the only honest thing she could. “I’m glad you and your children are okay.”

  They were alive, for now.

  They were still human, for now.

  There was still hope.

  ***

  The storm shook more than the house. Caitlin’s nerves were shot, and she knew she’d need her strength for the next day.

  Excusing herself, she trudged upstairs and headed straight for bed.

  She’d just sat on the mattress when the door opened, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

  “Hey, it’s me,” Booker said, shutting the door behind him.

  “Shit, you scared me.”

  “Sorry.” In the dark she could still see him move towards her. “Y’alright?”

  “No,” she answered honestly. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”