Bloody Sunrise: A Zombie Apocalypse Romance

by Gwendolyn Harper

  The mattress sunk as he sat on his side, twisted to look at her. “Never seen somebody itchin’ to leave safe shelter and a warm bed…”

  “This is not safe shelter, Jack,” she snapped. “This is a fucking time bomb.”

  “Alright, just…”

  She could barely make out his shape as he reached for her, calloused hand on her bicep.

  “Don’t treat me like I’m crazy. I’m not crazy,” she said, pulling out of his hold.

  “Darlin’ I don’t think you’re crazy—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  He huffed. “Back to that now, huh.”

  If he could have seen her face, he would have dropped dead.

  “I know exactly what kind of man Jeremiah is. I don’t need your fucking validation.”

  With that, she laid down and immediately rolled onto her side, away from Booker.

  “Cae…”

  She ignored him, too furious to speak.

  Quietly, Booker slid into bed next to her, keeping as much distance between them as possible.

  “As soon as the storm lifts, we’ll leave.”

  She didn’t hold her breath.

  Chapter Nine

  Run!

  Caitlin jackknifed off the mattress, gasping like a drowning woman.

  Drenched in a cold sweat, shaking violently… It wasn’t like her other nightmares.

  She knew this one too well.

  “Shh, hey, darlin’ you’re alright, hey…” Booker’s voice was in her ear.

  Hands—calloused and warm—rubbed up and down her arms.

  Absently she realized she was crying, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t even feel the tears streaming down her face. She was too numb.

  “Cae, you’re alright, you’re safe.”

  She shook her head, trying to clear the fog, the panic, the disgust.

  Booker’s hand cupped the back of her head, stroking her hair.

  “I’m right here, you’re not alone,” he soothed, fingers tangling in her locks. “Take a breath sweetheart, please.”

  Confused by his statement, she didn’t know she was hyperventilating. She was taking in too much oxygen, her lungs burned with it.

  The dark room tilted. She felt nauseated.

  “Caitlin, come back, darlin’, please,” Booker begged, hands firm on her arms, shoulders, neck. “Lay down, c’mon. Ease back.”

  She didn’t fight him as he tugged her backwards. But she didn’t land on the mattress.

  Instead he cradled her against his chest, turning her just enough to use him as a pillow.

  “Shh, it’s alright,” he murmured against the top of her head. “You’re safe.”

  Wet cheek pressed to his shirt, she focused on the strong beat in her right ear.

  Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub…

  “J-jack?”

  “Yeah, it’s me,” he said, and she felt the vibrations. “I’m right here.”

  A fresh sob escaped her lips. “I was so scared…”

  “I know, shh, I know,” he whispered.

  At first, she thought she was hallucinating, a moment of sensory overload, but then he did it again…

  Booker kissed the top of her head, brushing her hair back as he did so.

  With one hand holding the side of her head, he traced patterns on her back with the other, calming and grounding her.

  Quietly, he started humming, and Caitlin closed her eyes.

  ***

  Warm. She was so fucking warm…

  Her hair was stuck to her neck uncomfortably, and her legs tangled in blankets, clearly from trying to escape the heat. But it was surrounding her.

  Shifting against the pillows, she made a soft noise of protest at the back of her throat.

  Something tightened around her, pulling her closer.

  Even half-asleep, she recognized the movement and arched her back, pressing against…

  Booker.

  Her eyes flew open, fully awake now.

  Soft puffs of air hit the curve of her neck. His arm encircled her, keeping them flush, back to chest, waist to abdomen, hips to—

  Oh.

  Caitlin shifted slightly and instead of helping, she was now intimately acquainted with what she guessed was not his belt buckle.

  The breath against her neck faltered as Booker groaned in his sleep.

  Shit, shit, shit…

  Well, he definitely didn’t have anything to be shy over. Goddamn.

  “Booker,” she whispered, trying to rouse him without any drama. “Booker?”

  “Mhm.” He pressed his lips to her shoulder, clearly still in dreamland.

  Caitlin shuddered at the contact. It felt better than she wanted to admit.

  “Jack, wake up.”

  His arm flexed around her waist, and for a brief moment she felt dainty, small, safe.

  “Jack… Jack,” she urged, refusing to acknowledge how she responded to every shift against her. “Booker.”

  He snuffled at her neck, lifting his head a fraction. “Wha-huh?”

  One… Two…

  “Oh shit.” He released her like he’d been electrocuted. “Cae, I’m—”

  He rolled away, almost falling off the bed.

  “It’s okay,” she said, throat tight. “Honest.”

  “I never… I didn’t…” He cleared his throat. “I must’ve been dreamin’ or…”

  She tilted her head to see him in the grey stormy light. “It’s fine, Booker. I’m not offended.” She laughed softly, trying to lighten the mood. “Would’ve been offended if you hadn’t had a… situation.”

  Booker’s embarrassment was palpable.

  “Felt that, huh?”

  “Now I know why you’re such a smug jerk,” she teased. “Packing quite the hammer there.”

  He groaned and covered his face with his hands. “Damn twin bed.”

  She giggled, watching him turn four shades of pink.

  Then she remembered how they’d even managed to be that close, and…

  “Hey,” she said, sobering. “Last night…”

  His gaze shifted, locking with hers. “Yeah.”

  It was all he had to say really.

  “Thank you,” she said, reaching for his wrist. “I couldn’t—”

  “Shh, it’s alright,” he said, taking her hand and squeezing gently. “You’d do the same for me.”

  He was right. She would do anything for him.

  Not friends.

  More than that.

  More than words.

  ***

  The rain came down in sheets, flooding the yard and tearing leaves from branches.

  They’d never be able to travel in this weather.

  Caitlin dug her nails into her thigh as she stared out at the foreboding storm clouds.

  Trapped. They were trapped.

  The day dragged on, no matter how many chores she helped Constance and the girls with. Eventually she spent a half an hour playing dollies with Mary until Jeremiah deemed the game too noisy.

  Control. Micromanaging. Constant disapproval.

  Caitlin offered the young girl a smile and whispered an invitation to color instead.

  The sons asked Booker to help them clean the supply of weapons, and he agreed, nodding to Caitlin as he left.

  She told herself he was still within ear shot. She was still safe.

  But Jeremiah’s gaze was heavy, and hot with disdain.

  He was reaching his own boiling point, for reasons unknown to everyone.

  Caitlin knew the signs. He was fidgety. Annoyed with anything and everything. Breakfast was too hot, lunch was too cold. Sounds of joy from anyone were silenced by a harsh word and glare.

  For a moment, Caitlin felt 14 again, balling up her fists and wishing he’d just explode already. Come after her, get it over with. She could take it. She’d been hit worse.

  Their packs were stocked with stuff she’d managed to pilfer while no one was looking—fresh drinking water for 2 days, bread, a jar of pean
ut butter, cured meat, bullets for Booker’s rifle. She’d snuck them down in the morning and hid them outside, just below the porch stairs out of the rain.

  The pocket knife Booker gave her was still in her sock, a weighty reminder than should worst come to worst, she’d shed some blood of her own.

  Caitlin joined Constance in the kitchen, helping to prepare supper. They chatted about family, life before Geeks had stolen their daily routines and the world had begun to crumble.

  Constance laughed at a joke Caitlin made and something slammed behind them, making them both jump.

  It was a Bible Jeremiah dropped on the table.

  “Lotsa racket in here for two women,” he snapped.

  Constance shrunk in his presence. “We were just talkin’.”

  “Maybe cookin’ would go faster if y’all weren’t jawbonein’ huh?”

  The woman’s hands trembled, and Caitlin took a step closer to her.

  Jeremiah watched her, eyes dark.

  “I think I want green beans with my supper,” he said to Constance. “You run down and get a couple cans, alright.”

  It wasn’t a request.

  Constance did as she was told, leaving Jeremiah and Caitlin alone.

  So this was it. This was how it began.

  For the first time since they’d taken refuge, she felt calm. Bones turned to steel. Like staring down the center of a storm.

  “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ extra hard about somethin’…” He lumbered forward. “About how you just don’t fit…”

  She planted her feet, squaring off with him. He noticed.

  “You’re nothin’ but a liar,” he whispered harshly. “A deceiver.”

  Booker… Where was Booker?

  “Proverbs 13:5, ‘The righteous hate what is false, but the wicked make themselves a stench and bring shame on themselves.’” He angled toward her, sneering. “And I can smell you, girl.”

  Her pulse thundered in her ears. Her legs shook.

  Run, run, run…

  “I knew what you were the second you walked into this house,” he continued. “Nothing but a Jezebel.” His gaze fell to her breasts. “Sent to drag good men away from God’s grace.”

  He crowded into her space, blocking her in.

  “Seen plenty of you in my day,” he said, glare raking over her body. “All women like you… given a sinful form crafted by the devil to become stumbling blocks for your brothers.”

  “Is that how you see your daughters too?”

  The question flew from her mouth, vitriol dripping from every word.

  “You little cunt, I’ll—” He grabbed her by the arm, almost hauling her off her feet, and she screamed.

  Reaching behind her, she grabbed the nearest thing she could grab—a cutting board—and swung it at his face. It caught him in the temple, blood bursting across his left eye.

  “BOOKER!” She screamed, fighting his hold.

  She swung the board again, hitting him in the jaw that time.

  “Stupid bitch!”

  “JACK!”

  Heavy footsteps clamored up the stairs from the cellar and around the corner.

  The hammer of a pistol clicked.

  “Let her go or I’ll blow your brains across this kitchen.”

  Booker’s voice was even, calm… like he was giving someone directions, not threatening a man’s life.

  It made the statement bone chilling.

  He’d put a bullet in Jeremiah and not even blink.

  The other man released her, and Caitlin slumped against the counter, dropping the cutting board with a thud.

  Jeremiah attempted to laugh. It was grisly, bloodstained teeth flashing.

  “It was a misunderstandin’,” he said. “She’s a nervous creature, I just spooked her is all.”

  “Like hell,” she spat, tripping over herself to get away from him. “He grabbed me, threatened me—”

  “Threatened? Nah, honey, I didn’t… I swear, I was just reaching for—”

  Booker pressed the barrel of the revolver against Jeremiah’s forehead. “Did you touch her, yes or no.”

  The family had started to fill the kitchen, the younger children crying out for their daddy and their mama. The older boys were stone faced, too old to believe any fairy tale their father was spinning.

  Jeremiah sputtered, blood and saliva dripping down his chin. “I, well I—She hit me in the face! I had to stop her!”

  Booker didn’t take his eyes off the man. “Caitlin?”

  “He grabbed my arm.” Was about to do worse. It was unspoken but Booker knew. Of course, he knew.

  The young girl, Mary, started crying.

  Booker leaned closer, whispering, “’M not gonna kill ya in front of your kids. They don’t deserve that.”

  In one swift arc, he brought the butt of the revolver down on Jeremiah’s temple, sending him to the floor in a heap.

  “Go, go Cae,” Booker ordered, already pushing her through the group.

  She bolted across the house, slamming through the screen door. She leapt down the porch steps, slipping in the mud but never losing her balance.

  “Cae?”

  My rifle?

  “Left!”

  Under the chair, to your left.

  Crouching, she grabbed the straps of their packs and yanked them free.

  “Jack!”

  Catch.

  His boots squelched in the mud, but he gained on her in moments.

  Caitlin reached behind her, holding her hand out for him. Their fingers danced and latched on.

  “Go, go,” he told her, voice muffled by the pouring rain. “Duck.”

  The first perimeter line. He’d found where it was tied higher than the rest, enough for them to slip under.

  A shotgun blast rang out, and Caitlin screamed.

  “Run, go, Caitlin!”

  Get out ahead, I’ll cover you.

  She grabbed his jacket sleeve and didn’t let go. “C’mon!”

  Not without you.

  Another shotgun blast and they changed directions. Moving targets in torrential rain had better odds.

  Booker slid in a thick patch of muck and Caitlin steadied him, keeping him on his feet.

  Together. We run together.

  They didn’t stop running until they were miles from the outer perimeter line. Miles from the cabin.

  Miles from the landmine that finally went off.

  ***

  The rain had stopped, but that only spurred her on.

  She’d been leading their trail for five miles, refusing to even look back at Booker, as if reenacting a Greek myth.

  “Ain’t you tired?” Booker asked.

  It must’ve been close to midnight, the only light guiding them from the nearly full moon that occasionally cut through the clouds.

  “Nope.”

  She was too angry to be tired. Too disgusted. Too mortified.

  The pit of her stomach felt filled with tar. Boiling, thick, never dissipating.

  “Alright, well I am,” he said, slowing his gait. “Meadows…”

  She continued walking. If she stopped, she’d have to think. Have to feel.

  And if she were honest, she’d probably punch Booker in the face.

  “C’mon Cae—”

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Nah, ‘course you’re not, you’re too pissed at me to be tired.”

  That made her stop.

  Chest heaving, she turned to face him.

  Booker was already sliding his pack off. “G’head. Say it.”

  Rage burned up her throat like acid. “I told you. I told you!” She stomped forward. “I knew something was wrong with him. I told you I knew, and you laughed me off. You called me ‘darlin’ and pretended to listen when really you didn’t give a shit.”

  She expected him to argue. But he just stood there, hearing her out.

  “I gave you my reasons, I told you I had a bad feeling the second we met him, but no, you couldn’t pass up a hot meal a
nd a comfy fucking mattress.”

  In the moonlight, Booker planted his hands on his hips and hung his head.

  “It took him threatening to rape me and calling me a cunt and grabbing me before you even believed me!”

  Every breath she took scraped her windpipe.

  “I had nightmares! Straight up PTSD flashbacks from shit I tried to put to rest years ago, all because I was trapped in that goddamn house with that monster!”

  She could just barely make out the movement of Booker nodding his head.

  “You forced me there, you convinced me to stay, you made me start to doubt myself, and look at what happened!”

  Tears fell over her lashes, spilling down her cheeks. Her fury waned into all-encompassing grief. She stood there, soaked completely through, sobbing into her hands.

  When she finally caught her breath, she wiped her face and looked up.

  “You’re right,” Booker said quietly. “I didn’t see it until it was too late.”

  She squinted at him in the dark.

  “I made you compromise yourself,” he continued. “Your gut was tellin’ you loud and clear he was dangerous and I didn’t listen. You had insight into a situation I had no clue about, and I ignored it because I was too focused on what I thought was more important.” He took a step closer, and even though she couldn’t see him, she felt his stare on her. “I disregarded your instincts. I gaslighted you. And there is no excuse for it.”

  Caitlin was stunned. Bewildered to her core.

  “I’m sorry, Caitlin,” he said earnestly. “I will never do that to you again. Ever.”

  She opened her mouth to speak when several twigs snapped nearby.

  Geeks.

  “Booker,” she gasped.

  He was already rushing to her, pulling her close.

  “I can’t see—”

  “Shh shh…” They both held their breath as they listened. “I count five, maybe six.”

  “Shit,” she exhaled. The urge to run made her legs wobble.

  Booker was quiet as he reached back for the revolver. In the dark he grabbed her hand and forced the weapon into her palm.

  “Remember what I told you?”

  She nodded. “Pull the hammer back. Aim, fire, don’t get spooked.”

  “That’s it,” he said, hand going to the side of her head, stroking once.

  “You have your knife?”

  She heard him slide a mechanism in his rifle. “Not really wantin’ to get that close to ‘em.”