What Trouble Is: A Short Story

by Kylie Scott

  What Trouble Is

  Kylie Scott

  Copyright © 2016 by Kylie Scott

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: By Hang Le

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ALSO BY KYLIE SCOTT

  CHAPTER ONE

  112 Days Post-Apocalypse

  Montville, Queensland,

  Australia.

  “Put it down.”

  “Ladies first.”

  “That’s sweet,” Lindsay said, forcing a smile. “But I insist.”

  The stranger stared back at her silently, pistol steady in his hands.

  Shit. Shivers. What to do?

  Stopping in the small town had been a risk but she needed supplies. The supermarket had been next to empty and the chemist little better. Paw-Paw Ointment was safely tucked away in her pack but she still needed to find the multi-vitamins. Someone had trashed the place good. Stock covered the floor and the front window had been smashed in, exposing it all to the elements. Autumn leaves were scattered around and red dust coated everything. It looked a fucking mess.

  Freaking mess. Damn it.

  The man cleared his throat and her rifle jumped in her hands. He wasn’t small, the action was warranted.

  “I have no intention of hurting you,” he said. “But I have no intention of getting shot either. I’m not putting down the gun until you do.”

  “Seems what we have here is a failure to communicate.”

  “I’d say it was closer to a Mexican standoff.” A neatly trimmed beard covered half his face making reading him a problem. He was tall, well built. She couldn’t have over-powered him in days of yore. Today it was right out.

  No way would she put down the gun.

  “Those don’t tend to end well in movies,” she said.

  “No,” he agreed in a deep voice with a hint of an accent.

  “English?” she asked.

  “Mm.”

  “Nice.” Oh, how she loved a man with an accent. What a pity about the gun. “So… what’s your name?”

  Pale blue eyes narrowed on her. He had the tall, dark and handsome thing going on, though his face seemed a bit severe. Guess living the post apocalyptic dream did that to you.

  “We’re going to play get to know you?” he asked. “Seriously?”

  “Why not?” She shrugged, her pack weighing her down. Her back ached and the muscles in her arms were straining to keep the gun upright. Sweat dampened the back of her neck and her armpits. Never mind, she’d manage. She had to. It was kill or be killed these days and pretty or no, she’d shoot him if she had to. “We might as well get to know each other. Figure we have time since neither of us is willing to give in.”

  “True.”

  His gaze slid up her rifle and onto her, lingering on the blackbirds tattooed around her wrist. Good thing she’d worn her baggy jacket, no need to be giving him any ideas. Her stupid body had schemes aplenty, heating further beneath his perusal in a wholly pleasant way. Damn it. Hard not to enjoy the delicious rush, no matter how ill timed. Her hormones were out of control.

  “Very well,” he said. “I’m Aiden Moore. Is this your first visit to Woodford?”

  That accent, it was so wonderfully hoity-toity. She swallowed and got her deviant mind back on track. “No, I’ve been to the Folk Festival a couple of times.”

  “Ah, lovely.” Fine lips shut and he looked down his long, straight nose at her. She wasn’t short, but the dude was tall enough to manage it with aplomb. “And you are?”

  “Lindsay Robertson. Pleasure to meet you. Sort of.” She gave him a lie of a smile.

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Indeed.”

  “So, your first time in Woodford, Aiden?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ve lived here for a couple of years now.”

  “Sweet.” The nozzle on her rifle dipped.

  “Getting heavy?”

  She straightened her spine and stuck out her chin. “Nope.”

  He had a short dark head of hair and wore cargos and a black polo shirt despite the cooler weather. The material outlined a sturdy set of shoulders. Short sleeves stretched around arms firm and defined in ways she couldn’t help but admire. And he only held a pistol. It wouldn’t weigh half as much as her fricking rifle.

  Bigger wasn’t always better.

  “Shall we sit?” he enquired politely. Like he was inviting her to tea.

  She smiled, charmed despite herself. “Let’s.”

  They both moved slowly, eyes never leaving the other. Lindsay kicked aside a scattering of perfume bottles and make-up, clearing way for some rear space. She sagged down to sit cross-legged, rifle settled across her lap, pointed his way. Damn, but taking the weight off felt good.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Much,” she sighed. “What shall we talk about?”

  The man studied her for a moment. “Are you just passing through town, Lindsay?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “And you’re travelling alone?”

  She sealed her lips shut. Yes, she was all on her lonesome. But best not to tell the pretty man that. Better he thought Batman might burst through the door and come to her aid at any moment. She wished.

  “I only saw one moped outside,” he said. “So I’ll assume yes.”

  It hadn’t even occurred to her to hide it. Stupid, stupid girl. “You knew I was in here?”

  “I haven’t seen another uninfected soul for almost three months now. I was… curious.”

  “But you drew your gun on me. That’s not exactly friendly.”

  “I only had it in my hand as a precaution. You’re the one who started pointing weapons at people.” Aiden looked at the gun sitting on his knee, aimed straight at her. “I suppose you can’t be too careful these days.”

  “True,” she said bitterly. “The last person I ran into tried to rape me.”

  His dark brows descended. She hadn’t been too fucking, ugh, freaking, impressed herself.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, gaze fixed to her face. “He’s dead?”

  “Yes.” It was a nasty memory, a stinking, festering, miasma in her mind. She had killed someone. But she could live with it. She had to. A girl didn’t survive the end of the world without a few hang-ups. “I had no choice.”

  “No,” he agreed decisively. “You most certainly didn’t. Where have you come from, Lindsay?”

  “Redcliffe.”

  “No good, there?”

  “It’s calmed down a little but there’s still a lot of infected around. And a few survivors.” One less as of three days ago. Asshole. Hat. Asshat. Actually, they both sounded pretty bad. She’d have to come up with something else, suitably descriptive. “No one you’d want to meet.”

  “I dare say.”

  She shifted, leaning back a little. Her bladder began to protest. “How long have you been in Australia, Aiden?”

  “Nine years now. I was travelling around when I met my wife and settled here.” The pad of his thumb rubbed at his empty ring finger. The sh
op was shadowy, the lighting low, but there wasn’t a tan-line that she could see. Not that she should have been looking. “She died three years back. Cancer. A blessing in a way… her not living to see this.” He took a deep breath and let it out in a ‘huff’. “Are we really going to sit here all day chatting and pointing guns at each other?”

  “You have something better to do?” she asked, curious despite herself.

  “I can think of a few things, yes.” Aiden gave her a disgruntled look that settled on her mouth and stayed there. There was something about him. The way he was so self-composed, contained.

  She almost wanted to trust him, but then, she’d wanted to trust the other man too.

  Then he’d grabbed her around the neck and tried to choke her. Dirty nails digging in as he whispered filth in her ear. They’d ended up wrestling on the ground. The back of her head still ached from when he’d bashed it against the concrete floor. She’d been reeling, stunned, when he went for the zip on her jeans. She kneed him in the balls and he’d rolled off her. Furious and petrified, she’d been crying so hard she couldn’t see, but she stomped him until he stopped moving. Thank heaven for thick soled boots.

  Then she’d thrown up the contents of her stomach. Such a waste, food didn’t always come easy and she needed to keep up her strength.

  Trust wasn’t something she could afford. Not now. Not even if she wanted to.

  “Feel free to put the gun away,” she said.

  “And what will you do?”

  “I’ll put mine away too and we’ll both go our merry ways.”

  “Sounds nice in theory.” Aiden watched her, head canted. “But you’ve had a bad experience, Lindsay. You’re a little on edge. Makes a man wary.”

  “And here I thought we were getting on so well.”

  There was a sudden noise on the street. An engine cutting off. A car door opening.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Friend of yours?”

  She shook her head.

  A gun fired outside, once and then again. Her shoulders leapt. It was startling loud.

  “Fucking bitch!” someone yelled from the street. “Where are you?”

  She and Aiden both looked at each other for a moment.

  Then he turned his gun towards the street.

  She followed suit, her stomach roiling. From fear or more nausea she couldn’t say.

  Lindsay struggled to her feet, rifle firm in her hands. Aiden was already there, crouched behind a display of women’s razors.

  Bullets shattered the remaining plate glass window and door. Glass flew. The noise was terrible, ear drum piercing.

  “Get back!” Aiden grabbed her arm, tugging her down to her knees.

  She crawled to the other side of the stand of shelving to peek. A man stood in the middle of the road with a gun in each hand like some crazed gunman of old. No shirt, no shoes and jeans riding low. His bones jutted out like he wasted away from the inside. The maniac opened fire once more and Lindsay fell back behind the cover.

  “Stay down.” Aiden ducked around the edge of the shelving, firing back. Firing wildly, from what she could tell. His aim was fantastically crap. It was however sufficient to make the gunman pause and stumble back towards the big, clunky SUV behind him.

  Until Aiden ran out of bullets.

  “Shit,” he hissed, glaring at the compact, black weapon like it was doing it just to spite him. “Uh…”

  “You don’t have more ammunition?”

  “Well, no. I thought that would do. I only wanted to pick up some aspirin and there hasn’t been anyone around in months. Apart from you.” His eyes avoided her. “And now him.”

  Moaning started somewhere close, the firefight rousing the infected from their usual daytime quiet. Infected didn’t like sunlight, but it wouldn’t stop them, given cause.

  “Fuck me.” She didn’t even bother feeling bad for that one.

  Lindsay crawled around the side of the shelving, lining up her rifle. She wasn’t a great shot but she was a damn sight better than Aiden. Most people would have been.

  The maniac outside stumbled toward the shop. Drunk, perhaps? Stoned? Who knew, but his face was slack and his steps all over the place, random and haphazard. Not infected, they didn’t drive cars, let alone pick up guns. He fired off another shot, sending fluff from a packet of diapers up into the air. His aim was almost as good as Aiden’s but the chemist shop made a big enough target. The maniac put a few into her moped while he was at it.

  “You killed, Pete!” he howled. “Bitch!”

  Aiden shot her a look.

  Yep. Her fault.

  Her heartbeat went ballistic as the drunkard approached. She couldn’t afford to miss. Let him get nice and close. Concentrate.

  “Come out here!” the maniac screamed his invitation.

  Across the street an infected stepped out of a café, bloody dreds swaying with each step and face turned away from the sun. But it wasn’t stopping. It would come for them now it knew they were there and more would follow. Shit, she started panting, terrified like last time. She could almost feel the pincer hold on her throat and the air getting thin.

  “We need to get out the back. Now.” Aiden shuffled back, face white, hand tugging at her jacket. “Lindsay, now!”

  She desperately wanted to run. Running made sense. But it wouldn’t solve the problem.

  “He’ll follow us. One minute. Just let me line up the shot.” Deep breaths. Calm breaths. Like her father taught her.

  Her Dad had loved going pig-shooting and taken her often. She’d disgraced herself every-time by crying when they killed anything. But her father had ensured she knew how to use a gun. He’d also ensured her lifelong stance on vegetarianism.

  “Lindsay,” Aiden hissed.

  She squeezed the trigger. The rifle kicked back with a boom, jarring her shoulder and leaving her ears ringing.

  The maniac toppled, blood pissing from his thigh. Wouldn’t take long for the infected to reach him and finish the job. Its shuffling progress across the street was slow but steady, bloody hands outstretched like claws. A grim sort of satisfaction slid through her.

  Aiden gripped her arm and dragged her back. Outside, the maniac let loose, emptying his guns into the shop front.

  They ran through, ducking low, tripping and slipping over bottles and boxes. The back door stood ajar. It had to be how Aiden had entered, how he’d crept up on her unawares. Outside, the sun glared bright. They raced down a narrow brick alleyway and out onto a side street. A dark blue Jeep sat waiting.

  Aiden didn’t slow but he did keep glancing back, checking on her. Making sure she stayed with him. She had to trust him now. He’d risked his life for her. Easily, he could have deserted her, run when the gun man first appeared. But he hadn’t.

  Back at the chemist the maniac started screaming. The infected must have reached him. Her stomach tumbled queasily. What a gruesome way to go.

  “Get in.” Aiden shoved her towards the Jeep’s passenger side door then raced for the drivers.

  There was lots of moaning. Close by, all around them and getting louder. The town was waking, coming alive with infected.

  If Aiden left her now she would be dead.

  “Hurry,” he said.

  Lindsay climbed into the Jeep and shut the door. Her numb fingers fumbled for the seat belt. Aiden made a noise of impatience, reached across and buckled her in.

  “No! Wait. My pack,” she said, remembering they’d left it behind. Oh, fuck no. The only thing she still carried was the rifle. Everything she owned was in it.

  “Another time” Aiden revved the engine and they were off. Dodging a car sitting in the middle of the street, some debris at the corner, he knew the way well. They were out of town, hurtling along the rough bitumen of a single lane road within minutes. Huge old ghost gums swayed overhead. The windows were down and the air rushing in cooled her hot face. She needed a slap or something to wake her up.

  “You’re fine, Lindsay,” he said.
>
  She nodded. Yes, she’d killed again. But she was fine. Life went on. For some.

  She pushed aside the guilt churning her guts.

  Aiden turned the vehicle and headed down a neat gravel drive. There were so many trees she couldn’t see the house at first, a big old colonial raised up high. Underneath was open and had probably been used as a carport. The place had undergone some renovations. Front and back the stairs leading up to the second story had been destroyed. A ladder stood in the place of one set, waiting to be used. Considering the house sat at least eight feet in the air, the lack of permanent access made the place pretty much impenetrable to infected.

  “Clever.”

  “Hmm?” Aiden cut the engine, watching her.

  “Cutting out the stairs. That was clever.”

  “Thanks.” His knuckles were white, wrapped around the steering wheel. “You’re the first woman I’ve brought home in a long time. The first person I’ve brought home.”

  Her nerves were running riot still, shaking her up inside. He sounded so sincere. She didn’t know what to say, what to think, so she kept her mouth shut.

  “You did what you had to, Lindsay.”

  She blinked. “I know. I’m just… I’m just relieved we’re still alive.”

  “So am I.”

  “I’m sorry…”

  He made a small noise and closed his eyes, shook his head. Not angry, more like he was dismissing her apology as unnecessary.

  They both sat in silence for a while. A bird called from somewhere close, the huge old leopard tree standing beside the house. There’d been one of those where she grew up. Probably gone now. It was best not to look back. Safer to leave the past alone.

  She was still alive.

  Numb but alive.

  It would do.

  “My hearts still pounding like crazy. It won’t slow down,” she said when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. She rubbed the heel of her palm against her chest like it would help. Safe. She was safe now. It was okay. “It was a close call…”

  “Yes.” He looked at her a long time, eventually giving her a gentle smile. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Aiden held the ladder steady for her while she climbed. Slowly. He scaled up after her then pulled up the ladder, seeing to their security. Lindsay’s face had regained a little color and she was looking about with interest. The rifle had been returned to its place on her back.