by Annie Walls
Bunyan and Reece help Rudy to his room. Rudy is large, not as big as Bunyan, but it takes both of them to carry him. Mac goes to get the medical supplies.
I go and get a few things of my own. When I return to Rudy’s room, he’s awake and sitting up on his bed against the wall. Some of the blood is gone and his hair is wet as if someone dumped water on him to wake him up. Glinda rushes in some hot water and leaves because she doesn’t want to be in the way. Reece tells me to let him know the outcome and goes out with Bunyan. Mac still isn’t here. What’s taking him so long? I immediately search for the painkillers we brought back from the base.
“Where’s the bag of pain medication?”
He points to the corner of the room. I find the canvas bag hidden from view between the small sofa and wall.
After digging up something good, I bend to Rudy. There’s so much blood, I don’t know where to start. I hold out my hand. “Can you swallow these?”
He sees the pills and nods. I put them to his mouth and give him some water. I go to stand, but he grabs my hand and squeezes.
Mac comes in with a load, including his bag of medical stuff. He gives me some clean flour-sack rags. “Sorry it took so long, I went to talk to Guido. He’s a disgusting human being. Help me clean him up, while I check his ribs, Sunshine.”
After we get him to lie flat, I soak one of the rags in hot water and start cleaning blood off his face. Both his eyes are swollen, but they shouldn’t swell shut. I watch Mac’s fingers run expertly along Rudy’s ribs. He grimaces.
“I gave him some pain pills. Maybe we should wait until they kick in.”
Mac shakes his head. “He can take it, and the pills are more than he deserves.” He looks Rudy in the eyes.
“He’s right, Kansas,” Rudy says hoarsely.
“Why?” I ask.
“He came to me today, wanting me to throw it, I did,” Rudy shrugs and winces.
Mac lets out a scoff, “He wanted you to make a good show of it. He’s beyond pissed.”
“I’m tired of fucking bending to his will.” Rudy’s jaw clenches tight from the pain and he continues, “He won’t ask me to do it again, will he?”
Mac nods. “Probably not.”
To Mac I say, “I think he might need stitches across the bridge of his nose.” It’s split wide open and the source of the blood. I dab it, and fresh blood wells up.
Mac finishes up with the ribs. “None broken, but bruised. You’re breathing easy at least.”
Rudy sighs, “I tried to angle myself so he wouldn’t break any.”
Mac gets a fresh rag. “Would have served you right.” He examines the split. “Yeah, it’s bad, but I can butterfly tape it. Most of the blood came out of your nose. You’re lucky it didn’t break, but your whole face is swollen.”
Mac stops the bleeding, cleans it with rubbing alcohol, and tapes it closed. He dabs ointment on it. I douse cold water on a rag to try to help the swelling, placing it across his eyes and nose. Fat good it will do, but it’s something. Mac cleans little cuts and splits with alcohol.
“All done, Rudy man. Don’t do that again. Even though it might seem like it, you aren’t made of steel. I’ll check on you in the morning.”
I shoot Mac a grateful smile, getting up to find a clean T-shirt for Rudy. “I’ll be back to work on your mural tomorrow, okay?”
He grins. “Sure, you know I enjoy your company.” Nodding to Rudy, he goes next door.
I help Rudy into his shirt as his eyes droop closed from the pain pills. I touch his face and put the cool washcloth back on.
I stand up and hear, “Stay.” Lifting the rag, he peeks an eye at me. I climb on the bed, lean against the wall, and guide his head to my lap. His arm circles around my waist. I run a hand through his hair. His swollen lips, the only thing I can see because of the rag, turn up to a smile.
“Don’t get cocky, Wolverine,” I joke, thinking of Mac’s made of steel comment. This only makes him smile wider.
Lighting the joint I brought from my room, I puff on it. He lifts the rag and raises a brow at me. “I need to calm my nerves,” I tell him, passing it over and he takes it.
A minute goes by before he mumbles, “I want to leave here.” After the situations we find ourselves in, I agree with him. Fighting? For what? Entertainment? It only drives home what I want to accomplish.
“That could have been real bad,” I whisper more to myself than to him. It lingers in the small space between us. He’d be better off somewhere else.
We sit in the dim light of the little lamp. We don’t talk, but enjoy each other’s presence without complication. I watch him breathe in my skin and memorize the feel of me. I trace his swollen face even as I feel the shift. A shift I’m not sure I’m ready for.
*
I wake up breathing someone else’s air, entangled with large limbs, bringing back a familiar feeling of waking like this several times before. When I open my eyes to see Rudy watching me, I go to sit up.
He tightens his grip around my waist. “Not yet.”
I smile. “I’m doing another mural. And if you don’t want me to make your face look like lunch meat in it, you’ll let me go.” I’ll never do that, but it’s fun to tease him. And lighten the mood a little.
“You’re painting me?”
“I’m painting everyone, even famished.”
He gives me a little smile, but it quickly falls. “I need to tell you something.”
Uh oh, when someone tells you that…it is never good. “You can tell me anything,” I say, because it is the truth.
“I’m going—”
“How cozy?” I tense before lifting my head. Julie stands over Rudy’s shoulder, not caring she interrupted a seemingly important conversation.
Rudy doesn’t look, but he knows who it is. “What do you need, Julie?”
“Nothing, I just came to see how you were. I heard you were beat up badly.” She fidgets, trying to see him. I attempt to sit up, but Rudy squeezes me and turns his head to address her. She gasps. “How long is this going to take to heal?”
Heat scorches my face. I tap at Rudy’s arm and sit up. “Why—”
Rudy stiffens. “Don’t,” he whispers, so only I’ll hear him. I give him a questioning gaze. Without taking his eyes off me, he says, “However long it takes. I’m not in a hurry.”
She scoffs, “You’ve got to be—”
The baby starts crying, cutting her off. The sound is a little odd, but then again, what do I know about babies? Biting my tongue and climbing out of bed, I look at Ariella. She is all cute and stuff as she wiggles around, red faced, and innocent. Little fists toss about while her mouth is open and trembling. Her actions aren’t quite matching up to her sounds. Although, I can clearly see she is crying in the way babies do to let us know they need something.
“She’s beautiful, Julie,” I say, transforming Julie’s face into something that I don’t think I can ever be. She coos at Ariella and sticks her finger in the baby’s mouth so she can suck on it. She quiets as she sucks for dear life. “Didn’t Rudy get a pacifier?” I remember him grabbing a bunch of them.
Julie peers at me in a way she hasn’t before and nods her head. “But I have to hold it in her mouth. This is easier.” Dark rings circle Julie’s tired eyes. I glance at Rudy, feeling him watching me.
“I’ll speak with you later, Rudy. Get some rest.” I offer a smile and leave them to hash out whatever they need to. I’m scurrying across the courtyard to my loft when Julie catches up to me. She doesn’t have Ariella. I guess she left her with Rudy. The image this conjures in my mind gives me strange feelings.
“Thanks for helping us. With the loot. And helping Rudy last night,” Julie tells me.
“No problem.” Her mouth opens like she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. “Did you need something else?” I prompt.
She sniffs, shifting her weight. “It’s better this way. For us to go to Arizona. He’ll never hurt you.”
I’m at a loss for what to s
ay. I don’t quite believe she has the audacity to show concern or pretense. Turns out, I don’t have to say anything because she keeps going. “I’ve been around him a long time. I know how relationships with other women go. If you can call what he has with other women relationships.”
I know what she is trying to do and damn if I don’t want to play into it, but I’m not going to give her the satisfaction. She must think we don’t talk about anything. “Listen Gem Stones, I know what you’re trying to do. If you knew anything about mine and Rudy’s relationship, you wouldn’t be wasting your time implying Rudy is incapable of a commitment.” She’s wrong. After all, he puts up with her.
*
The next few days consist of painting and zombie hoarding. Two days after the fight, Rudy’s up and getting around. I keep a distance because I now suspect he bought time because he wants me to go to Arizona, in the form of getting his ass kicked.
The mural is coming along smoothly. I’ve added background and still need to work on finishing touches, but it’s almost complete.
At the warehouse, my zombies stay put and don’t attack me when I open the dock doors. I collect about twenty every day. Only a few of them come after me in the real famished way and need to be killed. Right now, I walk with a cooperating hoard behind me. They follow obediently, but it’s still hard getting used to them. Not being comfortable enough to go in the middle of them and count, I’ve no idea how many are in there. If they decide to turn on me, it’ll get messy.
I file them in as the other famished in the warehouse make room as they walk, or more like shuffle, inside. “Okay guys, you know the drill. I’ll be back.” I shut the door and tie it secure. I slide my machete in place.
“Can you tell me how you did that?”
I jump because I’m so focused on the zombies I wasn’t alert to anything else. A short woman takes cautious steps toward me in an appraising way. She isn’t old by any means, but has to be around Bunyan’s age. She’s hard, rugged, but feminine at the same time, wearing blue jeans, a big winter coat, and hiking boots. Her hair is turning white, cut into a wavy bob with bangs. I don’t know her, but feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before.
“Friend or foe?” I ask dubiously.
She laughs and laugh lines deepen around her sparkling blue eyes. “Friend I should say. I’ve never seen someone keep the forsaken, let alone tell them what to do.” She gets back to the topic at hand and stops when she’s five feet away.
I tell her the truth. “I don’t really know. But I might need them someday.”
“Smart.” She checks out my arsenal, my hair, and finally my paint and blood splattered boots. “I’m searching for a place, a community. It’s supposedly in one of these old industrial parks. Can you guide me?”
I’m surprised she knows about it. “Uh, yeah. I stay there. It’s about a ten block walk.”
“Oh good.” She pauses, “I thought I’d see more zombies to follow. I guess what I just saw explains why I haven’t seen any of them.”
“The people at the community are wondering where they all went, too.” We laugh. “No one knows,” I say and shoot her a serious look.
She studies me with pursed lips, clucking her tongue. “Not my story to tell.”
We start walking. I keep a sharp eye on her in my peripheral vision.
“You know,” she says, “when someone is described to you, you never really know how accurate the description is. But he got you down to a T.” I glance at her confused. “You’re Kan. Kansas?”
I stop. Maybe I do know her from somewhere. I don’t know what to say. “How did you—”
“You’re a beautiful young lady. I’m very happy to meet you.” She holds out her hand, I take it still bewildered. “I’m Gwen. Mac’s mother.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It makes sense. Of course she’d come here to see Mac. She just found out he’s alive and doesn’t want to let him go. I fiddle with the bracelet she made me. She notices and smirks. Her blue eyes twinkle. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. That’s why I felt like I’ve seen her. Besides Mac’s masculine facial structure, he resembles her.
“I see where he gets his good looks,” I finally say, smiling.
“I know,” she jokes and puts on a smug facade. I also see where he gets his easy confidence and demeanor. “I think I like you already. Mac usually doesn’t know how to pick them.” My eyebrows rise. This might get complicated. “We’ll keep that between us.”
We walk the rest of the way, and she tells me about her journey here. How happy she was when Mac showed up out of the blue. How proud she is that he keeps with his sense of duty to help people who need it. She couldn’t stay away, wanting to be near him. She loves her son so much she left safety and normalcy to be here with him. What makes me like her right away is she made the journey by herself. She’s tough.
We get to the community. Since I’m going there anyway to work on the mural, I take her to Mac’s room.
I peek in the door. He is kneeling on the floor, inspecting the inside of an electric heater, the guts of it tossed about, scratching his head.
“Hey,” I say, strolling through the door.
He turns, and a smile forms when he sees me. “Hey Sunshine, been waiting on you.”
“I went for a run, and you’ll never guess who I found.”
The smile slips. “The famished?” he asks.
Biting my lips together, I shake my head and open the door wider. When he spots her, he jumps up. “What the hell are you doing here?” he questions in mock outrage, but a brilliant smile breaks out—a rare smile. My eyes burn, watching them hug as he chides her for making the trip by herself. What must this feel like? I’d give anything for it.
She ruffles his curls, wiping tears from her eyes. “I couldn’t stay there, knowing you were here.”
“I’m going to let you two catch up,” I tell them.
“Wait. You don’t have to go. Paint.” He points to the mural. Gwen swivels to give me new scrutiny, smiling. She glances down at my paint splattered boots. Just like Mac, she misses nothing.
“I’ll be back. I need some food.” He dips his head in acknowledgement, and they are both looking at the mural when I shut the door. My mood plummets as I stand there, listening to them laugh and carry on.
*
I fill a pot with water and put it on a little camping stove I acquired at the marketplace. I cut up fresh veggies. Potatoes, tomatoes, zucchini, onions, corn, and some beans for some vegetable soup, I use a few spices, too. I make corn cakes on a skillet. Perfect for a late lunch and celebration of Gwen’s unexpected arrival.
Mac and Gwen come in just in time, both laughing. Their eyes are bright with renewed excitement. The soup is ready, and plenty for five or six people.
“It smells good in here,” Gwen says.
“I’m sick of noodles and rice. If you can believe it, I’m tired of raw fruits and vegetables, too.”
“I would be too, if that was all I ate.” Mac stirs the pot and scrunches his nose. “I should have known, no meat.”
“You’ll still eat it.”
“Fuck yes, I will.”
Dipping the soup in cups, I hand them out with some corn cakes. Gwen admires my mural as Mac slurps soup. “With all the painting, and soup, and forsaken, you’re something else, Kan.”
I tense up, thinking she told Mac about my famished stash. “Oh?”
“Yes, Mac says you’re quite the bow shooter.”
I sigh, relieved. She smirks, knowing she did that on purpose. “Yeah, I started with a pistol crossbow. Mac pushed me to upgrade, and I’ve painted for years.”
Gwen chatters, while we finish eating, about some of her hobbies in furniture and jewelry making.
Mac swallows the rest of his soup down. He looks to Gwen before leaning toward me. “I have a question.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. Usually, when people say that it’s not good, or they don’t know how you’ll take it.
“Mom n
eeds a place to stay. And—”
I hold up my hand. “Mac,” I glance at Gwen. “You can stay in here. I have the whole other side of the loft. We can get you a bed.”
“Oh, thank you, Kan. Of course, I can do whatever to help. I have a car full of things, parked. I didn’t want to waste gas finding the community. I suppose we can go get it now.”
“I’m going try to finish the mural later. So, I can help.” I stand to clean and put the rest of the soup in cups.
Mac stands and stretches. “No need, Kan. Work on the mural and feed everyone.”
Gwen follows suit. “Thank you for the lovely meal, Kan.” She smiles warmly. “I’ll see you in a few, Mac.” She leaves.
“Thanks for helping my mom get here.”
I nod, “I’m happy you have her.”
“Me, too.”
*
I drop off soup and corn cakes to Reece and Glinda. They thank me and I continue on my way to finish the mural, looking forward to it. I knock on Rudy’s door. There’s no sound coming from inside. I step to Mac’s door when Rudy’s opens.
He peeks out, pushing the door wider when he sees it’s me. His hair sticks up in places from sleeping. Bruises cover his eyes and nose like a mask. A pair of jeans, with the button and zipper undone as if he has just thrown them on, hangs low. My eyes have a mind of their own and roam the lines of his abdominal muscles and the scattering of hair that leads to lower, fun things.
Something catches my eye on the right side on his skin. My heart skips. Without thinking I reach out and jerk his pants and boxers out to see it better. I blink. On the top of his outer thigh, right below his hip, is the tattoo Reece showed me, except it’s filled and shaded with warm colors. A sunshine with an arrow poking through it. The exact same arrow I have on my hip. I let out of gush of air.
Not taking my eyes from it, I choke out, “Why did you get it right there?” When he doesn’t answer, I peel my eyes away from it to the surprise on his face. He covers it up, lifting a brow. I avert my gaze and let go of his clothing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you, but I thought I’d bring you hot food this time.” I lift the cup.