by Radke, K. E.
“We need to get the blood off. Phoebe,” Wyatt paused lowering his voice. “I don’t know if he’s been bitten. They were so fast. I thought he was right behind me.” Phoebe was listening intently trying to piece it all together.
“He probably knew we both wouldn’t make it to the car… ,” Wyatt’s voice trailed off. He could feel the blood drain from his face. “Once the blood is off we can figure it out.” He didn’t know what to do if Lincoln was bit. Submerged in his thoughts, he left it to Phoebe who deftly unbuttoned Lincoln’s shirt pulling at his sleeves searching for wounds. Finding none she removed his boots and stopped at his trousers, her eyes lifted to Wyatt’s.
“Leave them for now. He might be disoriented but I’m sure he’d like to keep his pants on,” Wyatt answered the unspoken question.
“You’d be right,” Lincoln managed to mutter under his breath.
“Were you bit?” Wyatt asked relieved at the sound of Lincoln’s voice.
“Get this shit off me so we can find out,” Lincoln answered rolling his head back. “I hit my head when the damn thing tackled me,” he lifted his arm to the back of his head feeling the tender spot and groaning.
The shower sprayed Lincoln in the face, the cold water surprising him. He watched the blood form rivulets down his skin as it washed away. Clumps of grey matter and tiny, hard white pieces of bone hit the floor of the tub.
“What is all that other stuff stuck to him?” Phoebe asked curiously out loud.
“That would be brain matter,” Lincoln answered opening his eyes and seeing clearly without the haze. “Your husband thought it was a good idea to blow the head right off its shoulders while I was underneath it.”
Phoebe placed a hand over her mouth gagging at Lincoln’s words. She braced herself over the toilet as bile surfaced at the back of her throat.
“It was going to eat you!” Wyatt argued.
“Because you ran off with the gun. I could have shot both of them before they were close enough to attack,” Lincoln eyed Wyatt angrily.
“I thought we were running! Did you see how fast they were?!”
“That’s exactly why you don’t run and shoot them instead. How do you know you’ll be able to get to the car?”
Wyatt didn’t bother answering, he just gave a tired sigh.
Lincoln continued, “What did they look like?”
“Who?”
“The flesh eaters Wyatt. Who else?” Lincoln questioned gazing at Wyatt like he was stupid.
“I didn’t stand around checking them out! You were hurt. I brought you back here.”
“The one with the missing head had red eyes. It was different,” Lincoln set his head back against the wall waiting for the sharp pain to go away. “Pain meds are in the cabinet in the kitchen, if someone could go get me some.” Phoebe raced out the bathroom door happy to get away from all the blood and leftover human parts dripping off Lincoln.
“Are you trying to say there are two different cannibals trying to eat people?”
“We should go back and take a look.”
“And our neighbors will break into your house the minute they see you leave.”
“Fucking greedy ass neighbors,” Lincoln muttered. “I would tell you to go yourself but you’re not a very good second. And you’re never supposed to go alone.”
“What does that even mean? Your second? Who was your first second?”
“Second in command Wyatt,” Lincoln explained. “Noah was my first second,” Lincoln growled the name in anger clenching his fist. The back of his head pulsed and he tried to relax again.
“What the hell happened between you and Noah that you’d rather have me as your second?”
Phoebe returned with a glass of water and the pain meds handing them off to Lincoln and interrupting the conversation. It was a good question and he knew why Wyatt was asking. It takes conviction and time to build some type of relationship to trust someone else with your life. People in Lincoln’s world are generally private, paranoid people, willing to help in order to get something in return. Most of them Lincoln’s only talked to online, and while he’s known Noah for years, he wouldn’t consider him a close friend.
The strongest relationship he has right now is with Wyatt, considering the man saved his life twice now instead of leaving him for dead. Not that he would ever admit it to Wyatt.
“He. Drank. My. Good. Whiskey.” Lincoln’s voice pounded every word out like a hammer ready to bludgeon anything in his way.
“Thank God we didn’t take off his pants,” Phoebe muttered smiling, trying hard not to laugh at the stupid excuse Lincoln gave.
“You laugh now woman,” Lincoln pointed his finger at her for emphasis. His voice lowered in tune with dark thoughts of what the future holds. “But when there’s nothing to clean your wounds or to take the edge off when you’re in pain, you’ll see why whiskey is so important. Now get out so I can take a shower.”
Wyatt pulled Phoebe out of the bathroom and they went back into the living room to check on Melanie. She was watching a movie since most of the TV channels weren’t working. They waited for Lincoln, knowing he’d probably think they overstayed their welcome, but the truth was they felt safer with him. Even if they weren’t wanted they’d stay as long as he’d allow it.
Freshly dressed in a clean pair of cargo pants and a button down flannel, Lincoln felt every bit his age putting it on. A giant bruise was forming on his back and he was sure he probably had a concussion. The thought of going to the hospital sent a shiver down his spine knowing it was probably overrun with cannibals. Paranoia had him checking his body over and over again for bite marks, nicks and scratches. No bites as far as he could tell, and the only scratches he could find were on his arms and hands.
Walking out into the living room he stopped dead in his tracks at the little family taking up space. It’s a good thing he got dressed. One of the perks living alone means you can walk around naked. Everyone made eye contact, Lincoln’s eyes shifted from Wyatt’s to Phoebe’s to Melanie’s, who ignored him for the movie playing.
“Melanie, it’s time to go,” Phoebe got down on the floor to get her attention.
“We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Wyatt said getting up slowly, taking his time.
“Can I stay with Mr. Lincoln?” Melanie asked. “It’s safer at his house.”
No one said a word. Lincoln stared at the little girl afraid to glance at her parents because his gut told him she was voicing their thoughts. Striding past all of them to get to the kitchen, he hoped it was clear he wanted them to leave by avoiding her question.
Phoebe and Wyatt had nothing he valued. Not in skills or supplies. The only thing they had to offer was companionship, which he’s lived without since they moved down the street years ago.
One foot was in the kitchen when a pounding came from the front with muffled pleas. Melanie screamed running to her parents. Lincoln held a finger to his lips signaling for everyone to be quiet as he crept to the front door to peek outside. Camille stood there with her hands— encased with thick rubber gloves—on her hips. Showing a lot of cleavage. Lincoln’s eyes slowly appraised the tight black dress and high heels on her feet.
He cracked the door open only showing her a sliver of his face, “I don’t want any trouble.”
“I’ve come to—well you know,” her eyes drifted to the side but her head was still held high to keep the long, black hair away from her determined expression.
Lincoln pushed the door open with a smirk on his face allowing her entry, “I like the matching outfit, gloves and all.”
Camille blushed at the compliment even though she knew he was probably being sarcastic. She took an anxious step inside, the heels sinking into the plush carpet. On the small of her back Lincoln gave it a little tap moving her to the right of the wall facing her. It opened into the living room where she, Wyatt, Phoebe and Melanie all stared at each other in awkward silence. The disdainful look she had on her face quickly changed to curiosity
at the blood stains on their clothes. Why he chose to help them she’d never understand, unless, Phoebe was given the same offer and took him up on it.
“Camille and I need to talk,” Lincoln announced stiffly.
“Of course.”
“We were just leaving.”
Wyatt and Phoebe each took one of Melanie’s hands and kept their focus on her as they made their way around Camille to exit. Lincoln took the gun from his holster—Camille seeing his gesture, gasped and took a step away from him—and handed it to Wyatt, “Just in case. I’ll swing by and we can go over the inventory tomorrow.”
Wyatt nodded and Lincoln waited silently in the living room until he heard the front door open and close. Not waiting another moment he rounded the wall separating the living room from the door and locked it peering out the window afterward watching the family walk back to their house. The stress of company evaporated and his stomach growled, obviously ready for a snack until Camille appeared startling him.
He quickly unlocked the door and held it open for her, “You are free to go.” He made a gesture by swinging his arm.
“As soon as I get a bag I’ll be on my way,” she stood up straight, shaking out her hair and lifting her chest.
Lincoln’s eye fell to her breasts, falling into her trap before snapping his eyes back to her face. “I used you to get rid of them. So you can go now.”
“And do I get a gun for just in case? The Rock and Roll King is still running loose out there.”
“No. I’ll walk you home.”
Camille asked incredulously, “Really?”
“Woman, I’m starving, my head hurts, and while you look very sexy the offer was to get you off my porch. I never actually thought I’d see you again,” Lincoln rubbed one of his temples. “Considering you tried to break into my house earlier, I think you’re getting off pretty easy.”
Blushing, from the compliment and embarrassment of her actions earlier, Camille offered, “If I make you dinner will you at least give me a list? Please. Something that’s not obvious to everyone else.”
Lincoln contemplated the offer. The floor tilted beneath him and he didn’t know how long he would last standing up. Self reliance was something you learned very quickly when living alone. It’s usually not a problem, but today he was tired. He could feel his age creeping up on him and he really just wanted to sit and relax, but he had to cook if he wanted to eat. Conceding, he nodded in agreement dropping his shoulders an inch in relief that there was a meal coming by someone else’s hands.
“Don’t make me regret agreeing to this,” Lincoln muttered. “Dinner for a list and you leave right after.”
He allowed her free range of the kitchen, letting her use anything she could find. It took over an hour for her to finish chopping up the vegetables he had left and cooking part of the chicken from the farm. He spied her in the corner of his eye stealing glances of him as he researched the new flesh eaters he saw earlier. No one had mentioned them on the prepper forums yet.
“It’s ready,” Camille sang admiring her work as she set it on the table for him.
“Smells better than anything I make,” Lincoln grumbled as made his way to the kitchen trying to ignore the mess she made. Whipping her hair around to one side, she pulled it over her shoulder away from her flushed face. Not paying attention to him, she didn’t catch his eyes wandering over her curves.
One plate decorated the table. Instead of sitting Lincoln went to the cabinet and grabbed another plate, piling it with food before placing it on the table.
“Eat.”
“Um…I’d really rather not,” she hesitated looking away.
Alarmed, Lincoln crossed his hands over his chest growling, “Did you poison it?”
Automatically his hand rested on an empty holster. He cursed himself silently for giving it to Wyatt, the pounding in his head returned from the spike of adrenaline.
“No!” she said offended he would ask. “It just—it feels like a date. I feel like I’m cheating.”
“So sex isn’t cheating, but eating at a table is?” Lincoln asked his voice laced with confusion.
“I prepared myself for the sex. I didn’t prepare for conversation.”
“We’re eating. There is no conversation,” Lincoln sat down at the table. “I’m going to need you to take a bite off my plate so I know I won’t die in a few minutes after I eat it all.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned over the table giving him a full view of what he missed out on. Taking a spoonful, she put it in her mouth covering it while she chewed closing her eyes. Moaning at the wonderful taste in her mouth, when she opened her eyes she caught him staring at her boobs. He wasn’t even ashamed when she caught him.
“I’m a damn good cook,” she admitted sitting across from him. “Shall we sit here and stare at each other until I don’t die?”
The corner of Lincoln’s mouth lifted just enough for her to notice, “Usually I’d dig right in, but I think it’s safer to wait a few minutes.”
She slowly scooped more into her mouth from her plate staring blatantly at him. His fingers twitched toward his fork. Three minutes passed before he finally gave in.
Camille sat quietly peeking at him through her lashes while he devoured everything in front of him. Her eyes absentmindedly roamed over him and for a few seconds she fantasized about curling her fingers over his brown hair as they fucked on the kitchen table.
In her own home she walked around like a ghost, only visible if someone needed her. Michael never noticed her unless she was naked. Lincoln’s been admiring her beauty and undressing her with his eyes since he let her inside.
Sexy isn’t a word she’s used to describe herself in a long time, but now she found herself giddy with happiness that someone noticed her effort.
“If you don’t finish your food, I’m going to assume I have about an hour to live,” Lincoln concluded in a subdued voice as he sat back in his chair wiping his mouth.
“I haven’t worked up to my appetite yet. Usually I’m racing around the kitchen making sure everyone has their plate and drinks. And then I end up eating alone because by the time I’m ready to enjoy the meal. They’re done,” she didn’t realize how sad it sounded until it was said out loud.
Lincoln shifted in his chair uncomfortably trying to decipher her words, “You want me to leave?”
Camille laughed at the absurd question, “No. I just can’t believe the one time I have company for a meal, it’s the man that owns the house I literally tried to break into a few hours ago.”
Not knowing how to reply, he changed the subject and pushed back from the table, “I’ll get some paper for your list. I was expecting macaroni and cheese but you made a five star meal.”
He caught her blush at the compliment, the small upward twist of her lips. Taking his time so she could eat in peace, he grabbed another gun and a package of iodine tablets along with a paper and pen. About four minutes passed before he sat back at the table curious if she tried to steal anything while he was gone. Not that she had anywhere to hide it. She caught him staring again and he immediately gazed down at the paper in front of him.
Consumed by his task, she watched his eyes light up as he wrote things down. She purposely leaned over the table showing off her cleavage feigning her interest in the list written legibly down the paper in two neat columns. Her chest greeted his gaze before meeting her eyes. The list slid toward her and he placed the pen on the table, signaling their time was up.
Lincoln stood up gesturing to the front door. “After you,” he said in a softer voice than normal. At the door he handed her a flashlight and had another gun in his holster with a flashlight of his own.
“What’s down that way?” Camille asked before she stepped out of his house pointing toward the rooms.
With a wisp of a smile Lincoln answered, “My bedroom is the only thing to see that way.”
Camille felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment hoping he didn’t notice in the dark as she shuffled
out of the house waiting for him to lock the door. Down the sloping driveway she reached out automatically hanging onto Lincoln’s arm to help keep her balance. He matched his pace to hers and asked briskly, “Why do you wear them? If you can’t walk in them?”
“Well I couldn’t exactly seduce you with tennis shoes could I?”
“With the dress you’re in you could have come barefoot.”
Stumbling, her grip on Lincoln tightened before she realized she was touching him and immediately let go. If it had been any other day she would have tried to hide the fact she was walking down the street with Lincoln, the joke of the neighborhood. They passed Phoebe’s house and she almost took his hand out of possessiveness. Then she remembered she was married, and not on a date. He was just walking her home to make sure she got there safely.
Slowing her pace once she realized they were halfway to her house she asked, “I have to ask, how did Melanie end up with a bag when you’re so reluctant to help anyone else? Not that I blame you. I won’t deny we were awful to you. But what did they do to get in your good graces? Maybe it’ll be helpful sometime in the future.”
“Careful,” Lincoln rumbled in his deep voice. “Someone might think you’re envious.”
The heels snapping against the pavement stopped, “No seriously. Did they cook for you too? Or was it a trade?”
Raising his eyebrows, “Not a fan of the heartthrob of the neighborhood?” His tone was teasing as he patronized lightly, “Don’t stop moving, it’s past curfew. You wouldn’t want the police to arrest you with me at your side for breaking the law. What would the neighbors think?”
“I guess I’ll have to figure it out on my own,” she said haughtily taking a step forward.
His gaze left Camille wandering over to Karen’s lawn where the bodies were still visible, slowly decomposing under the sheets hiding them, “Were you home when that happened?”
She followed his line of sight, “I-I was looking for my daughter. She’s always sneaking away. But I remember the screams.” Shivering she put her arms around herself.