by Radke, K. E.
“I’d just seen a woman literally eat another woman. Strip her skin off her fucking face and slurp it down like it was a fucking smoothie,” Noah answered irritated. “And yes, I broke into your house and drank your whiskey and I’m sorry, but I’m a brown man that shot a white woman to death in front of your entire neighborhood. And I had no idea how to even begin to explain that to the law once they got there.”
After a few seconds of silence, Lincoln realized Noah actually had a legitimate reason to get hammered. He still didn’t like that Noah drank half his bottle of good whiskey, but he had to admit a beer that night wouldn’t cut it.
“You’re forgiven,” Lincoln muttered refusing to make eye contact with him.
“It’s the whiskey,” Samuel whispered loudly. “I’ll remind him in the morning when he forgets he said it,” he put a reassuring hand on Noah’s shoulder.
“I’ve killed 5,” Wyatt spoke up. “Do you want me to kill all of them or does someone else want a turn?”
“If I go down someone has to help me back up,” Samuel declared already feeling the pain in his knees as he slowly went down on one.
“The only one you go down on is me,” Renee said good-humoredly holding out a tray of drinks.
“No one wants to hear about that,” Samuel said dismissively, to focused on stealing Wyatt’s spot and night vision.
“Wyatt, are you thirsty?” she asked as he stood up and gave him the first pick from the tray weaving it out of Lincoln and Noah’s reach.
Hoping no one could see the crimson color heating his face, Wyatt quietly thanked her and hastily picked a drink.
“Left!” Lincoln shouted. Everyone ducked and his shot rang out through his 9mm. “Samuel do you have a suppressor for a Glock 17?”
Samuel mumbled intelligibly, not able to focus on the question because he was too busy defending his home.
“Useless when a gun’s in his hands,” Renee pointed out glancing at her husband. “I’ll see what I can find in the vault. Wyatt, could you lend me a hand,” she winked gesturing for him to follow her, not giving him a choice to say no.
After she left with Wyatt on her heel Samuel muttered, “She’s going to eat him alive.”
“I thought you weren’t listening,” Noah chuckled.
“Son, I’ve been married for so long you learn the tones of their voice that need immediate attention. My ears burn as a defense mechanism when I need to start listening,” Samuel explained while lining up his next shot.
Once Samuel was convinced he’d killed the last one, Noah helped him get back on his feet. They all went on a perimeter check and found everything quiet. Nothing was caught lurking within distance of the night vision’s scope.
They lazily rounded the corner making a full circle around the house meeting up at the back where Renee and Wyatt were waiting for them. Wyatt stood slightly behind Renee, refusing to look up from the ground. On closer inspection, Samuel’s face burned as he caught sight of several familiar gun holsters hanging on Wyatt’s shoulder. Renee stood there smugly with a bag full of guns, ammo and suppressors, knowing full well what she did would upset Samuel.
Samuel tried to keep his voice calm, “Ok, you think he’s cute, but is it really necessary to give all my stuff to the man! You do that when I die not when I’m standing right here!” He realized he had started shouting and took a deep breath.
“You don’t use them! Fine you want them? Take them from Wyatt who doesn’t have any! He will use them for the family he has at home,” Renee argued furiously crossing her arms over her chest waiting for Samuel to challenge her again.
“I’ll just put them back where they belong,” Wyatt offered, truly embarrassed by the whole situation. He turned on his heel quickly darting for the back door relieved he’d soon be out of sight.
“Damn it woman!” Samuel shouted sighing heavily. “No. No, she’s right. They sit there in storage and I have plenty of holsters that I can’t recognize all of them.” Although he knew he could. The holsters slung on Wyatt’s shoulder were all given to him by Renee for birthdays or Valentine’s Day. They just weren’t his favorites.
“I’m sure these are important to you. I wouldn’t have brought them out but she threatened me,” Wyatt looked at Renee through the corner of his eyes and flinched when she spun in his direction.
“Leave him be woman. He only speaks the truth,” Samuel gave her a knowing glance to make sure she noticed his choice words. “She’s a bully. And she knows it. But she also means well, which is why you will keep them. Come here, let’s get it fitted,” he moved toward Wyatt. Renee intercepted him, giving him a peck on the mouth before going back inside.
“I’m getting laid tonight boys,” Samuel muttered under his breath.
“Just so you know,” Noah added speaking directly to Wyatt, “we’re all afraid of Renee.”
Three more strays showed up before Samuel called it a night and told everyone to go home. Lincoln gave everyone a ride back to the shooting area so they could pick up their cars, and Noah followed Lincoln and Wyatt home.
After they freed the chickens, Noah and Lincoln walked down the pitch black street with Wyatt so he couldn’t be ambushed by anything lurking in the dark on his way home.
☢
Over the next few days the last of the TV stations disappeared one by one leaving only two channels operational for the government to update the public with information it chose to share. Electricity was sporadic, and cell service was gone. The only telephone lines working were landlines that had become obsolete in Lincoln’s day and age.
Somehow the water was still pumping through the pipes, and Lincoln started filling rain barrels to store as much as he could before the luxury was gone.
Moving the ham radio into the living room was one of the tasks he enjoyed. Both of his side tables were pushed together so he could set it up near the couch. Hours flew by while he familiarized himself with all the frequencies, and listened in on conversations. Eventually he found Samuel, Noah, Dustin, and Grant—the only people he knew had ham radios. Time spent away from the ham radio involved feeding the chickens, target practice, or Camille.
Without TV or the internet to distract every minute of their lives sex became a casual pastime. Any relations he had before were nonexistent now that the phones weren’t working, so it was convenient Camille lived down the street.
She never had to compete for his attention. He dropped everything the moment she showed up because he enjoyed playing with her more than shooting his guns. Everything he said seemed to interest her, probably because she was taking notes somewhere, but he honestly didn’t care. He thought of the arrangement as sex for information, and in his opinion, was the best trade he’d ever made.
Afterward she’d cook or help him in the garden, tasks he never asked her to do because he knew her obligations lie elsewhere. So he kept his mouth shut, grateful for her company and never asked her to stay longer than she could, or when she’d be back. The girls would always be her first priority and her marriage didn’t dissolve because she was unfaithful.
For the first time since her frequent visits, she didn’t immediately take him inside and tear off his clothes. Instead she gave him an anxious smile, put on the extra gardening gloves he kept for her and dug right into the dirt. Lincoln had to put his gloves back on since he’d taken them off in anticipation of going inside. He had to maneuver the woody around in his pants so he could continue gardening comfortably.
The longer the silence reigned between them the more rigid and apprehensive he became. His gut instinct told him to prepare for an irrational woman when he’d have to say no to whatever she planned to ask him.
“Lincoln,” her soft tone was questioning, she refused to make eye contact with him. “Do you think—you know if you ever have time—that you could teach me how to shoot a gun?”
The digging intensified, her movements tense as the hole went deeper than it should. Sweat glistened down her face as she worked and Lincoln’s eyes lef
t her hands, gazing up at her. God she’s beautiful, he thought. The corner of his mouth pulled upward as he stopped working just to stare at her. She felt his gaze on her and peeked at him through her lashes. “I just thought I would ask. You don’t have to teach me if you don’t want to. I just thought maybe, one day when your practicing you could let me watch. It’s stupid. Just a stupid idea, forget it,” she said flustered and tried to hide her embarrassment by keeping her hands busy.
Standing up, Lincoln dusted himself off while she was still talking about her stupid idea. When he passed her, his arm went around her waist pulling her off the ground. On two feet she smiled hanging onto him for balance and he swept her up onto his shoulder. Squealing with surprise she questioned, “What are you doing?!”
“You’re in need of a shower. And I plan to give you one.” He dusted her off taking his time over her rear before he stepped inside carefully, to make sure none of her limbs hit the door frame. His legs soared through the living room.
“But we need to finish in the garden. Don’t tell me plants turn you on,” she said incredulously at the thought.
Down the hallway. Inside his room.
“Everything about you turns me on. Imagining you with a gun,” he set her down and pressed against her tearing at her clothes, kissing her hungrily, “Is better than imagining you naked.”
“What if I was naked with a gun?” she inquired while his mouth was busy with her chest. He teased her with his tongue letting out a guttural growl.
☢
“Lincoln?” the voice was high and bratty as it brought him out of a deep sleep. Slowly opening his eyes, he realized someone else was in his bed and did a double take. Camille had slept over for the first time, but the voice that woke him up didn’t belong to her. The groggy feeling dissipated as he twisted around in the bed checking the other side of him. Paranoia was tugging on his thoughts trying to come up with a viable explanation to the voice that woke him.
Camille stirred cuddling up beside him. A familiar thud disrupted the silent early morning and made him sit up rapidly. He left his warm spot on the bed clumsily putting on his shorts. Camille laughed when he almost fell over. Another round of thuds echoed through the house, a little more frantic than the first.
“Where is that noise coming from?” Camille asked stretching sleepily.
“Back door. I’ll be right back. Don’t move,” he said on his feet and down the hall in his boxers. In the kitchen he could see Sabrina’s shadow in the window, trying to peek through it before disappearing. Her small fist pounded against the door this time calling his name in her high-pitched tone.
She usually texted him before showing up because she always came through the hidden gate and he usually had to unlock it for her. A few years ago she’d been his waitress, and while he hated the sound of her voice, she didn’t give up until he agreed to take her out. It was the worst date Lincoln had ever been on, they had nothing in common, and her teasing behavior had him more frustrated than horny.
Sensing his disinterest only made Sabrina vie for his attention throughout the night until she finally took him to bed. They didn’t date for very long, but never completely severed the relationship due to the great sex. He never thought he’d see her again—not with the world going to shit.
“Liiincolnnn!” Sabrina whined leaning against the door defeated, pounding her tiny fist against it again. She fell forward right into Lincoln’s warm body when he opened the door. Hugging him tightly she nestled her face into his chest, “Oh thank God! Thank you God! Lincoln it’s crazy out there. There’s no food at the grocery stores. I’ve seen people—,” Sabrina stopped trying to catch her breath in the middle of a sob.
“Who is that?” Camille’s voice sailed from behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment trying to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t get him in trouble. Sabrina popped her head out peering beyond Lincoln.
At the same moment Sabrina asked, “Is that your mom?” While Camille said, “I didn’t know you had a daughter.”
“I’ll be right back,” Lincoln called over his shoulder to Camille as he gently tugged Sabrina outside by her upper arm.
“Who is that?” Sabrina asked curiously without a hint of jealousy. A smile played around her lips while she tried to steal another glance of Camille as he pulled her away.
“You need to leave,” Lincoln said brazenly. He was gently pushing her toward the back gate and opened it for her. The chickens were clucking in their coop trying to get someone’s attention to let them out for the day.
She rolled out of his grasp, flipping her long blond hair in his face and hurried back to his house with swaying hips. He caught her mischievous glance before she set her attention on Camille, and he knew she was determined to cause trouble.
He trailed after her for a moment and almost tried to intervene, until he heard the words, “Hi, are you Lincoln’s mom?” Sabrina asked nicely in a cute voice. At that question, he spun toward the front gate stealthily tip-toeing away from the massacre about to happen. She’d managed to ruin his relationship with Camille in five words.
Camille snorted, “Is that what he told you?” She started cursing in Spanish. Lincoln couldn’t help smiling, he liked the foreign language on her tongue. “So I guess you’re not his daughter.”
“Gross!” Sabrina said shrilly. “No! He’s my boyfriend.” Lincoln sighed at the title because they both knew he was not her boyfriend.
“Boyfriend?” Camille said the word flatly. While she couldn’t exactly claim Lincoln for herself still being married, her heart dropped into her stomach.
Lincoln was fumbling with the lock on his gate trying to put in the right combination so he could escape. His name rang loudly over the quiet neighborhood at the same time the lock opened and he ran like hell. Down the road he passed one of Camille’s daughters racing toward Wyatt’s house. Nothing stopped him until he was on Wyatt’s porch breathing raggedly. Wyatt answered his frantic knocks and didn’t have to invite Lincoln in because the man barged inside not waiting for an invitation.
Rubbing his face trying to be alert Wyatt yawned, “What happened?”
“I need somewhere to lay low.”
“Did you kill Michael?”
“No.”
“You killed someone else?”
Lincoln gave him a ‘what is wrong with you’ look, “No.”
“You’re standing in my living room in your underwear, someone better be dead for waking me up this early.”
Lincoln didn’t realize he’d left in his underwear, and was mortified that one of Camille’s daughters had witnessed it. “Sabrina came over.”
“Who’s Sabrina?”
“Camille stayed over.”
It took a few seconds before Wyatt could decode Lincoln’s hidden message, “Get out of my house. I thought you were some boring, old, grouchy weirdo, but it turns out you have more drama than high school. Go. Now. Don’t come back until someone’s dead or bitten,” Wyatt pushed Lincoln out the door slamming it behind him.
He scanned the neighborhood listening to a dog bark in the distance setting off a ruckus.
Passing Karen’s house, he was tempted to hide in there for the remainder of the day. Before he had a chance to contemplate the option Camille was walking down the sidewalk in his direction with one of her daughter’s in tow. She refused to make eye contact with him and held her head up high completely ignoring his existence as she passed him.
“Camille,” he called softly and trailed her back to her house keeping his distance. The little girl shot curious glances at him.
Not once did she peer behind her. She didn’t make a sound as she trudged up her driveway. Straight into her house she disappeared with her daughter slamming the door, and left Lincoln in his boxers on the sidewalk.
If she decided to sever the relationship, he didn’t have any choice but to comply. Shifting his feet around he almost tried the doorbell, but if she sent Michael to answer it—it’d be a fight he didn’t want to d
eal with in front Camille and her children. Her life was more complicated than his, and the last thing he wanted was three girls to depend on him. It was stressful enough babysitting one child and she slept most of the time.
Lincoln blew out a deep breath and waited a few minutes on the sidewalk hoping Camille would make an appearance so he could try and undo all the damage. After a good five minutes and several wolf whistles later, he reluctantly left the spot he’d been rooted in for his house.
Going through the backyard he stomped forward ready to throw Sabrina out of his home. He passed the window seeing clearly into his kitchen because she’d lifted the blinds up for the natural light. Backtracking he caught sight of her cooking at the stove.
Completely naked.
Caught off guard he enjoyed the view of her backside for a few minutes, watching her scramble eggs. Slamming the back door, he made her squeal in fear as she jumped turning around to face him at his abrupt entrance. The anger subsided when her tits bounced making her nipples peek through her long blond hair. Realizing it was him, she swept her hair behind her giving him a full frontal view her body.
“I know my voice annoys you,” she said lightly tossing the scrambled eggs in the pan making her tits bounce again. “Maybe,” she took the wooden spoon and wrapped her mouth around it pulling it out slowly, “you can give it something else to do.” She giggled naughtily.
“Then who will finish the eggs?” Lincoln asked roughly trying to ignore the need to fuck her on the table.
“I was never good at cooking,” she had stealthily taken steps to close the distance between them. Grabbing his waistband she pulled him forward to the stove putting the wooden spoon in his hand while she disappeared below.
Ten minutes later the eggs were burning behind him and he tried to reach for the stove but Sabrina clawed at his back to get his full attention. Twisting back toward her he stopped banging her on the table as a dirty, stained, glittering gold and white jumpsuit limped through his backyard. His hand automatically went to his hip and found nothing.