Wicked Souls: A Limited Edition Reverse Harem Romance Collection

by Rebecca Royce

  Dillon and I went to work. Forgetting what I’d packed, I went through the few bags I had for him, seeing mostly tomatoes since I’d just picked a ton. Like always I only gave Dillon what he could fit in a couple of saddle bags. He and his crew insisted on using more fuel-efficient motorcycles. Unfortunately, that also meant whatever I gave them had to be pretty valuable. Even so I included some canned goods I didn’t care for, canned asparagus being one of them. The thought of the stringy mush made me gag. In the bottom of the brown paper Piggly Wiggly bag, I spied some items I was a bit more attached to since I’d gone through Mrs. Dean’s house last week.

  To avoid stray zombies, I only entered houses of people like Mrs. Dean, who I knew for certain had evacuated. And that was only because I’d already gone through all the abandoned shops in town. I kept quite a bit of the nicer things for myself. After all, the world had ended for the most part, and I needed to keep my spirits high. A nice designer jacket or some high-end perfume would do the trick most days.

  Mrs. Dean had quite the jewelry collection, fine jewelry, none of that costume stuff. I did hope to keep most of it myself just in case she ever made it back. Assuming she took anything of real importance with her, I didn’t think she’d mind me protecting my independence with what was left either, presuming she was even still alive. After all, her autonomy had always been most important to her. The five-time divorcee and three-time chamber of commerce businesswoman of the year turned eighty-one years young the day before the evacuation. It’s a wonder she’d survived as long as she had once the shit hit the fan and the dying wouldn’t die.

  “Honey, I’m too mean to die,” she’d say, speaking of her reputation around town as someone you couldn’t walk all over. With her diner situated right beside my papa’s salon for over twenty years, she’d been like a grandmother to me, albeit the coolest granny ever, doting on me like one. While my real grandparents were absent from my life, because of my parent’s awful divorce, she always encouraged me to follow my dreams. Even if my dream had evolved once Dillon left me. Deciding to stay in Creepy to help run my papa’s several businesses just felt right.

  But all of that was in the past. I shook my head trying not to dwell on it.

  I finished my task first since I’d insisted Dillon bury the zombie corpse far away as to not attract anymore. Dirty and disheveled, he returned while I washed the blood off the back porch.

  “You want a fresh pail of water?” I offered to let him clean himself up.

  Without a word, he waved me off and sat on the bench exhausted. I went over and sat beside him with the bucket and rag, proceeding to wipe off his bloody hands like he were a child. Dillon cooperated. But once he caught his breath, he was ready to go. “I wish you’d come with me. It’s not safe for you here anymore.”

  “I’ll be just fine.” Knowing just how exhausting it was to dig a grave, I took my keys from him.

  We made our way to the truck. “You’ve got plenty of ammo?” He asked while he half-heartedly checked the bags.

  “More than enough.”

  “Need anything when I come back?”

  I squinted. That was a first. Dillon hadn’t asked before. Sure, he’d given me what he thought I needed, the radio. Actually, come to think of it, that’d been all. I had to take a moment. What did I need? “Are your eggs fertile?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you have roosters?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bring me some eggs.” I smiled. “Please.”

  “Keep your radio on, will ya? Please?”

  After driving Dillon back to town and watching him and Karl ride away, I thought about turning off the radio again but his offer to bring me something buttered me up. Maybe that had been his plan. Back home, I went about my routine, watering flowers on the porch and weeding the garden like the zombie sighting hadn’t happened. Mowing and weed eating the yard would have to wait until I made another trip out. I was low on fuel. Wetting the garden was out of the question since I was running low on rainwater, too. I needed to make a trip to the well, but my body said no. Smelling myself, I knew I had to save some water for my bath and washing up tonight, as well. I took a pail of it and secured the lid back in place to keep the mosquitos at bay. My bath wasn’t a full on, sit your ass in the tub type of bath. How I’d love to have one of those or to jump in a lake.

  A girl could daydream. Once inside, I locked all the doors, all the deadbolts I’d added to the house. Tugging all the curtains tight, I thought about how only a year ago, I was sitting pool side with a margarita. Making two visits into town today had been bad enough, I wouldn’t waste anymore gasoline to heat the water for a warm bath like I normally did. Forgoing my customary routine made me anxious. I hadn’t survived this long without a process. I lit a few candles in the bathroom and filled the sink with the rainwater. I sponged myself off with the cool liquid thinking of how I’d be building fires soon myself just like the Stayers. The reason why I didn’t send smoke signals up the chimney right now was obvious to me. I was only one person. I had done fine on my own, so far, but that didn’t mean I wanted to advertise my location.

  After buttering up with lotion, I dressed in the most amazing silk nightie from a posh boutique in town, something I would never own in normal times. I fastened on a pistol, something else I wouldn’t have owned before. Transferring the candles to the kitchen, I cracked open a can of chickpeas, chopped up some fresh kale and tomatoes. I added some parmesan cheese, olive oil, red wine vinegar and sprinkled on some seasoning, all shelf stable. Paired with some crackers and a glass of cabernet, I had a rather good dinner, considering. Afterwards, I checked every lock. Then I bolted myself into my new room downstairs. I read by candlelight, some romance novel about how an asshole changes his whole personality once the right girl comes along. Unbelievable. However, zombies were real. No. I decided, redeemable assholes were more unbelievable. Regardless, I read until I was tired enough not to think of what was lurking outside. I blew out the flame.

  The next day started like all others, with my fruitless walk to the mailbox. Of course, first I brushed my teeth and armed myself. No matter how lonesome it seemed, I wasn’t alone in this town. When I made it to the Dead End sign, I tried hard not to check our mailbox. For fuck’s sake, there wouldn’t be anything there, I told myself. Just as I was about to turn around and walk back, I gave in and yanked down the lid. I stared inside the metal box, letting the empty deep mock me as usual. Nothing. Obviously, I knew there wouldn’t be. It’s not like the post office was running. There’d be no junk fliers or bills. Nothing, even if I’d technically gotten mail from my stalker yesterday.

  Walking back, I wondered if I’d have any more surprises from him this week. Or her. Or they. At least I knew whoever had been leaving me gifts was not a zombie. A zombie would never figure out how to seal an envelope. What was the point? My stalker would leave mementos on my front porch mostly. Leave them when I wasn’t here. Maybe they knew my routine. I was predictable.

  Predictably, I had my coffee, black out of a mug from my youth, flipping through a magazine. Oprah, this time, speculating if she and other celebrities survived. I thought of Dillon’s mom in Switzerland. Did the rich and well off spread the virus all over the world when they headed for all corners of it? Or were they alive, waiting for the right time to return? I thought of Dillon saying people were returning. With zombies still lurking, nah. I dressed in my usual leggings and tank. There was no reason not to be casual. Besides, my whole day would be like one long workout as I went to collect what I needed to survive.

  When I climbed into the truck, I decided not to be predictable. I climbed back out and got the keys for papa’s Buick. Instead of heading to the Piggly Wiggly first thing and an entirely new street afterwards, I headed back to Mallard Avenue.

  I was in the market for a new set of wheels. Well, a vintage, new to me set of wheels. You only live once and all. Dreaming of the Camaro the whole drive, I tried not to regret the fact I’d be ditc
hing papa’s wheels. He’d taken such good care of the Buick Park Avenue. Sure, it was old, but brand new, back when I was in high school, it’d been the nicest car we ever owned. I always called it my papa’s car, but I’d always been the one to drive it.

  I parked in front of the house of the Camaro’s previous owners. Grabbing my backpack and the gas can, I said goodbye to the car. Remembering advice from Marie Kondo, a decluttering philosopher, I thanked it for its service and let go of it. In the dark garage, I turned on my flashlight, found a ladder and got to work on disconnecting the garage door opener so I could get the beauty home. Finished, I climbed down and raised the garage door with ease. The sunlight folded into the garage revealing just how nice the Camaro was in the light. Geezus. Someone had taken great care of this car. After all this time, it wasn’t even dusty. I couldn’t wait to take it out on the road, let the wind flip through my hair. Maybe I had been doing this whole apocalypse thing wrong? I’d clung to routine and a mundane existence for safety’s sake. It was time to throw caution to the wind. It was time to gas up the SUVs blocking it in and get this car on the road. I stepped back into the garage to grab the gas can filled with the fuel I’d removed from the very same vehicles. Stepping back into the light, there were two black SUVs in the driveway and behind them another identical one.

  “What? Another one that was there before.” Before the thought fully clicked, I ran for the Buick.

  “Hey, wait…” A man yelled, stepping out of the third black SUV.

  Fuck. He was a giant. I started the car and pulled out onto the road. He jumped in front of my car, his hands up. I screeched to a stop. I wouldn’t hit him. For fuck’s sake, he’d break my car in two, as big as he was. The behemoth had to be pushing seven feet tall. I undid the snap on my gun’s holster as he walked to the window. My hand on my weapon, I rolled it down a bit.

  His hand landed on my roof, probably covered a good chunk of it. He squatted down to face me. “I’m not infected,” he said right off.

  Oh, I hadn’t even thought of that. Since I’d gotten over the virus and didn’t die and change, being infected again wasn’t on my list of worries. I figured I couldn’t be reinfected. I ignored any doubt that creeped in now. “Me… either.”

  “You live around these parts?”

  I wasn’t about to tell him where I lived. “Guess so…” I remembered my manners and asked, “You?”

  “Just got back. Someone cleaned me out.”

  “Really?” I feigned innocence to cleaning him out yesterday.

  “Yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

  I assumed I wasn’t off the hook. He’d seen me run from the garage, evidently. “This is your house?” It was a question.

  “Yes, it is. It is now… It was my parent’s house.”

  “So, the Camaro?”

  “It’s mine.”

  Fuck. I couldn’t believe it. The one time I decided to get a new car, it’s taken.

  “Just drove it up from Florida. Someone stole the keys.”

  “I’ve lived in Creepy my whole life. What’s your name?”

  “Troy Broussard.”

  That sounded like a Louisianan last name if there ever was one. “So, you’ve lived here before?”

  “Yeah, back in middle school.”

  There was only one of those. “Creepy Middle?”

  “Um… yeah, with that funny principle… can’t remember his name,” he began. “Old man, gray hair, white suit… handlebar mustache.”

  Fuck. Yeah, Mr. Rhodes passed for Colonel Sanders. Troy was telling the truth. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight, just turned.”

  “Well, you must’ve known my brother Joey Landry then.”

  He thought for a moment then snapped his fingers. “Red headed kid, real wild child. Oh, yes. That would make you Innocent. Little Innocent Landry.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Everyone calls me Sissy.”

  “I remember you. You were going into sixth grade when I was going into eighth. But there’s something else. You look so familiar. Are you on t.v.?”

  Ugh. I had been during my last break up. I changed the subject. “Why’d you move if your parents still lived here?”

  “I moved over to Alexandria to go to the Christian Academy. They offered me a basketball scholarship I couldn’t refuse. I stayed with my aunt who lived there most nights. Then I was recruited by another high school in Tennessee… Wait, were you the one who took my keys, my beer?”

  Reaching in my pocket, I fished out the key on the Camaro keychain and handed it through the crack. Without a word, I did the same with the Suburbans’ keys.

  Now wise to my plans, he acknowledged, “You were going to take the car today.”

  “Yeah, I planned to,” I admitted, a little of my aggravation coming through.

  “Sorry about that.” He laughed, pocketing the keys. “You all alone? You okay?”

  “No,” I answered, automatically.

  His kind eyes filled with worry and his body stiffened.

  “I mean. I’m not alone.” I never liked to lie. I never had it in me, so the word had been self-defense, a reflex that was smarter than I was. I didn’t know him from Adam. Suddenly, I felt like a woman alone with a man three times her size. “There are loads of people in this town,” I added for good measure.

  “Oh, great.” He smiled, his eyes glistening with hope.

  That was adorable. And I wasn’t being sarcastic. Under his dark beard there was a gentleness I found instantly charming.

  “Where did you come from again, Florida?”

  “Yeah, luckily, I was in a bubble.”

  “A bubble?”

  “I guess you really don’t know me.”

  “I’m sorry. I barely remember anyone from school who was older than me.”

  “No, I mean from the NBA.”

  That explained the height. “I don’t follow sports,” I said, carefully as to not hurt his feelings.

  He laughed in disbelief as I find people always reacted to the fact. I didn’t like sports, but you’d think I told them I ate puppies for dinner. “You’re serious?”

  I nodded. “Guilty.”

  “Are you sure? I played for the Miami Heat for five years.”

  “Positive. Puppy eater here.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Did you just get out of Florida?” Last thing I knew, Florida was a waste land. Being the state with the first and biggest outbreak, they weren’t even on the evacuation list. Residents who hadn’t left Florida right away were to quarantine in place. That was a death sentence to everyone in the state. Borders, airfields and ports were closed and guarded by military.

  “Yeah, we were in a bubble, meaning the team quarantined together at Disney World.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah, until they all got sick, and I had to decapitate my friends.”

  Taken back by his bluntness, an awful scene played before me, one of me taking an axe to my father’s neck. I changed the subject fast. I plastered on my best southern smile. “What made you leave Florida?”

  “Survivors are coming back East so I was looking for my parents. Last I knew, before the phones stopped working, they planned to evacuate to New York or Maine.”

  Made sense. A lot of the older folk decided to go there instead of out west. The trip was shorter.

  “If folks really think it safe to come back, I thought they’d be coming back.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him I didn’t think anyone was coming back here. If anyone much over thirty-five caught the virus, they were doomed. Their best chance was to ride it out in one of the cities that had kept the illness at bay. For anyone other than a survivor, someone who caught the virus and lived, coming back here would be the end of them. Because after all, not even all the zombies were dead and buried. I was no scientist, but I knew the virus probably lurked in them.

  Thinking of zombies, I asked. “Did you find anything?” I lo
oked toward the house, so he’d get my meaning.

  “Yeah…” he began.

  “Oh, my, gosh. I’m so sorry.”

  “No, I didn’t find them dead or worse. I found evidence of suitcases packed. Valuables gone. Hey, you don’t know anything about that do you?”

  “I don’t go in the houses.”

  “What about your friends?”

  I’d told him I wasn’t alone. “Yesterday was the first time we’d been here,” I lied about the we part.

  “So, you think my parents got out?”

  “Everyone in town evacuated Creepy. For the most part. Everyone still living that is.”

  “You’re lucky they evacuated the city. People were turning in Florida, and they locked us in.”

  “The government didn’t know it, but here people were turning way before evacuation.”

  “And they let y’all leave anyway?”

  “Yeah, Louisiana was probably as bad as Georgia and Florida, but we saw what happened to y’all and kept it quiet,” I told him, meaning the powers that be lied about how bad the infection rate was in this state. And it wasn’t just those in charge, the citizens of this state wouldn’t admit there was a problem. A family member would turn zombie, and we’d kill them ourselves, bury them in the back yard and put on a smile like nothing was wrong. We really knew how to save face around here.

  “Why did you and your friends stay behind?” He asked.

  “For me… when the buses arrived, my dad had just started showing symptoms. There was no way he’d pass the screening, no way I could risk taking him and someone finding out how bad it really was in Creepy. Risk the buses leaving without the whole town.”

  He looked perplexed. “You do realize y’all probably let the virus into the quarantine zones.”