Fair Haven

by Red Lagoe

  Melody stood strong in the doorway, fighting with herself to not let him get too close.

  "However," John said, "I'd like you to come eat with us over there."

  She was about to turn him down, but John interrupted, "I've got a good set up over there, there's no reason for you to say 'no.' Get what you need, and I'll walk you over. It's getting dark."

  Though she was at a loss for words over his bossiness, and would have liked to give him a piece of her mind, she knew arguing wouldn’t help her slip away unnoticed that night.

  "I'll pack a bag and be over in a few," she lied.

  "I'll wait."

  She shook her head. "That's not necessary."

  John closed the door and stood in the foyer, staring her down.

  "Fine."

  She ran upstairs and packed a backpack full of supplies, still unsure how she was going to ditch this guy. An extra set of clothes, medical supplies from her kit, antibiotics and pain medication that she kept on hand for house-calls, tampons, and whatever she could find that would be helpful.

  She pulled an orchid envelope from her drawer and cradled it in her hands. It was the single most important thing she owned, but she could never bring herself to open it.

  Two days after her dad had committed suicide, it came in the mail for her. An orchid envelope with all the bullshit excuses for leaving her behind. He had mailed it to her before he committed suicide, but she never had the guts to open it. She couldn't bear to accept whatever excuse he had written inside. She had tucked it away, waiting for the right time to read it, but the right time never came. Her dad’s writing on the envelope had faded, and the galaxy-themed return address sticker had peeled up at the corners.

  She had a feeling the time was coming soon. She slid it into the outside pocket of her backpack and left her room.

  "Lightning bugs are coming out," John said as Melody came down the stairs and into the kitchen with her backpack. Melody's heart lightened for a second. A childlike feeling took over, and she ran toward the door, eager to see them glow through the glass door. The happy emotion surprised her, despite its brevity. She didn't think she could have feelings like that while the world was in its current state, but there it was.

  She looked out the window with him as the color faded from the grass with the darkening sky and the fireflies twinkled. His knuckles brushed against hers, but instead of pulling away, she allowed the backs of their hands to touch, dangling beside each other. She should have moved her hand, but every cell in her body wanted to be touched by him.

  John twisted his hand around and embraced her fingers—the same fingers that mere hours ago, clenched the baseball bat and bashed a man's head. His touch sent a surge up her arms and across her back.

  Goosebumps invaded her skin. She stared out the window as the fireflies lit up and disappeared. She could feel John's fierce glare piercing her, and her chest began to rise and fall heavily with each impassioned breath. She hoped he would release her from his gaze, but his stare did not relent.

  She rotated her body to face John. Her fingers entangled within his, and a mere inch separated their chests. John reached his other hand behind her, pressing it against the small of her back to pull himself in.

  Terrified of what was about to happen and fighting with herself not to do so, Melody gave in to her weakness. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, waiting for him to kiss her. John moved in, leaning closer, about to set his lips upon hers, when a startling knock at the front door jarred her from her state.

  11

  Dinner Party

  "I can't," Melody said, pulling away from his attempted kiss.

  "You can't what?" John asked and stared at her blankly. "Oh, you thought there was something between us? Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart."

  John laughed, trying to brush off the tension between them. He knew it was a dumb thing to say, but he couldn't let her think he came on to her.

  Melody shot him a glare, then sped away toward the sound of Candace at the front door. She called for John, and her voice became increasingly panicked. Melody unlocked the dead bolt, and Candace stormed inside, still donning the ridiculous short shorts and stilettos, carrying her casserole in her arms.

  "John?" she called out, stomping her heels through the foyer.

  Outside, three infected were coming down the street toward the noise. Melody slammed the door shut as John rushed to the dining room table.

  "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, already shoving the table against the door.

  Candace set the casserole on the floor and rushed up to him, enclosing him in a frantic embrace as he was still pushing on the table. She held onto his waist and her breasts pressed against him, while Melody peeked out of the edge of the blanketed window.

  "You said you'd be right back!" Her voice trembled.

  "Shhh!" Melody scowled. “They’re coming.”

  John pulled away from Candace. “I was coming-”

  He quieted himself as he tugged away from the girl's clutch and looked out the window with Melody.

  Three infected were stumbling onto the porch. John pulled his knife from his belt and Melody picked up her baseball bat. They backed away from the door and silenced themselves, ready to take on the infected if they broke in.

  "Candace," John whispered, "get something to defend yourself and be ready to evacuate."

  Instead, Candace retreated upstairs to hide while John and Melody stood at the ready, waiting.

  "You can go up there with her too if you're scared," he said.

  Melody shot him an even more terrifying glare.

  The infected snarled amongst themselves, fighting one another to get up the steps of the porch. Their bodies banged against the porch railing and against the wooden stairs for a few minutes, but seemed to lose interest in their pursuit of Candace.

  Those three minutes felt like ages to John as he awaited a breech, standing next to this woman with balls of steel.

  After the noises settled down outside, Candace crept down the stairs, still in heels. As the threat outside dissipated, John could see Melody's shoulders relax and her fingers loosened their grip on her bat, but she fought to not let her long, heavy exhale be heard.

  "Are they gone?" Candace asked.

  "Take those fucking shoes off," Melody said. "You're going to get us killed."

  Candace huffed with sarcastic southern hospitality, "Well nice to meet you too, dear."

  "She's right, Candace," John said. "What the hell were you thinking?"

  Candace put her hands on her hips. "Oh yeah? Well I ran here in these shoes, and I did just fine."

  "Oh yeah?" Melody mocked her, "You're lucky you didn't die. And you're lucky they didn't get in this house."

  Melody's chest puffed out. She dropped the bat and approached Candace like she was ready to pummel her. John would have liked to see if she had what it took to throw that punch.

  Candace crossed her arms in an arrogant stand, "Well, everything's fine, so calm down, bitch."

  "Hey!" John cut in, standing between the two women, imagining perverted things for only a split second.

  Melody's nostrils flared as John stood between them with his hands up. He tried to make eye contact with the rageful Melody.

  "Everything is not fine," she said to Candace and turned away.

  "Candace," John whispered, leaning in to scold her.

  "You were gone for like, ever. I saw that the sick people were way far down the street. I knew I could make it. I didn't come running over without thinking it through."

  John shook his head at her and turned away to go look out the window. More infected were appearing in the street, but with the darkening sky it was too difficult to tell how many.

  "Take your loud shoes off," he said with the sternness of a big brother. "You should've waited for me. You were supposed to cover for us when we came back.”

  "I brought the food," she snapped, stepping out of her shoes and losing four inches in height.


  "But not the rifle?"

  Candace kept a blank stare.

  "My pistol? Not your supply bag?" John continued to question her, but she had no excuse.

  By then there was an unknown number of infected lurking outside. The sound of Candace running across the pavement may have lured in more, and he didn't dare escort both women back to his house in the failing light without a gun. He shouldn’t have blamed Candace, though. He knew better than to leave the house without his pistol, but he did it anyway—cocky, dumbass move.

  They had food and shelter where they were, and he could get his rifle in the morning. He would stay with them at Melody's house until daylight. Play it smart.

  John got a layout of Melody's house, checking for exits and vantage points from the second floor. Candace worked on heating the casserole, and Melody kept an eye on the dippy young girl to make sure she didn't burn down her house, or invite the infected in for a party. For all John knew, Melody was willing to stab the girl in the back at a moment's notice.

  The three of them sat by dim candlelight over plates of shit tuna casserole, while thick blankets hung from the windows to obscure the light from the infected outside. The soggy noodles had absorbed most of the watered down cream of chicken soup, and despite the pastiness, it was the best meal John had eaten in a couple of days.

  Dinner was awkward and would have been silent, were it not for the sound of forks scraping against the plates. An uncomfortable tension between Melody and John grew while they sat across from one another eating their dinner. The flame flickered between them. He avoided eye contact with her, embarrassed about making a move on a married woman—even if her husband was probably dead.

  Candace sat beside John and scooted closer to him. She tossed her hair to one side, exposing her neck and releasing a heavy sigh.

  "Mmm..." She slid the fork out from between her red glossy lips, shifting her eyes to her right to see if John noticed her dramatic display. He noticed—who wouldn't? But his interests had fallen elsewhere.

  John, avoiding Candace's attempt to arouse him, wiped some food from the corners of his lips and looked up at Melody. "So... Evacuation plans-"

  "I already have a plan," Melody cut in. "You two have to do what you gotta do. I have to find my husband. He could be out there right now struggling to survive and I'm having a fucking dinner party."

  She shook her head in disgust and dropped her fork onto the plate, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers.

  John took another bite of his dinner and said with a full mouth, "We'll come with you."

  "I won't be endangering anyone else's life. I can handle it alone," Melody insisted.

  John laughed, "You're not Chuck Norris, Sweetheart."

  "Don't call me ‘sweetheart’, asshole."

  John shook his head, "I don't know if I could handle it alone!"

  "Well you're..." She glanced downward as if to suggest his missing limb would slow him down.

  "I'm what?" he asked, staring her down. "And 'sweetheart' is a lot better than 'asshole'."

  "Did I hurt your feelings, sweetheart?" Melody asked. "Was that sexist?"

  She smirked and pulled a short laugh from him.

  Candace grunted, pushing her chair back away from the table, and stormed into the kitchen, raiding Melody's cabinets. She thumped around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors, while Melody and John sat across from each other.

  "Yes!" she shouted, and came out holding a bottle of vodka.

  Melody laughed, "Are you even old enough?"

  Candace huffed with the sour face of an irritated preteen girl, then retreated with the bottle to the dark living room, while John helped Melody clear the table.

  "Look," he whispered, leaning closer. "I'm not the type of guy that goes after married women, OK? So let's just put whatever that was behind us."

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Melody said.

  "Good." John knew he was going to like this chick.

  "I don't even know if he's alive," Melody's voice cracked as she whispered.

  "So you want to just get out of Fair Haven instead? I'm good with that."

  "No. I have to at least try to find him. What kind of person would I be if I just gave up on him?"

  He remained quiet as she stumbled over her words of honorable intent. He didn't believe the guy was still alive. He would have come back for her by now, but that wasn't John's place to tell her that.

  "The world is fucked up right now," John blurted, "and when things get fucked up, it can be hard for people to do the right thing."

  "Not me. That's not going to be me."

  12

  Dr. Hill

  The blinds opened in front of Kayla Harford, and a set of handsome eyes peered out at her. He signaled for her to go away, but she screamed, insisting that she needed help.

  The blinds closed, and the lock on the laboratory door clicked. A man with messy dark hair poked his head out the door, surveying the halls as the infected Dr. Carter climbed to his feet.

  "Shit!" He yanked her by her arm to pull her inside the lab and locked the deadbolt on the heavy door, dragging her to the back of the room to hide.

  Dr. Carter dragged his feet to a standing position and lumbered toward the door, walloping against the glass with dried, bloody hands. Each thud was followed by the sound of his skin streaking against the glass.

  "Thank you." Kayla looked to her rescuer as they sat with their backs against the stainless steel cabinets.

  She had seen him working in the back of the lab before while she was dropping off files, but she didn't know anything about him other than he was cute. After her flirtatious episode with the married Dr. Carter, Kayla had warned herself to stay away from the guys that she worked with.

  The man—with eyes so dark, she couldn't decipher where the iris began and the pupil ended—scolded her, "You almost got us both killed. You're not bit are you?"

  "No," she said, crossing her arms, insulted at the rude welcoming.

  The laboratory was a gray, dull space about the size of her old high school lab, lined with stainless steel cabinets and counters, and several rows of microscopes and computers. A row of white coats hung from hooks along the back wall near a private breakroom with vending machines. The glass was busted out, revealing empty food slots. Candy and chip wrappers were overflowing the small garbage can in the corner.

  The overhead fluorescent lights created an even cover of lighting throughout the space, as well as a suicide-inducing hum that assaulted her ears.

  "You been here this whole time too?" she asked, her big green eyes were full of hope. Her breasts were barely contained in a black polka-dot blouse.

  "Yeah." He leaned the back of his head against the cabinet.

  His shaggy brown hair sat disheveled upon his head. He had a gentle face with a fine layer of sparse beard growth. Tall and lean—the body of a swimmer—wearing stained khakis and an unbuttoned blue shirt, exposing a sweat-soaked white tee.

  Dr. Carter's thumps against the door were weakening as the two sat side by side on the lab floor waiting for him to move on.

  "I was in the break room upstairs, but I ran out of food. Do you have any more food?" she asked, but he didn't answer her question.

  He stared upward at the flickering fluorescent lights.

  "This lab runs on a generator, so we can't stay here much longer," he said.

  "I'm Kayla," the young girl said. Kayla could tell that he took notice of her black lace bra that was exposed by the open top three buttons of her blouse, but she let him look anyway.

  The man let out a sigh and seemed to make an attempt at being pleasant.

  "Dr. Hill," he said and held out his hand. "I didn't know you worked here."

  She shook the doctor's hand and smiled, biting the corner of her lip, as she felt a rush of excitement run through her body. The scruffy man that saved her life was a doctor, and she was not about to leave his side. Hell of a step up from boring old Styles Newman.<
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  "I'm an intern. I had nowhere to go when it all happened," she said.

  Dr. Carter banged against the glass outside the lab again and Kayla flinched.

  "That..." Dr. Hill gestured toward the man outside the door, "...is why I stayed. Dr. Carter and I worked together here in Development."

  "I'm sorry." Kayla clutched her hands over her heart.

  "Don't be." His face went sour and he shook his head with disgust, "The moron wanted to get home to his wife."

  "Well that's admirable," Kayla said.

  "I told him he was no good to her dead. He didn't listen. He went out there, and..."

  "I'm sorry.” The only thing Kayla could think to say.

  "Well, nothing we can do about it now."

  "Did you contact his wife to let her know?" she asked.

  "You got a phone that works?" His voice was sharp and cutting.

  "Oh." Kayla felt stupid for asking, and the lab went quiet, but she couldn't bare the silence. "Do you know where he lives? Maybe we-"

  "No. I don't," Dr. Hill interrupted. He shook his head and kept all emotion locked behind his mysterious exterior, which made Kayla want to pry even more.

  "Do you have a family?" she asked.

  He took a deep breath. "No," he answered and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands, remembering the day that Dr. Carter left the lab.

  "I could hear him screaming out there," he said.

  Kayla placed her hand on his back while they sat on the floor. Her chipped nail polish sparkled beneath sputtering fluorescent lights. She looked up as the humming from the light waxed and waned, then steadied.

  The infected Dr. Carter had given up and stumbled down the hall, leaving them in peace. Kayla let out a sigh of relief and moved to a swiveling chair in the middle of the lab, folding her legs Indian-style, and exposing a brief glimpse of purple panties before she tucked her hands in her lap to push her skirt down. She pulled her flaming red hair out of the tightly spun bun and let it fall upon her shoulders.