by Joe McKinney
Looking down, she saw the blood and the arrow, which had neatly pierced her forearm and lodged the tip into her side. She made a frantic swing of the machete at the nearest undead but her vision clouded.
She fell to one knee, still trying to defend herself, as the darkness overtook her.
Chapter 7
Darkness.
Not gloomy like the middle of the night, sleeping under a cloudy sky with the undead all around you. This was black, stifling, closing in on her. Darlene tried to scream but her throat was too tight, her body unable to move. The night had weight and it was pressing against her, holding her under like an ocean.
“Fuck,” she managed to croak and turn on her side. There was a bed under her, soft covers and pillows. The air was cool, and she heard the distant hum of a central air unit. She smelled bacon cooking. She stretched her legs and thought she was dreaming.
A pain shot up her side and her left arm and she nearly passed out. She was awake, unfortunately. She remembered the fight on the beach and the arrow. Gingerly she felt her arm. It was bandaged, as well as her side. She realized with a start as she came fully awake that she was naked.
She rose on wobbling legs, her feet touching cold tile floor. Reaching in the dark, she found an end table and a lamp with her fingers. She clicked the button, figuring that it was futile. Instead, the lamp came to life, casting the room in a soft glow.
The bedroom was small. The bed, covered in navy blue sheets and six matching pillows, was only part of the meager furnishings. The end table with lamp and a plush chair in the corner were the other half. She moved slowly, her body stiff and her arm and side on fire, to the door she figured was the closet. It was empty.
She opened the other door to a dark hallway. Beyond it a candle was lit on a kitchen table and she smelled bacon again. Her mouth watered.
“Are you awake?” a male voice asked softly from the kitchen.
Darlene was startled. It sounded like her father. But her father was… unconsciously she went for her Desert Eagle but it was gone. “Where are my clothes?”
“Oops. Sorry. They just came out of the dryer.”
“Dryer? Where the fuck am I?”
The man laughed, his silhouette suddenly blocking the candle. He was big, wearing dark clothes and some sort of hat. He was covering his face with one arm and holding a laundry basket with the other. “Sorry, I lost track of time. Here are your clothes. I took the liberty of washing them, although they are a bit rough. You’ll find some undergarments in there that might fit you, they are brand new. Some shirts and a pair of jeans John-John thought might fit you.”
When Darlene didn’t move the man placed the basket slowly on the floor and walked back into the kitchen.
“Where are my weapons?” she asked, scampering to the clothes and grabbing them. She stepped back into the room, keeping the hall and kitchen in her sights.
“I cleaned the Desert Eagle. Nice piece. The Sig Sauer is actually mine. Your machete is pretty rusted and nicked, but I imagine I could sharpen it for you.”
Darlene dumped the clothes on the bed. Her ripped undies were there but a new pair of black thongs was a better choice. She slipped them on. They were a tad small but they hugged her skinny hips and didn’t dig too deep into her ass crack. A black T-shirt and tight blue jeans were perfect. She almost cried when she saw white socks, actual white and not gray, and smelling of liquid Tide and not puddle water. Her sneakers had been cleaned a bit, although they had multiple holes in them.
“Where am I?” she asked.
There was a pause as dishes were clanged. “I won’t bite you. You’re a guest in my home. Please join me for breakfast.”
Darlene went down the hall and stepped into the kitchen. It was small and cozy, with wood paneling covering the walls. The small window over the sink had been covered with a painting – Darlene recognized it as a reprint of Van Gogh’s Starry Night. Her mother had the same print above the television in her living room. The kitchen table was covered with boxes of ammunition, tools and electronic instruments.
Despite the candles spaced on the counters, Darlene could see that the electricity was working. The refrigerator hummed and she could hear the ice maker working. The bags she’d taken with her were sitting on the far counter.
Bacon was sizzling in a frying pan on the stove, a plate of scrambled eggs nearby. “Want toast with that? I have strawberry jam.”
“Sure.” Darlene was motioned to take a chair at the table. While she pushed boxes of shotgun shells to one side she stared at the man.
He was in his mid-sixties, with a shock of gray hair under a John Deere baseball cap. His clean-shaven face wore a mischievous smile. He winked at her with clear and piercing blue eyes. He whistled off-key as he sliced from a loaf of bread. “Just be a second,” he said over his shoulder. “Have a good sleep?”
“I guess.” Darlene remembered her manners. “Do you need any help?”
“Nah. Almost finished.” He put two pieces of bread into the toaster on the near counter. “Actually, you can fetch us a couple of cold beers from the fridge.”
“Isn’t it morning?”
He shrugged and laughed, almost choking as he tried to stop himself. “It’s actually about noon, little lady, and high time for a beer. When’s the last time you had a cold one?”
“I can’t remember.” Darlene stood and went to the fridge, feeling safe but off-kilter in the home and with this stranger. “I’m Darlene, by the way. Darlene Bobich.”
‘You can call me Murph.” He slid the bacon off of the skillet and onto a paper towel on a plate. “Give me a Bud, if you don’t mind.”
The refrigerator was loaded with items Darlene thought she’d never see again: four different kinds of beer, a plastic jug of milk, a small tub of butter, bags of various vegetables, and bottles of ketchup and mayonnaise. She pulled a Bud and a Corona and sat back down. Her plate was waiting and she nearly drooled at the sight.
“Toast will be right up. Did you say yes to jam?”
“Yes, yes.” Darlene wanted to wait for her host but Murph must have seen her staring at the food.
“Eat, Jesus, girl, don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up.” The toast popped and he tossed it onto a plate. “I have too much food here sometimes.” He turned to her and winked. “You happen to be visiting at one of those times.”
The eggs tasted like heaven, the bacon like sex. She ran her fingers around the plate when she thought he wasn’t looking, getting every last crumb into her mouth.
Murph laughed when he sat down across from her and handed her a slice of jam-covered toast. “I guess you were hungry, Darlene Bobich. Can’t say I’m surprised. You seem absolutely wasting away to nothing. Those clothes were hanging off of you.”
She gripped the toast but hesitated to bite it. “Who undressed me?”
Murph’s face grew red and he put his head down. “I did. I needed to dress that nasty wound, and your clothes were falling off.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You’re welcome.” He looked up at her. “I didn’t do anything to you, just so you know. I’m a gentleman, by and by.”
Darlene smiled and bit into her divine toast. “I’m afraid my best years are behind me.”
Murph laughed. “I may be sixty-six but I’m still a man. You clean up nicely. There’s a shower down the hall when you’re done with breakfast.”
“Thought this was lunch.”
“In today’s world, I can call this Murph-meal and no one could argue, right? The rules have all changed.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“I think your arm will be just fine. The arrow poked right through without hitting anything vital. It only skinned your side. It might be sore for a few weeks but you’ll live.”
“Thanks. Who shot me? You?”
“Nah, I’m not that good a shot anymore. Twenty or thirty years ago I would have killed you, and you’d have been dead before the arrow was through your skull.�
�
“Pleasant.”
“Um, sorry.” Murph scooped up some scrambled egg. “John-John shot you.”
“Who’s that?”
“My son. He’ll be around shortly. He came by to see you yesterday but you were still sleeping.”
“How long have I been here?”
“Almost three days. You had a fever and lost a lot of blood.” Murph put down his fork. “You also gave me a scare with that nasty bite on your ankle. It seemed to be… old.”
Darlene stood suddenly and grabbed her plate. “I’ll do the dishes if you want. That would be fair.”
“Don’t worry about that. Go take a shower; there are some towels and pajamas that should fit you in there already.”
“Thank you for everything.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Darlene tried to ignore Murph when he glanced at her ankle as she went past him and went to take a real shower.
Chapter 8
“Care for a pinch?” Murph asked Darlene, holding out some tobacco from a plastic bag.
“Not a fan, but I’m glad for the beer.” Darlene leaned back on the couch and put the cold Corona to her forehead. She was sweating despite the air conditioning. “All I’m missing is a lime.”
“I could probably get a few.” Murph put the pinch in his mouth and grinned. “I went almost a year without. I’d rather die than be without it. Everyone needs a vice, right?”
“I guess so.” Darlene closed her eyes. After the shower she felt tired again, but at least she finally had real shampoo and hot water in her hair. Murph had even put some mascara and lip gloss in the bathroom, which she took her time applying.
“You look better, especially with the makeup.”
Darlene must have given him a look because he put his hands up. “I’m just saying that you clean up better, that’s all. Shit, I’m too old for you, missy. I have a daughter your age.” Murph looked away. “Had a daughter.”
Darlene sat up. “Want to talk about it?”
“Shit, what’s to talk about? Ninety percent of the world died and tried to kill the other ten percent. We happen to be the unlucky ten percent. I’m sure everyone and everything you loved is long gone as well. No use crying over it.”
“I guess so. Want a beer?”
“Nah, but feel free to drink me out of house and home.”
Darlene laughed. “I’d be more than happy to help around this place. It could use a woman’s touch.”
“I suppose so. I can always get more beer.”
“How?”
“That’s a trade secret, missy.”
Darlene went to the refrigerator and grabbed the last Corona. “Where in Hell are we, anyway?”
“We’re about five miles from Hammond Beach, and about twenty south of St. Augustine.”
“How are we safe?”
Murph laughed and slapped his knee. “I forgot. You were passed out when John-John brought you here. Come with me.”
He led her through the front door. A cool ocean breeze made her smile as she stepped out onto a porch and stared at the ocean. The sun was setting behind her, shadows under the house. “We’re in a stilt house?” she said with a laugh.
“Twenty feet above the ground. They can’t reach us up here. Or there,” Murph said and pointed to a nearby house. “Or there.” Darlene counted ten stilt houses strung across the beach in a perfect line. “Every house is occupied or was occupied.”
“By who?”
“Survivors. Let’s get inside before we’re spotted.”
“By who?”
Murph laughed. “The living bastards that can still climb a ladder.”
Back inside, they took their spots in the living room. Murph sat down in a well-worn chair and put his feet up on the coffee table. “I’d still give my left one for a nice Big Mac.”
“I never thought I’d have a breakfast of bacon and eggs again.”
“I have some fish in the freezer for tomorrow. Most nights I make some grilled veggies and toss in a baked potato. Sound good?”
“If you let me I can make something special.”
“I’m listening.”
Darlene rose and went to the kitchen. “I can make a stew with the potatoes and veggies. Do you have cans of chicken broth?”
“I think I have two cans of beef broth in the cabinet. Never knew what to do with them.”
“Perfect. Come on, Murph, I’m going to teach you how to make Bobich Stew.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Together they cooked, Murph following directions and cutting the vegetables while Darlene prepared the potatoes and the broth. Once dinner was ready they went back to their spots and ate in silence.
“I’ll clean the dishes. Least I can do.” Darlene was feeling a bit tipsy from the beer and after the great meal she wanted to crawl back into that bed and sleep for a week.
“I need to dress that wound again,” Murph said. “Don’t want my new houseguest up and dying on me. Especially since she can cook and do dishes.”
Darlene tensed when she heard footsteps outside. She went for her Desert Eagle, still on the table, but Murph waved her off. “It’s John-John. He does that tapping noise on the top of the ladder to let me know it’s him.”
“You can’t be too safe.”
“I agree.”
The door opened and John-John stepped inside, carrying a backpack and a compound bow over his shoulder. His blue eyes locked onto Darlene. When she smiled at him he looked away and put his gear down.
“What kind of bow is that?” she asked.
“Jennings Cobra. I have three of them.”
“Nice. What kind of arrows do you use?”
John-John shrugged. “Whatever I can find. We raided a sporting goods store about six months back and found a pallet of them, all different kinds.”
“He’s gotten pretty good at it. He can hit a zombie in the face from a hundred feet,” Murph said.
“I guess I got lucky you hit me here,” Darlene said and gently tapped her arm.
John-John gritted his teeth. “You had no business trying to fight so many of them. I couldn’t get a clear shot at the ones closest to you.”
“Relax, I was teasing.” Darlene sat down on the couch and stared at John-John. He was a younger image of his father, a few years older than her but in great physical shape. Under his gray T-shirt she could see his well-defined body, his arms popping out of his sleeves. He was built, and he was cute. She couldn’t help stare at the bulge in his jeans. What’s wrong with me? Oh, yeah, I haven’t been laid in months.
“John-John and I share this house and the next one over. We use that one for supplies, weapons and such.”
“John, please call me John.” He shot a look at his father. “I haven’t been John-John since I was twelve.”
“You’ll always be John-John.” Murph stood. “It’s time for bed. You kids get some rest as well. Big day tomorrow.”
They both wished him a good night and John took his father’s seat.
“What’s tomorrow?” Darlene asked.
“What?”
“He said something about a big day tomorrow.”
John laughed. “He says that every night. For thirty-five years I’ve been hearing that line.”
He’s thirty-five, Darlene thought, and made a mental note. Only seven years older and hot as Hell. She smiled.
“What’s the matter?”
“What do you mean?” Darlene asked. She twirled her hair and tried to look casual when she took another swig of beer.
“Nothing.” John rose. “I need to get some sleep. I actually have a big day ahead of me tomorrow. We’re running low on supplies and I need to take a run up to St. Augustine and see if I can get some work or trade.”
“Need company?”
John hesitated. “We’ll see. Good-night. There are two vacant houses, so if you are planning on staying I’m sure Griff will let you have one.”
“Who’s Griff?”
�
�I’m sure you’ll meet him tomorrow. Nothing much goes on without Griff and Peter and Kayla knowing. I’m sure they have a hundred questions for you.”
Without another word John retired to a back bedroom.
Darlene was hoping for a seductive look, even a glance back when he walked out, but she got nothing. She heard his door close and heard the lock engage. She didn’t blame him; these days the living were just as awful as the dead.
Darlene finished her beer and decided to slip into bed and play with herself until she passed out.
Chapter 9
Darlene was disappointed but not surprised when she woke the next morning and saw that John had already left. Murph had a pot of coffee brewing and he was scrambling eggs. “Morning, missy,” he said. “I hope you slept well.”
“Haven’t slept like that in, well, months. It sure beats sleeping in dumpsters and in abandoned houses.”
“I would imagine.” Murph slid some eggs onto two plates.
Darlene poured coffee for them and sat at the table. “How long have you lived here?”
“About four months.”
“Really? I just assumed this had always been your home.”
“Fat chance. These stilt houses go for close to a million bucks… well, they did before. When we got here this one was empty so we moved in. Pretty much everything you see was already here.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“Pensacola. Born and raised in Florida.” Murph forked some eggs. “I’m guessing from that accent that you’re from either Boston or Rhode Island.”
“A bit farther north. I’m from Maine. Born and raised, as they say.”
“Ever been to Florida before all this?”
“No, I had never been farther south than Manhattan. How about you?”
“Never been farther than Virginia myself. I’ve never even seen snow in person.”
“You haven’t missed much. I just spent a winter buried in it in Baltimore and it was not fun.”
