Divided We Rot (One Nation Under Zombies Book 3)

by Raymond Lee

  Cruz laughed. “Sure. That works. I need better access to your wound and this is pretty gnarly looking. It’s all crispy with dried blood.”

  “Ugh, you’re gonna make me throw up again.” She swallowed hard and a light shade of green colored her face.

  “So cut it?”

  She gave another slight nod. “If my boob pops out I’ll somehow find the strength to kick you in the nuts.”

  “I have no doubt about that,” he said, cutting the bloody portion of her sports bra away. When he was finished she was still covered, but the swell of her left breast rose over the edge of material remaining. He placed a towel behind her before he settled her back fully into the chair and picked up a hand towel for the front of her. He stared at the scrap of material covering her breasts and bit his lip. “Um… so… when I clean your wound there may be more blood, not to mention wetness from the water and alcohol. I need to put this towel under it so it’ll absorb everything without staining what’s left of your bra. I was going to just tuck it into the top.”

  Raven narrowed her red-rimmed eyes, took the hand towel from him and tucked it into the top of her bra.

  “Or I guess you could do it,” he said. He removed the dressing he’d covered her wound with earlier and felt a stab of guilt as Raven winced from the feel of air hitting her marred flesh. He nearly winced himself, the sight of the wound a reminder that he could have prevented her pain if he’d just grabbed her before she went over the edge of the truck bed. He’d been right next to her.

  “You’re blaming yourself again,” she said as she rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Sorry.” He set the used dressing aside and wet a rag, his hands shaking, unnerved by how easily she’d read his mind. He wasn’t much of a prayer, but he hoped with everything he had she couldn’t read his mind all the time. Many of the thoughts going through it since he’d found the cabin were too scary and disgusting for him to handle. If she knew there was a voice in his head telling him to do unspeakable things to her she’d run as fast as her virus-riddled body would allow her. She’d probably choose to face off with zombies rather than stay in the cabin with him and allow herself the time needed to get better. He couldn’t have that. Worse, he couldn’t have her look at him like the monster he feared he could be if he ran out of his medicine and gave in to the voice. He rinsed the wound then dabbed around, cleaning what didn’t wash away with the rinse. Without the T-shirt and the bra strap in his way he was able to do a much better job at cleaning it than his first attempt, and was relieved to see that despite his lack of skill in first aid Raven’s wound looked better than it had the day before. The whole area was dark with bruising, but it didn’t look necrotic. Fresh blood seeped out as he washed the area but it didn’t gush, and it was a bright, normal-looking red. He had no idea what any of that meant, but he was relieved not to find any pus or any weird colors coming out of her body.

  “This might sting,” he warned as he uncapped the alcohol and wet a fresh rag with it. He dabbed the alcohol along the marred flesh, feeling like the devil himself as Raven hissed and clenched her entire body against the pain. “I’m sorry.”

  He blew on the wound, hoping that helped lessen the pain, and applied a fresh dressing. Once finished, he grabbed the shirt and pulled Raven forward enough to slide it behind her. He helped her fit her arms inside the sleeves, and threaded the buttons through their respective holes as she rested back against the chair. His knuckles skimmed her breasts and he was thankful he’d taken the extra dose of medication even if it lowered his supply. The voice in his head would have loved the vulnerable position Raven was in and it would have done everything in its power to make him do what it wanted. “There,” Cruz said as he removed the towel he’d draped over Raven’s lap and stood. “Now we’ll get you back into the bed, which is nice and dry now, and I’ll heat you up some soup.”

  Raven sat forward to say something but her face twisted in pain as she grabbed her stomach. Before Cruz could open his mouth to ask what was wrong she leaned over the side of the chair and vomited, spewing remnants of her previous meal onto the floor.

  Cruz grabbed a fresh rag, dipped it in the soapy water he’d used for her sponge bath, rang it out and used it to wipe her mouth as she cried.

  “Hey, it’s all right. No reason to cry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve done nothing wrong.” You didn’t let anyone down. You didn’t fail to protect the person you love. You’re not holding back a darkness inside you that wants to destroy everything you care about.

  “I want to die.”

  “No you don’t.” On his knees before her, he pulled her to him and held her against his chest. “You might feel like that because your body is fighting this shit, but you want to live and you’re going to. You’re going to find your little sister and you’re both going to survive all of this. I’m going to make sure of it.”

  He waited a moment to make sure she wasn’t going to retch again then scooped her out of the chair and carried her to the bedroom. He felt the heat coming off of her as he lay her trembling body onto the bed and pulled the sheet over her. “Get some rest,” he said softly as he checked to make sure he had a pot in position on the floor for if she needed to throw up again, and poured a glass of water from the pitcher he kept on the nightstand next to her. “I’m going to clean up the living room and then put some soup on for you so it’s ready when you’re hungry.”

  “I’m sorry you have to clean up for me.”

  “As long as you stay alive I don’t care what I have to do,” he said, kissing her forehead, instantly concerned by the amount of heat against his lips. “I’m sure I deserve far worse than cleaning up vomit. Don’t worry about me. Get some sleep and get better.”

  He stood over her until her breathing fell steady, indicating she’d fallen asleep, and wiped the tears still dotting her cheeks. He tucked the sheet around her more securely and left the room to clean up the mess he’d left in the living room. He didn’t even react to the sour smell of vomit as he cleaned the floor, too worried about the woman in the bedroom still shivering in sleep despite the fever consuming her body. He’d fed her, bathed her, dressed her wound and her body, but he didn’t know what more he could do for her. All he had on hand was Tylenol he’d found left behind in other cabins. She probably needed something more, antibiotics at least. He had no idea where they were to even know where to begin looking for drugs, hers or his.

  Where had the others gone? Hell, he didn’t even know if they were alive. When he’d grabbed Raven off the road his concern had been putting distance between them so they wouldn’t kill her. The last he’d seen of them, Hal had wrecked the truck and they were in the middle of a shitload of infected people. He’d heard their shots as he ran down the off ramp with Raven in his arms, a lot of shots. For all he knew they’d run out of ammo and gotten killed but he hadn’t heard any screams. He needed to go back and see if the truck was there or if they’d managed to make it out. If they hadn’t made it the truck could still be there with their supplies. Cruz cursed his ignorance. His backpack! His, Raven’s, and those of anyone who hadn’t made it could be there in the truck. His medication was in his backpack. He cleaned up the mess faster as he tried to estimate how long he’d need to leave Raven unguarded to go back to the interstate. He didn’t want to risk leaving her alone but it was becoming more apparent to him that being alone with him was the greater risk if he didn’t stay medicated enough to hold back the evil thing inside him that wanted to harm her, the thing he was starting to think of more and more as a completely separate entity. Whatever it was, he thought as he looked back toward the room where Raven rested in the bed, weak and completely vulnerable, he had to keep it locked up. If he couldn’t, he needed to keep far away from Raven, but he didn’t want to do that, and he couldn’t do that as long as she needed protection, even if she also needed protection from him. “Hal, if you’re out there,
find us,” he whispered as he finished cleaning the floor. “Even if you have to kill me to stop whatever this is inside me, just find us and help Raven.”

  The church was a big white building, two stories high, with a cross that started at the base next to the front doors and reached to the tip of the roof which had been raised in that particular spot to accommodate the large Christian symbol. The windows were stained glass and arch-shaped. Inside, rows of pews stretched from the front to the back with an aisle down the center leading to the pulpit. Behind the pulpit, the floor was slightly elevated and there were two pews for the choir. Hal immediately searched for the baptismal font as he stepped inside, locating it to the right of the pulpit. Shaped like an octagon, it rested in the corner and to his relief, held water. While finding a source of holy water helped him with the Cruz situation, his gut twisted as he took his seat and scoured the room, searching for Leah.

  “Who in the black Jesus did the art up in here?” Damian muttered under his breath as he sat next to him and observed the murals painted on the walls, all of which featured blond, blue-eyed Caucasian representations of Jesus and a pale Virgin Mary with blue eyes and hair the color of dark honey. “White people kill me with their church art. That don’t look like Jesus of Nazareth to me. Looks like Jesus of Abercrombie and Fitch.”

  “Focus, Damian,” Hal said as Elijah took his seat next to them and the rest of the people who’d filed in behind them in line continued taking seats. Like the dinner hall, they took seats in the order they arrived, leaving no seats untaken. “Look for Leah.”

  They scanned the room, not finding her in the pews that had filled first prior to them entering, then turned back to watch the remainder of people entering. Hal’s heart sank a bit more with each second that passed. There were many women of Leah’s size with long brunette hair, but none were her. As the last people trickled in, now standing around the room as all the seats in the pews were taken, the two men at the entrance pulled the double doors closed. Hal sighed and started to turn toward the front but was distracted by the sight of Damian staring hard at something up front. He followed his gaze to see him locking eyes with a dark-skinned man in his late twenties to early thirties. It was hard to tell with the facial hair, but the interest in his eyes before he narrowed them and turned away was clear.

  Hal nudged Damian’s ribs with his elbow hard enough to elicit a grunt. “Have you lost your mind?” he growled as low as he could, careful not to draw any more attention than Damian had already risked drawing. “Not here.”

  Damian opened his mouth to respond but snapped it closed and looked down. “My bad.”

  Elijah looked over at them, brow wrinkling in confusion. Hal shook his head and nodded toward the pulpit as the preacher greeted the congregation. After greeting the room he took a seat and the choir members stood from the pews behind him, to his right, placing them on Hal’s left.

  “Oh Lord,” Damian muttered as the all-white group of mostly women started to sing an off-key and emotionless version of “He Touched Me.”

  “No, honey, he didn’t touch you,” Damian grumbled a moment later. “He smacked the spit out of you for ruining that song.”

  Hal elbowed Damian again and sent him a warning look to keep his mouth closed before he spoke too loud and someone overheard. Sensing someone’s attention on him he looked over to his right to see David a few pews up front of him on the other side of the room, one row ahead of the man Damian had been eying. The man held his gaze until the song ended and the preacher took his place at the pulpit.

  “Please open your bibles to Leviticus.”

  Hal’s stomach sank.

  “That was the angriest sermon I’ve ever heard,” Elijah whispered as they exited the church. “And the longest.”

  “That was dinner at Aunt Boosie’s,” Damian said, “except with bad music, no cussin’ and no snatchin’ wigs.”

  “And no food?”

  “Sometimes we didn’t get to the food at Aunt Boosie’s. Sometimes her and my mom started slapping each other with the pork chops and Uncle Earl passed out in the potatoes. Usually, we left and got takeout on the way home.”

  “Is your Aunt Boosie still alive?” Elijah asked.

  “I don’t even know,” Damian answered. “After Mama died I had no reason to speak with her and she sure didn’t want to speak to me unless it was to preach at me about how I was going to hell. If she made it to the outbreak she’s probably still kicking. She’s too damn mean to die and if one of those things bit her she’d probably bite it back and give it rabies.”

  “You know that sermon seemed awfully inspired,” Hal said, voice low, as he led them in the direction of David’s house.

  “Trust me, Hal, when someone spends over two hours going on about sins of the flesh and sexual immorality, enunciating every syllable of the word homosexual, I pick up on it. We need to find Leah and get her out of here, but I have a feeling we’re going to be told something at David’s house that will put a cork right in that idea.”

  “Glad you picked up on it,” Hal said. “Yet you still chose to bat eyelashes at that man in there? That went beyond playing with fire, Damian. It was plain stupid.”

  “First of all, I don’t bat my eyelashes. Second, I wasn’t flirting with that man. I know him. What you saw back there was recognition. Believe me, the only thing I want to put in that man is the tip of my knife and no, that isn’t innuendo.”

  “It isn’t anything that’s ever going to happen either,” the man in question said, appearing next to Hal. He matched their pace and looked past Hal to Damian. “Are you part of the new party that arrived yesterday?”

  Damian nodded. “Where are the wife and kids?”

  “Dead,” the man answered, “and I know that probably makes you a little happy but I’m warning you now that if you show even the slightest bit of that happiness I will put you in the ground. Think what you want of me, but my family is off limits.”

  “I don’t go that low, bro,” Damian said, voice soft. “I’m sorry for your loss. Sincerely. They didn’t deserve that.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “I know you,” Elijah cut in, eyes narrowed as he studied the man. “Who are you?”

  “Just an old friend of Damian’s,” the man said, scratching his beard. “As an old friend who has been here a while I feel I should warn you that your kind doesn’t seem to last long around here.”

  “My kind?” Damian’s mouth twisted into what Hal could only describe as the most disgusted grin he’d ever seen.

  The man returned an equally disgusted grin. “I see you’re not above acting when your life is on the line either. You’ll want to keep doing that. That’s all I had to say, that and keep the hell away from me.”

  Hal raised his eyebrows and turned toward Damian as the man split off and went about his business. “Care to explain what that was about?”

  Damian rolled his eyes and turned toward Elijah. “His name is Trey. You know him as T-Money.”

  “The rapper?” Elijah’s eyes widened in surprised as he looked behind him, searching the man out for a second look. “I thought he was familiar but couldn’t pinpoint it with the beard and normal clothes. He was always blinged out and had the grill and everything.”

  “That was all for show as was his marriage to a woman.”

  Elijah’s mouth dropped open.

  “So you’re saying he is gay but he married a woman as cover,” Hal surmised.

  “That would be correct. He married a woman, had some kids, and lived a complete lie. Hell, he isn’t even the slightest bit thuggish like his songs would imply. He’d probably shoot his own nuts off if you handed him a loaded gun. Well, at least he would have back then when I knew him. Apocalypses tend to change people.”

  “I doubt it un-gays people, and he seemed to be sending you a message.” Hal’s gut twisted as they neared the big farmhouse. Several armed men stood outside, posted along the perimeter in case of trouble. “No matter what David tells us in
here, keep your heads. We can’t ruffle any feathers until we know where Leah is.”

  The men guarding the house gave them a onceover, seemed to recognize that they were people who belonged there at the given time, and stepped aside as they crossed over to the porch, climbed the steps, and knocked on the front door. Another armed man opened the door, looked them over, and motioned them inside.

  They stepped inside and Hal immediately elbowed Damian in the side, sensing one of his Damianisms about to erupt out of him as they took in the inside of the house. They stood in a large living area with furniture that looked like it had been selected at various estate sales after its original elderly owners had passed on. Quilts draped across everything and other than family pictures, the walls and every bit of shelf space was covered in a mix of religious décor and pigs. Pigs were everywhere, even perched on the edges of the staircase steps which led up to the second floor.

  “They got pig flower pots in here,” Damian whispered. “That pig’s got lipstick on and it’s wearing earrings. The other one has a bowtie. That ain’t natural.”

  Hal elbowed him again as the armed man led them through the living room, past a bathroom with the oldest toilet and bathtub Hal had ever seen, and into a small dining room that sat off the kitchen. The dining table and chairs looked to be pure oak, matching the large hutch resting against the wood-paneled wall. A bulky copper rooster sat on an ecru crocheted doily in the center of the table with two hen-shaped candle holders on either side. The hutch was filled with heavy white china dishes and little rooster figurines.

  “Have a seat,” the man instructed. “David will be with you soon.” He walked through the kitchen door, leaving them alone.

  “You think Aunt Bee is in there?” Damian asked as they took seats side by side at the table, leaving the two seats at either end free for David, assuming he’d choose to sit at the head of the table or at least across from them. He tipped his head toward the kitchen door. “Most houses we’ve seen look horrible because of what happened, but I get the feeling these people have always lived like this. This is real country. I thought people only lived like this in the Deep South, like Kentucky and Alabama.”