by Casey Lane
I squeezed my eyes and mouth tightly shut. Inside my head, I screamed and cursed so loudly for being such an idiot that I didn’t at first hear all the screaming and cursing around me. Scooting to back away from where I last saw the crazy man, I felt hands grab me under the armpits. Before I could panic, the hands pulled me away and it was Rod’s soothing voice that ordered me not to talk, open my eyes, or touch my face. I was barely breathing through my nose, so he didn’t have to tell me twice.
All I had were impressions. I heard one of those terrible predator howls and the hair rose on my arms because it came from so near. The cry was abruptly cut off and then all I heard were swear words, grunts, and slapping, wet sounds. For some crazy reason, I thought of “Lord of the Flies” as I pictured Kevin and Hugh stabbing the infected man with their weapons over and over. I think I heard Barbara’s high-pitched screaming, too. Not in tearful terror, but in bloodthirsty excitement.
Ray Dean shouted, “This dude stinks bad! Real bad! Woo-doggie! Yo’, T-bone! You smellin’ what I’m smellin’ here?”
“It would be hard not to, Ray Dean, since I’m standin’ right here next to you!”
I was swept up off the ground and Rod’s voice spoke above my head. He sounded as he always did, in control and on the edge of a laugh. “I’m taking her to that farmhouse for a shower. You guys take care of everything here. Wrap up the poor bastard in that tarp, but for God’s sake, don’t touch him.”
Everybody yelled out repeated reassurances to Rod that they’d handle it, and to me that I was going to be okay, but I could hear the fear underlying their voices. Ray Dean didn’t make any dirty innuendos at Rod’s shower comment, so I knew it was bad. I must have blood all over my face.
Kevin and Hugh were talking quickly to Chip, explaining why they’d just pulverized his friend. Chip confessed Johnny had gotten into a tussle with some other drunk in a parking lot when they’d left a strip club late last night in Minneapolis. Johnny had complained the fucker had bit his hand, but they all laughed it off since they were so blitzed.
Then we were running and I didn’t hear anymore of Chip’s story. I was cradled against Rod’s chest while he gave me hell, but his voice was still threaded with amusement.
“You have got to be the stupidest brilliant woman I have ever met! You ducked on command like we’d practiced the move on the field together for hours. It was the most beautiful dive I’d ever seen, but then you went and ruined it by rolling like a fucking alligator hugging its prey in the water!”
I listened resentfully while I felt sorry for myself and thought that Ray Dean was right and Barbara was wrong. Rod was definitely strange where women were concerned, and he certainly didn’t want me--not if he could be even a tiny bit amused at a time like this. What would it take to get Rod to take a situation seriously and not tease me? My God, I was doused with crazy sauce like I’d been marinated for a zombie BBQ and he was giving me crap about alligators!
“My God, woman! If you live through this, I swear I’ll be tempted to put you down just to put myself out of the misery that I know will dog my ass every moment of every day because you are so goddamned reckless!”
He paused in his rant and I was told to “Hold on” while Rod opened the SUV and guided me onto the back seat. As if I had a choice whether to wait or not, as if I asked him to be my bodyguard that watched me every moment of every day.
It was unbelievably hard to keep my eyes and mouth screwed shut, but even tougher not to touch my own face. I read somewhere that the average person touches their face two to four times per minute. Try having blood dripping down everywhere on top of that. It was itchy. Ray Dean was right; it stunk something fierce, too.
I heard the driver door open, the truck bounced, and then Rod sped off.
He shouted back at me, “Nod yes if that house has a shower.”
I nodded.
“Other than the blood, are you hurt?”
I shook my head no, although my right elbow and hip hurt where I landed on the road. My clothes had protected me from scrapes, though, so it was no big deal. My head felt tender where my braid had almost been yanked out by the roots, but I didn’t think the crazy drew blood.
“Okay, good.”
I felt the SUV stop. My door opened and Rod scooped me up. He ran with me again and then I was jostled when he took the front porch stairs.
He paused at the door and I heard the door knob jiggle. There was a key hidden under the bench, but Rod didn’t respond to my tapping on his arm. I felt his muscles coil and then the door went flying open from his kick.
“Upstairs?” Rod asked in a normal tone, at least no longer ranting.
I nodded again. My head was bounced against his shoulder as he bounded up the stairs. He apologized when my dangling legs got slammed against the wall at the sharp turn in the narrow staircase. I winced at the pain, but figured what did Rod care if he knee-capped me, since I’d probably be dead soon anyway.
The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. I didn’t need eyes to see every inch of the room. There was an ancient claw foot tub near the window. A small fiberglass shower enclosure was in the corner, and it was probably the last “modern” convenience added to the farmhouse. I always wondered how Uncle Coop managed to turn around in that shower. I had felt claustrophobic in the small space when I was a teen.
Rod set me down in the room and I stood with my arms hanging loosely while I heard the old pipes creak as he wrenched on the water in the shower. I heard him search through drawers and open and slam cupboard doors.
He yelled out, “Eureka!”
He grabbed my arm and started to lead me to the water, fully clothed. I held up a hand in protest. I made a shooing gesture for him to leave the room, but Rod only laughed grimly in return and stated flatly, “I’m not leaving this bathroom, so don’t waste time arguing. Now get in the damn shower!”
I smacked a hand in his general direction, pointed to my holster and shrugged off my unbuttoned over shirt. I unclasped my belt, slid it off, and handed my gun to Rod.
He murmured, “You’re right, you need to get these clothes off. They’re bloody and will have to be burned, but hurry up!”
When I leaned down to untie my boots, Rod pushed my hands aside. He loosened and pulled off my boots while I undid my cargo pants that held my phone, extra magazines, and assorted other important items in the pockets. I patted the pockets to get Rod’s attention.
He said impatiently, “Okay, I’ll empty the pockets.”
I let my pants fall, stepping out of the legs. I stood there a moment, wearing only my panties and the short, white T that I’d worn underneath the buttoned-down shirt.
I needed to wash all the blood off my body, not wear a nasty, infected shirt in the shower to preserve my modesty. I carefully pulled the shirt over my head without touching my face.
Rod took it from me and I waited for him to lead me to the shower, chilled and exposed in only my panties, since I hadn’t worn a bra.
“Please tell me because I can’t wait another second to know, did you get any blood in your mouth or eyes, Acadia?” Rod’s deep voice was serious as church.
I had been granted my wish that Rod not be amused for once, so I shouldn’t complain that it was out of sympathy I may be dead soon. I was grateful to have to keep my eyes squeezed shut rather than meet the pity in those golden depths.
I could only put out my hands and shrug in reply. I thought I’d reflexively closed my eyes and mouth in time, but I couldn’t be positive.
Rod blew out a curse at my inconclusive response, but his hand was warm and gentle on my elbow as he led me over to the waiting shower. “I didn’t want to chance pouring water over your face out on the road.” He murmured, “Lift your foot up here over the ledge. We’ll clean you off methodically.”
I lifted my foot and stepped in cautiously. He said, “Tilt your head down and use this washcloth to wipe off the blood around your nose. That’s right, good girl. A little more to the left.” He took t
he washcloth from my hand. “Okay, I’m going to use the sprayer and get all the blood off the bottom of your face first, so hold this clean cloth over your nose and don’t open your mouth.”
I nodded and he chatted casually while he sprayed me carefully with the hot water and gave further directions. “Here’s a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Swirl it around and gargle, but don’t swallow,” Rod warned sternly, as if I’d chug the bottle without his guidance. “Okay, now spit it out.”
I followed his instructions, and then he rinsed off the rest of my face and down the length of my body. After a few minutes of steady rinsing, he had me scrub my hands and then carefully wash my face with soap while he sprayed me down. He gave me another washcloth and told me to bend over and keep everything shut while he washed my hair.
Rod hadn’t given me permission to speak yet, so I vehemently shook my head.
He chuckled, breaking the intense, intimate atmosphere in the steaming bathroom. “Alright, talk and tell me what’s wrong.”
I still kept my eyes squeezed shut, but squeaked out between tight lips, “Get the scissors and cut off my braid first.”
The crazy had caught me by grabbing onto my braid and I wasn’t going to allow that to happen ever again. In fact, I might go all GI Jane and shave bald, if I survived the next few hours.
Rod laughed, saying in protest, “But I love all that black hair. I have plans for that hair!”
He started rapidly unbraiding my hair and his hand brushed against my erect nipple. I jumped a foot at that electrifying touch, and then slapped his hand away from my breast.
I could hear the smile in his golden voice when he murmured, “Let me unbraid it and drape it over those sweet, little breasts. I want to see your pink nipples poking out just this once.”
I covered my breasts with my hands and yelled, “I knew you’d have no manners and have to say something about my breasts, you damn juvenile boy!”
“Juvenile boy?” He chuckled again, and it was the low teasing sound I had insanely thought for one instant that I actually missed when he’d been so serious. “Sure, they’re itty bitty little mouthfuls, but that’s no reason to be ashamed and hide them, Mary-Acadia.”
I think I growled, and I was worried the virus had overtaken me already because I could clearly imagine tearing Rod from limb to limb with my bare hands.
Rod ignored my symptoms. “Allow me to rephrase and speak like the gentleman my mother raised me to be.” His accent was that of an upper class Brit. “My dear, your breasts while small, are perfectly formed for display in polite circles. Full and round but never vulgar, they are the archetypes of breasts for our sort of people. Your nipples, however, are ripe succulent strawberries that beg to be sucked and bitten. How gauche, darling. I shall have to take them under consideration after I finish my afternoon tea, what?”
The bastard actually tweaked me then!
I punched the air where his bored, English voice had just been, even as a part of me questioned what kind of mother he had and wasn’t she supposed to be Italian?
Rod easily dodged my blows and continued to spray my lower body with the hot streams of water to keep me warm, careful not to get my hair wet. “No, if I was a juvenile boy, I’d say something insultingly dorky like, “Hey, girl,” His voice was high and his tone swaggering, “I like how you don’t wax your pussy bald like so many women do these days!”
I was so shocked, I didn’t squeak from fear this time, but astonishment. “They do that?”
Rod’s laughter could probably be heard down on the road, but he only said, “Bend over, Boudicca. Shut your mouth and let me wash your beautiful hair, then we’ll cut it off if you want.”
I complied, still stunned by his revelation. I kept my hands tightly crossed over my tiny road bumps while my fat, old-fashioned ass in my wet panties that inadequately covered my hairy vagina stuck up in the air defiantly.
I joked about never getting off the farm much in the last decade or two, but now I felt older than Methuselah. I had heard of a Brazilian bikini wax, of course, but I never dreamt that meant ripping out every single pubic hair. I had imagined it meant a neat, manicured landing strip above the entrance to the main terminal, but never completely mowed bald! How could I not know this fact? What kind of man preferred a woman with not one single pubic hair? Had Lawson wished I was a baldy down there? Was Deb bald as a cue ball? My God, did every woman strip and do lap dances, too?
I groaned out loud in frustration.
Rod’s voice soothed, “Don’t be scared. I won’t lie to you that everything will be fine because we both know only time will tell. But I will promise that I won’t leave your side. You’re not alone in this, okay, Boudicca?”
I groaned a little again, but this time in fear at the thought of turning into one of those crazies. I didn’t want to become infected, but my heart warmed at his words. His stupid accent thing and all the boob talk had probably been for my benefit to distract and entertain me, or so I hoped.
Rod said, “Okay, I’m almost done.” The warm water bathed my face and when I finally opened my eyes, it was to see Rod standing without a shirt on and smiling down at my body. “Don’t be shy; drop your hands one more time for brother Rod.”
I snarled into his smiling face, all cozy, friendly thoughts erased.
I pushed by him, refusing to stop and stare at the sight of his tattooed muscles. I kept my back to Rod and vigorously tried to dry off with the only towel in sight--a very small one. What the heck was wrong with Uncle Coop? Did he never bathe and need man-sized towels?
Behind me the sound of a belt buckle clunked on the tile floor and it took every bit of self-control I had to leave that bathroom without looking back. I had to get dressed. First I had to find some clothes.
I hesitated out in the hallway. Should I help Rod get any infected blood washed off as a result from carrying me? I shook my head at that temptingly bad idea and walked quickly to Sean’s old bedroom. Sean sometimes still slept there after a night of drinking and playing cards with the guys.
Sure enough, after rummaging through a few drawers, I found a T-shirt proclaiming it was okay to be gay. It was long enough that I could slip off my wet panties. It took a few more minutes, but I found a pair of sweats that would work once I tied off the drawstring as tight as possible.
Rod leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. My belt and holstered gun dangled from one hand. A plastic bag holding the contents of my pants’ pockets hung from his other hand.
He had put back on his jeans, but his shirt must be ruined. I looked quickly away after that first unavoidable, mouthwatering glimpse of all those sculpted muscles.
I took back my belt and gun with a muttered, “Thanks for everything.”
“Acadia, slow down a minute and listen to me.”
I slipped the holster through my belt and strapped the belt back on around my waist. It was his serious voice, so I looked up when I was done. “Okay, I’m listening.”
Rod left the plastic bag on the dresser and sat down on the single bed. He leaned forward with his hands clasped between his spread thighs while he regarded me in silence. Dark brows were doing that inverted V thing. Long, blonde hair hung down past slightly hunched broad shoulders and gleamed against his chest like two rivers of molten gold.
Rod should have looked incongruous sitting on the faded Spiderman bedspread, surrounded by old posters of super heroes, but he was Thor come to life.
Even as it was happening, I couldn’t prevent falling into the honey trap. I had allowed myself to really look at Rod for the first time since I had stared at him in the elevator going back down to the bar last night. I was hypnotized.
He started talking and I realized I had lied to him. I heard his smooth voice, but I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t. I was enthralled, as if held spellbound, and unable to think beyond wanting to touch his chest. I wanted to smooth my hands against his golden skin. I wanted to trace and learn those muscles dusted with dark hair and then kiss and suck his
flat nipples. I wanted to follow the water droplets glistening on his skin, licking and kissing all the way down to where the path of silky hair disappeared beneath the low waistband of his bulging jeans.
Rod laughed a little.
I snapped out of my trance and my eyes rushed up to his face.
We stared at each other.
There was an odd look on Rod’s face and then he cocked his head.
“Don’t you have anything to say? Don’t leave me hanging in suspense!”
It was embarrassing enough to be caught staring at Rod’s penis, but even though I was scrambling, I hadn’t heard one word of what he’d just been saying.
“I’m getting worried here, Acadia.” He grinned. “At least punch me or something!”
At the sight of that dazzling grin, I burst out, “Do you have false teeth?”
Rod huffed on a laugh, “Uh, no. Why, would that be a problem?”
I frowned, puzzled, but plunged ahead now that I’d already made a fool of myself. “What about your hair? Do you dye it that fake gold color?”
“No! Hell no!” Rod exclaimed, and frowned back. “I know you’re into an organic lifestyle, but do you take it that far?”
I didn’t see the connection between my lifestyle and whether or not he colored his hair, but I had missed everything he said earlier, so I shrugged lightly. That move usually worked to get me out of an awkward conversation these days when I hadn’t been listening.
I was anxiously antsy and wanted to leave the bedroom in the worst way, so I asked hopefully, “Are we finished here? Can we go now? We have a supply run to make.”
Rod stood up and put his hands on his hips. His voice wasn’t angry, but wondering. “You weren’t listening to a word I said a minute ago, were you?”
Busted, I was about to apologize when he threw back his head and laughed. When Rod didn’t stop, but sat back on the bed and continued to laugh and laugh, I took a concerned step forward. I was worried that he was losing it from all the stress of the last twelve hours.
After all, no matter how much Rod bugged me at times, he had put his own life on the line to carry me and help with my shower. If I was infected, he could have gotten infected, too. Rod had shown me true friendship. Not many men, unless they were beyond sexually desperate, would go that far just to see a semi-nude woman.
