Guns, Rations, Rigs and the Undead

by K. E. Radke

  Remorse and guilt fell over her face, and tears built up in her eyes. With her hand on her chest she whispered, “Oh God, everyone’s been so quiet since the government curfew. I never thought—I just thought we lost Karen and the Sheriff,” she lowered her gaze to the ground. In a small, apologetic voice she said, “Lincoln I’m sorry. Truly sorry for being such a bitch.”

  “Come on,” Lincoln sighed moving forward. “Pretty ladies feeling sorry for themselves are perfect victims to be kidnapped.”

  Feeling cold and lonely by the sad news she threaded her arm through his without thinking about it and leaned against him taking in the sour apple scent from his skin. Lincoln tensed at her touch, wondering if he should pull his arm away.

  At the edge of her property he stopped and let her go on by herself. He almost let her reach the porch before calling out mischievously, “Mrs. Harris.” He took the folded list out of his pocket and held it up in the air between two fingers. “You left this at my house.”

  Spinning around, she seemed surprised she forgot about the list and had to come back down for it. He watched her make every bouncing step toward him not reaching out to give it to her. On her way back up he called out again as she reached the same spot as before, making his voice soft and raspy, “Camille.”

  She turned again placing her hands on her hips, “I know what you’re doing. I can see you staring at my boobs even from up here.”

  Chuckling Lincoln said, “I have iodine tablets if you want them.” He pulled them out of his pocket and held them up in the air. “It’s to make water drinkable if you have to refill from another source other than the pipes in your home, like a lake for example.”

  Taking off her heels, she managed to walk down the driveway faster but no less bouncier than before and held out her hand for them when she reached him.

  “Make sure you read the directions,” he emphasized placing the tablets in her hand grazing his fingertips across her palm.

  Scaling her driveway again she swung her hips side to side and glanced back asking flirtatiously, “How about this view?”

  Lincoln chuckled, “Don’t make it a habit showing up at my house after curfew Mrs. Harris. You might find yourself going down the left hallway next time.” He gave her a single nod before heading back home. A cold shower in his future.

  Twenty

  S omething hard crashed against his house repetitively. Eyelids fluttered wide open and the covers were thrown to the side when he heard muffled shouts. His hand instinctively wrapped around the gun on his bedside table. Pulling on shorts he skidded to a stop at his front door peeking out the window.

  He unplugged the electric gadget, then ten seconds later the front door swung open and he had the Glock aimed at Michael. The man had a golf club and it arced bouncing off the window leaving scuff marks behind. Camille was a few feet away on the sidewalk along with Phoebe and Wyatt with Melanie between them. They were all protesting Michael’s actions, but had no way to stop him.

  In a calm rage Lincoln shouted, “Stop.” He was ready to shoot Michael, “Step away from my house or so help me I will shoot you where you stand for breaking and entering. You’ve been warned.”

  “You fucked my wife!” Michael yelled enraged the golf club still raised over his head.

  Lincoln couldn’t stop the heat in his face at the accusation and blurted out, “That’s the least of your problems!”

  Michael gave out a battle cry and Lincoln fired into the grass near Michael’s foot rendering everyone quiet and motionless. From shock Michael dropped the golf club cowering on the ground with his hands over his head. Wyatt had Melanie and Phoebe both in his arms trying to protect them, and Camille had turned pale falling to her knees.

  “Okay,” Lincoln placed his arm by his side, trying to calm down. Breathing evenly he tried to keep the anger at bay. “No one fucked anyone’s wife. Camille wanted a list. I gave her a list,” Lincoln admitted trying to keep his voice steady. “We traded. Simple trade.”

  “You fucked him for a list?!” Michael yelled for the whole neighborhood to hear.

  “Keep your voice down,” Lincoln growled. “She gave me food. For a list.”

  “What? You don’t want people to know my wife’s a slut fucking the whole damn neighborhood?! The neighborhood freak! Him of all people!” Michael shouted at the top of his lungs. As he said it three little girls stumbled into view, replicas of Camille.

  Michael pointed the golf club toward Camille and Lincoln watched her flinch at the gesture. Lincoln’s eyes fled from the girls to Camille with tears running down her face sobbing on the sidewalk. Covering his face from view Lincoln rubbed his forehead and ran his hand over his short brown hair.

  “You will watch where you point that golf club,” Lincoln warned menacingly, making sure he had Michael’s attention. “Get off my property,” Lincoln said darkly. “If I find you trespassing I will shoot you. And if you have a problem, take it up with the Sheriff. He’s right over there,” Lincoln pointed to the dead bodies in front of Karen’s house. “He’ll be happy to take your statement.”

  Lincoln slammed the door behind him leaning against it thinking what the fuck just happened.

  ☢

  Only a few hours had passed before someone was banging on his door again. Clenching his teeth he jumped up from the couch ready to knock the next person he saw out cold. Peeking out the window he expected to find Michael trying to pick another fight with him.

  He stood frozen until she knocked again. Jostling the blinds he gazed out at her through the window frowning. “Go home Camille,” Lincoln shouted eyeing the tight jeans showing every curve on her body. The shirt was an unbuttoned polo, cleavage peeking out from the top.

  “I’m sorry,” she said warmly. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. Someone ratted me out and told him I came over last night. He was asleep when I left, and asleep when I got back.”

  “Go home Camille,” Lincoln repeated, his voice sounding beat without any conviction. He leaned against the back wall trying to ignore the urge to open the door to let her in. He lightly tapped his fingers against the wall to keep them busy.

  “He left to go get the things on your list,” her voice broke in the middle of the sentence. “He won’t be home for a few hours.”

  “Good, it gives him time to cool off.”

  “Open the door Lincoln,” it was to the point. She wanted to go inside and when the door remained shut she added, “Please?”

  “Camille, please go home,” Lincoln told her not wanting to beg. “I really don’t want to shoot your husband because he tries to hurt you, or me.”

  A smile escaped at the thought that he cared if she got hurt. It shouldn’t matter if he did because she’s married. “Okay,” she relented trying to keep the sadness from her voice. “I guess I should have worn the black dress,” she shrugged her shoulders feeling embarrassed, but at least she tried. She took a step back, turning away when the door slowly creaked open. Blocking the way to turn right he stood at his full height smirking.

  “You step in here,” Lincoln paused warning her, “you’re going left,” he gazed straight into her eyes. “There’s only one room open for you to see.”

  Flipping her hair over her shoulder with her chin up, she took several steps until she was inside his house. The door wasn’t locked before she had him against the wall with his pants around his ankles.

  ☢

  The man has stamina, she thought peeking at him from the corner of her eye not sure what to do next. While he fiddled with something on the side of the bed her eyes examined the dark bruises he had and the little white scars up and down his arms. She noticed they were all the same size.

  Is he waiting for me to leave she wondered. Giving her time to get dressed without his prying eyes because she’d got off of him so quickly and hid under the blanket after they finished.

  In her head she was a mess, thoughts of sex with Lincoln had consumed her last night, and this morning Michael’s actions convinced
her to act on it. Satisfying her lust didn’t shut up her conscious. It was slowly eating away at her because Michael had finally believed her to be innocent. Covering her face with the blanket she shut her eyes and felt the tears fall. She quickly wiped them away as she replayed the incident from this morning in her head.

  The entire neighborhood heard Michael call her a slut. In front of her girls. Lincoln understood they could hear every word out of Michael’s mouth. Every word their father said about her. She thought Lincoln was going to kill him. Instead Lincoln gave him a warning and treaded furiously back into his house.

  And she found herself crying, not because of Michael’s nasty accusations or what the girl’s heard. Tears fell down her face because Lincoln never once peered back at her. It was a stupid reason to be upset, and it wasn’t his job to console her, but it was his arms she wanted to be in.

  Rolling next to her Lincoln’s voice rumbled softly in her ear, “You can go home. You won’t hurt my feelings.” His hand was sneaking up her thigh over the thin blanket. Self conscious, she pulled the covers tightly around her inhaling. He tugged on the sheet over her face and she peeked out at him. Lowering the blanket to her chest, Lincoln’s eyes lowered to her nipples protruding through the thin sheet.

  Nervously she asked, “Is it weird that I don’t want to go home yet, but I feel like I’m over staying my welcome? I’ve never—I mean right now I’m wondering if we’re supposed to be cuddling? Do you cuddle? I’ve never seen you with any women, for as long as I’ve lived here. We all assumed you were gay at one point.”

  Lincoln burst out laughing and propped himself up on his elbow with his eyebrows raised, “Is that why you looked so surprised at my offer?”

  “No—maybe. No one knows anything about you. Not even I know anything about you,” she pulled the covers over her face again hiding from him as she felt the heat burn her cheeks.

  Lincoln’s fingers traced over her breast down to her navel over the thin sheet whispering in her ear, “I can walk you home, or you can tell me your favorite color.”

  “Green, my favorite color is green. What’s yours?” she peeked out from under the sheet.

  “Caramel,” his voice vibrated against her ear, “like your skin.” She could feel the smile on his lips as he kissed her shoulder.

  “I’m almost positive you’re lying.” She hesitated before she asked, “I-if I were to ask you for that bag you promised me? Would you be angry?”

  “You still have a job to do then cause I’m keeping count,” he mumbled in her ear.

  “You wouldn’t be mad? If I just up and left using you to get supplies?”

  “Woman, you can go now if you want,” he didn’t say it with an attitude nor was he affronted by the question. Lincoln stopped rubbing his thumb over her nipple, pulled back from her ear and put space between them. The last thing he wanted to do was to make her feel obligated to sleep with him.

  She sat up gazing down at him, “I’m not using you for supplies. It’s just the girls, I can’t leave them. I’m not sure when I’d be back. Or can I come back? Is this like a one night stand thing?”

  Lincoln rolled onto his back pitching a tent under the covers, “I’m not really sure what you want. I pride myself on being pretty intelligent but women, you are crazy creatures I’ll never understand. So I’m gonna lay here for a minute, and let my buddy go down before I get up. You don’t have to leave. I’ll just give you some time alone.”

  “Or—,” she slipped under the covers.

  ☢

  Fully dressed again she sadly stared at the front door as Lincoln unplugged a gadget.

  “The bag is yours if you want it,” he kissed her neck from behind holding her against him. She moaned at his nibbles, “I’ll come back for it.” Something hard poked against her thigh, “God, you’re like a freaking machine.”

  Lincoln enjoyed the view following at a distance down the street making sure she was safely inside her home before he backtracked to Wyatt’s house. His knuckles barely grazed the door before it opened and Wyatt stood there with Melanie peering from behind his leg.

  “Inventory,” Lincoln hoped the one word was enough for Wyatt to pick up the hint gesturing for him to follow.

  Wyatt shouted over his shoulder, “I’m going to Lincoln’s house for a few hours, come lock the door behind me.”

  “Oh!” a note of surprise in Phoebe’s voice from somewhere inside the house, “you boys have fun.”

  “Can I come to?” Melanie asked in her sweet voice while her eyes bounced excitedly from Wyatt to Lincoln as she pulled on Wyatt’s shirt.

  “No,” Lincoln replied watching the little girl’s shoulders drop in disappointment. “You have to stay here and guard you mother.” She perked up a bit after he said that. Wyatt gave her a kiss on the forehead and closed his front door. He refused to move until he heard the lock in place. They walked quietly side by side until Wyatt spoke up, “Are you and Camille—.”

  “That’s none of your fucking business Wyatt,” Lincoln answered before Wyatt could finish the question.

  “She’s a married woman,” Wyatt prodded.

  “So is Phoebe.”

  “What are you trying to say Lincoln?” Wyatt’s voice rose edging with anger.

  “I thought we were listing out all the married women.”

  “You’re going to have to kill Michael.”

  “What if Michael kills me first?”

  They both simultaneously laughed at the thought.

  “Now I know you just got laid,” Wyatt admitted.

  “How is that?”

  “Because you’re being friendly.”

  “I’m always friendly. You just have to be the right person or have something I want.”

  “Am I the right person now?”

  “You have potential Wyatt, something worth my time developing.”

  “Even with a wife and a child?”

  “A risk that can be turned into a weapon with a little nurturing. Phoebe was the one that knocked the shit out of Janice. A little reckless, but a helluva woman to brave that situation. And Melanie can be strong, if you teach her she’s not a weak little girl that needs to be pampered.”

  “We never did go back to kill off The King.”

  “I’ve been busy with more important things—.”

  Wyatt interrupted him as they stepped inside Lincoln’s house, “Like getting laid.”

  “Like putting away guns,” the corner of his mouth tilted upward, amused at Wyatt’s persistence to get information. He unlocked the second bedroom in his house and allowed Wyatt entrance, “Welcome to my pride and joy.”

  The far wall was completely lined with open lockers revealing shotguns side by side in neat rows. Above the lockers was a shelf that had handguns lined up. The closet had been gutted the same way in the previous room, filled with built in drawers labeled neatly specifying different ammo.

  Wire racks were adhered to the rest of the walls in the room showing off Lincoln’s extensive collection. He alternated the way he placed his guns, smallest to largest and then the next row would be largest to smallest. The strategy allowed him to fully utilize the room’s wall space.

  After Camille left last night he carefully took stock of everything they commandeered from the Sheriff’s office. He made room for the new riot control tear gas M79 grenade launcher and an Israeli made Uzi—how it found its way to Dessarillo he didn’t care—placing them at eye level so he could stare at them without straining his neck.

  “So you’re entire house is basically just storage?” Wyatt asked taking it all in. “Why are some of them locked up and the others on the wall?”

  “The ones on the wall are my favorites.”

  Wyatt eyed them all, estimating at least one hundred were on display, “All of them?”

  “Yes, they’re all beautiful in their own way.”

  Lincoln pointed to the confiscated guns on the floor laying on top of sheets according to their size. Grinning ear to ear and rubbing
his hands together he said excitedly, “I can’t wait to try these out. Which do you want to look at first the Remington 870 shotgun?” Lincoln lifted a long black gun from the floor pumping it. “Or the Smith and Wesson R8 tactical revolver? It only has 8 shots, you’re going to need a semiautomatic to carry around on a daily basis. How did you like shooting my Glock?” Lincoln wasn’t even waiting for Wyatt to answer him, he just went from gun to gun naming them and then putting them back down on the sheet.

  “Ok, so did you get laid or is this why you’re so happy?” Wyatt asked with the new information swarming his head. “I saw you walking Camille home. Again.”

  “Shut the fuck up and enjoy this happy ending. You should be a happy man right now Wyatt. This is almost better then sex.”

  “Ok what about that one?” Wyatt pointed to the H&K VP9 handgun.

  Lincoln was a little disappointed Wyatt was interested in it, but he already had the whole line, “That my friend, is a beautiful gun. And makes you seem a lot smarter than you appear.”

  For the first time since they met Wyatt actually wanted the man to shut up. He wouldn’t stop blabbering about each gun, going into extreme details that Wyatt would never remember. Trying to absorb all the information he kept his mouth shut and refused to stop the flow no matter how boring he thought it was—he didn’t even flinch when Lincoln snatched things out of his hands. Never in all the years they lived in the same neighborhood, did Wyatt ever hear the man talk so much.

  At one point, everyone thought Lincoln was hiding a lisp because he only growled at people when they acknowledged him.

  Somehow Lincoln talked him into going to a range to practice. Wyatt wasn’t sure when he agreed—probably when he had tuned out of one of the informational speeches—but he found himself helping Lincoln load up the Land Cruiser with their top gun picks.

  On the outskirts of town, in a wide field already set up as a gun range Lincoln parked by the wooden stalls. Recognizing the light blue farm house in the distance, Wyatt knew they were on Samuel’s property. The man who owned the sporting goods store Lincoln managed.