by Reece Hinze
“Dammit Paul!” She cursed, knocking his hand away.
“Don’t be mad. You know I can’t just come walking up any time I want to talk to you. This is the first chance I’ve gotten since I came back.”
“And why did you come back?” She asked. “You just materialize out of the woods and go on these food missions with Luke like nothing happened?”
Paul shrugged. “We mostly ignore each other.”
“You didn’t answer my question Paul Slaughter. Why did you come back?”
Paul looked past his big black framed glasses and into her eyes. “I came back because I had nowhere else to go. I stayed,” he placed a palm around her cheek, “because of you.”
Bridgett felt something inside her shift. Something easy and natural. She looked into Paul’s eyes and felt at home. She looked at his lips. He leaned towards her, his palm still cradling her cheek. Suddenly, Sophie snapped at him and Paul recoiled.
“Whoa, girl. It’s okay. I didn’t…”
“Hey!”
Paul looked over his shoulder to see his brother Luke standing in the yard, his hands on his hips and his face beet red.
“What do you think you’re doing Paul?”
Paul stood. Bridgett placed a hand on his big chest. “Ok, ok. You guys need to stop.”
“Answer the question,” Luke snapped. He walked towards Paul and Paul did the same.
“Something you should have a long time ago,” Paul said.
Luke stood, looking at his brother’s face. Paul was nearly a head taller. He was stone cold while Luke was trembling with rage. “You’re right,” Luke said. “There is something I should have done a long time ago.” And he swung at his brother. Paul dodged the blow and landed a hard hook into his brother’s ribs.
“Help! Help!” Bridgett screamed. Sophie barked frantically.
Luke blocked his brother’s left and head-butted him underneath the chin. The blow knocked Paul back. The sight of his own blood enraged him. He bellowed loudly and met Luke in a grapple.
“Help!” Bridgett screamed.
Luke sat atop the cold stone siding of the eastern of the Slaughter’s two wells, bare breasted. His ripped shirt lay cast off in the dirt. He spit a wad of blood into the grass with a resentful face. His father paced back and forth furiously. Clifford stood to the side smoking a big cigar with a grim expression on his ancient face.
“This isn’t High School anymore son!” Tim said. “We’ve got dozens of children in our barn, who will never see their parents again, and an ever dwindling means to feed them.”
“Mmm hmmm,” Clifford added.
Luke pulled out his flask and put the bottle to his lips. Before he could draw anything, his father’s backhand sent the tin flying.
“We have watch over our shoulders for the sick and now I have to watch over mine for my own sons!”
“A damn shame,” Clifford said, shaking his head.
“Now, I expect you…”
Luke cut his father off. “I get it,” he said. He spit another wad of blood into the grass. “Leave me alone.”
Tim’s face went beet red. He looked at Clifford and the old man shook his head. Tim poked a finger into his son’s chest. “Shape up boy,” he said and they left him to himself.
They don’t even know half the story. They never did. Paul’s the one who taints the family name. He was in prison for God sakes! I rescued the family business…
Luke took a deep breath and leaned his head back. The sun’s rays soaked into his skin. The gentle breeze was a blessing. It cooled his shirtless body. He opened his eyes when he heard someone crunching through the fallen leaves towards him. He was surprised to see Victoria.
“Hello,” he said in way of greeting.
“Hey,” Victoria said with a smile. She handed him his flask.
“Thanks,” Luke said, now smiling as well. Some of the Whiskey had poured out but there was enough left to get him drunk. He downed the rest of the liquor in a single go.
“Are you okay?” Victoria asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m good. Thanks. What are you up to?”
“Oh nothing,” she said and winked mischievously. “Wade’s off doing something with Danny so I thought I would freshen up a bit.” She leaned down to scoop water out of the well bucket. Her blonde locks tumbled over her chest while her cleavage all but fell out of her shirt. She looked up at him and smiled. “You don’t mind do you?”
Luke was feeling it now. Maybe he should have rationed his Whiskey but it was too late now. He leaned casually against the well.
“I don’t mind,” he said.
“Good!” Victoria said and giggled. She had her shirt and bra off in amazing speed. Luke pretended to avert his eyes.
“Can you hold these for me?” Victoria said. She looked at him with innocent blue eyes.
“Uh, sure,” he said.
She turned away from him and bent over. Her panties fell to her ankles and Luke’s throat ran dry. She placed the bucket back and slowly worked the rope, lowering it into the well. She never took her eyes off of him as she worked the rope down and up again. Her breasts were perky, enormous, and gloriously fake. She propped a bare leg on the cold stone and exposed everything to him. The well water was cold and she giggled as it trickled down her body. Victoria turned away from him again and bent over the well, showing him everywhere the sun didn’t shine. The water glistened on her smooth skin.
Luke tried to look away but found he could not.
“You shouldn’t be…”
“I know,” she said, with her back still turned to him. “You have done so much to keep us safe, I just…” She turned, her cold blue eyes aroused something deep inside him. She walked towards him and kneeled at the end of the well, her face inches from his thighs. “I just want to make sure you’re properly rewarded.”
Luke leaned back as she unbuckled his belt. This was wrong, as wrong as wrong gets, but as the whiskey coursed through his veins, he found he didn’t care. Neither one of them heard the footsteps crinkle through the dried leaves towards them. She approached from behind. With Victoria’s head safely hidden between Luke’s legs, she thought he was alone.
“I’m sorry Luke,” Bridgett said, with a soft smile on her face. “I never should have…” Her smile vanished.
Luke scrambled to buckle his pants. “Bridgett,” he said. Victoria smiled.
“Bridgett,” Luke repeated. He held his arm out for her but she recoiled. “Bridgett wait!” She shook her head and ran towards the house.
Luke pulled at his hair, pacing back and forth. “Oh man, oh man,” he said.
Victoria giggled. “Come here,” she said. She walked up and grabbed between Luke’s legs. “Let’s finish what we started.”
“No!” Luke said, pushing her away. Victoria fell unceremoniously to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he said, reaching for her.
She pulled away. “Ugh, get away from me you ass hole!” Victoria snatched her clothes from Luke and ran into the woods, naked.
Luke pulled the flask out and tried for more but it was empty. He passed out angry, drunk, and full of shame. When he woke, it was full on dark he went looking for Bridgett. He had to apologize. He had to make this right. He checked the barn and the house and all around but Bridgett was nowhere to be found.
Bridgett was gone.
Chapter XII: Old Friends, New Enemies.
It was full on dark and Luke was in full on panic. John, Danny, and the new comers looked after the kids while everyone else searched for Bridgett. Their flashlight beams bounced this way and that until Tim came across a bleeding, startled face in the woods. Blood caked the old woman’s hair. Her lips formed a surprised “O” as she stared into the beam of light. Tim ended her scream with a shotgun blast and then several other screams echoed across the woods. Tim turned off his light and ran for the house. The others had heard the infected as well and by the time Tim reached the front door, everyone else was waiting on him.
Except
Bridgett.
Victoria and Wade made sure the window shades were closed while everyone else piled around the dining table. Clifford dimmed the battery operated lantern in the center of the table. They held their guns and held their breath. No one looked into another’s eyes preferring to examine the wood grain of the table. Victoria gasped when they heard banging and scraping, on the wall nearest the kitchen. Wade covered her mouth while her terrified eyes looked to and fro. It’s amazing what you can hear outside a home when the electricity is off. The wind, the screaming, the footsteps, and even the heavy wet breathing. No one spoke, not even when they heard the noise maker walk away into the night. After what seemed an eternity, Luke spoke first.
“We have to find Bridgett,” he whispered.
“What happened?” Wade asked. “When was the last time someone saw her?” Luke and Victoria gave each other a subtle glance but said nothing. In the dim light, no one seemed to notice but when Luke looked to Clifford, the old man stared daggers back at him. His cigar wasn’t lit but he held it in his mouth anyway, chewing slowly. “She can’t have just left in the middle of the night like this.”
Tim’s rumbling voice carried as he whispered, “Regardless of why she left, I agree with my son. We need to find her.”
Anne suddenly burst with a gurgling cry. Her emotion came like an explosion. “I can’t lose her too,” she said. Tears poured down her cheeks. “I can’t lose her, I just can’t lose her.” Tim put a comforting arm around his wife.
Paul was standing in a corner, barely visible in the dim light. “Let’s get to it then,” he said.
“Son, we can’t go out tonight,” Tim said. “We can leave at first light.”
“No, I agree with Paul,” Wade said.
“It’s too dangerous,” Tim snapped.
Wade shrugged. “By morning it could already be too late.”
Old man Worsby stood. His black WWII veteran hat shading his eyes. “Who’s driving?” he mumbled, his cigar sticking out the side of his mouth.
Paul guffawed.
“He can come if he wants to,” Wade said sternly.
“This guy can barely walk,” Paul said smiling. “He’ll just get in the way.”
“He’s coming,” Wade repeated.
Paul shrugged uncaringly.
“Mom, do you have a piece of paper and a pen?” Wade asked.
“Of course,” she replied, leaving and appearing a moment later with the articles in hand.
Wade pulled up a chair and sat the paper down on the table beneath the dim light. “Now put yourself in Bridgett’s shoes,” he said. “She’s upset, scared, and probably a little panicked right now. We have to assume she found that bunch of infected people in the woods just like we did.” He drew lines on the paper and labeled them. “She had to seek shelter to escape them. I think we need to split into two teams to cover more ground. One team can head here down Maple and the other can head down Purgatory. You still have that belt and radio I gave you Mr. Worsby?”
The old man nodded.
“Good. Give it to my father. Dad, Luke, you guys can take my patrol car and head down Maple. Look for forced entry, a glowing lantern, or any signs at all of Bridgett. Paul, myself, and Clifford will take Luke’s truck and head down Purgatory. Sound like a plan?”
“Where am I going?” Victoria asked.
“Have you ever handled a firearm before?” Wade asked.
“Well, no.”
“Then you aren’t going anywhere. Stay here, stay out of sight, and keep the lights off.”
“Ugh,” Victoria said. “When are you going to trust me?”
“This isn’t about you,” Wade said.
“Whatever!” she responded. They listened silently as she stomped upstairs.
“Anyone else?” Wade said challengingly. No one said anything. Paul held his hands up in surrender, a bit of a smile playing on his lips. Luke stared at the floor.
“Let’s get to it then. Stick together until we get to the vehicles.”
The Slaughter boys each gave their mother a kiss before shuffling out the door one by one. Clifford nodded his hat. “Be careful,” Anne whispered as Tim kissed her goodbye.
“I will,” he said. “And I’ll bring her back. I promise.”
“I know you will,” she said and smiled. She watched until he closed the front door and she was alone with only the light for company.
She glanced at a leather bound King James Bible atop a bookshelf, held her eyes on it for a moment, and then turned away. Anne Slaughter clicked off the lamp and walked into the house, shrouded in darkness.
It was full on dark and she wasn’t out of the woods yet. It was very thick once you got off of the road. Sophie crawled through the branches easily but Bridgett scraped and herself and made a huge racket. She felt like her life was over, like she had been swallowed by a black glob of hopelessness.
Her parents, gone.
Her career, gone.
Luke, gone.
The whole world, gone.
Bridgett tumbled clumsily through the woods, lost in thought. Leaves crunched below her feet in the darkness. What she felt for Paul was confusing. And now she had neither Paul nor Luke and just wanted to get away from them, from everything. She heard her big Dane trotting along happily besides her pausing occasionally to sniff. If only life was as simple for her as it was for her dog.
Soon, she came to where the woods surrounding the Slaughter household dropped off and the wide cattle pastures took over. The moonlight was bright.
What am I going to do now? Where am I going to go? I should try to make my way back to Dallas.
Yes, that’s it. She should just go back to Dallas. That will put some semblance of order to her life again. She felt inside her purse instinctively to make sure the pistol Luke gave her was still there, something she did often now.
“All I need is my six shooter and my dog, huh Sophie?” she said in the dark. The Great Dane looked up at her happily. She froze when she heard the scream. Long and shrill and close. Bridgett crouched near Sophie. The hair on the Dane’s neck stood on end, like hers. She looked back towards the forest and saw him. The moonlight showed a big, fat man in a torn paramedic’s uniform. Blood had drenched his shirt like a runner’s sweat ring. As if materializing out of the fog, dozens more struggled out of the tree line.
Sophie started for them at a dead sprint. “No, no!” Bridgett screamed. “No, come back!” But the Dane was gone, barking and snarling and charging headlong into them. A few reared around to fight the dog but most charged right for Bridgett. As they closed the gap between them, instinct took over and she ran as fast as her feet carried her. At the end of the long field the barbed wire fence tore Bridgett’s clothing as she scaled it in her panic. Blood seeped across her jeans as she ran, the tattered remains of her Dallas Cowboy’s shirt streamed behind her.
She stood in the road scanning the surround for a heartbeat. The road to the right had far more houses populating its blocks so she ran that way. The screams of the infected were close, right behind her. Bridgett checked door after door while the infected closed in.
Locked.
Locked…
Locked!
She ran towards a big red brick house passing underneath two towering white pillars. The screams were very close now. There was no escape. She tried the handle.
LOCKED!!!!
“No,” Bridgett said. She shook the handle violently, threatening to break it off. “Let me in, let me in!” The infected were footsteps away. Bridgett set her purse on the ground and reached for her pistol but looked up and froze with fear. Dozens of infected charged at her, mere feet away. A hand wrapped around her shoulder and she screamed as she was pulled inside.
A hand covered her mouth. “Quiet girl, quiet!” The door slammed shut and the infected slammed into it a moment later, scratching and clawing at the hard wood. It took Bridgett a long time to open her eyes but when she did, her mysterious savior was gone and so were the infected scratching
at the door.
She lay alone in the pristine entryway to a pristine living room with a high vaulted ceiling tall enough for a second story. Magnificent, gold framed paintings hung all over, enough to nearly conceal the white washed walls completely. A large colorful bird squawked and shrieked from a gilded birdcage in the corner. A huge dark stained bar with a massive mirror covered the far end of the room. A fire burned bright in the hearth bringing an inviting smell of fresh burned cedar into the air. One massive painting hung over the white stone of the hearth. A black haired woman dressed in black holding two small girls. She stifled a scream when she glanced to her left and a huge menacing brown bear stretched in a silent roar. Bridgett snapped her head around when she heard the voice.
“I brought you some tea dear,” the woman said. “You must have had quite a fright.” She had black hair and heavy black eye shadow and wore a white painter’s smock with loose white sleeves. Bridgett recoiled as the woman came closer.
“Oh it’s not blood dear,” she said. “This is red paint. I’m a painter.”
Bridgett’s eyes wondered to the paintings, the hundreds of paintings. “I can see that,” she said.
The woman extended her hand. “My name is Elizabeth Canty. What is yours darling?”
Bridgett took her hand. “My uh, well… Bridgett?”
“Well, is it Bridgett or isn’t it?”
“Bridgett. Bridgett Webb.”
“Ah yes. I read about some Webb’s not too long ago. An accident involving the train tracks near the creek. Any relation?”
Bridgett said nothing.
“Ah of course. They must have been close. As an artist, I took an interest in such a bizarre end.” Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “I tried to place myself in their shoes. The pain, the horror, the sorrow. I felt it all. I immortalized the event. See?” Elizabeth pointed to a gilded painting in the top left of the room. Bridgett saw her Mom’s Tahoe sitting on railroad tracks. A massive black locomotive, larger than life, charged right for it. She was speechless.
“No matter dear, let’s retire to the study so those monsters won’t hear us and bang my door down,” she said matter-of-factly. “If they don’t see you for a while they forget what they are doing.”
