A Wilderness Within

by Emma Castle

  “You can take a shower,” he said.

  She peeped over the top of the couch back toward the kitchen. Outside the sun was setting over a lonely winter horizon, leaving the claw-like branches of the trees to cast dark sharp edges against the soft evening-colored skies. Time passed so quickly some days, and other days it dragged on for eternity.

  Lincoln was dressed and seated at the table, a gun spread out in pieces on a cloth. He was cleaning a part of the barrel with another cloth. His large, capable hands were elegantly masculine as he carefully moved his fingers over the gun. She knew those hands were capable of gentleness too. For some reason that made her stomach flutter. Caroline forced herself to focus back on their conversation.

  “I try to avoid icy baths except for every couple of days. If I can boil some water, I’ll just set up a sponge bath somewhere.”

  “Who said anything about ice water?” he replied, still focused on his gun.

  “What? This place has hot water? Are you serious?” she almost shrieked as she tried to get off the couch and went down on her bad ankle.

  Lincoln was at her side in an instant, lifting her up into his arms with a smirk on his face. The asshole.

  “You don’t need to carry me,” she huffed.

  “I do when you keep flopping like a fish every time you try to stand too fast.”

  She didn’t bother to reply, preferring the dignity of silence. He carried her upstairs to the master bathroom and set her down on the edge of the large tub by the shower. Then he let her go.

  “Towels are in the closet.” He nodded toward a small linen closet nearby. “I’ll wait in the bedroom to carry you back downstairs.”

  She waited a long moment after he closed the bathroom door before she began to undress. Part of her was convinced this was some insane dream she was having. There couldn’t be warm water. There couldn’t be an insanely attractive man outside the door waiting for her. She’d had a bad dream…or maybe this was a good dream. The first one she’d had in months.

  Caroline shivered as she let the last of her clothes drop in a pile by the door. Then she turned on the water, cranking it hot. For a few seconds only icy water came through, and then she felt hot water burning her hand. She dashed into the stall and buried her face beneath the hot spray.

  It was heaven. Forget all the food she’d dreamed about eating since Black November, forget all the little things like electricity, movies, and cell phones. Hot water was the only thing she ever truly needed to survive.

  Caroline washed frantically at first but then started to take her time. She started to enjoy the experience and began to feel normal again. For just a brief instant, she could picture herself getting ready for work, seeing her coworkers and grumbling good-naturedly about their long commutes into downtown, getting home, having dinner, calling her sister, reading a steamy romance novel or a spooky thriller, and then turning in for bed. Normal life.

  Then it was over, and she sat down in the shower, curled into a ball, and cried. Silent, shaking sobs racked her body until her bones hurt. When her body couldn’t take it anymore, she went still as the water started to turn chilly. She stood and turned the water off. Then she retrieved a bath towel and dried herself off and reached for her jeans and sweater.

  Her clothes were gone, but a fresh set was stacked on the counter just by the door. Those definitely hadn’t been there when she had undressed. She examined the items. New, clean underwear, warm fleece-lined pajama pants, and a T-shirt and a fleece pullover, plus a pair of thick woolen socks. They weren’t hers, but they looked like they would fit her.

  It frightened her to know Lincoln had slipped into the bathroom at some point and given her the clothes. But he hadn’t done anything to her. He’d left the items and vanished with her none the wiser. She dressed and then searched around the drawers for a comb. She couldn’t use a dryer, but she combed out the wet strands and plaited them into a braid.

  When she glanced at herself in the mirror, she was glad to see her eyes weren’t red. Had Lincoln seen her crying when he had snuck the clothes inside? Unable to delay it any longer, she opened the bathroom door. Lincoln was lying on the bed, his hands folded over his stomach, his fingers on one hand tapping a tune like a drummer as he waited. Seeing him stretched out in bed, knowing how he looked almost completely naked made her blood hum with dangerous, completely foolish desire.

  “Feel better?” He sat up on the bed, bracing his elbows on his bent knees.

  “Yes,” she grudgingly admitted. Everyone always felt more human after a hot shower. “How do you even have hot water?” she asked.

  “Same way the house is still warm. It’s gas powered.” He sat up, his eyes roving over her, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

  “But I thought all the natural gas was shut off.” When the power grid had failed, so had the gas.

  “Not everywhere. Somewhere close by, someone is still alive and keeping the gas running. Most likely someone who worked at the natural gas company in Omaha.”

  “Someone? Like another survivor?”

  Lincoln rose from the bed and bent to scoop her up. She hadn’t been ready for him and had to throw her arms around his neck to keep her balance in his arms.

  “Yeah. There are some out there. Last I heard, less than a fifth of the population was still here. The ones that didn’t die from the disease are being killed by people who are looting homes and stores. My guess is most are in hiding, which is why you don’t run into them that often. Everyone is running scared these days.” He didn’t speak further as he carried her back down to the leather couch.

  “Have you tried to find this person, whoever it is?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?” If she’d figured out someone else was trying to get the world back up and running, she would have done anything she could have to help them.

  “Didn’t see a point.” Lincoln’s tone was gruff again.

  “You don’t see a point? If he’s keeping the gas running, he’s doing it for a reason, and not because he’s bored. We could be helping him.”

  “I salute him, whoever he is, but it would be like finding a needle in a haystack, and he’s likely just one man. What good would it do?”

  “What good would it do?” she echoed, a tightness gathering in her chest. “Lincoln, this is about survival. Not just for a few but for all of us. Don’t you get it? We need to be coming together.”

  “You ran from me,” he reminded her softly.

  “Because you scared the shit out of me, and I thought you wanted to rape me.” She stared at his face, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “There have to be good people still out in the world. Isn’t it our duty to find them?”

  His jaw worked as he took a long moment to respond. “I’m done with duty. I served years in the service, lost good men, and none of it fucking matters anymore. I’m looking out for just me now.”

  “That sounds awfully lonely,” she whispered. She wondered how she fit into his world, and at the same time also wondered if she even wanted to.

  They reached the couch downstairs, and he set her down with that gentleness that always surprised her.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen a survivor other than me?” she asked while he tried to truss her up in blankets. She swatted his hands away when he attempted to tuck the blankets up to her chin.

  “How long?” He gave up when she swatted his hands away again and walked over to the window. Night had eclipsed the sky, and battery-powered lanterns lit the kitchen. She noticed he had pulled the curtains on most of the windows. Was that to hide their presence? A prickle of fear rode beneath her skin. Was there something out there he feared? Or was she the one who should be afraid that he was hiding her away?

  “The last person I saw a few weeks ago was infected. He died.”

  “Did you know him, or was he a stranger?”

  “I knew him,” Lincoln said. “He was a good man.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. He glanced aw
ay. She wished she could read his expression, but it was hard to tell because of his beard.

  “What about you? When did you last see someone?” he asked.

  “About two weeks ago. I saw this woman walking down the street, holding a bundle…a baby. But…” Caroline choked down the rising horror she felt as the awful memory came back. “But the baby was gone. Dead. It was turning to dust and bones in her arms, and she was too far lost in her grief to notice when I tried to talk to her. I’ve…I’ve never seen anything like that before. A grief so deep that it embedded itself inside your mind. It’s worse than any virus. It kills hope…kills everything.”

  Lincoln dragged a hand through his hair and stared out through the one curtainless window. “Almost everything is dead now. We are but the ruins left behind.”

  4

  @CDC: Our researchers have traced the Hydra-1 virus back to a microbe found in horseshoe bats in China. Bats have unusual immune systems. Their hollow bones, like those of birds, don’t produce immune cells in their marrow like mammals. Therefore, they can carry exotic and unique microbes that sometimes merge with ones found in mammals and can mutate into pathogens that can be transmitted to humans.

  —Centers for Disease Control Twitter Feed

  November 19, 2019

  * * *

  Lincoln suppressed a shudder at the thought of Caroline having witnessed something so awful. He’d seen terrible things, things that would give even the devil himself nightmares, but he had been trained to deal with them. Soldiers were no stronger than civilians like Caroline. They reacted inside the same to anything awful, but they were trained to push aside any feelings until it was safe to deal with them, long after the threat was over. But nothing in his years on Delta Force had prepared him for the end of humanity.

  During a supply run a few days ago, he’d passed by the stadium that hosted the College World Series, and he’d seen the small city of medical tents and stretchers. The endless rows of bones and mummified remains covered the field where the Red Cross and FEMA had tried to set up triage stations. He’d seen the bodies in the streets, the bodies in cars in the middle of the freeways, in the hotel rooms, and in houses. The looks on the faces of the ones who still bore a passing resemblance to people were emotionless, their slack features empty in a way that would haunt him forever. As he’d stood watching the wind whistle through the medical tents on the baseball field, he felt something fracture inside him. He’d given up. He had let go of his hope forever…until he had seen Caroline.

  In the midst of all these endless wintry skies, Caroline had burst into his life like a bright beacon of hope that poured in through the clouds, like brilliant and defiant sunlight. She was his hope, his only hope which meant he could never let her go. He’d protect her from the world. She’d likely hate him for trying to protect her, but he wasn’t going to back down. Like a wild wolf who’d come across a helpless kitten, he’d somehow defied the urge to be a predator and instead would protect her like the sacred discovery she was.

  He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d come to the surface, but to see humanity had vanished had frightened the hell out of him. Any survivors he could only assume had lost their compass of morality, leaving them directionless resulting in lawlessness. This new world would have only one rule: fight for survival, fight for your needs to be fulfilled, whatever those needs were. Hunger, thirst, lust, greed. He’d expected to come across a war band straight out of Mad Max rather than someone like Caroline.

  We had so many warnings…so many trumpets sounding that the walls of Jericho were tumbling down. Epidemics had struck before, but nothing like this. The proverbial levee had broken, and the floodwaters were rushing over it with no end in sight.

  We will all succumb and drown the darkness of our hearts.

  He glanced over to her now. She was watching him, and her hazel eyes were almost brown in the dim lights.

  She looks so young, so innocent. How the hell has she survived this long?

  “Where were you when it started?” he asked.

  She didn’t immediately answer, but the shadows flashing across her eyes warned him that whatever answer she was about to give him wouldn’t be the full story. The horrors she’d seen would stay inside her.

  “I was in Chicago. The airport. I got trapped there trying to get home for the holidays.”

  “Trapped?”

  She nodded. “Yes. There was a man who came in from La Guardia who’d shared a plane with a man from Paris who they think might be patient zero or close to.” She shivered and looked down at her hands. Her fingers plucked the decorative fringes of the blanket wrapped around her.

  “You’re truly immune then?”

  She nodded again. “He coughed on me. I left the line, and he infected the woman at the desk. She collapsed within a few hours. It was terrifying. We were trapped like rats, falling sick by the dozens while they sealed us off from the rest of the world. I understand it, I do. But they sentenced us to die.” Her voice cracked with emotion, and Lincoln knew she was close to breaking. He wasn’t used to sharing his own stories, but what did it matter now if he talked? She needed to know she hadn’t been alone in her fear and her suffering.

  “I was in Turkey when I heard the rumors of the virus in China and Pakistan.”

  Her gaze focused back on him as he sat down on the opposite end of the couch.

  “Turkey? What were you doing there?”

  For a moment he didn’t answer. He was conditioned not to speak of his missions under any circumstances. But it didn’t matter now. None of it mattered. The country he had protected and fought for was an empty shell now. The halls of the White House were empty, and the chambers of the Supreme Court were vacant. The Capitol Building was gathering dust. Everything, the good and the bad, was all gone.

  He cleared his throat. “I was in the First Special Forces Operational Detachment, what you probably know as Delta Force. We were trying to find a way into Syria to kill their president. The people up top were sick of them gassing their own people, and he wanted that monster gone.”

  The faces in the pictures on the walls witnessed his confession, but their lips were sealed, their graves topped with snow.

  “Delta Force? That’s top-secret stuff, like the SEAL teams?”

  “Yeah, the SEALs are navy, Delta’s army. But similar. We do covert missions, things that, if done right, the world never knows about.”

  Caroline shifted on the couch, moving closer to him. “I thought you might be military.”

  “Oh? What gave me away?” he asked, genuinely interested. Not that he had been hiding his military position, but he was certainly curious to know how a civilian would view him.

  “Aside from your clothes, it’s how you move. The way you looked around when we stepped outside of the store. What do you guys call it, situational awareness?”

  Lincoln scratched his beard, thinking back to last night. He’d had one mission. Secure the girl. Protect the girl. Nothing else mattered. There had been no fear except in losing her.

  “So what are you doing here?” she asked. “I mean, how did you get from Turkey to Omaha?”

  Lincoln wasn’t sure how much he should tell her. Adam’s loss was still too deep and fresh, too much of a nightmare. That was a burden no one else should have to carry.

  “I was assigned to presidential detail and flew back with my team. We met the acting president in DC and then flew to Omaha. It’s not much of a secret these days that we had a huge bunker here.”

  “The president is dead, isn’t he?” She bit her lip and said, “Both of them, I mean. I remember when President Whitaker died. I heard on the radio that Vice President Adam Caine took over. But if you’re here, he must be gone too.”

  “Yes.” The single word cut his throat to ribbons.

  Caroline continued to stare at him. Misery twisted an invisible knife in his chest. He didn’t want to talk anymore.

  “You should probably sleep now. To mend your ankle, you need to
rest. I’ll rub on the tendons around your ankle bone to keep any scar tissue from knotting around it, or you’ll never regain your full strength and mobility.”

  He knew she wanted to argue, but he saw the weariness overwhelming her. There were lines carved into her face, her pain exacting a toll upon her. For an instant he tried to imagine her laughing and carefree, no ghosts lingering in her gaze, no sorrow furrowing her brow, her lips no longer wilted in a frown. Grief and loss had made a mirror of her beauty, a darker version, yet he sensed that her joy, if she ever claimed it, would make her stunning beyond imagining.

  He stood, collected her and the blankets in his arms, and carried her once more up the stairs to the master bedroom. He’d left a battery-powered lantern up there by the nightstand.

  “Turn it off and on with this button.” He showed her the button on the base of the lantern.

  “Thanks.” She settled deeper under the blankets, and he walked to the door and had nearly closed it when she spoke.

  “Lincoln…” Hearing his name on her lips made his body tense. “Thank you for finding me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said.

  “But seriously, I’m not sleeping with you.” The light, almost playful petulance in her tone cracked a smile on his face.

  He chuckled. He suspected that in time instincts would take over. It was all humanity had left. Drives and hungers. The chemistry was there. He had seen it burning in her eyes when he’d come down in a towel after his shower. She’d looked at him with that ancient animal magnetism reflected in her gaze. He would wait as long as it took, but he knew she would succumb sooner rather than later. They might well be the last two people on earth someday. And it would be awfully lonely if she denied her body what it wanted, what it craved.

  He closed the bedroom door and returned to the kitchen to collect one of his lanterns. Then he checked the locks on all the doors, and finally, only then did he trust himself to sleep. He didn’t want to tell Caroline that he had seen fires on the horizon tonight. They weren’t campfires—they had been the fires of burning houses. Those kinds of fires meant men were nearby. Dangerous men. They’d have to move if he saw fires any closer. And they would keep moving until he found a safe place for her to rest and recover.