A Wilderness Within

by Emma Castle

  “What do I need to do?” She hoped he wouldn’t leave her here. What if he never came back? What if he got hurt? What if…? She didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Food’s on short supply inside the city, but I know of at least one place where we can fill up the gas for the SUV.”

  “Good, we can start there.” Lincoln nodded in approval. “We’ll go together, but if I tell you to stay in the car at any point, you do it. Got it? I’m in charge now, kid.” His stern expression firmed his mouth into a hard line. For some reason, after having kissed that mouth, she wasn’t quite as afraid of him when he looked so grave. She raised a hand in salute.

  “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Smartass,” he growled, but she could see him smirk.

  “That’s Captain Smartass to you.”

  His lips twitched. “Then I’m afraid I outrank you, Captain, seeing as I’m actually a major.”

  At this Caroline laughed. “Okay you got me there, Major Bossy.” God, she hadn’t felt this good in months. It was the first time she’d felt safe—well, safer—and she had hope for the future.

  “So what are we going to do until nightfall?” she asked.

  “Clean my guns. You know how to shoot?”

  Caroline shook her head. “Not really. I played paintball once with some friends from work for a team-building exercise.”

  Lincoln rolled his eyes.

  “Hey! It could be worse. At least I didn’t say I played laser tag or something.”

  “God help me if you had.” His grumble was good-natured as she followed him toward the basement stairs.

  “Come upstairs and I’ll show you how to clean the guns. I’ll walk you through the basics of gun safety, but we won’t fire anything. I’m worried those men we heard last night are still nearby. If they hear us firing shots, they might come sniffing around.”

  Lincoln headed upstairs, and she followed behind. She didn’t like guns, but right now guns meant safety. If he could teach her, she’d feel a hell of a lot better going to sleep at night.

  Two hours later, she sat back exhausted in her chair at the kitchen table. Six different guns, including handguns and even an assault rifle, lay spread out on a beach towel covered the wood surface of the table. Lincoln had walked her through all of them until she understood how to clean and load each one, getting the feel of their weight and how she should stand to fire them. It was unsettling to hold them in her hands, to feel the life-ending power under her fingers. She could see why some men loved guns. But her? Knowing with one tiny squeeze she could kill a man was not a happy thought.

  “You hungry? It’s around dinnertime, isn’t it?” she asked as she pushed the last gun away on the table and heaved a sigh.

  Lincoln chuckled. “Is that your way of saying you like my cooking?”

  She couldn’t deny she felt spoiled by the fact that he was able to make a decent meal out of what he had on hand. She was terrible at cooking at the best of times and was next to hopeless without stocked grocery stores.

  “It’s better than my diet of Hostess cupcakes and saltine crackers.” She had discovered early on that those two products had a long shelf life.

  “Jesus…tell me you weren’t really eating those. Even the rats don’t eat that stuff.” He was laughing now, and she couldn’t help laughing too.

  “They never expire. Don’t judge me.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, and he smiled as he got his laughter under control. “How about mac and cheese?”

  “I might kiss you again if you make that.” She was teasing, but she saw the heat in his gaze in response, and her own body began to hum. Whenever he looked at her like that, like he wanted to devour her, she seemed to vibrate like she was a wineglass half-full and he was stroking his fingertip around the rim, making her sing.

  “Promise me that kiss?” he asked. His low, rumbling voice was whiskey rough. Her throat burned as she imagined that kiss.

  “You make the mac and cheese? Then yes.”

  His smug, cocky look was one of a man slowly winning an argument she didn’t even know they were having.

  “Go stretch your ankle some more. I’ll handle dinner.”

  He turned on a few lamps and drew the curtains tight around the kitchen as darkness descended on the landscape. She walked over to the stairs and stood so that the balls of her feet were on the bottom step, doing the poses he’d shown her earlier that morning. Then she lowered her body so her heels sank below the lip of that stair. It stretched her calves and the tight knot around her ankle. She repeated this stretch a dozen times.

  As she stretched, she listened to the comforting sounds coming from the kitchen, the water running, the clang of pots, and the music. Lincoln always seemed to play music when he cooked. Tonight it was classical, soft and melodic. He had a lot of music on his phone. And for that she was truly grateful, because music for a brief few moments each day drowned out the silence and killed the weight she carried on her shoulders.

  She didn’t want to interrupt Lincoln, so she explored more of the house after she finished her stretches. There was a small office that had a desk littered with papers, a laptop, and a printer. More happy family photos decorated the walls.

  Caroline reached out and touched the edge of one picture frame, sending up a silent prayer to whoever these people had been. She glanced about the room and saw the black upright piano in the corner by the window. She lifted the lid off the keys and pressed down on the middle C. The note rang in the air, slightly off-key. She’d had piano lessons along with her sister as a child, and she could still remember a song or two, but it felt wrong to play now. Like it would disrupt its resting place in this family’s tomb.

  “Dinner’s ready.” Lincoln’s voice startled her so much that she jumped and clutched at her chest. He was right behind her.

  “Jesus, warn me next time, Delta Force, or I’ll tie a cat bell on you.” His lean, muscled form was filling the narrow doorway. His arms were crossed, not in a way that suggested he was mad, but rather relaxed. She had begun over the last few days to piece together more and more of the puzzle that was Lincoln Atwood. There was something to be said for having no modern-day electronic distractions. She realized she actually could decipher more of him because watching Lincoln was one of the few things she could do. And he was damned fascinating.

  “Mac and cheese?” she asked.

  “You bet, honey.” He winked and then turned his back on her as he headed into the kitchen. She tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered when he called her honey.

  He had set up the table for two, clearing away all the guns. There was candlelight and even two glasses of white wine.

  “Wine?” she asked, nodding at the bottle. He picked it up and waved a hand at the label like a sommelier at a five-star restaurant.

  “I believe this pinot grigio brings out the best tastes of the artificial cheese sauce and shell pasta.” He winked at her, and she laughed as she sat down. When he’d seated himself opposite her, she raised her glass in the air.

  “A toast,” she suggested. When he clinked his glass against hers, she continued. “To saving the world.”

  He echoed the words, but she didn’t miss the flickering shadows in his eyes. She wasn’t surprised. Everyone was dead. Almost everyone, anyway. But she had to keep hope alive.

  “You think you can really save it?” he asked. His tone was soft rather than hard and mocking like she might have expected at first.

  “Maybe. If we can get enough people in the right place at the right time with clear heads, we can work on restoring power, gas, water…and from there we start spreading it outward. Once we restore the necessities, we can restore the structure, government, law and order. It won’t be easy, but I think it could be done.” In the hours she wasn’t thinking about Lincoln or her family, she’d been making plans, thinking over how she’d go about resurrecting society if she ever had the chance. She wasn’t naïve enough to think it would be easy, but if she saw a window of opportu
nity, she’d leap through without a second thought.

  She took a bite of the shell mac and cheese. It was as good as before, maybe better. “Do you still have family?”

  “I… did. My mother and father.” He didn’t volunteer any more information.

  “Do you know if…?”

  “Gone. I’m pretty sure.”

  “Where do they live? We can go check on”

  The decisive look on his face warned her not to push any further.

  They ate their meal in silence, and she finished her glass of wine, grateful for the distraction of a slight buzz. She helped Lincoln wash the dishes and almost giggled. It was like they were an old married couple—dinner, dishes, wine, and candlelight, along with very little conversation.

  “Could we listen to some more music?” she asked. She expected him to say no, that they needed to conserve energy, but to her surprise he agreed.

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Surprise me.” She wiped her hands on the dish towel and finished putting away the glasses in the cupboards while Lincoln turned on his phone. Seconds later “Stand by Me” began to play.

  “I love this one!” Caroline exclaimed, and she couldn’t resist humming along.

  Lincoln started loading his guns into a black duffel bag on the sideboard table by the kitchen. Caroline watched him, her heart hammering as she debated with herself. She did like him, even though he had infuriated her when they first met. His intensity still scared her. But she liked him. She liked the way he always tucked her beneath the blankets, how he’d taken care of her ankle, how he cooked for her, the way he looked in the early-morning light when she caught sight of the faint freckles on his nose and cheeks, and the way he held her when she felt like the world was disintegrating around her.

  “Er…Lincoln?”

  “Hmm?” He didn’t look at her as he continued to load the last of the spare ammo into the heavy-duty duffel bag.

  “Would you dance with me?”

  He paused in the act of zipping up the bag and looked at her.

  His eyes smoldered, and she knew asking him to do a simple thing like dancing could lead to so much more. But this was the end of the world, at least the human one. Did she really have anything left to lose?

  “I don’t really dance, honey,” he said softly, but she could feel his gaze, like a tangible caress as it swept down her body.

  “I find that hard to believe. Please. Just one. Just so I can feel normal for a while.” She didn’t like begging, but if she got to dance, she’d forget this hell for just one minute, and it would be worth it.

  Lincoln abandoned the bag and came over to her in the wide space between the couch and the TV. He looked uncomfortable.

  “What? They don’t teach slow dancing in Delta Force?” she teased, hoping to put them at ease. He continued to stare at her like he was trying to figure out how to defuse a bomb, not slow dance with a girl.

  “I know two hundred ways to kill a man, but I never did get those dance lessons my mom always wanted to take me to.”

  “Your mom was into dancing?” she asked, genuinely curious and hoping he would tell her more. She wanted details about his life.

  “Yeah. She was a ballet dancer when she was young. Nothing major, but she did perform with a North Carolina company for a few years.”

  “Really? That’s amazing. I love ballet. I used to go see the ballet in Chicago.”

  Lincoln flashed her a crooked grin. “Let me guess, you danced as a child?”

  She blushed. “Yes. I was okay, but my mom ended up putting me in gymnastics when she realized I was a little too tall and muscled for ballet.”

  Lincoln placed his hands on her waist, tugging her close as that dark clean woodsy scent enveloped her.

  “You’re not tall and muscled.” He playfully pinched one of her biceps.

  “Hey,” she laughed. “I was tall and muscled as a kid compared to the other girls. And I am strong. I stabbed you with that glass shard.”

  “You did. But you were lucky. We’re going to have to work on your self-defense.” He brushed his hands underneath her sweater just above her waistline, and she giggled as it tickled her.

  “And you’re ticklish,” he mused. His brown eyes twinkled as he teased her. For a second she forgot about the world outside, and she was just here with Lincoln, flirting like she would on a first date. But the wind whistling in the fireplace brought her slowly back down from the cloud she’d been floating on for that brief moment.

  She wrinkled her nose. “We can work on self-defense tomorrow. But tonight we are dancing. Eyes up here, soldier,” she reminded him when his gaze dropped to her breasts.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Lincoln’s eyes slid languidly up from her breasts to her mouth. She placed her hands on his shoulders as the next song started: “At Last” by Etta James.

  “Now follow my lead.” She took a step toward him, and he took a step back. “Just do that in a slow circle, and I’ll follow you as you lead.”

  His face was full of concentration, but his hold on her body was loose and relaxed. “Got it. I think.”

  And he did get it. Whatever his protestations about not having taken lessons, he didn’t need them. Caroline leaned into him, absorbing his warmth and his strength, wishing that this was a normal date with a normal guy. She wanted to close her eyes and see herself in a nightclub in Chicago, or on a balcony outside a fancy restaurant.

  When she had first seen Lincoln, she had thought him wild, untamable, and maybe he was too. Maybe they both were. But how did one escape the new wildness they found themselves in? Or was it better to just let go? To surrender to that primal urge inside her to give herself over to him in hopes that he would do the same?

  “I can feel you thinking,” Lincoln murmured as he laid his cheek against the top of her head.

  “I do that sometimes. Think too hard,” she admitted. “My dad always teased me about that. He said it would give me wrinkles someday, but then he’d laugh and tell me to smile more.”

  “Your dad’s right. You get this little wrinkle between your brows.”

  “Hey!” She laughed a little before settling back in against him.

  “Just let go. Feel my heartbeat and measure it against your own.” His soft voice was hypnotic as she pressed her cheek against his chest. Beneath the warm wool of his sweater, she felt the slow, steady thump-thump, as dependable as a grandfather clock.

  They danced to “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” and “Bitter Fruit,” sharing nothing but breaths and matching heartbeats as darkness claimed the world outside. The single camping lantern cast slow-moving shadows upon the walls. She watched as their two distinct shapes blurred together into one being.

  I am not alone. Not anymore. It’s me and Lincoln against the world.

  She almost smiled. There was some comfort in that thought. Caroline lifted her gaze when the last song ended, and silence fell around them. He looked down at her, his hand still on her waist, and she saw tenderness and animal hunger warring upon his features. Driven by a sudden urgency to be closer, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. Slow, lingering, hot. Their tongues sweetly dueled, and she pressed her body flush to his. He cradled the back of her head with one hand.

  A slow, delicious tingling built deep in her belly as he deepened the kiss, turning the experience raw and carnal. God, she liked that. He kissed her like he wanted to brand her and never let her forget how well he could kiss. She liked the bold, aggressive way he captured her mouth. He wasn’t afraid or timid. A bold warrior. A soldier. Nothing frightened him. She knew it was silly to feel like this with him, because it was just her hormones talking, but she liked this and him all too much, and she did feel safe.

  Maybe love wasn’t possible in a world like this anymore, but she didn’t want to give up the possibility of it.

  Lincoln explored the hollow of her back with one hand, sliding his palm up beneath her sweater and brushing against her bare skin. The simple contact almost burned it f
elt so good. She teased the strong hardness of his lips and moaned in delight as he kissed her in gentle demand, her blood humming in her veins with a song as old as time itself. He held her close, his entire being focused on kissing her, and she melted against him.

  Her knees buckled a little as a delightful dizziness washed over her. When they eventually broke apart, their harsh breathing mixed in the silence. There were a thousand things she wanted to say, but none of them seemed right. She was clinging to a stranger in the dark because she had no one else. That was the reality of the moment. Nothing she could say could fully explain the sexual and emotional hunger and confusion she felt, of wanting more and fearing more, which melded together inside her.

  She blushed and ducked her head.

  “I think that,” he said at a slow pace, “I earned my mac and cheese kiss.”

  He trailed a fingertip down her nose, and then with one more sexy bedroom look that made her almost forget her name, he let go of her.

  She let out a husky laugh. “Yeah, you did.”

  “We should get to bed. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

  He headed for the stairs, carrying the lantern with him. She watched his tall, lean figure and couldn’t help but wonder if the real danger was here…with him. If there one was one thing she’d learned, it was that anything you depended on or cared about could be destroyed or taken away. And not everyone was what they appeared to be.

  7

  Here, where the world is quiet;

  Here, where all trouble seems

  Dead winds’ in the spent waves’ riot

  In doubtful dreams of dreams.

  —“The Garden of Proserpine”

  by Charles Algernon Swinburne

  * * *

  Caroline watched out the window of the SUV as Lincoln drove them into an outdoor shopping mall complex. There were dozens of abandoned cars and storefronts with broken windows, but this one didn’t look as savaged as other parts of Omaha.