Lynn figured the number of ghouls would increase once they got closer to the densely populated seaboard, but even she was shocked by the sheer number of dead they spotted as they skirted the outlying suburbs of Winchester. They filled the fields like rotten wheat, shambled densely through the narrow streets of Nian, and dotted the farms and pastures falling away from Route 654. She recalled the vast flocks of ghouls near Detroit and Toledo, and how as they fled south from the Rite-Aid where Lori was bitten, they were nearly overwhelmed. Throbbing fear radiated from the center of her heart as she navigated the Bronco toward the eastern West Virginia panhandle, and every few minutes she glanced at Lincoln as if to make sure he was okay. He caught her every time, smiling and squeezing her hand, which had been in his since they left the Impala.
For most of its length, 654 flows past pastures, hills, and hamlets composed of ten or less buildings. Tumbledown barns, general stores, rustic old houses, and still ponds lined the way. It stood largely empty, but there were wrecks here and there; at one point a tanker lay across the road like a fallen tree, and Lynn had to inch around it on the shoulder. At another, a pile of twisted, fire scorched metal marked the place where a pile-up happened during the final days.
Before entering West Virginia, 654 turned into 739 and narrowed, the yellow dividing lines disappearing. Split rail fences overhung by leafy trees lined both sides, forming a tunnel through which golden summer sunshine filtered like divine light in a Renaissance painting. No sign marked the boundary between states - Lynn didn't even realize they'd crossed back into West Virginia until she saw a state police car parked at he side of the road.
"Keep straight?" Lynn asked when they came to a fork.
"Yeah," Lincoln said. He lifted his free hand, clad in a black glove to help my grip and scratched his head. "Keep on it until Harpers Ferry. Couple miles up we're gonna cross over I-81 so there might be wrecks."
"Like your face?" Lynn teased.
"Like the way you kiss," Lincoln retorted.
She pursed her lips and crushed his hand, making him wince. Hey, she might be kind of...well...clingy and and stuff, but she still -
Lincoln rolled her knuckles and pain streaked up her arm. "Ow!" She ripped away from his grasp and slapped his leg. "Jerk!"
He laughed and drew away, so she slapped him again to show him that there's no escaping the wrath of Lynn Loud. He laughed and laid his hand on the butt of the Beretta. "When your lunch group roasting you for your Pokemon lunch box but don't know you have a Glock 34 inside."
Lynn's brow pinched. "What?"
"It's a meme," he said, "that fat kid from Drake and Josh smiling because he's about to go all Pumped Up Kicks on his middle school."
For a moment Lynn simply looked at her brother, then shook her head. "You're such a dork," she said fondly.
The trees flanking the road fell away, and in the distance giant billboards advertising fast food joints, fly by night attorneys, and high speed internet service rose loftily over the interstate, which passed under a bridge that carried 739 to the other side. "That's another way of saying you're about to get blasted."
Lynn laughed. "Oooooh, is it, now?"
"Yep," Lincoln said. "I'd only kneecap you, though. Because I love you."
Those three words brought a goofy smile to Lynn's face, and a giggle escaped her throat, passing through her lips before she could have stopped it...if she wanted. How can three words make her feel so warm and fuzzy and good? How could his face and his voice make every awful thing that had happened over the past three months seem not as terrible? Twenty-four hours ago, she watched her sister being eaten alive by the living dead, and while it tormented her, right now she didn't feel crushing, chest-tightening, suicidal grief the way she rightly should...especially since it was her fault. She felt good, and feeling good brought a flush of guilt to her face. She didn't deserve to be happy, she deserved to be where Luan was, and Luan here, but she was happy.
And so scared of losing that feeling that she trembled as if with cold. She didn't want to think of that, though, because if she did, she would lose her focus, and when she lost her focus, people she loved died. She'd be damned if she was going to let Lincoln die.
She'd be damned.
From the I-81 corridor, 739 turns into Route 26 and winds through the town of Bunker Hill - wasn't there a famous battle here? Two miles out, a half-finished apartment block appeared on the right, its bare plywood outer walls partially covered in Tyvek paper with 84 all over it. South of Tarico Heights, the highway angles sharply south, passing a used car lot, a Denny's, and a BP station before crossing a wide creek. Zombies shuffled aimlessly across the blacktop, turning toward the sound of the engine and grasping at thin air. "How much farther?" she asked as she swung around an F-250 with a trailer attached to the back, a boat resting upon it in proud repose.
Lincoln grabbed the map from the dashboard and unfolded it. "Uh...about twenty miles."
Judging by the position of the sun, it was around noon. If they made good time, they could be in Washington by tomorrow. She didn't know if the pinching in her chest was excitement or dread - there might be help, or there might be death. "What about from there?"
"We stay on this road all the way down the Potomac," he said. "It's about ninety miles give or take."
Lynn's stomach lurched. Her mind turned back to the house on the mountain they sheltered in...what, three days ago? God, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since then. She could see herself and Lincoln in a place like that, an out of the way farmhouse on a rolling patch of land far, far from the dead, just the two of them, safe, happy, and in love, eeking by and having little, but having each other. If Winchester was any indication, Washington would be crawling with zombies, and the chances of them even getting to safety, if it existed, were slim, the risk too great.
She glanced at him and frowned in thought; he stared out the window with a dour expression, his brows heavy and his lips tight. He was scared too, though she knew he wouldn't admit it. She squeezed his hand and brushed her thumb across his knuckles. He turned and forced a wan smile. "Hi," she said.
He grinned. "Hi. Should we introduce ourselves? Start all over?"
She shook her head. "No, I'm happy with this."
"So am I," he said.
She took her hand back to steer around a head-on collision angled across the center line. "And I'm scared of it being taken away from me." Tears came to her eyes, and she turned away with a frustrated sigh. She was turning into a fucking emotional wreck and she didn't like it.
A dark shadow crossed Lincoln's face. "Me too," he said grimly, and squeezed her hand. "But we have today and that's all that matters."
Lynn sighed and started to speak, but hesitated, not knowing if she should say what she wanted. It wasn't based on any logic, but instead on a feeling. What she and Lincoln had now was...she wasn't sure. Would she feel the same way if things went back to normal? If the world came back and she was no longer a nervous wreck? She couldn't say, but in that moment she did love him, as a brother and as more. "I don't want just today," she finally said, "I...I want the rest of our lives."
Sighing, Lincoln nodded. "So do I. No matter how long that is."
Long, Lynn hoped, very long, so long that they could have a normal life together, that they could share years and years of love and teasing and grow old together, so long that he could be by her side, holding her hand, through everything, so long that maybe, just maybe, even though they were brother and sister, they could have a family. Life is a cold, bitter place, especially now, and Lynn didn't want to face it alone, couldn't face it alone; she needed Lincoln like a lamp in the dark. If she had her way, they would both live forever, and even that wouldn't be enough time to express the feelings locked in her breast. She could make love to him, hold his hand, bear his children - and it would never fully show him how much she loved him.
The chances of that happening if they took a detour and found a little house in the country would be much higher than if they went to Washington. Lisa studied the infection, she said that the rate of decomposition was in keeping with the laws of biological degradation, therefore within a year, all of those things will be immobile and decayed beyond the point of presenting a danger. Just one year. Less, even; ten months, maybe nine. And in the winter, they'd freeze solid. She and Lincoln could get through a few months easy, and after that, they wouldn't have to worry about zombies anymore. They could live, love, and make lots of babies, and maybe one day they could find other survivors and rebuild.
She favored him with a longing stare, wanting to tell him what she was thinking, but for some reason she couldn't explain, her resolve crumbled and she turned back to the road. In the passenger seat, he shifted and winced in pain. "You alright?" she asked worriedly.
"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, "it's my knee. I think I jostled something when L -" he cut himself off like flipping a switch, and his eyes clouded. He glanced away and sucked his bottom lip in as if to keep from crying.
Lynn frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," he said, a thickness to his voice that normally wasn't there, "I just fell and hurt my knee." He lifted his hand to wipe his eyes and hissed through clenched teeth. "And my elbow."
"You want some aspirin?" she asked/
He shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Just a little stiff, that's all."
Fifteen minutes later, after skirting a dense stand of forest, the highway flattened and ran through more farmland, either side lined with waist high stone walls for several miles. Thick gray clouds filled the sky, and faint, sporadic drops of rain splattered the windshield. She reached over and turned on the wipers, stealing a glance at Lincoln, who stared thoughtfully out the window. His eyes shifted to the side, catching her. "I wonder how many farms there are," he said.
"Out there?" she asked, nodding toward the eastern horizon. A vast field stretched toward woodland, and a green tractor sat in the middle, its door standing open as though it were abandoned in a hurry. A crow sat perched on the hood, its head turning in dark curiosity as they passed.
Lincoln shook his head. "No, I mean...in the whole country."
The highway dipped down before crossing a set of railroad tracks and entering Charles Town: Old houses pushed close to the shoulder to the road, and a mile in they were surrounded by neighborhood: Homes, fenced yards, hilly streets, cracked sidewalks overhung with wavering branches. The rain began to intensify, hissing in the road and on the Bronco's hood.
"I dunno," Lynn said after a moment of thought. Enough that they could claim at least one for their own, she thought but didn't say. She grinned. "We can skip Washington and go count them all."
He chuckled humorlessly, "I'm good, thanks."
The street bent and crossed into the downtown section: Quaint brick storefronts flanked the sidewalks - wrought iron lamp posts evenly spaced loomed overhead. Cars sat here and there, some of them slanted, others smashed together, glass shattered and metal twisted. A few ghouls wandered the wreckage, turning and giving slow, futile chase as the Bronco passed, its tires splashing through puddles. Lincoln watched, then leaned over and turned on the CB, the low hiss of static filling the cab. Lynn lifted a brow. "I thought listening to the CB was pointless."
"Eh," he said with a shrug. "We're closer to Washington," he said. "We might pick something up."
A colonial church dominated a corner lot on the left, its steeple rising proudly into the driving rain. The wipers beat a dull, steady tempo against the glass and as Lynn watched, a ghoul stumbled out into the street and slipped on the wet pavement, landing hard on its ass. Lynn snickered.
Then ran over its legs.
She and Lincoln both looked back; it lay against the curb rolling from side to side like a turtle, its lower limbs smashed and smeared across the asphalt. She knew it was simply trying to get up and chase them, but she could almost believe it was writhing in agony.
"Five points," Lincoln said.
Lynn blew a raspberry. "Five? That's it?"
He nodded. "You ruined his legs but you didn't kill him."
"I wasn't trying to kill him," she said defensively.
The buildings fell away and the road crossed under an interstate through a tunnel, the rain momentarily halting until they were on the other side. "Good," Lincoln said, "because if you were, you did a suck job of it. Freaking hack."
Lynn was shocked into laughter. "Hack?"
"Yeah. Hack."
"I will stop this car and kick your ass." She shot him a half-lidded glance. I won't really kick your ass, Linc-O. I'll do something...else. Lincoln smirked. I know you won't kick my ass, it said, because you're in loooooooove with me, ooo-ooo. Well...he wasn't wrong. She reached out and crept her fingers across the top of his leg, brushing the seam along the inside thigh of his jeans. His breath caught and his eyes darted to hers, a naughty, boyish light dancing through them.
Something in that gaze made her heartbeat pick up; she bit her bottom lip and skipped her fingers up to the warm bulge of his crotch. His breathing changed, became ragged, and he licked his lips. "You better...keep your eyes on the road," he stammered.
She cupped him in her hand and rubbed slowly, tracing the outline of his package, her middle finger finding his head and stroking, bringing it to life and making it twitch under her touch. His body responding to her was the hottest thing ever, and her center twinged in anticipation; she felt burning lubrication filling her the slit between her folds and squeezed her legs together, which only made the pressure worse. "I wanna keep them on you, though," she said.
Lincoln licked his lips and regarded her with longing eyes. "We'll crash."
"No we won't," she said, then grinned cockily. "No one on the road but us."
He glanced at the road. "And that Mac truck."
Lynn whipped her head around, half expecting to see a truck passing them in the opposite lane like the past two months hadn't happened. Instead, she spotted an eighteen wheeler angled across the road, its trailer flush against the guardrail and its cab pointed at the southbound lane. She grudgingly took her hand off of Lincoln's crotch and wrapped it around the steering wheel - after his warmth, it felt cold, empty, and alone. She whined in the back of her throat and stuck her bottom lip out as she drove into the median to avoid the truck. Lincoln chuckled. "We can stop in a few. I wanna stretch my legs, anyway."
"I wanna stretch something else," she said suggestively; it came before she could stop it, and she blushed because it sounded really dumb and cheesy. She stole a glance at Lincoln, and he grinned.
"I'm gonna be the one stretching something."
Her crotch tingled. Yes, please!
Out loud: "Pfft, okay, little guy."
A sign flashed by on their left, white lettering on a brown background. HISTORIC BOLIVAR HARPERS FERRY NEXT LEFT. The highway kept straight toward low, rugged mountains in the distance shrouded with fog.
"That's not what you said last night," he smirked. "Either time. Or this morning." He narrowed his eyes and threw his head back. "Harder, daddy Lincoln, faster."
Lynn laughed. "I didn't say that."
"Right. You were too busy cumming your brains out."
Actually, she was too busy relishing the closeness of his body against hers, the way his heart gently pounded next to her breast, the way he stared lovingly into her eyes and kissed her neck and chin and...okay, and cumming her brains out. Lynn didn't think she was sheltered growing up, but she'd never seen a real penis before last night, so she didn't know what was big and small, but Lincoln's got the job done and that was good enough for her. Plus it was attached to him, and that made all the difference, didn't it? Sex, or so she had heard, is as much is the heart and mind as it is the genitals. If you love the person you're with, the sex will be great no matter what size they are. Right?
"I was faking," she said.
"No, you weren't."
A line of vehicles sat at an intersection, rain drenching their frames. A traffic light swung back and forth in a gust of wind and power lines jiggled. Lynn spun the wheel and passed them. "I sure was," she said in a tone that made clear she was lying.
Lincoln turned to look at her, then shrugged one shoulder. "Alright, fine. If I'm that trash at sex, you can do it yourself."
The lanes merged and the road narrowed as it dipped down on its approach to Harper's Ferry, hills dotted by trees and undergrowth sloping up from either shoulder.
"But, Lincy…" she drew.
"Nope," Lincoln said and stared out his window. "The candy shop is closed."
The rain began to let up some. On the right, the hill dropped into a narrow valley filled with trees. Beyond, a forested mountain stood against the hazy sky. The road curved gradually and crossed the Shenandoah River, then hugged it tightly. Mountains surrounded them. "When do we get into town?" she asked.
"We don't," he said, "we passed it."
"Oh." There was a hint of disappointment in her voice. Earlier, Lincoln told her all about Harpers Ferry, how some guy named John Brown tried to take it over and free the slaves, and how it was basically a peninsula formed by the confluence of the Shenandoah River and the Potomac. She listened raptly (mainly because she liked the comforting rise and fall of his voice), and by the time he was done, she was kind of amped up to see it.
She also wanted to stop for sex. "What's the next town?" she asked as she navigated around a stalled Escalade.
"Sandy Hook, Maryland," Lincoln said instantly. The Potomac separated West Virginia and Maryland for a good chunk of its length.
Lynn blinked. "Where the school shooting happened?"
"No," Lincoln said, "that was Connecticut."
In all her life, no one had ever accused Lynn of being a brainiac; she was a sports girl and everyone assumed that meant she was dumb or something, and the thing that irritated her most about that was that maybe they were right. Lincoln's intelligence, however, was a real turn on. Not sexually, but as a trait. She found it attractive, and always had in a way, even before she started to feel this way. Back in Royal Woods, she'd listen to him speak and shake her head in amazement. He wasn't as smart as Lisa (was anybody?), but he was smart, and even if she called him a geek and teased him about it, she'd always liked that about him. She'd always thought he was kind of cute too.
She wondered if she'd been in love with him for longer than she knew - if maybe it was a subconscious thing before coming to the surface. And if it was...would they have 'happened' if the world didn't end? Would those feelings ever have fully emerged? She didn't know, but she figured they probably wouldn't have, which she supposed was the silver lining to this whole sad mess.
Presently, the highway crossed over the Potomac on a narrow bridge with green railings. Rocks jutted from the rippling surface and downstream a tiny tree crammed island faced the shore. On the other side, a sign read: WELCOME TO MARYLAND.
"New state," Lincoln said.
A mile further on, a green sign with a white arrow pointed to Sandy Hook. Lynn pulled onto an off ramp and turned into the parking lot of a Waffle House at its base. She scanned the area for zombies, but didn't see any. Perfect. She cut the engine and turned to Lincoln, a salacious grin crossing her lips. "Wanna have sex?" she asked.
Lincoln ticked his head from side to side in thought. "Eh." The twinkle in his eye betrayed his true thoughts on the matter.
She could have flirted with him a little more, really built it up, but she wanted it now: His body and the deep connection in sex. She climbed around the console and threw one leg over his lap, shifting onto him and planing her knees on either side of his. He put his hands on her hips and she threaded hers through his snowy hair; she looked lovingly down into his eyes and wiggled her hips against the growing bulge in his pants. This...right here...touching him and staring at him, feeling his warmth and life, was the most arousing thing imaginable. She leaned in and pressed their foreheads together; his breath broke against her lips, and its sweet taste filled her mouth. Se brushed her fingers across his cheek and breathed deeply of his scent.
"I love you, Lincoln," she said.
"I love you too, Lynn," he said.
Their lips met, and their tongues moved slowly over one another in a tender waltz that increased in tempo as their passion rose; Lynn traced her fingers down the sides of his face, and he slipped his hands under her shirt and pressed them to her rippling stomach, their heat flowing into her and sending pangs of desire through her slickening core. He cupped her breasts and rubbed her nipples firmly with his thumbs; she gasped and sucked a deep intake of breath, then kissed him again, her head tilting to one side and her tongue jamming as far into his mouth as it could go. The seam of his jeans swelled and strained against her groin; she mindlessly rubbed herself against it, the feeling of it scraping across her aching folds making her light-headed. She reached down and fumbled with the button of his jeans as he ran his hands over her breasts and stomach and along her sides, sending shivers down her spine.
His dick popped free like a jack in the box, and she grinned against his lips, her hand stroking slowly up and down his shaft. "Hi," she panted.
"Hi," he replied.
She lifted up and yanked her jeans down, pulling them over her knees and settling on him, his head slipping between he lips and poking just above her enterance; his hands closed around her breasts and squeezed, and her eyelids fluttered.
Splaying her hands on his shoulders, she shifted until his tip pressed against her opening, then settled, taking him in slowly, his crowned head spreading her and raking her walls; she bit her bottom lip and threw her head back; she could feel every bump and ridge sliding into her, tight against her insides, filling her. When he bottomed out, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply; his hands pushed up the hem of her shirt and rubbed the soft skin at the small of her back. His breath was heavy and his hips twitched forward, jamming it against her cervix with the sweetest pain she had ever felt.
Hugging him tightly, her cheek flush with his, she lifted her hips, trembling at the sensation of him scraping her, digging into her, claiming her, then jerked down, a tiny Uhhh bursting from her lips. He circled his arms around her and held tight as she established a steady rhythm, thrusting up and down, her speed increasing as embers ignited into a roaring inferno in her depths. She kissed the side of his neck, his shoulder, his earlobe, losing herself to passion, her body moving of its own accord and his moving with it. "I love you," she breathed and sucked his earlobe between her teeth.
"I love you too," he said.
Her orgasm formed in the center of her stomach, the burst like a ball of dazzling light, setting every nerve ending in her body on fire and filling her skull with blinding brilliance. Lincoln's dick swelled, then his seed shot into her, making her body freeze and shake, silvery, molten lead burning and sizzling, scorching everything as it spilled along the passage of her femininity, filled her womb, and overflowed, dripping down his shaft and pooling in his lap. He moaned her name, and that, knowing she was making him cum and shake, made her own climax even more powerful.
Afterward, drawing shuddery breaths and quaking as aftershocks rolled through her, Lynn hugged her brother tight and breathed his smell, her eyes closed and a slow, happy smile spreading across her lips. He ran his nails up and down her back, and she shivered in delight.
"You're shrinking," she mumbled as his penis began to deflate.
"I know," he replied and kissed her throat, his lips finding her pulse. "Because you turn me off."
She snickered and pulled back, taking his face in her hands. "All that cum says different." She shifted and grimaced at the sensation of it spilling from between her legs. "Speaking of which, we need to clean up."
Five minutes later, as clean as they could get with a single towel (which wasn't much, Lynn's thighs and pussy were still very sticky), they got out and into the day. The rain had stopped entirely, and the air was humid, molding around them like a wet blanket. Lynn looked around for zombies, saw none, and went around the Bronco's front end to be with Lincoln, who shifted from one foot to the other and winced. "You okay?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. That spill I took and being cooped up in the car aren't doing me any favors." He flexed his arms and bared his teeth with a hiss. His movements were slow, stiff. Lynn frowned and started to say something, but he cut her off. "You want something to eat? I'm starved."
Lynn shrugged. "Yeah, I could eat."
Together they went around to the back of the Bronco, and Lincoln opened the hatch. Lynn looked around; the afternoon stood empty and rain-slicked, no dead in sight.
Lincoln reached in and pulled out two MREs, then climbed up onto the bumper and sat between a box and a sleeping back, his feet dangling over the pavement. He hissed in pain as he did so. "You sure you're okay?" Lynn asked worriedly and sat next to him.
"I'm fine," he said, and ripped open one of the packages, then handed it to Lynn. She glanced at the label printed across the front: POT ROAST JUST LIKE MOM USED TO MAKE. I highly doubt that.
"What happened back there, anyway?" she asked, remembering his hesitancy before. He was acting like...her heart dropped. "You didn't get bit, did you?"
He shook his head. "No, it was…" he trailed off and stared into the distance; thin white mist slipped though the trees on a distant hillside. Lynn's entire body throbbed with expectant fear. "What?"
Sighing, he looked at his lap. "Luan. It was Luan. She...she tackled me and...I shot her." The words came hard, and as Lynn listened, her stomach flooded with icy sludge. "She was fresh so she was, you know, stronger, and she...she really slammed me." His face darkened with sadness and he drew a heavy breath, then glanced at the package in his hands. "No biggie." He ripped it open and looked at her with a weak smile.
From there, the mood was soured, and they ate in silence; Lynn's appetite was gone, but she forced herself to eat anyway. As she did, she thought of Luan, dead in the middle of the road like a dog, and of Lisa, buried alone behind a roadside rib joint, and of the others, walking the earth after death, hungering for blood, dumb, pitiful, dragging.
With a jolt, a vision came to her: Lincoln and her side by side, dead and pale, shuffling through the streets of Washington, seekers after safety who found only death. She swallowed hard and looked at her brother, her lover, the most precious thing in the world, really the only thing in the world.
"You know," she said, "I was thinking...maybe we shouldn't go to Washington."
Lincoln looked at her, brows knitting. "What do you mean?" he asked incredulously.
Raindrops fell from the leaden sky, pelting Lynn's head and shoulders and making ripples in puddles on the pavement. She could feel his gaze hot on her skin. She sighed and looked up at him. "I mean, it's...it's too dangerous. Look how many of those things were in Winchester. Washington is five times as big and they're gonna be everywhere. Even if there's a bunker or something, we don't know where it is. We're gonna have to fumble around a whole city with zombies on our asses. The risk of you getting hurt -" she realized what she said and amended herself - "or me getting hurt is too much."
Lincoln did a double take. "W-W-Well what are we supposed to do? Live among the dead?"
She nodded and he blinked. "Yeah," she said, then, like a woman pleading her case: "We can find a house….something out of the way, in the country. W-We can live there and wait for them to die off. It won't take long. Lisa said a year at most. We can do that, Linc. We can hide out, and then when it's over, we can...make a life or something."
For a long, suspenseful moment, Lincoln stared at her, his forehead pinched and his lips pursed as though he'd just tasted something he didn't like. When he shook his head, Lynn's heart staggered. "No," he said. "We'll never make it out here." His voice was flat, lacking conviction.
"What do you mean?" she asked. "We totally could. We don't need to worry about food, there's plenty of canned stuff out there; we don't have to worry about...about anything. We can find a place with an attic, board up the doors and windows, and live in there...in the attic." Her words were coming faster as she tried desperately to sway him and saw that it wasn't working.
"We need to be with other people," he said, "what if one of us gets sick? Or hurt? We'll be fucked."
That knocked her off balance, but she recovered quickly. "Pioneers did it. We can too. It's just for a little while. I mean, we can wait until next spring then go to Washington. It'll be safer then."
Lincoln seemed to consider, and for a brief moment she thought he was going to assent, but then her hopes dashed when he shook his head again. "No."
"Why?" she demanded. She wasn't the most articulate or thoughtful person in the world, but she thought her reasoning made sense - common sense. How could he think going to Washington was better? Sure, there were dangers in living on their own for the next eight months but they'd been doing it, on the road, for two, and the risk involved in sauntering into a city full of zombies was far, far greater than the risk of living in an attic for a comparative few weeks.
The rain came faster now, hissing like static. "Because going to Washington is best." His voice was uncharacteristically tight. He tossed the pouch of food away and stood, wincing at the pain in his knees. "And that's that." He crossed in front of her and disappeared around the passenger side. Lynn watched him go with shock, then her eyes narrowed and anger, fueled by fear - fear for him - knotted in her chest. She got up, slammed the hatch, and went to the driver side door, slipping in as Lincoln buckled his seatbelt.
"You're being dumb," she said and buckled her own belt, jamming the clasp roughly into the slot. "We're much better off laying low instead of going into fucking zombie central. We've been surviving on our own for two months, on the road, we can make it in a farmhouse."
Lincoln's lips tightened and he turned away, the white light of the overcast afternoon bathing his stony face. "Have we?" he asked, his words like a brisk slap in the face. He turned to look at her, and his eyes were hard. "Everyone we love has died out here. Everyone has died. We've been on the road for two months, Lynn, two months, and we haven't seen a single person. Not one. Because they're dead. If we stay out here, we will die too."
Was it her imagination, or was there an accusatory edge in his voice? We're not surviving out here because of you, Lynn. You killed everyone, and if we stay out here, you'll kill me too. Her lungs crushed as if under a closing fist, and thin, burning tears welled in her eyes. Her first reaction was to lash out, to hurt him the same way he hurt her, but she stopped herself. He meant so much to her, so fucking much, and she couldn't do it, couldn't hurt him or even raise her voice at him. "You're wrong," she said with a calm she did not feel and took a deep breath to dispel the dark pressure in her chest. She was worried for him and him alone, she had to remind herself of that fact. "We can do it. It won't be the easiest thing in the world, but we can, Linc, and you know it."
"No we won't," he said and turned pointedly away. "We need to get to Washington. And soon."
Hot rage bubbled up in Lynn's chest and her hands tightened on the wheel. She gritted her teeth and inhaled through flaring nostrils. She wasn't one to back down when she knew she was right, but she really didn't want to fight with Lincoln. "Fine," she said tightly. She threw the stick into drive and slammed on the gas; the Bronco rocketed forward and slid on the wet pavement. Seething, damning him with everything she had, she spun the wheel and got back onto the highway. She wouldn't let him see, but within five miles, tears stood in her eyes.
She'd never been so scared and full of dread in her life as she was when she saw the green sign on the right.
WASHINGTON, D.C.: 65 MILES.