Epilogue
Glenn, Jr. slid forward on his stomach a little bit more until, like his friend Benji, he was hanging over the embankment just enough to look down on the gorgeous scene unraveling below. Judith rose up from beneath the clear stream of water and tossed back her long, brown hair. Droplets wound their way down her face and neck and dribbled into the enticing cleavage revealed by her red, bikini top.
"Holy shit," Glenn muttered.
Benji chuckled beside him. "That's the bathing suit Mr. Grimes said she had to give away."
"Shhh..." Glenn warned. "She's turning around. Holy shit. Look at – Ow! Ow! Ow!" Something had seized him by the ear. Fingers. His earlobe twisted left until he got himself on his knees. In the stream below, Judith responded to the unexpected cry of pain by glancing up, spying them, and then scurrying ashore to grab her towel and sandals.
"Get up," came Mr. Dixon's rough, accented voice.
Benji leapt up and probably would have abandoned Glenn in flight if Mr. Dixon hadn't let go of Glenn's ear to grab the back of Benji's belt and jerk him back again. By now, Glenn had found his feet and was rubbing his ear with one hand. "That really hurt," he said.
"Yeah?" Mr. Dixon asked. "What the hell ya doin'? Peepin'? When she don't even know yer here?"
"She wasn't naked!" Benji said defensively.
"Gonna tell yer stepfather 'bout this," Mr. Dixon told Benji, and then give him a little shove in the ass with his boot. "Run on home to yer mama now."
Benji took off, and Glenn cowered when Mr. Dixon turned to him.
Glenn's mother had always told him that Mr. Dixon was a good man, someone she'd known since well before the Cure, someone she'd met shortly after the Collapse, someone she could trust. But he'd always scared the shit out of Glenn. There was something about those eyes – shifting regularly - like he was always expecting the undead to lurch out from around a tree any minute, and then he'd pull out that grizzly hunting kinife he always wore and stab it striaght in the head. That's how they used to kill those things, before the Cure. And Mr. Dixon was always walking around in those sleeveless shirts, too, his muscles bulging, as though to remind everyone he was fully capable of beating them into submission if ever the neccesity arose. And he talked in short, staccato sentences, like words had to be rationed and he couldn't be bothered to say too much to the likes of a kid.
And now he was looking Glenn, Jr. up and down, leisurely, with disdain curling the edge of his raw lip.
"Don't tell my mom," Glenn pleaded.
"Mhmhm," Mr. Dixon growled.
Glenn had no idea what that sound meant.
Mr. Dixon swung his finger and pointed back toward the Kingdom. "Ain't none of ya s'posed to be outside the gates after eight anyhow. Go on and get."
"Yes, sir," Glenn said, and scurried away.
"Hey," Mr. Dixon called after him. Glenn froze. "Tell my wife I'll be home in an hour. We's still huntin'."
"Yes, sir. I'll let Prime Minister Dixon know."
[*]
Al was sitting on a log across the stream when Daryl found him. The tall African's satchel was bursting with frogs. Now that the Kingdom had expanded six miles, the Royal Forest was only a short distance from its gates, and the farm land limited the need for wild game. But they still liked to hunt, to get away from the domestication,and to keep the freezers extra full. Besides, frog legs and bear rugs were for some strange reason coveted by the inhabitants of the Hilltop Terriotry, and the Kingdom could trade them for the grape wine and tobacco made there. Daryl had gotten used to the taste of that rich, fresh, Virginia chew, though it annoyed Carol to no end to watch him spit, and he had to do his chewing and spitting when he was away from home, and then brush his teeth extra hard when he got back. He made a weekly trip to the Hilltop Territory not only as a trade representative, but to see his niece. Savannah had moved there two years ago to shack up with some farmer. Daryl was surprised by her choice. He'd always expected her to fall for a knight or a supply runner, some bad ass killing machine, not a simple man of the earth who rarely ventured beyond his fields. But she seemed happy.
Daryl eased down on the log next to Al. "Know what I caught yer son and Glenn, Jr. doing?"
"Was Ben-oi peeping on Judith yet again?"
"Mhmhm."
Al chuckled. "Well...Do you remember being fourteen?"
"Mhmhm. Remember needin' a swift kick in my ass then, too."
"Well, I suppose you already gave him one?" Al asked.
"Needs to hear it from you. Rivka, too."
"Jakob would laugh if he knew, you know." Al smiled a little sadly. "You do not suppose he is frowning down on me from heaven, do you, because I took his wife?"
"Wouldn't say ya took her," Daryl said. Al had helped to raise that kid for three years before Rivka so much as kissed him thank you. It was another three years before they were married.
"I do not think Jakob believed in heaven anyway," Al said.
The log creaked and they looked left to see Henry making his way out on it.
"Watch out, old man," Al shouted at him. "You are not as spry as you were at sixty-four!"
Henry carefully eased himself into a sitting position on the log. "Is that how you wish me Happy Birthday? You know, you're not far from the big 5-0 yourself."
"It's over half a decade away!" Al insisted. "How is your queen doing?" Sasha had been appointed by the Privy Council to replace King Ezekiel when he died of a sudden heart attack last year. By the time Sasha assumed the throne, the power of the king had already been limited. They'd had a Parliament for the last eight years, which consisted of two houses – an eight-person Privy Council (appointed by the king or, now, the queen) and the Commons, which consisted of sixteen representatives directly elected by all adult citizens of the Kingdom. All laws originated with the Parliament. As queen, Sasha had veto power, but her veto could be overturned by a three-fourths vote of the Parliament. "Wearing you out?"
"No, but my daughter is," Henry said. "Especially considering that Sasha is so royally busy that she now has me playing Mr. Mom half the time. How did we end up like this, gentlemen, beneath the heels of our wives?"
"Speak for yourself," Al said. "Rivka holds no political office, unlike your wives. And I am willing to bet Daryl is still the man of his house. You give the orders, do you not?"
"Only in the bedroom," Daryl said, and the other two men laughed.
"What say we have a boy's night out here?" Henry ask. "Camp out. Don't head back? The world's been a bit boring since the Cure. I crave an adventure."
"I will have to go back and ask Rivka first," Al said.
Henry tsked and made a whipping motion with his hand.
"Yeah…better tell Carol, too," Daryl said. "She'll worry if I just don't show up."
"Et tu, brute?" Henry asked.
"Said tell," Daryl insisted, "not ask."
Except, when Daryl got back, Carol slid her arms around his neck, gave him a deep kiss, and inhaled his scent. "I like it when you're dirty," she said.
"Do not."
"Yeah, I kind of do," she confessed. "When you smell like the forest, I mean."
"Yeah?" He smiled and bent forward to nuzzle her neck. He nibbled her earlobe, at that particular spot he'd learned was especially sensitive. Her hiss sent the blood running straight down. "Ya like that?" he murmurred against her ear, and then plunged his tounge inside.
Carol gasped, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward their bedroom.
"What we doin'?" he asked innocently as the red curtain parted.
She turned to him and began unbuckling his belt. "I was thinking we'd try page 59 tonight."
Daryl never did make it back to the Royal Forest for the camp out, and that was fine by him.
THE END
