Chapter Twelve
"So have you had any luck getting through to your friend yet?"
Rick looks up from his coffee mug as Kelly pushes the walkie across the table, making room for her crossword puzzle book as she takes the seat across from him.
It's been six days since he'd left Morgan and Duane and the inability to communicate with his friend weighs more heavily on his heart each morning that he hears nothing but static over the airwaves. The only consolation is knowing that the signs he'd put up leading to the quarry were still up as of yesterday, according to Glenn after he'd gone on another supply run with T-Dog.
"Nah, still nothing but static so I don't know if he's hearing me or not," Rick tells his sister, brows drawn together with concern as he absently picks at a jagged chip in the casing on the side of the walkie talkie. "But he should be on the road today or tomorrow and he'll see the signs," he adds, sounding more confident than he'd felt.
Knowing the dangers that lurk between the camp he has settled into and the neighborhood that Morgan is holed up in a few hours away, Rick puts his faith into the wisdom and resourcefulness of his friend to reach the old quarry safely.
As the early morning dew becomes late morning humidity, he shrugs irritably beneath his clinging white tee shirt and takes another sip of warm coffee. He closes his eyes as he swallows the dark brew, willing the caffeine to permeate his bloodstream after another sleepless night lying next to Erin - and waking up hot and hard with delicious dreams floating in the dissipating mist of early consciousness.
He thinks of switching tents with Shane. Wait – no, definitely not his old partner. Maybe Glenn, he could trust Glenn. Who am I kidding? Deep down, he knows he wouldn't sleep any better if she weren't lying within a few feet of his easy reach. To sleep at all, he needs the solace that she breathes into him; she is the calm in the center of his tumultuous life.
But he doesn't need the thoughts of her straddling him with her creamy white thighs when he sees the moonlight shining on the long leg that kicks out from her covers, her foot reaching toward his mattress as if she's trying to connect with him even in her sleep. Or imagining what her glossy hair would feel like drifting against his bare chest in silky caresses as he clutches her to him and fills her sweet mouth with his tongue. Or the notion of how incredible it would be to cover her body with his and bury himself so deeply inside of her that they would lose all perception of where he ended and she began.
He certainly doesn't need the way she sleeps with her mouth slightly open, inviting him in to discover the wondrous places of her flesh. Christ, last night when the tip of her soft pink tongue had come out to lick the curve of her lower lip, his cock did an Irish fucking jig. After finally falling asleep with the rumination of slipping in and out of that beautiful mouth, he'd woken up harder than he'd ever been since graduating junior high school. It was even worse than yesterday. And yesterday was nearly unbearable.
He'd watched her doing her morning stretches from what he thought was a safe distance. He was mistaken. He was still close enough to feel the heat of searing desire as she reached her arms over her head to reveal the smooth plane of her lower back beneath the hem of her tank top. Still close enough that his heart couldn't help but beat a quickened rhythm of yearning when she twisted her hips to highlight the slope of her perfect breast. And still close enough to grow uncomfortably hard when she bent at the waist to underscore the curve of her incredible ass as it swayed like a wet daydream in her skin tight yoga pants. If he hadn't seen her walk behind the camper with Amy for their usual morning exercise ritual, he would have thought she was doing it solely to torture him.
But he's kept his promise of snuggling by the fire each night and he'll continue to do so, though it's an even worse torture from a completely different beast; the feel of her soft curves pressed against his ribs as they melt into each other on the car seat bench, so sweet and good and right as they listen to the crickets chirp and watch the smoke drift up into the blue-black sky. It makes him hurt that much more for what they might have - but what could never come to be. Not as long as he stays strong enough for both of them. She means too much to him to take a chance of jeopardizing their relationship, even if that relationship only consisted of innocent snuggling and brief touches of passing fingertips.
She never misses an opportunity to touch him, even if it's just a brush of her fingers on his arm as they walk past each other. To be honest, he's guilty of that himself, reaching out to her as much as she reaches to him. It's like their bodies can't go more than an hour without needing a quick fix; a brief touch, a light caress. Mindless, but extraordinarily meaningful in the same breath.
And the way their bodies cannot give in to sleep without actually seeing the other laying barely an arm's length away. He loved how she always tended to face him, no matter what position she was in, whether asleep or awake. She would start out lying on her side at the edge of her mattress closest to him and would eventually turn to her back or stomach. But even then, even in sleep, her face would be turned toward him and shining like a radiant beacon to bring him home on a dark and stormy night.
He knows he would sleep better if he'd lie on his left side, facing Carl's cot and closing his eyes to the image of Erin's lovely face with her hands folded beneath her chin as she dreams. But he watches her for what could be minutes or hours, the seconds bleeding into and over each other in the fuzziness of time as he gets wrapped up in an all-consuming want.
And when his eyes become too heavy to watch her any longer, he can't keep the vividly erotic dreams from invading his sleep. Beautiful, sensuous, steamy dreams that could never come true. Thankfully they never take place at the lake, their lake, and she hasn't mentioned any dreams to him so he believes that these hidden indulgences are his and his alone.
If they weren't - she'd never settle for snuggling by the fire.
"Hey Dad, look what me and Sophia found!"
His son's exuberant voice brings him out of his fervent thoughts and quickly diminishes the warm flow of blood stirring his nuts inside his tightening blue jeans. He opens his eyes and turns to see a large turtle in the palm of Carl's hand. "What've you got there, guys?"
"We're naming him Terry. Isn't he cool, Aunt Kelly?" The boy lifts his hand higher and Rick leans back from the pungent, earthy smell that blocks out the aroma of his coffee. He nods a greeting at Carol when she comes up behind her daughter.
She's seemed a little… lighter, he thinks, over the last few days and Rick is happy to see her cheerful smile as she absently strokes Sophia's shoulder. He was afraid that he may have made things worse for Carol if Ed decided to take his anger out on his wife. Thank God the man has been keeping to himself lately, sticking close to his tent and remaining quiet even when his girls are inside with him.
"Oh, he's a beauty, alright," Kelly replies, smiling at the two kids but keeping her distance across the table.
"Where's Erin?" Sophia asks, looking around the camp. "We want to show her too."
"She went back to the tent a little while ago because she wasn't feeling great," Rick says, wishing he could make her better. Wishing a lot of things. "Just go in quietly, okay."
Erin feels another bead of sweat dripping down the back of her neck into her yellow tee shirt and prays for a cool breeze - among other things. Thank God she had put her hair up in a loose ponytail before getting herself into this predicament. If only she had swallowed some aspirin before too. The occasional breeze through the mesh door is heavenly against her sweaty nape but her head is still pounding and her legs are achingly numb. If only she could reach the bottle of Tylenol that had rolled under Carl's cot, but she can't risk it.
She rubs her hand slowly over the soft material of the black capri yoga pants covering her left thigh. She tries to wiggle her toes of the leg folded beneath her and stops when a sharp pain shoots up her shin at the slightest movement.
She can possibly wiggle the toes of her bent right leg a little easier, but doesn't want to draw attention to the low-cut white sock covering her foot.
Hearing two young voices outside the tent, she glances up to see Carl and Sophia through the mesh door, approaching quickly. Oh God. She had been praying for someone to come – anyone – but maybe she should have been more specific in her prayers to single out the elder Grimes. Okay, they are slowing down, talking quietly. It's going to be alright now.
When Carl stops at the doorway and softly calls her name, it takes all the strength she has not to scream to him. With more control than she would have thought possible as her heart races on, she speaks in a soft, monotone, non-threatening voice. "Carl, don't come in here, don't move, just listen to me carefully. I need you to get your father and Daryl. Tell them there's a rattlesnake about ten inches from my foot."
"Oh my God."
"Listen, honey. Take five big steps slowly and then you run to get them, okay?" she says delicately without taking her eyes off of the snake and its rattling tail.
"Okay. Are you gonna be okay, Erin?" Carl whispers, his voice trembling slightly.
She feels terrible for causing him to worry. "I will be as soon as your dad gets here." She smiles at him reassuringly. "Five slow steps to start. Now go."
She counts only twenty-two seconds until she hears Rick's voice telling Carl to stay back with Kelly and not to let anyone get close to the tent.
Walking slowly, stealthily the last few feet to reach the tent flap, Rick silently signals to Daryl with a nod toward the mesh window on the left side of the tent.
As the hunter moves to the window, Rick looks through the netting of the door. "Oh, Christ." His heart stops at the vision before him; Erin crouched on the floor near the head of Carl's cot… right knee bent at a sharp angle while she sits on her left leg curled beneath her, left arm on the cot, right hand holding her exposed shin… less than a foot away from an agitated rattlesnake coiled up under the head of the cot.
"Fuck that's a big one," Daryl says, quietly loading his crossbow.
"Can you get it?" she asks in a nervous monotone.
"Oh yeah, gonna have us a nice soup tonight," Daryl says lightly for Erin's benefit but the look he gives Rick is not as comforting.
Shit. Rick meets Daryl's eyes as the hunter steps soundlessly toward him at the entrance. "Can you get it?" he whispers, for Erin's sake as much as the snakes, not wanting to upset either one.
"It's a little tight with her leg right there," Daryl replies in the same subdued tone, "but if you can pull her out of the way, I can take the shot from here."
Not the best solution he'd hoped for but they'll have to make it work. Please God. "Okay," he says softly, wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on his jeans. "On my count and you shoot on three."
"On three," Daryl repeats with a confirming nod.
"Alright, hold still, honey, we're coming in," Rick says, trying to keep the tremors from his own voice.
"I'm not going anywhere." She looks up to meet his eyes and the fear he sees on her beautiful face weighs heavily on his chest.
He slides the zipper up its jagged seam with infinitesimal moves. "Sweetheart, how long have you been like that?"
"Too long. I can't feel my legs at all."
"Don't worry, We'll get you out of there." He slowly steps over the threshold and moves to the left to stand by his mattress, keeping a safe distance so as not to upset the snake. Little by little he moves along the floor until he is standing by the far wall, about four feet from Erin. His throat tightens at the dark patch of damp yellow tee shirt sticking to the center of her back. Hang on, baby. It's almost over. Glancing to his right, he sees Daryl standing just inside the door, lowering himself into a crouch as he raises the crossbow to his eye.
"Take my hand, honey," Rick says softly, extending his arm very slowly. "You're gonna have to reach back for it so I can pull you out."
She turns her head toward him in a painstakingly slow swivel. When she releases her shin to reach back for his hand in an even more gradual manner, it's all he can do to keep from jumping forward and pulling her into his arms.
The tips of their fingers touch and he slowly releases a long-held breath. "One," he says to his partner, ever so gently. He slides his hand further out to line his palm with hers, preparing to grip it for all he's worth. "Two."
Before he can inhale for the final count, the snake lunges and an arrow flies, embedding itself into the viper's body, but not before it sinks its venomous fangs into Erin's right shin.