My tongue is hot and burnin'
When I try to speak
Spirit is so willing
My flesh is gettin' weak
- Alice Cooper (Zombie Dance, 2005)
Brilliance, and heat, stinging. Lynn winced and shifted positions, the sleep nesting in her head like warm wool rapidly dissipating and consciousness creeping in. She was warm, too warm, and blinding light bathed her closed eyelids. Go way...leeme lone. She drew a deep breath through her nose, and the earthy smell of dirt and hay filled her nostrils. Hm. Why does my bed….?
In an instant she remembered where she was.
A barn.
And…
The lanterns!
Her heart rocketed into her throat and she blasted to a sitting position, sure that that she'd knocked over one of the lanterns in her sleep and that the entire building would be consumed in flames, burning timbers falling from the ceiling and thick, poisonous smoke filling the air. When her eyes flew open, however, she saw only Lincoln sitting across from her, a can of baked beans in one hand and a spoon half raised to his open mouth in the other; a helping dropped back in with a wet plop.
Lynn looked around - no fire. She glanced up...and that's when she saw it, a hole in roof through which a shaft of early morning sunlight fell. Oh, right. Heh. She should have known: She spent close to three hours lying awake on her back last night staring up at the stars and trying but failing to sleep. As they had every other night, she and her siblings slept side-by-side. Luan was in the middle and Lincoln on the other side, so achingly close...so dangerously close.
"Nightmare?" Lincoln asked and shoved the spoon into his mouth. It was only then that she realized he was dressed only in his jeans, his chest bare. She whipped her head away and swallowed thickly, her cheeks blazing furiously.
"Y-Yeah," she lied.
Lincoln nodded understandingly and took another bite. "Me too," he said.
"What about?" Lynn asked, allowing herself to look at him.
He shrugged one shoulder. "I really don't wanna talk about it." He scraped the inside of the can with a shiver-inducing metal-on-metal sound, then licked the spoon. "Yours?"
"No," she said. She crossed her legs and laced her hands across her lap. Next to her, Luan was curled up on her side, her back gently rising and falling. Lincoln nodded deeply and took another bite. The atmosphere was tense between them, in a way it had never been before. She was always easy and carefree around her brother - why wouldn't she be? - but now, with strange and scary feelings stirring in her heart, she was anything but: Her chest pounded, her stomach rolled, and her face blazed. She was conscious of every move she made, of every breath she took, of the fact that she hadn't bathed in several days, and that the Secret she put on her underarms yesterday had worn off and she was beginning to stink.
When her stomach growled loudly, she flinched. Not missing a beat, Lincoln dropped the spoon into the can and held it out. She looked at him, and noted that his eyes wouldn't, or couldn't, meet hers. She reached hesitantly out and took it. "T-Thanks," she said.
"Yep," he replied and got to his feet; Lynn forced her gaze to remain on the can and not drift to Lincoln's body. BUSCH'S read the label. They used to have that commercial, the one with the owner of the company and his dog, Duke. The owner (was his name Bob? He looked like a Bob) would go on and on about the secret family recipe and Duke, who could talk, would try to sell it behind his back. What a traitor, right? It reminded her of Family Guy - Brian the dog was Peter's so-called best friend but he was always trying to do Peter's wife. "We should get moving soon," Lincoln said and passed in a swirl of disturbed dust, his boots clunking on the planks.
While he pulled his shirt on and started to pack his things, Lynn ate the rest of the beans. Luan woke just as she was finishing and pushed herself up; her eyes were bleary there was hay in her tangled hair. Lynn snickered at her sister's appearance. "Hey, chuckles," she said.
"Morning," Luan mumbled tiredly.
Lynn plucked a piece of straw from the older girl's hair and held it up. "Get it?"
Luan blinked, saw, and snorted. "Good one," she said.
"What can I say? I love horsing around."
Rolling up his sleeping bag, Lincoln laughed, and the sound made Lynn smile widely. She tried to think of another Luanesque pun, but couldn't. She may have groaned at all of her sister's cheesy wordplay, but she had to admit, it was much, much harder than it looked. Someone, somewhere, once said that puns are the lowest form of humor, and maybe they were right, but it took a goddamn mad genius to come up with them at the drop of a hat the way Luan did.
Admitting defeat, she got up and stretched. "Get your stuff, we're going," she told Luan. She knelt next ot Lincoln and rolled her bag up. "How many miles you think we can make today, Linc-O?" she asked simply to have an excuse to talk to him.
"I'd be thrilled with fifty," Lincoln said and zipped his bag up. "I was up looking at the map last night when you and Luan were asleep, and I have the rest of our route officially planned." He pronounced the second to last word with a proud twist.
"What is it?" she asked.
He reached into his back pocket, brought out the map, and rocked back on his knees, unfolding it and spreading it out on the floor in front of them. Lynn leaned in and saw that he'd drawn a zigzagging line in red pen that started, presumably, in Hanging Rock, hooked up then down into Virginia, passed back through the extreme easternmost sliver of the West Virginia panhandle, then crossed into Maryland, where it hugged the Potomac all the way into Washington. Lincoln's arm brushed hers, and her heart pitter-pattered. "We, uh, we...we're here," he said haltingly, as though he felt it too. He tapped the beginning of the line with his index finger. "We stay on 50 until Nian." He traced his finger along the route, brushing over the WV/VA border. "Then we take route 673 to 739 and follow that to Washington. It changes names here and there but it's the same road."
Lynn's eyes went to his hand, splayed on the floor next to her, inches from her own, so close she could extend her pinky and caress his. Her stomach clutched and her heart pounded even faster than it already was. She stole a sidelong glance at him just as he did the same - their eyes met and held, and Lynn's heart bounced. Lincoln darted his gaze from her eyes to her mouth in a quick triangle, his expression stricken, that of a man being drawn inexplicably and inexorably toward something, pulled by unseen hands and not really minding. His eyes, which she had thought of as hard many times over the last two months, were soft, limpid pools flecked with pieces of gold, shimmering like murky tide ponds in the light of the sun. His lips sparkled, and anxious claws dug into Lynn's midsection when she imagined giving herself over to feeling and kissing them, her hands threading through his hair and their noses brushing, never -
They both jumped when Luan spoke. "Is there anything to eat? I'm starved."
Like two dreamers wakened from fantasy, they looked away from each other and coughed nervously. "Yeah," Lincoln said, "there's, uh, MREs over by the wall."
As Luan ate, Lynn carried their supplies down the ladder and stowed them in the back of the Bronco. She may not have been the smartest girl in the world (even now that it was almost empty of girls period), and her knowledge of boys might begin and end with what she learned in school, but she knew that Lincoln…
...Lincoln felt the same way.
That thought both exhilarated and terrified her. For intents and purposes, they were running for their lives, constantly surrounded by danger...falling in love, or even lust, was a good way to cloud your mind. Hell, she knew that already: She hadn't been able to think of literally anything other than Lincoln since the previous evening, and she didn't imagine she'd be able to think of anything but, which was not good. She needed to be clear-headed, because even the slightest misstep out here could get her and her brother and sister killed. If she was daydreaming about Lincoln, drawing girlish sighs and staring off into the distance fantasizing about holding his hand, she'd stumble, and that's how you die.
She took a deep breath. When they got to Washington, she could start thinking about...them...but for right now, she needed to think about surviving, needed to give it everything she had.
Back in the loft, she pointedly ignored Lincoln, grabbed the Springfield and the box of MREs, and brought them down, Luan following and Lincoln bringing up the rear. She shoved the box in and slammed the hatch; Lincoln passed behind her and her entire body tingled pleasantly. No. Bad Lynn. You need to get your head in the game or your team's gonna lose...big time.
Right.
She went around to the driver door, opened it, and propped the Springfield behind the seat. Lincoln opened the passenger side, leaned the M-16 against the dash, then crossed to the barn doors. Lynn kept her gaze downcast as he lifted the wood from the slats and tossed it aside. He pulled them open and came back, climbing in and shutting the door behind him. Lynn turned the key in the ignition, threw the Bronco into drive, and pulled out, looking instinctively left and right for danger but finding nothing save for Lincoln's profile. Focus.
The grassy land sloped up from the barn toward the highway, dotted here and there by thick trees. Lincoln grabbed the hanhold above the door and held on as the tires dipped into ruts and the frame jostled. Lynn winced and prayed to a god she didn't believe in that nothing along the Bronco's underside ruptured - a breakdown may have been a minor inconvenience six months ago, but today it was life-threatening.
Thankfully, they reached the highway without incident, a narrow two lane stip of blacktop overhung by wavering branches. She turned left, the tires momentarily spinning in the tall grass before finding purchase on the pavement.
"Road," Lincoln said flatly, and Lynn glanced at him. "Road," he repeated; he stared straight ahead, his face bathed in the amber morning light. "Road."
Lynn cocked a brow. It was starting to sound like a musical chant.
"Road. Road. Road."
Uhhh...I think my brother's broken.
Then the singing started. "When I'm on the road…"
In a flash, Lynn recognized it, a song from Spongebob (or maybe something else). A big, stupid grin that she was powerless to stop spread across her face. In the back, Luan groaned (how does your own medicine taste, sis?). "You are not," Lynn said disbelievingly.
"I see stuff going by…"
Lynn rolled her eyes. Beyond the windows, woods, driveways, and mailboxes shot past, forming a blurry green mosaic. To the left, a station wagon sat in a slight dip, its front end crumpled against a gnarled tree trunk and on the right a deer stood on the shoulder and watched them warily, like an old woman looking out her front window and wondering who the hell's using her driveway to turn around.
"When I'm on the road…" he paused and seemed to think for a second. "I see blue skies ahead."
Was he really doing this? LOL, what a goofball.
Ahead, the highway dipped down and curved sharply to the left. She spotted the back end of a car and slowed, creeping around the bend - it was alone, and she swung wide to avoid it. Past it, sunlight filtered through the treetops and dappled the lane in golden light.
She caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye and turned to find Lincoln staring at her, moving stiffly from side to side in his seat like a penguin waddling across a frozen tundra. "Let's all sing the road song...sing it all day long."
Lynn lifted her brows. "No," she said and turned back to the road.
"Come on," Luan said archly, "it'll be fun."
Lincoln and Luan in unison. "Let's all sing the road song...sing it all day long." They both grinned widely at her like members of a cult. Join us! Join us! Lynn shook her head and chuckled, a rush of warm, fuzzy affection coming over her like a blanket, and a twinge of loss pinched her chest. She'd give anything to have the others here. Lori and her bossy self; Leni being ditzy; Luna playing her guitar so loud, and poorly, that it made your ears bleed; Lucy; Lana; Lola; Lisa; Lily; Mom; Dad. She missed them so much.
Tears came to her eyes but she held them back. "Knock it off," she said fondly, "you're gonna make me wreck."
The road curved wide to the left and dipped out of the hills - the land opened up on either side, clusters of houses and buildings appearing here and there. A green sign read ENTERING HANGING ROCK.
"Wonder why they call it that," Lincoln said.
Lynn scrunched her lips in thought and glanced around, but didn't see any rocks, hanging or otherwise. "I dunno." The road crossed a wide, muddy creek with overgrown banks over a low concrete bridge, a sign proclaiming it the NORTH RIVER. "Lot of towns have weird names."
"Umhm," Lincoln said, "you know there's a town in Austria called 'Fucking'?" As soon as the words left his mouth, his cheeks turned red and he suddenly found something very interesting to look at out the window. Lynn blushed too, mainly at how cute he was.
In the back, Luan grinned. "My favorite town name is Clown Junction. It's in Texas."
Lynn glanced incredulously in the rearview mirror. "Really? That's a place?"
"Yep," she said, then frowed. "It was named for a bunch of clowns who were killed in a train wreck in, like, 1903 or something. There's a big cemetery full of them. I guess you could say they were dying to get in."
She snickered and Lynn rolled her eyes. On the right, six ghouls shambled aimlessly through the parking lot of a Liberty gas station, turning and lumbering after the Bronco as it passed. Loating bubbled up on Lynn's chest and she felt the perverse urge to pull a U-turn, go back, and run them over. The dead, from what Lisa said, were mindless creatures driven by hunger. Worse than animals, even, as they live for nothing else. It was hard to hate them then, but at the same time, it was hard not to. She watched them kill her parents and six of her sisters - put yourself in her shoes and try not to despise the fucking things.
Not for the first time, she found herself wondering how they were even able to hunt - she'd seen some with no eyes or missing half their heads, including eardrums and stuff. Lisa was stumped and said that she doubted they detect prey in a conventional manner.
That was another thing that really bothered her if she dwelled on it. What the hell were these things? How did they function? Lisa herself said they broke virtually every natural law she knew of and some I've probably yet to discover. She still believed, however, that there was a logical explanation for their existence. Lynn didn't believe in god, or at least she didn't think she did, but lying awake at night, cold, scared, and alone, listening for telltale sounds in the night, it was all too easy to think that they were a plague, a souped up version of Old Testament locusts, that God unleashed upon the world to cleanse its sins.
Not that there weren't a lot - the world, and many of the people who inhabited it, frankly sucked. Human beings, Lynn had discovered in her sixteen years, are petty, ignorant, selfish, spiteful, and hate-filled, especially that last one. You ever notice how there's always a group to look down on, someone that you're 'better' than? For some it's blacks or gays, for others it's people from the other side of town, for others still it's people who write a certain type of fiction. Bigotry knows no bounds, even where it should: Groups that have suffered from it turn around and shower derision on someone else - an endless cycle of abuse and passing the buck that was so ingrained in us, a damning red thread woven through the very fabric of our society, that we perpetuated it and justified it.
It's okay for us to hate you, because [insert bullshit sociopolitical excuse here]. And that's what it was, an excuse: People are naturally inclined to hate, and they either try to transcend their hatred, or they find a way to indulge it. Well, you know blacks steal; Republicans are all racists, and it's okay to hate racists; Christians are this; liberals are that. On and on like a merry-go-round.
Maybe...maybe the world ending wasn't such a bad thing after all.
She thought of her parents, her sisters, her life before - the world may not have been a nice place, but she was happy.
No, the world ending wasn't a good thing, but she couldn't say that the human race as a whole hadn't earned their judgement. It's just a goddamn shame that God took the wheat with the chafe. If the Bible is to be believed, he has a bad habit of doing that. One time he flooded the whole world, and every so often he smited large groups of people, babies and children included. Hell of a guy, huh?
A green sign loomed out of the trees:
CAPON BRIDGE 8
WINCHESTER VA 28
"Twenty-eight miles," Lincoln commented then glanced at Lynn. "If we're lucky we can make Maryland by nightfall."
The land dipped down from the right shoulder to a narrow, rushing stream; rocks and fallen tree trunks jutted from the water, and on the east bank the terrain inclined sharply, trees crowding around tangles of vegetation. A box truck plowed through the guardrail at some point and lay in the creek on its roof, and in the southbound lane, a silver minivan sat frozen with its back door open. Three bodies lie crumpled on the pavement - the occupants or ghouls they killed, Lynn couldn't tell, and didn't particularly want to.
"We're gonna start seeing more zombies," she said. They were approaching a fairly large town (pre plague population of twenty-seven thousand, per the atlas) and were drawing ever closer to the D.C. metro area (once home to over six million). From here, the number of ghouls would only increase. "Which means we gotta be on our toes."
Lincoln sniffed. "We've been on our toes."
"Well, now we gotta be on the very freaking tips."
The road wound along a ridgeline now, a steep hill on the left and a wooded drop to the right. Two blue and gold West Virginia state police cruisers sat nose to nose across the highway in the distance beyond a crooked line of stalled vehicles. Lynn eased off the gas and rolled her eyes. What was with all these goddamn roadblocks anyway? Did the government actually think they'd help?
Closer, she pulled to the left and stopped, leaning over the wheel. There was a strip of grass between the road and the embankment wide enough to accomodate the Bronco; they could bypass both the jam and the block.
She spun the wheel and pressed on the gas, leaving the blacktop; the Bronco jostled and shook, and as she had earlier, Lynn grimaced.
"You're good," Lincoln said. "You got a foot of clearance."
Lynn glanced over; the jam crept by, dead bodies slumped behind wheels, blood splattering windshields, a giant crow sitting on the fender of a Camaro and glaring at them with an almost human malignancy that made Lynn shiver. A corpse in a Camry moved, its head turning slowly and its yellow eyes flickering with recognition. Its mouth fell open and it pawed at the closed window, its broken nails dragging along the glass. Lincoln flipped it off.
When they reached the police cars, Lynn spotted four bodies, one sitting against the door of one of the cruisers - a skeleton in a brown uniform, the top of its skull missing and a gun clutched loosely in one hand. A man in a plaid shirt lay sprawled on the hood of a white Chevy Sonic, a shotgun across his chest. Looked like a shootout: The man in plaid must have really not liked being told he couldn't pass.
Clear, she swung back onto the highway and pushed down on the gas. "Looks like there was a gunfight back there," Lincoln said.
"I thought the same thing," Lynn replied. On the right, the trees fell away, revealing a majestic view of a green valley dotted with white farm houses, red barns, grain silos, and far-flung clusters of buildings masquerading as towns. The sky, blue and crowded with fluffy white clouds, seemed to sweep into forever, and humped green mountains defined the horizon.
"Wonder who won."
Lynn snorted. "No one. They were all dead."
"Yeah," he allowed, "but who died last?"
She started to answer, but stopped to think. "Not the guy in plaid," she said. "One of the cops pegged him then either died from their wounds or left."
"If they left, why didn't everyone drive through?"
Lynn rolled her eyes. "I don't know, Linc. Maybe they were all already dead."
The road bent around a tree-crowded hill, then fell down a gentle grade before crossing over a green truss bridge. A white house stood on this side, and across from it a general store with a dirt lot and two rusted gas pumps. A metal sign read CAPON BRIDGE in white lettering - beyond, a church sat on one side of the road and a rush of houses on the other.
In town, Lynn swung around a stalled F1-50. A bank, a hotel, a hardware store, and a cafe overlooked empty, tree-lined sidewalks. A few bodies lie scattered here and there, and movement behind a doctor's office window suggested they were being watched. "Wow," Luan drew, "a comedy club. I didn't think a town this small would have one."
Lynn glanced to the right and saw a shopfront with COMEDY LTD over the door. A piece of paper was taped to the glass, probably informing patrons that they were closed until further notice. "Guess the people here have bad taste too," Lincoln said, and Lynn laughed.
Luan's face crinkled and she slapped his arm. "I do not have bad taste," she said indignantly. "You just fail to comprehend the brilliance of my comedic genius."
Lynn and Lincoln were still laughing when the road left Capon Bridge and started into the foothills. "That might be the funniest joke you've ever told," Lynn said, brushing a tear from her cheek. In the back, Luan sniffed, crossed her arms, and glared at the window. "We're just playing with you, chuckles," Lynn assured her.
"I know," Luan said without turning, "you and Stinkoln both love my jokes."
In the passenger seat, Lincoln grated at the mention of his hated childhood nickname - bestowed by Lynn herself, of course. Hey, it wasn't her fault he came out of the bathroom with a big brown skid mark on the back of his undies when he was five. "Remember why I started calling you that, Stinky?" she asked and swatted his arm with the back of her hand.
He smile tightly and nodded. "I remember."
"We spent all day trying to find that awful smell," Luan giggled. "And it was you the whole time."
Lynn laughed at the memory of her and her entire family scouring the house trying to find the source of the awful stench, sniffing the air and looking behind every piece of furniture, only to finally track it back to Lincoln and his shitty drawers. She was standing right there when Dad, nose crinkled, bent over and pulled the back of Lincoln's pants away from his butt, then recoiled like a little girl who'd just walked into a spider web. Good God, it's Lincoln!
"...and Dad screamed like a little girl," Luan was saying. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laughter. Lincoln stared gamely out the window and took it, pretending he wasn't embarrassed but blushing furiously.
"Then he snatched him up and ran him to the bathroom," Lynn said and glanced at Lincoln. "It's like he'd never seen poop before in his life."
"To be fair, it was the worst poop I ever smelled," Luan said and waved her hand in front of her face.
Lynn nudged Lincoln's arm. His blush was deeper now, blazing, and it was the cutest thing she had ever seen. "It was all down his legs."
"In his socks."
The road filtered out of the hills, and the terrain suddenly flattened, wide, grassy fields pushing against both edges. Power lines marched along one side and a rail fence appeared then disappeared on the other. A house flashed by, two stories, red roof, wraparound porch. Lynn opened her mouth to say on his balls, but her throat caught and now she was blushing.
WINCHESTER VA 10 said a sign.
"Not as bad as the time you puked all over the table, though," Luan said, and Lynn's heart dropped. She forgot all about that.
When she was ten, she vomited all over Thanksgiving dinner, splattering literally everything with mushy stomach chunks: The turkey that Mom spent twelve hours on; Dad's famous meat stuffing; the cranberry sauce; even the pumpkin pie for later. "I was sick!" she said hurriedly, her cheeks growing hotter. She stole a sidelong look at Lincoln, and his sharp little smirk was like an icepick in her guts. That was literally the most embarrassing moment of her life, and the thought of Lincoln thinking of it made her kind of queasy.
In the back, Luan laughed. "Your face turned literally green. I thought that only happened in cartoons." She pretended to gag, and Lincoln pressed his hands to his stomach with a husky I don't feel so good, guys, which is what Lynn said right before she blew.
She sucked her lips in and stared at the road ahead, blushing so hard and hot she knew both Lincoln and Luan could see but not caring. She had to get the heat off her and quick. "Remember that time you got caught eating boogers in class and everyone laughed at you?"
Luan paled. "That never happened."
"Yes it did," Lynn said, "the whole school was talking about it. You were a laughingstock."
A gas station flanked the left side of the road, surrounded by a gravel lot, and on the other, a narrow road branched off and climbed a brief hill before disappearing. A big white sign with a red cardinal on it rose in the distance, and Lynn squinted, the words clearing and forming the closer they got. VIRGINIA WELCOMES YOU. "Heh," she said, silencing Luan, who was still protesting about her laughingstock status (she totally was one, by the way), "new state."
Reaching forward, Lincoln opened the glovebox and pulled out the map, unfolding it with a thoughtful hum. He studied it for a moment then looked up. "We are eight miles from Winchester," he stated.
"If anyone has to pee, let's do it now," Lynn declared, "I wanna make as few stops as possible."
"I have to go," Lincoln said.
"Me too," Luan added.
Lynn did too, actually. She slowed and looked around for a good place to stop, spotting a clearing up ahead on the right. She pulled to the side of the road and scanned it: A grassy meadow on the C shaped bank of a river. Good enough. "Alright, let's be quick," she said and got out into hot day. Lincoln and Luan followed, Lincoln grabbing the M-16 and Luan tucking the Glock into the small of her back. Nary a breeze stirred the rain starved trees, and slimy, piss warm sweat instantly spring to Lynn's forehead. She went around the front of the Bronco and stood next to Lincoln, her eyes narrowing against the glare of the sun. "See anything?" she asked and put her hands on her hips.
He shielded his face with his hand and looked around. "No. We should be good." He threw the M-16 over his shoulder and went down the embankment. Luan followed, and Lynn went last, scanning the trees for signs of oncoming dead but seeing none. Lincoln went off toward the trees crowding the clearing's eastern half while Lynn and Luan gravitated toward the western half. Closer, Lynn could hear the gurgle and splash of the river streaming over rocks and swirling in tiny pools along the shore.
When they were out of sight of Lincoln, screened behind a large tree, Lynn unslung the Springfield and leaned it against the trunk. "Cover me while I pee," she said and unbuttoned her jeans. Luan took the Glock out and watched the forest while Lynn squatted; a warm breeze rustled the branches and plastered her sweaty brown bangs to her forehead. "Do you see Lincoln?" she asked.
Luan turned and looked across the field. "No," she said over her shoulder.
Even though she knew he was probably fine, her stomach crushed and she swallowed thickly - like a worried mother, images of him being overwhelmed and torn apart danced hatefully through her mind, and her heart started to race. She hurried up and finished, stood, and yanked her pants up. She grabbed the Springfield and held it lengthwise, her eyes going to the opposite side of the field and seeking, but not finding, her brother.
Luan brushed past and stopped. "I, uh...I actually have to poop."
With a deep sigh, Lynn rolled her eyes. "Really, chuckles?"
"Sorry," Luan said with a sheepish smile. "I'll be quick, I promise."
While Luan pulled her panties off and squatted, Lynn leaned against the trunk, her back to her sister and her eyes darting along the trees. They were spaced fairly widely apart, giving ample room to see, yet Lincoln was nowhere. Anxious claws dugs the the pit of her stomach and her heart slammed faster. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure there were no ghouls in sight, then stepped to the edge of the treeline, cupped her hands to her mouth, and called his name, her voice echoing through the woods like a cannonade. She winced but listened intently - save for the river and the crisp stirring of branches, the clearing was silent.
She nervously chewed her bottom lip and glanced back at Luan; her head was down, knees bent, hands balled into fists at her stomach. Next she looked beyond her sister:The forest stood empty save for shimmer shafts of sunlight. She turned to the clearing. "Lincoln!"
Nothing.
That was it. "Are you okay for a minute?" Lynn asked and looked around again. "I need to go make sure Linc's okay."
Luan's head jerked up, her eyes pooling with apprehension. "I'm just gonna go see," Lynn hastened to say. "It should take me two minutes. If that. The forest is empty, nothing's going to bother you."
For a moment Luan stared at her in dread, then seemed to shake herself awake and nodded. "O-Okay. Yeah."
Before the words were even fully past her lips, Lynn was stalking across the grass in big, hurried strides, her chest tight and her stomach a raging tempest. She told herself he was fine, and in a way she knew he was...but, goddamn it, she loved him and she was starting to really worry. Can't blame a girl for that, can you?
She reached the treeline and paused at a wide, leafy spruce, her gaze sweeping left and right. Sunlight fell through the treetops and made coins of brilliance on the ground, but aside from that, the day was alone, and Lynn started to hyperventilate, imagining a million terrible scenarios that all ended with her losing the boy she loved. "Lincoln?" she called and took a step forward, a twig snapping under her foot. Grass rustled to her left, and she spun, the rifle coming up.
A squieerl darted out and flew up a tree.
"Lincoln!"
She licked her lips and went into the forest, her steps quick but usure and her head turning back and forth. There was a slight rise ahead, and when she crested it, she froze.
Lincoln stood about thirty feet away, his back to her and his hips thrust forward, head thrown back. His arm moved furiously at a task she could not see, but could damn well guess - her heartbeat increased and a hot flush crept across her face. He's jacking off.
Her jaw dropped and heat blossomed in her stomach like a swelling leaden balloon; the spot between her legs twinged pleasantly. Suddenly breathing was hard and she was so hot she felt like she was running a fever, the kind that scrambles your brain and kills you because it's over 105. She flicked her eyes up and down his body, the tip of her tongue unconsciously swiping her bottom lip, a bitch in heat licking her chops over the studly pitbull next door.
Cocking her head and listening, she could hear it: His hand gliding wetly up and down his shaft, spreading his warm, sticky precum over his hot flesh. Her breath caught and the juncture of her thighs quivered in dumb, primal lust...quivered to be touched, stroked, ravaged…
She swallowed thickly and fought to draw air into her bursting lungs. She saw herself going to him, slipping her hands over his shoulders and pressing her lips to his ear, his scent wrapping itself around her like a cloak. Let me help you with that, Linc. She saw them kissing passionately, his pants around his ankles and her hand stroking him up and down, their tongues lashing one another, his hand slipping into her jeans, between her legs, his fingers exploring her and parting her tacky lips, caressing the opening of her femininity...
Wet heat soaked through the fabric of her underwear, and her will, her resolve to focus on surviving instead of her heart, and her body, snapped like a brittle piece of ice. She took a step forward…
Across the field, Luan Loud took a deep, shivery breath and strained, her eyes closing and her teeth baring. When relief came, she sighed and wiped her hand across her forehead, collecting beads of sweat and shaking them off. Her stomach clenched again, and she sighed in frustration.
This was the problem with holding your poop; when you finally let it all out, it either comes hard, or it comes a lot, and right now it was a little of both.
She couldn't remember the last time she went number two, but she thought it was the night they camped in a farmhouse on the Ohio/West Virginia border. Her reasoning was this: Might as well use a toilet while I have one.
Commodes, like a lot of other things from the old world, were a rare luxury these days - more often than not, you had to go outside, and that was that. When it came to peeing, she really didn't mind. She did not like pooping outside, though, and she avoided it as much as she could. She also didn't like being outside period, but right now her stomach hurt so bad that she didn't care, and Lynn was around - she'd keep her safe. She might not think she was (if the things she said in her sleep sometimes were anything to go by), but she was a good leader and did her best...the best that anyone could do. Things happened - Lucy and Luna, Lori and Leni, but those weren't Lynn's fault. They just happened.
Yesterday, when Lynn told her she needed to be strong, that she needed her, Luan made the conscious decision to be stronger. Lynn had done so much and had an entire world's worth of stress on her shoulders - and here was little Luan too afraid to even walk past a window lest zombie see her shadow. She couldn't help it - those things terrified her to the point of physical sickness - but Lynn outright said I need you to be strong, Luan, please, I need help, and Luan would do her best to return the support that her younger sister had given her.
Even if it meant digging deep for bravery that probably wasn't there and doing things on her own...like being outside.
A shiver raced down her spine, and her stomach growled sickly. "Hurry up," she told her bowels in a low, impatient whisper. She glanced over her shoulder and saw only trees and shadows. She faced forward again and squeezed her eyes closed as a spasm wracked her center. Ugh, this is awful! From now on I'm going every other day whether I need to or not. She hung her head and gritted her teeth; blood crashed against her temples as the contents of her stomach shifted down and something came out with a wet pffft. Pain wrapped around her middle like a band. Alright, she thought, this is it.
Closing her eyes, she clenched her jaw and pushed with all her might, the sound of the blood in her head masking the rustle of grass as something approached, and the thin, hissing moan it emitted. She strained hard and could feel progress; one more like that and she'd be done. Where was Lynn, anyway? Hopefully she found Lincoln and they were okay.
After this, she decided, she'd finish and go looking for them. Who knows, she might even wind up saving the day.
She bore down one last time. She didn't hear the shuffling footfalls behind her, or smell the sickly sweet stench of rotting flesh - she didn't know she was in danger until she felt its cold fingers threading through her hair. Her blood turned instantly to ice and her heart stopped mid-beat.
Before she could scream for Lynn if her vocal cords hadn't been locked, she felt its crooked teeth on the side of her throat…
Lynn paused in her tracks, her stomach rippling with nerves. She'd closed almost of a quarter of the distance between her and Lincoln but she was beginning to have second thoughts. The vision of him laying her back in the grass and kissing her deeply made her tingle, but deep inside, there still remained a very vocal and somewhat strong part of her that was repulsed by the idea, disgusted with herself for wanting him to make love her, for wanting to give her virginity to her own brother...and scared. Scared he would reject her, scared he'd look at her as though she were a strange and loathsome creature, scared that he wouldn't...that he would accept her...and then what?
She gathered as much saliva in her dry mouth as she could and swallowed hard, her throat tacky and constricted. His arm moved faster now, and she could hear tiny grunts escaping his lips - she also imagined she could smell him, musky and manly, his scent caressing her nostrils and making her salivate.
That morning, before leaving the barn, she told herself that she couldn't focus on her heart, or her desire, because in the brave new world she and her siblings inhabited, even the slightest lapse of reason could get you killed. Her mind blared this in huge, bold letters, but her heart and her body pulled her to him, wanted to be made love to, and to be held in the warm afterglow, to feel Lincoln's strong arms around her. She wanted it so badly she whined in the back of her throat like a puppy, but it would be better if she didn't. She knew this innately, yet her feet carried her forward regardless. She licked her lips and realized that her hands were shaking with desire and her knees quivered. She was wet with arousal, her sex plump and swollen against the fabric of her underwear, the kiss of which increased her passion with every tentative step.
Stop...turn around and forget it.
Her body did not obey her mind's command, though - she kept going, hesitating only when she was close enough to reach out and touch him. His breathing was heavy like hers, the skin across the back of his neck flushed like her skin. They were both turned on, both wanted the same thing. She swallowed and lifted her hand…
...but froze when a blood-curdling scream echoed through the forest.
Lincoln whipped around, his eyes widening. Lynn was too shocked to think, too shocked to flick her eyes down to his penis, clutched firmly in his hand. Her brain, hazed with lust, worked slow processing the information her ears were sending it.
Then, all at once, it hit her, and her heart sank into her stomach.
Luan.
Lincoln shoved his dick back into his pants and zipped them up, then knocked into her as he passed, waking her fully from her reprieve. Heart slamming, she pounded after him, her stomach throbbing with dread. She moved like a woman in a dream - too sluggish, too slow. Her sister was in trouble and every moment dragged into forever. Oh, God; Oh, God; Oh, God, why did I leave her alone? WHY DID I LEAVE HER ALONE?
Somehow she passed Lincoln and reached the clearing first, screeching to a halt at what she saw: Ghouls swarming out of the woods, a dozen thick, two dozen, shambling through the trees and lurching through tall grass. Her heart exploded against her ribs and her eyes went to the spot where she'd left her sister;: Dead lumbered forth, arms raised.
Horror burst inside of her and she screamed Luan's name. She started to run but Lincoln grabbed her shoulder. "Stop!" he cried. "There's too many!"
She wrenched away and he threw his arms around her from behind, pulled her back. Mindless with panic, she threw the Springfield forward then rammed the butt into his stomach: He let out a breathless umph and released, dropping to his knees. She darted across the field, her ponytail streaming behind her and tears filling her eyes. She was vaguely aware that more ghouls surrounded the Bronco, two dozen, three, their moans combining to form a hellish cacophony. The ones spilling from the woods all turned toward her as she streaked to her sister, but she didn't care - her fear for Luan made her fearless for herself.
The closest ghoul sprang at her, and she brought the butt of the rifle up in an arc, smashing it in the chin and driving it to the ground. A second came forward, but she lifted the rifle and shot it in the head. More gunfire filled the day - Lincoln. She couldn't worry about him now. He could take care of himself, Luan couldn't, Luan needed her more.
Four ghouls moved toward her - a burst of rounds struck their chests with hollow thumps, tearing off bits of blackened flesh and pushing them back. Another approached from directly in front of her - she hit it so hard with the butt that its head came off with a wet snap and dropped into the grass.
She reached the treeline and came to a crashing halt, the entire world freezing around her. A group of zombies knelt in a cluster around Luan, their dead hands ripping ropey intestines from her gaping center and shoving red, slippery organs into their mouths. Luan's head turned weakly back and forth, her lips stained with blood and her eyes hazy with shock and approaching death. Every muscle in Lynn's body went slack and the pit of her stomach dropped. When Luan's eyes met hers, she saw pain, suffering, and accusation. You did this to me...you let me die.
Tears spilled down Lynn's cheeks and she started to cry, her head hanging. When something grabbed her from behind, her heart rocketed into her throat. "Come on, goddamn it!" Lincoln yelled into her ear and dragged her back. Luan held her gaze, and Lynn wept harder, her lips trying to form the words I'm sorry but producing tortured sobs instead.
"Move your fucking feet!" Lincoln screamed.
The terror in his voice penetrated her brain, and she looked around: Easily a hundred ghouls were scattered across the field, marching toward them like an advancing army - standing between them and the Bronco. The vanguard was only feet away, and Lincoln, panicking now too, flung her behind him, brought the M-16 around, and opened fire, raking back and forth, striking few in the head but many in the chest. He turned, and the terror in his eyes snapped Lynn fully out of her trance. "Come on!" he yelled and snatched her by the hand; together they ran, their feet splashing in the river and slipping over wet rocks, warm water gushing into their shoes and creeping up the legs of their pants. Lynn looked back, like Lot's wife at the destruction of Sodom; a million of the living dead lumbered across the field. Her eyes went one last time to the spot where Luan lay dead, her body hidden by thick vegetation. My fault, she thought, all my fault.
"Lynn!"
She turned as Lincoln splashed toward her and snatched her hand again - she hadn't realized he let go. "Come on!"
Lynn came, but over the hill and through the woods, her sister's specter followed.