Bloody Sunrise: A Zombie Apocalypse Romance Page 7

  “You bit?” He yelled, adjusting his grip on his shotgun. “Scratched?”

  “No sir,” Booker called back, holding out his hand and gun to show he didn’t mean trouble. “Neither of us. We were passin’ through.”

  “Ain’t you seen the perimeter?”

  So subtly she nearly missed it, Booker shifted his weight, putting himself just a few more inches between Caitlin and the man.

  “Yes sir, we did. Made us a little optimistic there might be people ‘round.”

  Booker’s accent thickened as he spoke, and Caitlin silently appreciated his knowledge of code switching. Sound like you’re a neighbor, get treated as a neighbor.

  “There more of ya?”

  Booker shook his head. “No sir, jus’ us. And we don’t mean y’all any harm.”

  The woman stepped through the tree line then, her long greying hair in a braid over her shoulder, white dress and apron fluttering in the breeze. Her gaze shifted to the man—her husband, Caitlin guessed.

  “Jeremiah…”

  “Constance, be smart.”

  Booker didn’t move. They were clearly having a conversation made purely of subtext neither of them understood.

  The man took a step forward. “Y’all God-fearin’ people?”

  Caitlin bristled at the question, but Booker didn’t even blink.

  “Psalm 121, verses 7 and 8,” Booker called.

  At that, the man started to lower his shotgun. “The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life. The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.” He grinned. “Welcome Brother, you have been delivered.”

  Staring at the back of Booker’s head, she made a dozen mental notes to ask about that particular exchange.

  The woman lowered her weapon and out of the brush stepped several more people—all aged twenty to nine, and armed. Most of them were boys, but one girl about ten years old in a floral dress held a teddy bear in one hand and a pistol in the other.

  “Did you see them before?” She whispered to Booker.

  “Yep. You?”

  “No.”

  In total, the family was about ten strong.

  The pit in Caitlin’s stomach grew.

  “Sorry about the less than hospitable greeting,” Jeremiah called, striding over. “We’ve learned it’s better to be gruff first and apologize later.”

  “No offense taken,” Booker said.

  The men shook hands, but Caitlin took a step back, eyeing Jeremiah warily.

  Maybe she just hadn’t been around people in so long, especially people different than herself, but… something felt off. The memories of the first family to take her in rolled over and over in her mind. The openness, the kindness, the general feeling of ‘we’re all in this shitty situation together’… It was a stark contrast to Jeremiah’s gatekeeper attitude.

  “I’m Booker, this is Caitlin.”

  Jeremiah reached for her hand and she took it on impulse.

  “Nice to meet you, young lady,” he said, squeezing her hand just a little too hard.

  “You too.” It was a lie. Her legs still trembled, begging her to bolt away and drag Booker with her. She stayed planted.

  “The house is just up this way. Ya caught us while we was doin’ chores.”

  Caitlin didn’t move until Booker did. She stuck close as they followed the family up to their cabin.

  As they walked, Jeremiah talked with Booker like he was an old friend—the result of having the same creed, she guessed.

  She listened in as Jeremiah explained the cabin was his daddy’s and kept just for vacation and hunting trips, but when the world went to hell, he’d brought his family there to stay safe and away from the roaming ‘biters’ as he called them. He quoted scripture so many times Caitlin lost count, all about how it was the end of days and that Christ was soon coming again.

  It wasn’t the Bible talk that made her nervous. It was the unsettling glint in his eye. Like he’d just decided he was running for Mayor, too friendly, too chatty, too happy to have them stay with them. All while his wife was silent, his children keeping their distance from them.

  From him.

  The house was larger than Caitlin anticipated, and well protected it looked like.

  Secluded. Far away from any main roads. No neighbors.

  She tried to shake the disturbed feeling, but it clung to her.

  As they made it up the front porch steps, Constance spoke for the first time since they’d accosted them.

  “We’re making stew for dinner. Y’all are welcome to get cleaned up. Maybe wash your clothes.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Caitlin said. “But I’m not sure how long we’re staying.”

  “Well you’ll stay the night of course,” Constance said, a desperate tremor in her voice. “Y’all look tired and in need of some good food. We’re happy to have you.”

  It felt final. As if the decision had already been made. Caitlin fought not to grimace.

  Booker had been led to the other side of the main room by Jeremiah, and while the distance was maybe only a few feet, it felt too far for her comfort. With a polite smile, she wandered over to Booker’s side. The men were in the middle of discussing how the cabin had managed to maintain hot water and electricity with the right amount of propane and generators.

  “Excuse me, can I borrow him back for a moment?” She asked, already reaching for Booker’s arm.

  “’Course, darlin’.”

  She’d grown accustomed to Booker’s voice saying that word and hearing a stranger call her that made her spine go rigid.

  The family all milled around—younger children running off to play and the older boys hovering, looking like they were trying to puff up like their father.

  Booker followed her back onto the porch, careful not to let the storm door slam.

  “I don’t—”

  “Shh shh,” he cut her off, pulling her to the other end of the porch away from the open windows. “Whisper.”

  She nodded and crossed her arms. “I don’t like this.”

  “I know that wasn’t the friendliest of greetings.”

  “It’s not… Booker, something’s… off.”

  He furrowed his brow, dark eyes locking with hers. “Whaddya mean?”

  Caitlin bit the inside of her bottom lip, unsure if she should open a wound she’d only just managed to close in hopes of getting him to understand.

  “This guy… his family…” She shook her head. “Booker, I don’t want to stay here.”

  He sighed, leaning against the porch rail. “I know that back there shook ya up—”

  “It’s not—”

  “But Cae, they’re offerin’ us food. Water. Shelter. A hot shower—something I definitely haven’t had in…” He sniffed himself. “A very long time.”

  Caitlin ground her molars.

  “It’s almost dark,” Booker continued. “We’re out of food, and we’re at least another half day’s trek to anywhere that might have supplies.”

  Her legs began to shake again, muscles screaming to run, run, run.

  “We’ve managed on our own this far,” she countered, staring up at him. “We don’t need them.”

  Booker watched her a moment and then took her by the hand, pulling her further away from listening ears.

  “Talk to me.” He turned to face her, watchful gaze on the door to the house. “Just this mornin’ you were sayin’ how we needed supplies, we needed a safe place to make camp and rest up for a bit—”

  “I know, I know what I said,” she interrupted, annoyed that her own argument was being used against her.

  “Okay, then what’s changed?” He waited but when she didn’t speak up immediately, he added, “Meadows, I wanna understand, okay. I’m here, I’m listenin’. You’re sayin’ you wanna leave, turn down their hospitality, I gotta know why.”

  Caitlin swallowed, throat abnormally tight. “He reminds me of my stepdad.”

  Booker blinked, waiti
ng for her to continue.

  “Overly nice to company, while his family is stock still and quiet, terrified of making a wrong move they know they’ll pay for later.” She folded her arms over her stomach. “And his wife? She’s too insistent on having us stay, probably because she knows he’ll be on his best behavior while we’re around.”

  “I didn’t see any bruises…”

  “Oh, Booker, come on,” she snapped, about to turn away from him.

  “No, I just… I don’t wanna make assumptions about a man we don’t know.”

  Pegging him with a glare, she said, “I know him. I know men like him. He’s good at fooling people into thinking ‘no, not him, he could never.’”

  Booker inhaled, glancing at the darkening sky. “Cae, I know you’re scared… and bein’ around people again is nerve wrackin’ for me too. It’s hard to trust anyone anymore. But turnin’ our backs on shelter and food this close to nightfall… I dunno...”

  A sharp pang of betrayal was quickly followed by a sour feeling in her stomach. Maybe he was right… she’d been distrustful of Booker when they first met, and he was a good man. Just because someone was like her stepfather didn’t mean history was repeating itself.

  And the prospect of a hot shower and warm meal was alluring.

  “Okay,” she relented. “You’re right, we need a safe place to rest. It’ll be fine.”

  Booker wrapped his hand around her arm, gently squeezing in reassurance. “One night, two tops, and then we’re on our way again.”

  She nodded, forcing down the lump in her throat.

  The porch door swung open and Constance stepped out. “Supper’s ready. Y’all hungry?”

  ***

  After nearly inhaling their venison stew and rolls, Constance showed them to the bathroom upstairs and laid out some toiletries for them. She told them to pile their dirty clothes outside the door and she’d throw them in the wash.

  Caitlin watched the woman, searching for signs she’d been right before… or wrong. It all felt smudged and blurry, like wiping a hand over something written in chalk.

  Booker insisted Caitlin shower first, keeping subtle watch by the door.

  It was an action that had her eyes pricking with unshed tears. He might not agree with her about Jeremiah or his family, but he wasn’t about to leave her vulnerable and alone.

  After three weeks of rinsing off in creeks, sponging off with stolen paper towels and rags, and keeping her hair in a tight ponytail, stepping under the warm spray was almost orgasmic.

  She moaned like it was anyway.

  “Do I wanna know what you’re doin’ in there?” Booker called through the door, smirk audible.

  “You wish,” she responded, lathering up her hair.

  She could hear his chuckle even over the water’s spray.

  If she wasn’t afraid of using all the hot water, she’d have stayed in the shower for an hour. But once she was clean, rinsed, and cleaned again for good measure, she turned the water off and wrapped herself in a towel. It was a little thin, but the air was warm enough she wasn’t concerned with catching a chill.

  Finger combing her hair, she opened the bathroom door to let Booker know she was done. He stared up at her from where he was sat on the floor, and immediately averted his gaze.

  “Your turn,” she said, one hand keeping her towel closed at her chest.

  He cleared his throat and nodded. “Alright.”

  Caitlin grinned to herself. “Oh look, there are those red ears again.”

  Booker stood up in a hurry. “Just tryna be polite, Meadows.”

  “Where are our packs?” She asked before he could close the door.

  “Tucked ‘em away in that room over there.”

  “Thanks,” she said, padding down the hall in her bare feet.

  Quickly digging out her only other set of clothes—bra, panties, grey tee shirt, and jeans—she got dressed facing the door, holding her breath so she could hear someone coming up the stairs.

  No one did.

  When she was dressed, she yanked her shoes back on and sat on the end of the hope chest at the foot of the twin bed, waiting for Booker.

  After a few minutes, the door opened.

  “Jesus, Cae.” Booker pulled up short, one hand keeping his towel around his hips. “Why ain’t you downstairs?”

  “I was waiting for you,” she said, sitting upright.

  She expected him to tease her, but instead he just nodded and shut the door behind him.

  Her gaze tracked the movement, momentarily stunned by how much of Booker was on display. Rivulets of water followed the curve of his muscular back, disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. His Marine Corps tattoo wasn’t the only ink he’d collected—a family crest covered his right shoulder blade, and a black and white lion’s head was high up on his left bicep.

  He had the tanned complexion of someone who worked outside shirtless more often than not. Had the physique to match too.

  As he turned, Caitlin forced her stare to the floor, hands fidgeting in her lap.

  Grabbing clothes from his pack, Booker stood at the foot of the bed to lay them out.

  He grinned. “Now who’s blushin’?”

  Rolling her eyes, Caitlin stood up. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  “’M hurt, Meadows. Don’t tell me I’ve let myself go.”

  “Jackass,” she muttered, striding out into the hall and shutting the door.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  Jeremiah was stopped on the stairs, eyeing her.

  “Oh, uh…” She glanced over her shoulder. “It was… nothing. Sorry.”

  He didn’t comment, just continued up the stairs until he was only a couple feet from her on the landing.

  “Y’all gettin’ settled alright?”

  She tried to seem relaxed but knew it wasn’t working. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Shower’s nice, ain’t it?” Jeremiah took a couple steps closer. “I praise the Lord every day we had the foresight to put in extra generators a few years back. And those propane tanks too. ‘Course, we never imagined what we’d be usin’ this place for…”

  “I’m not sure anyone knew to expect this.” Her gaze darted behind him, wondering if she would be better off excusing herself or if waiting at the door with Booker in ear shot was safest.

  “The day of reckoning is upon us,” Jeremiah continued. “The good book gave us all the signs. Least that’s what I told my congregation anyway.”

  Caitlin squinted up at him. “You’re a pastor?”

  “Yes’m. Holy Bible Church, about five miles down the main road.”

  Something sickly curled in her gut. A pastor that took his family and ran, hiding out in the woods, armed to the teeth with weapons… It didn’t feel very godly to her.

  Just then the door behind her opened and Booker walked out.

  “Sir,” he greeted Jeremiah. “Thank you again for lettin’ us get cleaned up.”

  “Oh, o’course,” Jeremiah said. “Now, y’all save room for dessert?”

  Caitlin blinked. “Huh?”

  “Constance made a pie. C’mon ‘n’ have some.”

  He started back down the stairs and Booker brushed by her, touching her elbow gently.

  “Y’alright?”

  She nodded, decidedly ignoring the churning in her gut.

  ***

  Dessert with the family was only mildly uncomfortable. Caitlin felt like they were being watched, but not just as outsiders. It was like they were being tested, observed for anything Jeremiah deemed unsavory.

  When they finished, Caitlin started to take their plates to the kitchen, but Constance jumped up, taking them instead.

  “Let me,” she murmured, quickly rushing into the other room.

  As Caitlin settled back in her seat, Jeremiah leaned forward, pegging her and Booker with a stare.

  “Now, I’m happy to have y’all here,” he started, and Caitlin’s heart rate double timed. “But there are some house rules w
e follow as the good Lord has bestowed them on us.”

  The more he tried to sound devout, the worse he came across.

  “We’re a Christian family, and as such we don’t believe in committing sins of the flesh. Things like premarital relations are against God’s teachings. So, I’m afraid y’all will have to sleep in separate rooms.”

  Booker started to chuckle, opening his mouth to speak, but Caitlin jumped in.

  “Oh, I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said, voice as sweet as she could muster. “We are married.”

  Booker cocked his head, careful to keep his expression neutral.

  Jeremiah’s stare narrowed. “Y’all ain’t wearing weddin’ bands.”

  Wrapping her arm around Booker’s in an affectionate gesture, she leaned into him. “That’s actually my fault. See, it’s actually coming up on our one-year anniversary, and I’d taken our rings in to the jeweler to get them cleaned and… Well, I was gonna get something engraved on sweetie’s here—” She squeezed Booker’s arm, hoping he understood.

  Go along with this.

  Back me up.

  Please.

  “—But the day I was supposed to pick them up… The virus outbreak happened.” She held Jeremiah’s gaze, unwavering. “Didn’t even occur to me to try to get our rings. Especially since they’re just material possessions. And a marriage is more than that, right?”

  Jeremiah hummed, but he didn’t look completely convinced. “Tell me about your weddin’, Booker.”

  Shit.

  Booker’s stare met Caitlin’s for a split second before turning to the man, grinning.

  “Oh man, did she hate our weddin’,” Booker started, hand covering hers and giving a gentle pat and squeeze. “We both wanted somethin’ simple, real easy, ya know? I’d’ve been happy goin’ to the li’l chapel by the base, but her mom was not havin’ it.”

  He squeezed her hand again, thumb rubbing a circle on her palm.

  Follow my lead.

  I’ve got your back.

  We’ll be fine.

  “Mom wanted all the family there,” Caitlin supplied with a smile.

  Booker nodded. “Both our mamas wanted half of Texas there,” he said with a laugh. “And then nobody liked the food we picked.”

  “I thought a taco bar would be a good idea.”