Among the Living (26 page)

“Let’s go back to bed. I know how to help wear you out.” She grins with devilish intent. She breaks free and does a little pirouette for me, then she pads down the hall on bare feet. She slips the black film of the nightgown over her head in a languid manner that has my complete and utter attention. Her legs are fine, long and lean, and I can’t take my eyes off her.

* * *

A gunshot makes me sit up in bed. I come up from a deep but dreamless sleep, eyes wide open. Erin sits up as well, and we stare at each other like strangers. There is no sluggishness in my mind this time; I know exactly where I am.

She clutches at me, so I pull her close.

“Was that a gun?”

“Yep. Does that happen often?”

“No. I’ve never heard one, at least one that close.” She nestles her head on my shoulder and pushes her forehead against my neck. “It sounded like it was right outside.”

The air conditioner picks that moment to kick in, and the room is suddenly filled with its low hum. Then another shot makes me flinch, and I am out of bed in a flash. I move to the window, heart pounding in my throat, and I’m ready to dive to the floor if I have to. Sliding the curtains aside, I struggle to see something below.

The night hangs over the hill with the barest hint of light from the sliver of a moon. From this side of the building, there is a clear view of Puget Sound. A ferry is on the water, speeding away from the city, and a cargo ship sits silhouetted against the backdrop of the island across the way. I try to see over the side of the building to the street, but what little I can make out is clear of people. Another pair of shots, these close together, and one is a loud boom that sounds like a shotgun.

I stand at the window for another minute, but there isn’t anything I can do. If people are sorting their feelings out with bullets, I don’t need to get involved. I go back to the other side of the bed, the side on which I am not used to sleeping, and slip beneath the covers. Erin drapes her warm body over mine so that one leg arches over my waist and her arm rests on my chest. I slip an arm under her neck, and she slides her head next to mine.

I am wide awake again. I glance at the clock, and it is close to 3:00 a.m. As she pointed out, it is very hard to sleep in another bed, but I can’t think of a single place I would rather be right now. We chat quietly about nothing, just lovers enjoying each other’s company. She tells me that she has yoga in the morning but she may skip it, I tell her I need to go home and feed my cat, Buster, and make sure he didn’t eat the bird. I invite her to go with me, and she agrees with a long yawn that reminds me I should be sleepy. With her nuzzled against me, the last thing I want to do is escape into slumber. I want to feel her next to me and savor every moment.

She will have to drive, but she says it is okay. I tell her that if I am going to stay in the city for the rest of the weekend, I should bring my car in as well. I don’t come out and ask her if I should stay, but she asks me to immediately, then I offer my larger house for us, and she is silent for a moment.

“Maybe not right away,” she says with a slight hesitation, and I can imagine why. The house was mine and Rita’s and Andy’s, and while I am the only inhabitant now, there are pictures of us in every room. It would probably be uncomfortable.

With Erin’s scent filling my nose and the thought of being with her all weekend fueling my tired thoughts, I drift off a half hour later, all too aware that my arm is going to be very sore in the morning and yet unwilling to remove it from underneath her neck. As I drift off, I am pretty sure I hug her to me one more time.

* * *

Mornings are a bitch for me. I hate the gummy glue in my eyes, the cotton balls in my mouth, the grogginess as I want nothing more than to sink back into sleep. The lag as I stare at the clock and wonder how many times I can hit snooze. I hate that I am so alone that I am glad to see my cat, which is ornery enough to take a dump by my shoes if things aren’t going his way. Glad that he decides to make a bed in mine most nights so that when I wake up he can grace me with a look from his luminous eyes.

This morning starts in a similar way. I wake to sunlight, which is annoying. I press my head into the pillow, but I know it is still bright out there. The smell is different, not my familiar washing liquid or softener or the stupid little sheet I sometimes put in the dryer.

Then I realize the smell of coffee is permeating the room. It is odd, because I never figured out how to set the timer on my fancy coffee maker that does all that stuff for me. Only to lose the setting the next time there is a power outage.

There is something else different this morning, and that would be morning wood. When is the last time that happened? I roll over and stare at Erin’s curtains. They are cracked open just enough to let in the morning but not enough to blind me.

I can smell her everywhere. A clean scent of soap and shampoo with hints of vanilla. I don’t remember her ever going crazy with the perfume or fancy hand cream. She has a very smooth complexion, and come to think of it, she rarely piles on the makeup—or she is an expert at subtlety.

I think of last night, how she got on top of me and leaned over so her breasts were in perfect view. I sat up a bit so I could nibble at them, and then she rolled her head back and rode me with my hands circling her slim waist.

This isn’t helping the current state of affairs in my boxers, so I roll out of bed and find the bathroom. Splashing some water on my face and hair helps. Then I look in the mirror at the one-day growth of beard. The gray that nestles there is a full decade early. The wiry light brown hair that almost crinkles as I push it forward. My eyes are wide awake for a change; one thing with which I was blessed was good vision, so there are no daily rituals with contacts or keeping glasses clean as Leonard is apt to avoid. Once I am somewhat presentable, I find my shirt and slip it on. It smells like yesterday, and I wish I had a change of clothes.

I walk into the living room and find my way to the kitchen. Erin is dressed in a flowery robe that hangs around the seat of the chair. She faces away from me, and she has one lovely leg bent at the knee, foot perched on the chair in front of her. She reads what looks like a newspaper, probably the Seattle Times.

She turns as I enter the room. Her hair hangs around her face, looking like she just came from a salon. She is fresh faced, and her eyes sparkle. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

She smiles, and I have to pause, dizzy because I am confused by what I feel for her, by how deeply I feel for her. I have denied myself so long that it is a bit overwhelming.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Waking up in a strange place and all ...”

“Is my condo really strange? I mean I don’t have any shrunken heads on the wall, no Voodoo dolls. My vampire outfit is at the cleaners, and the time machine left without me.”

She is always such a smartass. I lean over and kiss her on the lips without preamble. Her eyes go wide, and she kisses me back.

“Thanks for the update on weird; I guess I’m behind the times.”

“I should say so,” she smirks. “I have been dropping hints for months. I considered dropping a large weight on your head but thought better of it, you know, in case there was anything up there.”

“Erm.”

“You aren’t a morning person, but I can work with that. Grab a cup of coffee.”

“That sounds fantastic. I need about a gallon this morning.”

“That tired, eh? I guess I did try to wear you out.”

“You did a wonderful job. I’ll be sure and return the favor today.” I grin at her.

I flip through three cupboards before I locate the coffee cups. My mood is already great, but the coffee makes it even better.

Daylight has been pouring through the blinds for at least an hour. Lester rolls over a few times. He tugs the covers over his face, then tries to use a pillow to block the cursed rays out. He sits up after another half hour of tossing and turning. Angela is asleep on her stomach. There is only a thin sheet covering her naked body. He follows the line of her ass up to her back. His head pounds, and he has a smoky taste in his mouth, which is as dry as a sponge left in the sun for a couple of days. The only thing he wants is about a gallon of ice-cold water.

He hauls himself out of bed and walks naked to the bathroom. He fills and drains a tall glass with lukewarm water a few times, belches, scratches his balls and considers going back to bed.

There is a tiny window over the toilet, and as he relieves himself—a long steady stream of piss that echoes around the quiet room—he glances at the road. He expects to see a few of the deaders walking around, but there is no one in sight. Thank God that’s over! There is a loud sound off to the east like a car crash. He tries to peer around the corner of the window, but he can’t see anything. Oh well, it’s not his problem. He flushes, leaves the lid open and looks in the mirror over the sink. Dark circles line his red eyes, not red like those fuckers outside, but the red of the recently exhausted, previously stoned, and very much hung over.

The bed is warm and inviting when he returns to it, and he even snuggles over to Angela. She murmurs to herself, turns on her side and starts snoring softly again. He slips his arm around her slim waist and pulls up close to spoon. Within minutes, he is fast asleep.

* * *

“Babe, we need some hot water!” Angela calls from the bathroom.

The water was running, but it was a low-pressure stream that barely rinsed the soap off his body. The water felt like ice needles when he stepped in, and it was probably the fastest shower of his life. As he stood shivering in the warming house, he couldn’t help but laugh at Angela’s squeal when she stepped in. He watched her move under the water for a couple of minutes as he dried himself. Her nipples stiffened under the cold, and goose bumps stood up all over her body.

He goes back to the bedroom, half hard and slips into a clean pair of sweats he finds on a shelf in the walk-in closet. They are up top, half hidden behind a couple of old pillows, which have a slight musky smell. He finds a shirt that isn’t too ratty, a long-sleeved thing that he leaves open in front. They have a plan today to soak a pile of clothes in the tub, wash them in the shower and then hang them up to dry all over the house. As it warms today, they should dry. They aren’t in a hurry, after all; there is plenty of food for a few more days.

Dressed, he heads back to the bathroom for another peek.

“Hot water would be such a luxury,” she says with chattering teeth.

“Want me to warm you up?” he puts one hand in the shower and runs it over her wet back and ass.

“No I don’t want you to warm me up! I’m fucking freezing in here, and all you are doing is thinking with your cock!”

“I was just playing around, babe. You know, trying to keep it light.”

“You wanna keep it light? Keep it light by getting us out of here, Les. I’m sick of being cooped up, and you said yourself it wasn’t that bad out there. So let’s get the fuck out there!” she pleads, pointing in the general direction of Seattle, voice going high in a way that he finds unpleasant.

“Why are you mad at me? I been doing my best, babe. I went to the house and got all that shit for us. Christ!”

“I don’t want to be stuck here anymore, that’s all. I appreciate it, babe, but I want to get out. Let’s go see some smiling people for a change. We haven’t even left the house in a couple of days.”

“Do you really think it’s such a good idea to go out there? Those fucking things are everywhere. We are so much safer here.” He wants to lose his cool and yell at her, but what good would that do? He’d gag her, but she would probably tell him she isn’t into any weird shit and storm out of the room.

“How do you know? How do you know they’re everywhere? Maybe they’re just in this area or in our neighborhood. Maybe no one knows and we need to get word out. Remember what the news said? They are normal people that are disoriented. We’re supposed to be nice to them.”

“Now you just sound fucking stupid. If you saw that bitch attack me last night, trying to bite me … I’m not kidding you; she attacked me like I was a steak dinner on a deserted island. It’s bullshit. Whatever the news guys are telling us is a lie.”

“Don’t you call me stupid, asshole.” She frowns as she steps out of the icy water. Hints of conditioner run down her face, over skin blue from the cold and lips pale as milk, which cover chattering teeth. She stomps her foot, shaking suds all over the floor. Normally he can’t take his eyes off her naked body, but right now he wants to push her down and scream at her. Stupid bitch, like he got them into this.

“Tell you what, babe. You go ahead and go out there and spread the word that we’re trapped here. Meanwhile I’ll be downstairs trying to get the goddamn TV working so I can find out something, okay!?” He yells the last word and turns to leave. A single sob stops him in his tracks. He turns around, and she is wiping tears from her eyes. He should say he is sorry, but he doesn’t.

* * *