Blood Soaked and Contagious (17 page)

“Nargle.” Sure. It wasn’t a suave way to begin an attack or interrogation, but that was what I had.

The eyes looked down and back up. “Yeah, you’re definitely Frank. That arm must hurt with all those stitches. How’s your back?”

“Perkin’ squashem.” I had no eloquence, menace, or ability to speak properly.

She laughed at me, and her eyes crinkled in a really merry sort of way. I really hoped she wasn’t a zombie.

“Oh,” she exclaimed abruptly, and put her hands up above the line of the wood. “I’m not a zombie, if you were wondering about that.”

“Who?” A little better: I got a one-word question out.

“I am so sorry! No one told you I was stayin’ here until you started moving around again?”

“Nope.”

“Remind me to kick some ass.” She arched one eyebrow in a particularly menacing manner, and I could tell someone was going to get it when she got out of my tub. Strangely enough, I wasn’t all that disturbed about my squatter’s rights at that moment.

Her right hand scooted up over the rim and sort of bent down as if to shake mine, so I shook it.

“I’m Charlie, Shawn’s sister. Pleased to meet you!”

“Oh.” Bollocks! So much for my quixotic tilting at the windmill of a woman I’d never met!

“Yeah, I’m really sorry we didn’t get introduced properly. This really has to be a surprise, finding me in your tub like this. I hope you don’t mind!”

Sweet cooties of Ganesha, I didn’t mind at all! I was simply, astoundingly unprepared to see anyone, much less the woman I’d threatened to snog the stuffing out of.

All I could do in my unprepared, taken-aback state was throw up my hands, shake my head, and make non-specific negative noises. I could cope with taking a bath in… taking a bath in her… oh submerging… Woman. Water. It was surprisingly hot and humid in the storeroom.

“Tell you what? You were going to wash off before getting in, right? This is an ofuro after all,” she said, poking her face up all the way over the rim and smiling at me.

I found myself thinking, “The cute. It BURNS!” Her nose was a gently upturned button relaxing above a set of full lips and surrounded by a gently rounded face. Topped, as I mentioned, with short, disheveled blond hair. Burns! My Quixote aimed his lance and I was vastly grateful for the loose-fitting jeans I was wearing. Even my Sancho Panzas were pleased they had room to move in. Nevermind.

“You’ve got your stool and washing kit over there, so why don’t you do that, and I’ll soak for a little while longer until you’re ready. Then we’ll switch up, and I’ll go find us something for dinner. Work for you?”

“Ah, yar mmm-hmmm. Ah.” It didn’t occur to me I’d be naked in the same room with her until I was actually sitting on the stool, facing away from the tub, getting ready to sponge the Quixote.

He was gracious and retreated. I got an evil case of goosebumps instead.

In short order, my mind turned to other things, because the amount of crap I was washing off myself was just this side of nauseating. Jayashri may have put me back together, but she didn’t do much in the way of cleaning off dried blood and other things. I can’t imagine what I looked like after days of languishing in my own depressed filth.

I have never been vain. At least, I don’t think I have been. I simply prefer to meet new people without a week’s worth of beard, dried blood, crusty eyelashes, greasy hair, and body odor that would have made maggots barf.

It took a while to get my legs clean, because moving my back hurt too much, but I managed it. When I got to my face, I dug around for my razor, lathered up my face, and closed my eyes.

Shaving your face by touch alone was something I’d started doing in college. There were post-party mornings when I didn’t want to see what I looked like in a mirror and the best way to shave was to do it by feel. Once I got used to it, I found it to be a wonderful way to center my thoughts, almost meditative.

The meditation of shaving through the lawn that had appeared on my cheeks must have been extraordinary, because I didn’t hear her get out of the tub. I put the razor down, and I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I squeaked, levitated, and, I’m ashamed to say, farted in surprise.

The next thing I knew, she was on the floor holding a towel around herself and laughing her ass off. I guess we’d managed to break the ice. I confess, I wasn’t thinking about ice.

She wasn’t tiny, but she wasn’t a Country Amazon either. Words like “lush” and “ripe” were slipping in and out of the folds of my brain. The Sancho Panzas struck up a Gregorian chant that was surprisingly lewd.

I hadn’t noticed that she sported shoulder and half-sleeve tattoos on each arm. They featured things like matched passionflowers, vines, leaves, and orchids. Whoever her artist was, he was a genius with a needle and color.

I suppose I was staring, because the next thing I knew, she was sitting there, looking back at me with a slightly serious expression on her face. Shit.

“Um. Um!” I tried to stammer out some sort of apology, but it really was not happening.

“Frank, you can’t get into the tub with your back all bandaged up like that.”

“Murfle?”

“No, really.” She stood up, walked over, and put a hand on my shoulder. “All of this would get wet and just hang off you. I’m sure you’re due to get this stuff changed anyhow. Let me help you get it off, and then we’ll get you into the tub. Okay?”

“Okay.” Damn me, and my terminal lack of suave!

“All right. Now, do you want it fast or slow?”

Señor, this is Quixote. Sancho #1, Sancho #2, and I would like to comment at this point in time. Thank you for your patience. It is our opinion that we want fast, slow, and anything else the Señorita might think of. Muchisimas gracias por su ayuda.

“Whatever. You. Think. Is. Best.” I spoke, even if it was a little mechanical.

“Gotta say, Frank. I like hearing that from a man!” With those words, she spun me into a sharp moment of ripping agony. Quixote, Sancho, and Sancho fled back inside my abdomen and shut the door behind them. I was left making tiny “eeeeeeee!” noises.

“Oh my.” I didn’t like the sound of her voice when she said that.

“Nargle?”

“Jayashri and Shawn told me you dropped a grenade on a zombie and took off, but I had sorta thought you’d make it farther away before it went off. You sure you’re alive?”

My voice came back and I asked her, “Is it really that bad?”

“You haven’t even looked in a mirror?”

“No, I don’t have one upstairs.”

“Well, let me tell you. No, actually, I’m not going to tell you anything. Just be really happy that nothing is infected and you’re still around to take a bath. How about that?”

“Oh dear.”

“That’s putting it lightly, believe me.” She really sounded like she meant every word, which was more than a little unsettling to me. “I’m going to sponge your back down before you get in the water. I don’t know how this is going to feel, but you just do whatever you need to do. All right?”

“Okay.” I was not doing well in the witty patter department, and I was also a tad worried about how bad my injuries really were. My arm didn’t look half bad, and there wasn’t any pain when I moved the hand or wrist. It did look like the stitches were about ready to come out, and I still felt a little itching now and then.

Somewhere behind me I heard her fill a container with water from the tub. All my hindbrain wanted to do was talk to me about “Charlie Tea,” while my forebrain was becoming progressively more nervous. Quixote and the Panza twins were giving my hindbrain a wide berth, and I was happy about that. The whole thing was embarrassing and vulnerable enough without adding another element on top of the Self-Consciousness Pie of Doom.

Splash. Splash. “Okay, I’m going to dab some water on you. That’s all, no scrubbing. Just like a sponge bath, but with a washcloth instead. You doin’ okay so far?”

“I think so.”

Charlie made an affirmative noise and put the wet cloth on my shoulder. I couldn’t help myself, I made little bliss noises... for about 5 seconds until the hot dripping water reached one of the stitched-up holes. I sucked in air between my teeth and tensed up in an effort to not make “meep” sounds.

“Looks like it feels a little intense. Am I right?”

“Yessssss,” I answered.

“Is it the sort of intense you can cope with or should we find another way to handle this?” I had to admit, I liked her. She was cool under pressure but retained compassion, and I found that mighty impressive.

“Keep going. I’ll adjust.” My answer was partly due to my own bravado, because I didn’t feel as if I’d made a good impression up to that point. Was it stupid of me? Yes.

She was gentle, firm, and let me make all the “meep” noises I needed in order to get the job done. I got a bit of information from her about why it hurt so much. Not only did I take a punch from the concussion of the grenade going off and a pile of puncture wounds from shrapnel, I also got burned. When Nate and Flower picked me up off the ground, ass over teakettle, the back of my shirt was roasted through. Flash-fried.

Charlie said it looked to her like a bad sunburn with patches that looked like they’d been blisters a few days before.

Eventually, I did get used to the temperature and decided to give the tub a try. Charlie impressed me again, because she helped me up and got me into the water without making a single joke. That was kind, because I’d decided to give up on being worried that I was in the buff, and a joke would have made me tense up.

To put it as simply as possible, leaving all the hyperbole and prose out of it: “Water is good.” My ofuro felt like what I imagined it must have been like to be a fetus floating around in the womb, minus the darkness and amniotic sac. Whether or not it was an accurate fantasy, I can say I felt restored by soaking in the tub.

Charlie kept me company, leaning on the tub wall on my left. It was like having a disembodied head resting on arms and hands, but this particular head was much more attractive, funny, and pleasant to be around. She actually reached over at one point and messed up my hair.

I looked back at her and she was smiling. It was radiant. That was the moment Shawn walked through the door.

“Charlotte Marie Cooper! What the Hell are you doin’ in a towel?” It certainly wasn’t a yell. Shawn bellowed.

“I was takin’ a bath, Knocker!”

“Damn it! I told you not to call me Knocker ever again! Please don’t tell me you were BATHING with that pervert!”

“No, Knocker, I just gave him a sponge bath and put him in the tub. Ya big lazy shithead!”

“Um, ‘pervert’?” I raised my hand just a little. Both of them yelled at me to shut up.

“Don’t you ‘No, Knocker’ me, little sister! If you’re gonna be a tattooed slut, there are other people around you can scratch your itch with. Don’t you be pawin’ all over him.”

I heard her move and the sound of a penetrating slap before I was able to turn around in the water. When I got myself oriented in that direction, I saw Charlie’s back, towel still in place, and Shawn holding the side of his face. Looks like Big Brother mouthed off just a hair too much. That had to have hurt.

“Listen to me, you overgrown hick. If I want to tear off this towel, jump in that tub, and fuck the shit out of that poor wounded man, it ain’t none of your business.” Charlie punctuated her tirade with meaningful finger stabbing in my direction.

Quixote and the Panza twins formed a Mariachi band. I managed not to smile like a buffoon, but there was definitely a party starting in the subaquatic environment.

“Charlie, don’t say things like that! That’s just nasty, hun!”

“Shawn, you’re my brother, not my gun-totin’ chastity belt. I’m not 12 anymore.”

“But. But. But. He’s already told me he wants to bang you!” I had never heard Shawn whine before. It was, in a word, awful.

“Have you looked at his back?” She grabbed her brother by the hand, pulled him over to the side of the tub, and told me, “Would you turn around, please, and stand up if you can? This idiot needs to see for himself.”

I did as I was asked. It really wasn’t a good time to get saucy with her, I could tell.

“See that, you big goober? He couldn’t bang
himself
right now, much less me! I’d kill him by accident!”

The Groin Mariachi Trio were caught in a maelstrom of despair at the truth in her words, but were immensely excited at the thought of a deadly roll in the hay. For myself, I just wanted to sit back down.

“Hey, man? Does this hurt?” Shawn gave me a poke somewhere around my right kidney. I howled and collapsed into the ofuro.

“Oh my God! Frank! Are you okay?” I gave the Big Man some credit for the sincerity in his voice, and then I ran the chances of me being able to strangle him in my current state. Nope.

I turned around in the water, crouched down as I was, and looked him dead in the face. He went pale. I said very quietly, “If you ever do something like that again,” my brain ceased functioning for a moment, “I will marry your sister. I will have loud, fierce sex with her beneath your bedroom window every Thursday and Saturday night. She will bear my children, who will all look and act just like me. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”