R. Ruggiero - Brushfire Plague

“Good morning,” she said.

“Good morning. How’d you sleep?” He knew he was going to ask her about what she’d said in her sleep, but he’d wait before doing so.

“Oh, I slept well. As good as could be expected after yesterday, I guess.”

“Good. I’m sorry I didn’t have something better to offer you than that air mattress. We were never set up well for guests.”

“Oh, it was fine,” she leaned in, setting her hand on the small of his back. She whispered into his ear, “I’m sorry about last night. I know I came on strong last night. I can be unbearable when I want something. I’m sorry for that.”

He craned his neck back, so he could look at her, “Don’t worry about it. I was flattered, really. You are an…incredible woman. But, I’m still in love…I know it sounds crazy…but I’m still in love with my wife.”

She patted him on his shoulder, “It’s not crazy at all. It’s normal. I was the one who was off base. It’s sweet. It’s why I said you’re such a rare man.” She stopped and laughed to herself.

Cooper looked puzzled, “What?”

“Oh, I can’t. It will make me sound like an arrogant slut.”

He looked plaintively at her, “Oh, you have to tell me now. You can’t bring something like that up and not say anything.”

She dropped her shoulders, “Oh, alright. I guess I owe you that. It’s just that you’re the first man, ever, to reject my advances. Single. Married. It hasn’t mattered. I do believe once even a gay man said yes to me.”

He looked back at her, straight faced.

“What?” she pleaded.

“You’re right. You are an arrogant slut,” a wide smile betrayed the levity.

She punched him in the shoulder. “Oh, c’mon. I didn’t say it’s been that many. I just said you were the first to say no.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I didn’t really say no.”

Her eyes turned coy, she cocked her head, and her voice lilted, flirting again, “Really?”

“I just didn’t say yes,” and he turned and walked back into the kitchen to grab the coffee pot.

He deliberately rocked his hips on his way out, imitating her departure from last night. She burst out laughing.

She was sitting at the table when he came back in, steaming coffee pot in hand. Lighter footsteps were heard on the stairs, and Jake soon bounced into the dining room.

“What’s everyone laughing about?” he asked.

“Your father is just one funny guy,” Julianne responded.

“Funny looking, you mean?”

Cooper pointed the pot at his son, “Watch it, young man.” Jake grinned widely, while Cooper snarled at him, playfully.

Cooper poured Julianne and himself a cup of coffee and sat down to eat. They ate and had amiable conversation. It was painfully obvious now how Julianne avoided talking about her work or the plague. On other topics, however, she was an able conversationalist. Cooper enjoyed talking with her. She was witty, humorous, and intelligent. She’s awfully pleasant to look at, too. Jake watched the banter warily. Cooper noted his growing foul mood. I better be careful, he’s taking this the wrong way. He slowly fell silent. Julianne picked up the cue and did likewise.

When they had finished the meal, Cooper sent Jake upstairs to shower. He departed reluctantly, afraid of what might happen while he was gone. Cooper swatted him on the rear to get him moving.

Julianne started to clear the dishes and Cooper pitched in.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“I’m sorry, but last night I overheard you talking in your sleep.”

It was barely perceptible, but her motions hiccupped as he finished the sentence, “Really? I hope I wasn’t talking about you in some inappropriate manner.” Her joke fell flat. He heard the discomfort in her voice.

He wanted to keep her comfortable, loose. “Despite my fervent hopes when I first woke up, no, it wasn’t that.” He laughed. She joined in, but it sounded forced. “You said some curious things.”

“Like what?” She turned to face him. He paused, dirty dishes in hand.

“You said ‘you were wrong’ and ‘it’s cost too much.’”

She dropped her eyes quickly to the floor. “I’m sorry you heard that.”

“What were you talking about?”

She cradled a spoon in her hands, stroking it, and delaying her response. After a few moments passed, she set the spoon onto the table, “I made a mistake. A big one,” she stopped. He waited for her to continue. She knotted her fingers together, clenching and unclenching. “I had an affair. A married man. He told me it wouldn’t hurt anyone. He told me his wife would never know. But, she did find out and it wrecked their home. I never wanted that.” She looked back up at him with glistening eyes.

He offered a curt, biting, smile in return. Her deep eyes were suddenly shallow. “I don’t know what you’re hiding. But, I’m disappointed you aren’t telling me the truth.”

Her eyebrows knotted up, becoming indignant, “I don’t know…”

He interrupted her, an angry edge to his voice, “I don’t like being lied to. You’ve barely told me what you do for a living. Someone like you wouldn’t lay down such a painful secret so easily. It just doesn’t add…”

His words were cut short by a cavalcade of gunfire in the distance; from up the street. He started at the sound, dropping a plate that shattered when it hit the ground.

“Get Jake into the basement. Keep him there until I get back. He knows where his .22 is.”

Cooper ran to the front door. He clambered into the bulletproof vest, slung a bandoleer of magazines across his chest, and grabbed his rifle. His pistol was already on his hip, as it was now anytime he was awake. He gave a look back at Julianne. She stood motionless in the kitchen where he’d left her.

“Please!” he shouted, desperate. She turned towards him, nodded, and ran towards the stairs.

Cooper bolted out the front door and slammed it behind on his way out. He began sprinting up the street, toward the sound of constant gunfire. Fifty yards ahead of him, he could see Dranko running towards it, as well. He shouted to him to wait.

Dranko turned and waited as Cooper ran at a breakneck speed towards him. Cooper stopped when he’d reached him, sucking air deep into his lungs. A quick dash didn’t used to wind me.

As he came alongside, they moved as a pair in a fast jog toward the growing battle. “Let’s work as a fire team. Shoot and scoot,” Cooper said as they ran. Dranko carried his M16. A chest rig, full of magazines, was on over his body armor.

The roar of a motorcycle engine racing towards them cut short the banter. Cooper took cover behind a thick oak tree and Dranko darted across the street to hunker down behind a Toyota Prius and create a crossfire ambush. Piss poor cover, that plastic car will be.

Cooper switched off the safety and chambered a round into the FAL. A split second later the motorcycle came into view. It was something straight out of Mad Max. The high whine of the motor told him it was an imported bike. There were two men on the bike. The driver wore black boots, cut-up denim jeans, and an open leather vest with no shirt underneath. His ears were festooned with numerous piercings and his nose bore a large metal ring. A bright red Mohawk adorned his otherwise shiny bald head. A large bore pistol was holstered to his hip, but both hands clung to the handlebars. The passenger was clad in black leather from head to toe, including a black full head mask that looked like it came from cheap horror movie. He brandished two pistols, an auto in the left and a revolver in the right. The outrageous dress told him they were dealing with amateurs. Nothing more than costumes meant to frighten those they attacked.