Kenn Crawford - Dead Hunt

Lucy realized that would explain the song lyrics and other nonsense he was now saying. Michael was stalling, allowing Lucy time to figure it out. Her mind raced back to the cellar and their conversation, when a question Michael had asked her jumped back into her memory.

“Can computers lie?”

“This one can!” Lucy repeated the answer soundlessly.

It was then that Lucy realized the effort Michael had gone through to protect her in this room, when all he needed to do was have Robin seal the lab. Michael did not trust Robin. That meant Robin was up to something. Michael knew it, and he was…

“Gone,” she whispered.

Michael had left her here. Her eyes started to tear as she looked at the tiny screen. Michael held up another message:

“Looking for food. Stay in the room.”

She watched Michael lean forward to shut the camera off, but he paused. He stepped back and whispered softly, “I can’t wait to see you in that hot tub.” The screen went black, but Lucy had already left it. She was at the foot of the bed and climbing onto the dresser. At five feet tall she could just barely get her head into the attic. She pivoted cautiously on her perch as she looked around the dimly lit space. She could see the giant hole in the wall which Paul had kicked in, but she could not see Lauren’s body.

“Michael must have moved it,” she thought. And with that thought came another: “Where did he put her? Where are the bodies?”

Lucy climbed back down and lay on the soft bed. She rewound the tape and played it again. A few more drinks of water and Lucy suddenly realized her little bedroom fortress did not have a bathroom. Then she remembered the closet. She went back to the closet, looked at the floor and saw the bucket. Next to it sat a roll of toilet paper.

“Water closet,” Lucy laughed. “Mikey, you have a sick sense of humor.”

Lucy awoke with a start. She thought she heard something moving. She tilted her head, concentrating when she heard another clunk. She scurried atop the dresser and started to jump into the attic. As she did, something hard cracked into her head, knocking her backwards. She fell on the bed and bounced sideways but managed to stop herself from tumbling to the floor. She stared at the hole in the ceiling. She watched the outline of a head appear. A few seconds later, the head had somehow flipped, almost acrobatically, and the torso of a man was standing on the dresser, his head still in the rafters. The figure bent its knees and the head looked at her. Lucy finally exhaled the breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

“Michael!” she whispered.

“Hi-ya, Luce,” Michael smiled. “Going somewhere?”

“I heard a noise.”

“Yeah, that was me, sorry. It’s not easy scaling up the side of a building without making some sort of noise. I yelled to you, but you didn’t answer, so I figured you were still asleep.” Michael rubbed his chin, “I think you dislocated my jaw.”

“Sorry,” she apologized as she bounced to her feet and hugged him. A minute later she said, “Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you enjoy the view?” she asked.

“What?”

Lucy pulled the wooly fabric of the sweater. “The view, did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, that,” he said, his face reddening.

“And did you bathe me as well?” she asked, her eyes burning with anger.

He lowered his head without saying a word. He didn’t have to.

Lucy punched him in the arm. “I can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to undress me when I was unconscious! How dare you?” her temper was starting to flare. “Of all the…”

“What did you want me to do, leave you the way you were?”

“Yes!” she snapped back.

“Ok, the next time you are unconscious and covered in blood and filth from zombies, I will leave you just the way you are. That way, while you are sleeping, you can rub your hands in that filth and possibly put them in your mouth!”

Lucy froze.

He continued in a softer voice. “Lucy, I only did what I had to do to protect you. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“No, I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m just being silly.”

“No,” he said. “You are just being Lucy.”

She smiled and asked, “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You like it when guys look at you, but only as long as you’re in control.”

That stung her more than a slap in the face. But, as usual, Michael was right. She’d lost track of how many times she flaunted herself in front of boys, and men, and enjoyed the attention.

“And, Lucy,” Michael added with a smile, “the answer is yes, I did enjoy the view.”

She punched him again, more playfully than last time, but hard enough that he felt it.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said hugging him again. “I was so scared. I thought you left me.”

“I would never leave you,” he promised.

Michael could feel the warmth and softness of her body press into him. Another minute passed before she unlocked her arms from around him.

“Hey, I found some food,” he said as he slipped a knapsack off his back.

Bottled water, a few bags of chips, a jar of peanut butter, bread, a bag of cookies and other junk food spilled onto the bed.

“A gourmet meal,” Lucy laughed.

“Yeah, it’s hard to find anything that hasn’t been tainted with water or needs to be cooked in water.”

She picked up the bread.

“That might be a little stale,” he explained, “But it was made before all this shit happened, so it should be safe.”

Lucy checked the packaging date on the other items. Everything had been packaged at least two days or more before their whole world had collapsed. Michael thought of everything. She held the peanut butter in one hand and the bread in the other.

“Knife?” she inquired.

He reached behind him but stopped.

“I don’t think either of us wants to make a sandwich with that knife.”

So maybe he hadn’t thought of everything, but if it wasn’t for him, she would be dead already. Lucy unscrewed the lid, and, using her fingers, dipped them into the jar, and spread some peanut butter across the bread.

“Our fingers were good enough when we were kids,” she laughed.

Michael reached for the jar, but Lucy pulled it away.

“Excuse me, I don’t know where your fingers have been,” Lucy said as her face flushed red.

“Not there,” he reassured her.

“Promise?” she said, almost pleading.

“Lucy,” Michael leaned in close. He could feel her warm breath on his face.

“I would never do that to you,” he whispered, their eyes locking.

“I know,” she responded in a breathy voice. “I just need to know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Is this the best shirt you could find?”

They both laughed.

“It was in the closet,” he grinned.

“It’s a ratty old sweater, and it’s a million degrees in here!”

“It’s cooler at night, and with the windows boarded up, it takes longer to heat up,” Michael explained.

“Oh.”

Michael stuck his fingers in the jar and pulled out a dollop of peanut butter to slap on his bread. As he did so, he noticed the buttons on Lucy’s sweater were spaced rather far apart, revealing a lot of flesh.

“I think the sweater looks nice on you,” he told her. He could feel his face turning red.

Lucy looked down and noticed the large gap between the buttons.

“Ugh,” she said pulling her sweater closed with one hand and pushing him with the other. “Men! Can you please find me something else to wear besides this? It stinks, and I don’t want to be playing peek-a-boo with you every time I move.”