Chapter 93- Wet rags

As exhausted as I was, it was impossible to sleep.  Maybe it was the bumps in the 30 year old couch under my back, digging into my ribs like some giant's fork, or the world of flesh eating monsters on the other side of the front door, but I knew in my heart it was the kiss, still lingering on my lips. I was eager for more, and a mix of adrenaline and endorphins kept my eyes open and my mind racing. The fire had gone out, embers glowing softly in the hearth. I looked toward the window. I feel like I've been staring at the ceiling for hours. I sat up, trying to see any sign of light on the horizon, but it was still dark outside.  How early could it be? I looked over at the clock on the wall, barely visible in the dim light. "2:11" it read, but there was no way to know if it was accurate or even had batteries. 

I listened intently as I laid in the dark, acutely aware of every sound. The rain softly tapped on the roof, fading in intensity as the storm moved away. With the cacophony of raindrops pounding the world it was near impossible to hear any movement outside, and I found myself glancing toward the dark front window to see if any shapes lurked outside. 

I heard the creak of metal springs, most likely Tracy's slender body turning over in her bed.  I wondered if she was awake, if she felt the same yearning I did, and began to imagine scenario after scenario where we would race to each other and embrace. I wanted to see her so bad it hurt.

I rubbed my eyes and laid back down, glancing at the closed door that led to Tracy's room. The temptation to go inside was easily overcome by a combination of nerves and propriety.  I laid back, my head sinking into the soft pillow and my eyes straining to see the definition in the ceiling panels. The knots in the pine wood planks twisted and turned, and I could see horrible faces staring back me with blank, yellow encrusted eyes.  

I don't remember closing my eyes, but I suddenly woke to the most amazing smell. Sausage and eggs, something I hadn't smelled in… a very long time. I sat up and saw Tracy standing in the kitchen holding a spatula. "I was beginning to worry about you…" She smiled playfully.  I returned her smile and spun my feet to the floor. The cold flagstone sent a chill through my bare toes and I lifted them quickly off the floor and back under the blankets.

"As uncomfortable as this couch is, I still don't want to get up!" I said, leaning back on the pillow. I glanced at the digital clock which now read 10:35.  "Is that clock accurate?  I don't think I've slept that long since this all started." Tracy nodded but her smile faded for a moment.  I could tell she was recalling something worrisome. She shook her head and put a smile back on. "How do you like your eggs?" She asked, holding up the pan. It was a thick wrought iron skillet and she struggled to hold it level.  "Over medium?" I asked inquisitively. She grimaced playfully. "How about 'cooked'?" I returned her smile.  "That sounds perfect." 

We sat together at the small wooden table, simple white plates, mismatched forks, and mason jars filled with water.  She bowed her head and closed her eyes.  "Heavenly Father, we're grateful to have made it back to each other safely.  Bless this food and this home, and help the others lost in the world to find their way.  Give us the ability to see trouble before it arrives, and to keep each other safe.  In the name of Jesus Christ, amen." 

She opened her eyes and looked at me, smiling again.  Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and her cheeks were bronzed from being outside. "Dig in" she said softly, her cheeks flushing just a bit.  

I was so hungry it was hard not to wolf down the food in a single bite. It had been so long since if had anything decent to eat that I had no point of reference as to how it compared. "Amazing" I said between mouthfuls, moaning with appreciation as I chewed.  I could tell my enthusiasm made her happy.

We stood in the kitchen side by side, and I hand washed our plates with a hand-knit rag, handing them to her to dry.  Above the sink was a window looking out across a field of vegetables.  The rain had stopped some time during the night and the plants were a bright, vibrant green against the dark wet soil.  Carefully lathering and cleaning the forks, I passed them to Tracy and started on the glasses, struggling to fit my large hands inside the mouth to clean the bottom. Tracy could see my difficulty and found it amusing.  "How do you do it?" I asked, mock exasperation in my voice. She pulled out a brush with plastic bristles and handed it to me, laughing.  "You had that the whole time and let me wash everything with... this?"  I held up the dingy rag caked in food particles, letting it dangle loosely from the corner where I pinched it.  Dark drops of dirty water dripped and I raised it up like I was going to let them fall on her head. "Don't you dare!" She teased, smacking her hand toward the rag and backing away with a giggle. 

Suddenly her face went cold and her eyes locked on something outside the window behind me. I turned and saw three bodies dressed in wet rags trudging through the garden toward the house, dark mud painted up their thighs and along their arms and faces.  "My tomatoes!" Tracy called out in a mix of fear and anger. She ran to the fireplace and grabbed the poker from the rack next to the hearth. Tossing it to me she retrieved the shotgun from above the mantel. "I'm only using this as a backup. We don't want to waste shells or draw any more with the sound." I nodded, standing next to the door, my hand on the hand but my eyes fixed on her. "You ready?" I asked, steeling myself for what was to come. "1... 2..."