Page 11 of A Wilderness Within

Lincoln was dressed and seated at the table, a gun spread out in pieces on a cloth. He was cleaning a part of the barrel with another cloth. His large, capable hands were elegantly masculine as he carefully moved his fingers over the gun. She knew those hands were capable of gentleness too. For some reason that made her stomach flutter. Caroline forced herself to focus back on their conversation.

“I try to avoid icy baths except for every couple of days. If I can boil some water, I’ll just set up a sponge bath somewhere.”

“Who said anything about ice water?” he replied, still focused on his gun.

“What? This place has hot water? Are you serious?” she almost shrieked as she tried to get off the couch and went down on her bad ankle.

Lincoln was at her side in an instant, lifting her up into his arms with a smirk on his face. The asshole.

“You don’t need to carry me,” she huffed.

“I do when you keep flopping like a fish every time you try to stand too fast.”

She didn’t bother to reply, preferring the dignity of silence. He carried her upstairs to the master bathroom and set her down on the edge of the large tub by the shower. Then he let her go.

“Towels are in the closet.” He nodded toward a small linen closet nearby. “I’ll wait in the bedroom to carry you back downstairs.”

She waited a long moment after he closed the bathroom door before she began to undress. Part of her was convinced this was some insane dream she was having. There couldn’t be warm water. There couldn’t be an insanely attractive man outside the door waiting for her. She’d had a bad dream…or maybe this was a good dream. The first one she’d had in months.

Caroline shivered as she let the last of her clothes drop in a pile by the door. Then she turned on the water, cranking it hot. For a few seconds only icy water came through, and then she felt hot water burning her hand. She dashed into the stall and buried her face beneath the hot spray.

It was heaven. Forget all the food she’d dreamed about eating since Black November, forget all the little things like electricity, movies, and cell phones. Hot water was the only thing she ever truly needed to survive.

Caroline washed frantically at first but then started to take her time. She started to enjoy the experience and began to feel normal again. For just a brief instant, she could picture herself getting ready for work, seeing her coworkers and grumbling good-naturedly about their long commutes into downtown, getting home, having dinner, calling her sister, reading a steamy romance novel or a spooky thriller, and then turning in for bed. Normal life.

Then it was over, and she sat down in the shower, curled into a ball, and cried. Silent, shaking sobs racked her body until her bones hurt. When her body couldn’t take it anymore, she went still as the water started to turn chilly. She stood and turned the water off. Then she retrieved a bath towel and dried herself off and reached for her jeans and sweater.

Her clothes were gone, but a fresh set was stacked on the counter just by the door. Those definitely hadn’t been there when she had undressed. She examined the items. New, clean underwear, warm fleece-lined pajama pants, and a T-shirt and a fleece pullover, plus a pair of thick woolen socks. They weren’t hers, but they looked like they would fit her.

It frightened her to know Lincoln had slipped into the bathroom at some point and given her the clothes. But he hadn’t done anything to her. He’d left the items and vanished with her none the wiser. She dressed and then searched around the drawers for a comb. She couldn’t use a dryer, but she combed out the wet strands and plaited them into a braid.

When she glanced at herself in the mirror, she was glad to see her eyes weren’t red. Had Lincoln seen her crying when he had snuck the clothes inside? Unable to delay it any longer, she opened the bathroom door. Lincoln was lying on the bed, his hands folded over his stomach, his fingers on one hand tapping a tune like a drummer as he waited. Seeing him stretched out in bed, knowing how he looked almost completely naked made her blood hum with dangerous, completely foolish desire.

“Feel better?” He sat up on the bed, bracing his elbows on his bent knees.

“Yes,” she grudgingly admitted. Everyone always felt more human after a hot shower. “How do you even have hot water?” she asked.

“Same way the house is still warm. It’s gas powered.” He sat up, his eyes roving over her, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

“But I thought all the natural gas was shut off.” When the power grid had failed, so had the gas.

“Not everywhere. Somewhere close by, someone is still alive and keeping the gas running. Most likely someone who worked at the natural gas company in Omaha.”

“Someone? Like another survivor?”

Lincoln rose from the bed and bent to scoop her up. She hadn’t been ready for him and had to throw her arms around his neck to keep her balance in his arms.

“Yeah. There are some out there. Last I heard, less than a fifth of the population was still here. The ones that didn’t die from the disease are being killed by people who are looting homes and stores. My guess is most are in hiding, which is why you don’t run into them that often. Everyone is running scared these days.” He didn’t speak further as he carried her back down to the leather couch.

“Have you tried to find this person, whoever it is?”

“No.”

“Why not?” If she’d figured out someone else was trying to get the world back up and running, she would have done anything she could have to help them.

“Didn’t see a point.” Lincoln’s tone was gruff again.

“You don’t see a point? If he’s keeping the gas running, he’s doing it for a reason, and not because he’s bored. We could be helping him.”

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