"Yeah, come here." He's sitting on the bench, so I kneel in front of him, tilt my head, and point to it with my finger.

Moving my head gently toward the light coming from the open doors, he lets out a big breath. "It's infected. My guess is the Advil is keeping the fever at bay for now. It should have had stitches. I thought I checked your cuts, and thought I got all the glass from your, uh " He falters as I sit up to look at him. "Hair," he flinches slightly, waiting for my reaction to his blunder. He doesn't want to offend me.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing at the look on his face. "I know my hair is nappy. Probably wouldn't have happened if I brushed it," I complain as he eyes my locks doubtfully, and I burst out with laughter. His face lights up with a smile emphasizing his dimples as he realizes I'm teasing him. He's precious for a grown man. "Let's dump some rubbing alcohol on it, slap on a bandage, and be done with it." I bend my head back for him to doctor, knowing an infection is bad news. Why did I think I was achy from the wreck, but nothing serious? He's probably right about the fever.

Rudy smoothes my locks away from the gash. "I'm sorry I should have checked better. It's not exactly scabbed, but crusted over."

He pauses, and I finish for him. "You're going to have to open it."

"We'll do that, but you're going to need antibiotics. The ibuprofen will only do so much."

I ignore the antibiotic part. "Let's do this."

As he gets up, my cheek brushes the inside of his thigh. Putting my face between my knees, I listen to him rummage around.

He sits next to me, with his back to the bench. "Here, lie down and put your head in my lap. This will probably hurt." I just look at him as he motions to his lap, and am surprised to see he has a little color on his neck. He blushes? Obviously, he's just as uncomfortable with this as me. I do as he says and place my face toward his stomach, taking this time to breathe him in. He is hazardous to my health. His shirt's clean, and smells of an earthy soap with undertones of leather, evergreen, and a hint of sweat. He goes about smoothing my locks again, and then, "Ready? One, two "

"Just do it!" I interrupt quickly. So, he does. The cut brings an unnatural sharp pain. Rudy applies pressure, and begins poking and prodding the wound.

I wince. "Just as I thought, you have a small glass shard in there." Explains why it throbbed more when I touched it. An acute pain snaps my attention to what he's doing. It's sharp, painful, and brings tears to my eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbles. I bury my face in his stomach, balling my fists. I hardly register the burst of pleasure from feeling his stomach muscles tighten. More pressure as the sharp pain is replaced by a dull throb. "I'm going to do the alcohol now," he warns me.

I don't really care, even with the pain, and infection. I'm in the best place I can possibly be...until that cold trickle of fluid hits the long, open gash, and then it becomes a stinging rage. "Ouch!" I let out a muffled scream, and his stomach muscles tense as his arm tightens around my shoulder and head, to keep me still. He wipes at the fluid, and cool air hits as he blows, attempting to cool it down. I relax as the next trickle comes because it's not as bad.

When he's finished putting ointment and a bandage on the wound, I breathe, glad it's over. I sit up, head swimming and Rudy gives me more Advil. "You'll have to take it more often. We better get going."

Startled at his announcement, I ask, "Where are we going?" It's continuing to rain and our buckets aren't full.

He gives me a steady look. "To find some antibiotics, Darlin'."

Chapter 14.

Turns out Rudy grabbed everything I had in the SUV. After putting the bulk in the vault, we climb into the spacious cab. We decide it will be easier to loot when we get into Nashville. Rudy knows some people there who can help with my infection if needed. The same people he mentioned a few days ago, when talking about our rescue plans.

Rudy hands me a pillow so I can cushion my head. I'm not accustomed to attention, but I also managed not to hurt myself badly for four years.

The cab's cozy and plain, reminding me of the inside of a U-haul. It smells like old cotton and dust. The windshield's at a forty-five degree angle with the hood. The bench sits high with an Incredible Hulk bobble head on the dash. This truck deserves a name like Bertha. I laugh out loud. Rudy glances at me with furrowed brows. "What's so funny?"

"I'm thinking of naming your truck. I must be out of it." I prop my head on the pillow against the window.

There's slight amusement across his features. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. Something domineering and associated with a big ass." I motion with my hands.

He surprises me by saying, "Agatha. I had a teacher in the sixth grade, and that was her first name. She liked her power over us weaklings, and she had a gigantic ass." He starts laughing and shaking his head as if to clear the thought.

"Yeah, that fits. Agatha." I say, trying it out.

"She was scary. I was glad when sixth grade was over." We both laugh at this. I can't picture him afraid of anything. It feels good to be laughing about something completely stupid. I can see he needed to laugh too.

"Hey Rudy, do you believe in ghosts?" I ask, deciding for a new topic.

He thinks for a moment, "It's entirely possible. We have zombies, don't we?"

I nod, but don't clarify, and he doesn't ask.

He glances at me, "Who is the guy?"

I stare at him, trying not to look shocked. "What guy?"

"The guy in the photo.The one with the gingerbread apron and Santa hat?" I study his face. He's genuinely curious, talking about the only photo I grabbed from my house. He must have seen it when rescuing stuff from Rhonda the Honda.

I swallow. "My dad and I, when I was sixteen, at Christmas. We were dancing in our kitchen, after he made cinnamon rolls."

Rudy smiles, seemingly pleased that I shared. "Thought so. Good picture of you."

We stop at several pharmacies along the highway, but they are all looted clean. The one we're currently scavenging has food and drink, but all pharmaceuticals are gone. People must have had other priorities. "We might need to go to a hospital," Rudy informs me.

"Yeah, well at least I found some Coca Cola," I say with a grin, and open the two-liter to drink. Being old and flat, I probably shouldn't. I turn it up anyway, and the warm syrupy liquid flows down my throat. I groan at the simple pleasure, before holding it out for Rudy to take a drink.

He absently takes it, and the bottle looks smaller in his large hands. "You don't know what that gash looks like, Kansas. I put antibiotic ointment on it, and it's not enough," he says, eyeing my cheeks. I touch them to make sure they aren't flushed.

"I didn't know it was there. I was stiff and in pain. Besides, we were running from the famished." I'm getting annoyed. I didn't have a fever with the Advil keeping it at bay for the time being. We still have time. "We'll find antibiotics," I say with reason, knowing that with my luck, the cut is festering, already driven into my blood stream.

"I'm just glad we didn't fight any of the zombies that's the only thing that could have made this worse." Worry clouds his eyes with a pinched brow. Maybe he's worried for a different reason, something besides me. Glancing up, a rainbow arcs across the sky as rain sprinkles against the shining sun. I can go into Nashville to the teaching hospital, right outside of downtown, and get antibiotics on my own. Hopefully, it hasn't been looted.

"Hey, I'll take one of these cars and get what I need. I'm not backing down on my word to help. We can meet later. Possibly at the place to get more help? I don't want to bother you any longer. I can take care of my " I cut off at the scowl he gives me. My eyes widen at his unexpected hostility.

"You think you're bothering me?" He slams the Coca Cola bottle on the edge of the truck. Fluid shoots out of the top. Invading my personal space, he glares down at me. A glare I return. "You think your crossbow is going to do any good if you run into dozens of famished?"

He has a point, but I ignore it. "Yeah, and I'm giving you a way out. I'm frustrated too! You think I want this infection? We're doing what we need to do, but I can't go around being angry about it. That won't change anything. It won't help if we're at each other's throat. Now, I can do this on my own. If you want to help, I'll gladly take it, but don't get mad. It'll only piss me off, and make me over analyze it." I let out a deep breath, feeling delirious. I wipe my forearm across my forehead, peering up at him as he thinks.

"Kansas, you're not a burden," he breathes, and steps back. "I want to help. There's few of the living, and even fewer sane living. It's just " He shrugs, letting it go.

"All right, that's good. We need to go." Feeling better that I don't have to set out on my own, I add, "I feel bad and need to lay down."

He nods in agreement, "Good."

Before we leave, he helps me clean the wound again. He doesn't say how it looks. I'm sure I already know because it hurts like hell. The slightest pressure on it brings blood rushing to my head. We ride in complete silence. After taking more Advil, I rest against the pillow. I like the concern Rudy has shown. I want to think it's for his own reasons, for me to help him, but if that's the case, why help me from the wreck? I sigh and a fog blooms across the window from my breath. My attraction to Rudy is a problem, a potentially dangerous one that needs shoving aside.

It's late afternoon by the time we arrive in the city. Trying to sit up causes aches to flare in my joints. Rudy's rough hands seem to caress my forehead out of nowhere, and he spit words worthy of a sailor. I smile wanting to make a joke, but not really having it in me from the fever. "Where's the Advil?" I ask quietly.

"It's not Advil you need, Darlin'." His voice pours forth sympathy.

"Don't call me that! It's Kansas, or more preferably Kan," I snap, trying to sound like a bitch, but it comes out helplessly. When I peek at him, his lips twitch to keep from smiling. I sigh, "Sorry. I get grouchy when I'm sick."

"It's okay, Darlin'. Looks like we'll be skipping the hospital." He doesn't elaborate as I close my eyes, pressing my forehead to the cool window. Smiling before falling asleep.

I wake up disoriented with Rudy carrying me. As he puts me on the mattress in the vault, he says, "Kan, can you her me? I'm going to lock you in the vault until I get back. You have a raging fever. You need the antibiotics. Serious things can happen if it's left untreated. I'll try to hurry."

Delirious, I notice he looks badass in his gear and dark green bandana. I don't say anything, and just wrap myself in the blankets, glad I don't have to move. I open my eyes and he's looking at me, maybe waiting for me to answer. I nod and close my eyes.

I vaguely hear him shut the doors and stomp away. After a little while, I can't sleep because I'm cold, then hot, then cold again. My body aches and throbs to the tune of my heartbeat with shivers. My heartbeat slows down and panic sets in only to make it speed up again. Time passes, or maybe it doesn't.

Sometime later, voices shake me from fever induced delirium. The door to the vault opens, but I don't care. Please, just go ahead and eat me, even though I'm nasty with infection. I hope the famished don't mind the taste.

"This is the one, pick her up. Be careful, she's sick. The boss would be mad if anything happened to her." Something's wrong, and I struggle to focus. The next thing I know, I'm hauled up over someone's shoulders. I wiggle weakly, but his grasp tightens on my legs. A stubbly, bald head brushes my arm as a smack strikes my ass for my struggles. "No worries, sweethawt, we'll take care a yew." The guy has a thick, unfamiliar accent.

"Hey, unless you want one of my arrows through your skull, you won't do that again." Rudy's rumbling voice trembles with suppressed violence, echoing through the night sky. I catch sight of him and try to say something. The guy holding me shakes with laughter as he starts walking. My vision swims from the movement as blood pounds a thumping beat in my head.

"Wait," Rudy says, "Kan, I know you don't know them, but they are going to help you. I'll be back for you soon. Just get better." I need answers, and it's a struggle to think, much less talk. Where is he going? Should I trust these people? Who the hell are they? They aren't from around here judging by the accents, but I trust him so I nod acceptance. His hand moves my locks out of my face, doing something with them as I close my eyes.

Chapter 15.

"Hey chicka!Chickie, chicka!" someone practically yells, poking me relentlessly. Groggy and feeling drugged, my body only aches a little when I move. Otherwise I feel better physically. My clothes stick to my skin from sweating out my fever, and my nostrils flare from the smell. A grimy film coats my teeth, and I'm sure my breath could clear the room. To sum it up, I'm foul.

My eyes struggle to focus, my gaze wandering to a guy in front of me, and they widen as I take in his appearance. A wrinkled, indifferent face with a tanned complexion greets me. Dark curly hair and thick eyebrows shadow a receding hairline and light brown eyes. Several gold necklaces lay tangled in chest hair. A flamboyant, button up shirt with a bright paisley pattern and khaki pants are his outfit of choice for the day. He sits in a chair, holding a cane between his legs, next to the mattress I currently occupy. My eyes narrow at the source of the poking. Various metals and gems decorated all his fingers, and they gleam with gold and silver. The dirtiest fingernails I have ever seen grow from the tips of his fingers, caked with God only knows what underneath. I imagine his fingernail grime could be the source of the zombie outbreak.

He lifts a weathered hand, taking a long drag from a brown rolled-up cigarette, blowing the smoke in my face. Who the hell is this appalling guy?

I wave smoke from the air as he smiles with discolored teeth. All of the sudden, I don't feel so bad about my hygiene. "Well, I see yew wakin' up. We have a tawk, yew and me." Again the accent confuses me, most likely from a northern location.

"Pretty boy came into duh city, told me yew was sick, so I lent dem drugs to yew. Pain killas too. Got's stitches now, yew gotta be careful wit dat. I know da pretty boy from months past. Met him lookin' all like juice head gorilla. He's off seeing to me a fava. But yew gots a few more days, needs dem drugs for two weeks." I blink, trying not to laugh at his commentary and brief description of Rudy.

I really don't know what to think about him. Even though his appearance throws me off, I shouldn't underestimate him. Having such an accent, and never hearing anything like it before, I'm taken with it. There's an arrogant confidence about him. "Uh, thanks. For everything," I manage to say through my staring. He nods, scrutinizing me. I can't tell if he's amused by my reaction to him.

The door bursts open. A guy pops his bald head in. He's considerably younger than the man sitting with me, and much paler. "Yo Guido! Lemme tell yew, them broads is brawlin' out here. Scratching each other's faces like tigers." Guido? Seriously?

I peer at him. He sits calmly, looking at buzz cut before turning back to me. "Lemme see to this, Chickie. Drink some warder with those pills. Yew need to swallow dem down."

"Wait," I stop him. "How long have I been here?"

"Hmmm, bout two days," Guido says. His cigarette roll hangs in his mouth as he gets up to leave the room.

I can't remember being here that long. I remember dreaming about a turquoise ocean with blue skies and someone laughing. A bottle of water sits beside me on the floor. I drink the contents greedily, groaning as it wets my dry throat and coats my stomach.

Taking stock of the small room, I'm on a full mattress on the floor, caddy-corner from the door. The only other furniture in the room consists of two old wooden dining chairs, once a part of a whole set. Now, they're dried and cracked from lack of polish.

Dirty blinds shield a small window over the bed. Looking out between the dusty slats, other buildings scatter down a sun-lit road. The room has a distinct "office" feel to it. The walls were once white, but are now a pale yellow over brick. The Berber carpet's worn completely down, showing the high traffic area, seemingly the primary source for the smell of sex and vomit.

The sheets are clean and stiff cotton, and I'm impressed the sheets are sterile and grateful for the help. My eyes settle on my pack at the end of the bed my crossbow and holster perch next to it. Apparently, Guido doesn't feel threatened by me.

I rummage through my pack and find several cans of food with my can opener. Rudy must have thrown them in. I pull out my jacket and put it on to block the chill, and realize my locks have been tied back. Pulling them over my shoulder, I discover a dark green bandana holding them together the one Rudy was wearing when I first saw him. Realizing he tied them back, I wonder if he has another bandana. I can't imagine him without it.

I eat my canned food without tasting it, and swallow the pills Guido left. Feeling as though a train ran over me, I feel for the cut on my temple. A bandage covers it, but I can tell the heat is gone. I let out a big breath, relieved. The whole ordeal could have been much worse. I can't help but feel someone is watching over me.

My body starts to relax in on itself with fuzzy lightness. I should have thought about only taking one pill before downing both. They're powerful little bastards.

Lying down and staring at the ceiling, I think it's puzzling to see electricity. Several fluorescent lighting fixtures adorn the ceiling, but only one has a bulb. There must be a generator of some kind.

Scratching my face and stomach because they're incredibly itchy is the last thing I remember. Then, nothing.

A soft strumming brings me into consciousness. I smile, because if it isn't one of the best ways to fall asleep, it's the best way to wake up. When I open my eyes, Rudy's reclining on the small chair, previously occupied by Guido, playing his guitar. Having slept well, I'm feeling better. With a foggy head, I smile in appreciation.

He grins back, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, I like to hear you play." Blinking to clear the fog, I rub my eyes with my palms.

"You look much better. The bruises on your face look better too." He looks better himself. He wears a navy blue bandana with a black sweatshirt, unknowingly answering my question about a back up bandana. I reach around to untie the one from my hair and play it through my fingers. "I wanted to let you know we'll be staying here for a while. Give you some time to heal up." His gaze travels to the bandana in my hand. His pleasure is obvious when he grins at me.

I waggle it in front of him, "Thanks."

He keeps smiling, and blasts me with his charm and dimples. This Rudy's so much better than the worried, pissed off Rudy. I don't want to be the focus of it again.

"What's a juice head gorilla?" I ask, changing the subject.

Rich laughter escapes him. "Guido likes to tease, as if I use steroids. I don't and never have. Believe it or not, I'm just toned from working outdoors and keeping in shape. Being in construction before, it wasn't hard. I still like to spend most of my time outside," he shrugs. My mind flashes to him doing pull-ups on the bars in the vault. Toned? If that's not an understatement, I don't know what is.

"Hmm... You do sort of resemble a gorilla."

"You think so?" he asks, calling me on my teasing.

"No. Gorilla has not once come to mind." He opens his mouth, but I promptly say, "Guido mentioned you doing a favor?"

He pauses long enough to run a hand over his bandana and remove it, letting his hair fall. "There is a mixed culture here. The people use money, most of them live a weird lifestyle I don't really care too much about. They have things people need, and that's what draws survivors into the community. The survivors living here are used for whatever skills they possess in return for having a secure place. They don't live by ordinary rules. They... It's best if I show you, but not now. As for the favor, I had to bring in a certain type of famished without killing them."