Act 2: Chapter 16
4:39 AM: Day 66
The Greene house lay in a still, pre-dawn haze. Only three sounds broke the silence: the low, steady buzz of the generator outside, the wind tousling the window in brief rattles, and the faint rustling of sheets as Maggie shifted beside me.
A small, blissful smile lingered on her lips, her hair messy against the pillow. I exhaled through my nose, partly relief, partly satisfaction, finally free from the weight of the arm that had held me captive for the last ten minutes.
I eased off the bed, tightening the belt around my waist. Carrying her here earlier had been more stressful than I'd anticipated—not her being completely out of it, but because of the obstacle course I had to perform. At the porch, Daryl and Shane slouched on the chairs, then past Rick, Lori, and Carl sleeping in the room by the entrance.
Then her dad, then Beth, and then Shawn.
I exhaled, exhausted, not because of… the exercise. I wanted to continue, but… I glanced at the reason, lying peacefully in front of me, exhausted and unconscious. I didn't blame her; it had been three rounds.
I slid the shoulder harness into place, adjusting it until the familiar weight of the pistol sat snug against my side. My other hand drifted lower to check the spare magazine—
Empty pouch.
Tch~
.
.
.
Outside, the air was crisp, the wind cutting through just enough to make exposed skin prickle. Andrea stumbled out of the truck, her steps uneven, the damp cling of her jeans was still there, now even more prominent. As the two figures had continued contrary to what she believed, and so did she.
The fabric was dark like the night, sticking to her thighs.
"Jesus Christ…" she whispered under he breath, half in disbelief, half irritation. Who were they? Lori and Rick? She still didn't know.
She made her way toward the RV and gave the handle a light tug. Locked.
"Shit. shit." The words slipped out before she could swallow them. She glanced down at herself again. Beneath the wet denim, her skin was still sensitive. She needed to change fast, before the group woke up from their sleep. She couldn't risk anyone seeing her like this.
Her eyes darted to Amy, still sleeping in the truck. Andrea hesitated, then turned toward the RV again.
Click!
Her breath caught. A sound by the house. She dropped into a crouch behind the truck, peeking over the hood just enough to see a familiar figure step out onto the porch.
Her brows furrowed. What is he doing out here at this hour? Don't tell me…
***
I moved down the steps, boots hitting the dirt in measured, deliberate steps. My gaze swept the ground, every blade of grass and patch of dirt checked. I knew the magazine had to be here somewhere.
I reached the fence—the one where we'd… conducted business earlier, and spotted it. Lying just beyond the wooden fence, hidden in the corn stalks' shade.
As I reached down to retrieve it, I caught movement in my peripheral vision. My head turned sharply toward the RV, finding nothing. Then to the truck, where Amy and…
Where only Amy slept now.
Sigh~
I pocketed the mag and turned back toward the farmhouse without a word.
.
.
Andrea waited, her back pressed to the cold metal of the truck, the ridges biting faintly into her spine. She held her breath until the footsteps faded. Only then did she exhale, slow and shaky, feeling her pulse throb in her ears.
"It really was him…" she murmured under her breath, the words ghosting in the night air.
"Who was whom?" I said from behind her.
Aaah!
A startled cry slipped out before she flinched forward, her stomach hit the rear panel of the truck with a dull thunk.
She whipped around, only to freeze, her eyes wide, lips parted like she'd been caught stealing.
I stood there, calm, my gaze fixed on her as if I had all the time in the world. She fumbled with her words, "N-n-no one."
My eyes drifted, not hurried, not even shy, as I took her in. Blonde waves framed her face, tumbling around sharp blue eyes that didn't quite know where to look. The blue t-shirt she wore clung to her chest and waist, fabric taut from her posture, damp from sweat.
Then my eyes went lower.
I stopped. My brows faintly twitched. Is that what I think it is?
Her gaze darted down, following mine, then back up to me in panic. She moved her hand quickly, one flattening across her thighs, trying to block the view. "I—I-I need to change."
She tried to step past me, but I shifted just enough to keep her where she was. "I'd recommend not embarrassing yourself in front of more people."
She glanced up at me, her brows knit in shame and confusion.
"Maggie's clothes might fit you."
She froze for a moment before looking down, trying to hide the heat rising on her cheeks, her teeth brushing her lower lip.
It was her. She thought.
***
Moonlight slanted across Maggie's room, cool and silver against the faded hardwood as I rifled through the bottom drawer, the joints slicked as I pulled it open.
My fingers found what I needed: Denim jeans, matching Andrea's, and a soft green tank. My eyes flicked to the rustle of sheets and low breath coming from Mag's bed. I left quietly before she could wake up.
The hallway was even darker, only a thin line of weak gold from beneath the bathroom door tracing the rough grain of floorboards, the light whisper of the early wind outside mixing with the fading thrum of the generator.
I quickly reached the door. My knuckles tapped twice, firm but careful, and the door creaked. Andrea's arm darted out, trembling, before snatching the bundle and shutting herself away in a heartbeat.
"I'll turn on the water… be quick," I said to her before leaving the hallway and walking outside.
I rubbed my temple, slightly irritated. Not because she saw us.
Sigh! Not like Hershel doesn't already know about our relationship, or at least suspects it.
There was nothing to stress over, other than the fact that he's one stubborn man.
I reached the control panel behind the house and turned on the pump for the underground water tank, supplying water throughout the farmhouse.
I leaned against the wall, next to the panel, thinking.
Inside the half-lit bathroom, Andrea's breath fogged faintly on the mirror. Hands braced against porcelain, she stared, trying to find herself in the wild blue eyes that almost didn't look hers anymore.
Hair tangled, cheeks stained red in shame and embarrassment, from what she'd seen and done while watching.
"I'm so fucking stupid," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely escaping her lips. She looked down, hiding from her reflection, unable to meet her own gaze. If Amy had woken up… The thought made chills run down her spine. What would she have said, seen? Disgust? Horror—
Gush!
The sudden spurt of water from the faucet broke her spiraling thoughts. She shook her head vigorously, blonde strands whipping around her face as she tried to clear her mind of the shame.
With trembling fingers, she peeled off the damp t-shirt, the fabric clinging stubbornly to her sweat-slicked skin. Her nipples were still firm, not from the cold wind, but from the lingering thrill.
Next came the soaked jeans, the dark denim heavy and soaked with her own liquids. The zipper stuck briefly before giving way, and she had to peel the fabric down her thighs inch by inch.
When they finally hit the floor, the wet sound made her cringe, her brows knitted in frustration.
Her panties were the worst, completely drenched, the pale cotton now transparent and molded to every bump of her cave.
She quickly stepped out of them, letting them fall into the pile.
The shower spray hit her like an icy shock, much colder than she'd expected. Her skin prickled instantly, every nerve ending firing as the frigid water cascaded over her heated body. Her nipples contracted, hardening, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
Mmph~
A soft moan escaped her lips before she could stop it. She bit down on her lip, forcing herself to stay quiet to avoid waking someone.
But as the water gradually warmed, her body adapted to the temperature, and her treacherous mind drifted back to the scene in the field. Wesker's powerful arms wrapped around Maggie's smaller frame, the effortless way he'd lifted her, suspended her on his length like she weighed nothing.
But now, instead of being a shadowy figure, she could see him, his blonde disheveled hair falling on the side of his face, his clenched jaw, his lips that parted with every grunt.
Without conscious thought, her hands began to trail down her body, the water making her skin hypersensitive to every touch. Her fingertips traced the curve of her breast, circling the areola before her thumb brushed over her hardened peak.
The touch sent a jolt of electricity to her core, and she had to stifle another gasp.
What am I doing? She questioned her actions, unable to stop them.
As her mind flashed with him thrusting into Maggie with such intensity, the girl's head thrown back in complete surrender, her cries of pleasure echoing across the farmland.
Her hand wandered, lower, and lower, but before it could drift any lower, she stopped herself and slapped her own cheek, sharp enough to sting and clear the fog. Think, Andrea, Think.
.
.
.
A few minutes ticked by before the bathroom door creaked open. Andrea poked her head out of the crack just enough to see the empty hall, wet hair plastered to her flushed cheeks and neck.
She cast a glance down the shadowed hallway before she finally stepped outside. The borrowed jeans hugged her damp skin, the tank pressing against her mounds. With a final glance over her shoulder, she moved toward the living room. Her heart accelerated with each step, bare feet whispering across the floorboards.
Then.
Click!
A muted click sounded from the kitchen, and she froze, stomach dropping. Light scraped across tile, and she crept to the doorway, breath stirring the air. Please, god, let it be him, not Rick, not Lori, not—
I stood behind the counter, my posture relaxed as I stirred cereals in milk. I didn't need to turn around to guess who it was. It's like I have eyes on the back of my head, I chuckled internally.
Andrea opened her mouth, but words tangled, lost in embarrassment, unsure what to say. She tried again, "I–I—" but her breath hitched as I turned around.
Her courage and voice, now lost completely.
"I think we both would rather not talk about this again," I said, before lifting a spoonful of cereal to my mouth, my eyes fixed on her.
She hovered in the doorway, cheeks burning, body still humming with adrenaline and the phantom feel of the touch. After a beat, she nodded. And without another word, she slipped out the front door and back to the truck.
Her head leaned into the headrest, and a long breath of exhaustion and frustration escaped her.
I turned away from the window, leaning against the counter, letting the sound of the pre-dawn seep into my mind. The day Kenny and Katjaa had left, I'd wanted Hershel to come with us. But he'd started in on his speech about the farm's history, "150 years..."
I'd dropped the argument the same day, not because his words carried any weight, at least not to me, but because of the people who would come here.
Through the window, I watched the still figures on the porch, Daryl and Shane, silent as trees. My eyes flicked to the truck and the RV behind it.
But now that they're here, I think… I should've been more persistent with Hershel, to leave the farm.
This group is trouble and a burden, unless…
I exhaled through my nose. I need to keep them here on the farm, at least for now.
And the next steps should be… calculated. Best option, selective cu—
Tap! Tap!
The sound pulled me back. Slow, measured steps approached the kitchen.
Hershel filled the doorway, his hair still mussed from sleep, his eyes trying to wake. "Did you even sleep?" He asked, voice dry.
He sat across from me at the small table. I slid a glass of water across to him. He took it in without looking away from me, gulping it down with a steady hand.
"Maggie and I are dating," I said.
His throat caught mid-swallow, and he coughed, setting the glass down harder than he'd intended.
"Dating?"
The word came out more like a judgment than a question.
I could see the preacher's discipline in him, calm, composed, more relaxed than I'd expected he'd be.
"If you want to be with my daughter," he said evenly, "You marry her… or leave her be."
I let out a short breath that was almost a laugh, as Carley and Lilly's faces flashed in my head. They'd eat me alive before I even utter the vows.
"I don't think marriage is exactly possible in the world we're living in now. But if you're worried I'll leave her—don't be. She's mine."
The way his brow tightened at the last word told that he didn't like it.
"Aren't you a little possessive?" he asked, almost testing me.
"Don't you want me to be?" I shot back.
We stared each other down for a long minute. Then Hershel pushed himself to his feet, his shadow stretching across the table. He paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, jaw clenched tight.
"If you leave her," he said, voice low but firm, "I swear on the Holy Bible—what happens next won't be pretty."
He left without waiting for my answer.
I sat down on the chair, watching the empty doorway. Leave her? And go where exactly?Not like I want to leave this world anymore.
I kind of like it here.
****
Read +3 or +7 chapters ahead on my Pat*eon
First_Endless