Days of Love and Blood

me the time to roll out of the way and toward his legs. The bat narrowly missed me and sounded off the concrete instead. He stumbled backwards and I used the opportunity to get to my feet and draw my other sword.
    The pain in my core still controlled me and I hunched over with my left arm around my waist. The throbbing crippled me; I was unable to lift my sword to my assailant when he lunged for me again. Instead I ran to the side and then to the far edge of the bay, trying to get a handle on my injury. He came at me again and for a second time I danced away.
    “Kill her!”
    “I’ll kill her! Let me do it. She deserves to die.”
    Two more homicidals crept toward the loading dock from within. One dragged his leg while the other stood perfectly straight with a remarkably healthy look about her. She must have been at least six foot and appeared to be newly infected. Not one lesion marred her skin and her eyes still had white around the irises. In her hand was what looked like a spiked club, something straight out of a medieval torture chamber.
    The loud roar of an engine caused the four of us to pause. The same beat-up truck from the Fielding’s was barreling down the side alley toward us and I tried to wave with my sword to signal his attention.
    Cooper jumped from the truck and ran up the bay stairs. Three simple shots took out my attackers and I fell to my knees in relief. I felt his arms support me as he lifted me up into his chest.
    “There any more?” he asked.
    “Don’t know.” I shook my head. I could barely speak as I braced my arm around my gut.
    He carried me into the camper and laid me down on the side bed.
    “Are ya okay?”
    “Bat. Bat. Hit me. Here.” I was taking in short bursts of air because I still couldn’t inhale all of the way. It was like having the wind knocked out of you without being able to recover in the few minutes it normally takes. I thought about broken ribs and punctured lungs although it was my abdomen that took the hit.
    Cooper zipped open my jacket. “No Kevlar?” I shook my head. I didn’t wear it today. I had anticipated heavy labor and the vest would have been in the way. He lifted my shirt and released an exaggerated whistle. “Now that there’s a bruise. Alright, I’m gonna drive ya back. We’ll leave my truck here and I’ll have someone drive me back to get it later. You jus’ lie down here.”
    “What - why you here?” I couldn’t get the words out.
    “I was followin’ ya. I was in the other parkin’ lot, over there. I kept watch on the doors while you went inside. I saw the old man and was about to make my way on over when you came barreling out of there. I saw him hit you and then I saw ya go down. I didn’t think I was gonna make it over here in time. I don’t know where the other two came from. Never saw ‘em go in.”
    “Why? Why - following?”
    “’Cause you shouldn’t be out here on your own but I didn’t want to step on your toes none. I can’t stand it when people tell me what I can and can’t do. Fuckin’ pisses me off.” His eyes softened and he smiled. I smiled back at him. “I’m gunna say something that’ll sound like I’m being a smartass, but I ain’t trying to be.” I nodded my head, still smiling. “This is why you should carry a gun.” My face remained purposefully frozen in place with the same sweet smile as I extended my middle finger.

Not Alone
    Our wedding was simple and perfect. T here was no giant cathedral or plethora of flowers and extravagant bouquets dotting pews lined with giant bows of pink and white chiffon. No tuxedo, no expensive cast of bridesmaids or groomsmen, no elaborate ceremony. It was just me and Ritchie and a justice of the peace in front of the Weddle Bridge in Sweet Home, a beautiful covered bridge built in the era of wood and white paint. A cozy group of family and close friends were in attendance - no more than thirty - and the cloudless summer day felt like a blessing from the Gods. After the service we remained perched on the green lawn for an afternoon of barbeque and libations.
    Ritchie’s parents were up from California and they quickly bonded with Mom and Dad. His brother, a hippie with locks of long, bleach-blonde hair and a bit of a forced surfer accent, brought a portable speaker set, acting as our unofficial disc jockey for the afternoon. It was the first time I had met any of them.
    “So this is the one who stole your heart,” Ritchie’s mom said as she placed her