Bailey and Brody - To the Lake

Bailey clipped a damp T-shirt onto the line, the fabric sagging slightly under its weight. The makeshift clothesline stretched between the main house and a pole near a storage shed, swaying faintly in the late afternoon breeze. The scent of soap and sun-warmed cotton filled the air.

As she reached for another shirt, arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and a hard chest pressed against her back.

She jumped, her fingers tightening around the cloth. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people during the outbreak,” she said but didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned back into the embrace, exhaling as Brody rested his chin on her shoulder.

He tightened his grip around her waist. “Come on. Let’s sneak out. Go to the lake.”

She sighed, shifting slightly in his hold. “I can’t. I’m busy. Billie’ll lose her shit if I don’t finish this.”

Brody grabbed the shirt from her hand, tossed it back into the laundry bin, then bent down and scooped her up. One arm hooked under her legs, the other braced against her back.

“Brody,” she said, her hands pressing against his shoulders. “I can walk.”

But she didn’t struggle. Instead, she let her body sink against him, her chest resting lightly against the top of his head. A small smile pulled at the corner of her lips as she looked down at him.

He grinned up at her. “Yeah, but this is more fun.”

He carried her through the junkyard’s back gate, where Dante leaned against the railing of the southern watchtower. He watched them approach, shaking his head as he leaned back in a chair on the platform.

Brody nodded as he pulled the gate open. Dante gave a slight nod back, but his expression remained unreadable. Brody swung the gate shut behind them as soon as they were through, the latch clicking into place.

They walked across the uneven dirt path toward Lake Sapphire, just fifty yards away. The late afternoon sun glowed against the water, its light shifting over the ripples in waves of copper and blue. Clusters of reeds swayed along the edges, their tips brushing against the water in slow, rhythmic movements.

Brody stepped onto the pebbled shore and kicked off his sneakers. He yanked off his socks and peeled off his shirt, tossing it onto a nearby boulder. His toned chest caught the sunlight, muscles shifting as he stretched his arms overhead.

Bailey swallowed and looked away, her fingers tightening around the hem of her own shirt. A warmth crept into her cheeks. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

Brody shimmied out of his jeans, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He gave her a lopsided grin. “Why do we need them?”

Bailey hesitated. The blush in her cheeks deepened, but she let out a quiet breath and reached for the buttons of her blouse. She slipped it off, then unfastened her cargo shorts, letting them fall in a soft heap around her feet. Standing in nothing but her bra and underwear, she wrapped her arms around herself for a moment, the air cool against her skin.

Brody turned toward the water and waded in first, his bare shoulders dipping beneath the surface. Bailey followed, stepping carefully over the smooth, submerged stones as the lake lapped at her calves and thighs. The water clung to her skin, sending a shiver up her spine.

She hesitated just before submerging herself completely.

Brody glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Come on,” he said. “It’s not that cold.”

Bailey rolled her eyes but stepped deeper, letting the water swallow her up to her shoulders.

Brody wades deeper into the lake, shaking water from his hair. “This might be the cleanest I’ve been in three weeks.”

Bailey dips her fingers under the surface, watching the ripples spread outward. “Yeah, well, don’t drink it. You don’t know what’s—”

She stops.

A shape floats near the far end of the lake, half-submerged, caught in the tangle of reeds. At first, it looks like driftwood, but then the current shifts, rolling it slightly. A bloated face breaches the surface, eyes clouded, mouth slack. The body drifts lazily, limbs splayed, skin pale and stretched.

Bailey’s breath catches. “Brody.”

He follows her gaze and tenses. “Shit.”

The corpse tilts again, and its jaw twitches. A gurgling moan escapes its throat, bubbles rising where water seeps between its lips. It’s not dead—not completely.

Bailey backs up, the water dragging at her legs. “It’s still moving.”

Brody is already wading toward the shore, scanning for something to use. “Stay here.” He snatches up a fist-sized rock from the shallows, testing its weight.

The infected rolls, its sluggish limbs dragging through the reeds as it tries to shift toward them. Water sloshes from its open mouth, but its movements are slow. Drowned but not dead.

Brody steps onto the fallen tree, jutting into the water, and raises the rock over his head. He waits for the next slow roll of the body, then brings the stone down hard. The first hit caves in part of its temple, sending out a sickening pop. It spasms once. He strikes again. This time, the skull gives completely dark water swirling where its head sinks into the lake.

Bailey exhales, pressing a hand to her chest. Tears well up in her eyes before she can stop them. The weight of it all—the outbreak, the endless fear, the way death seeps into every corner of their lives—settles in her chest like a stone.

Brody swims over, his arms circling her waist, pulling her in. His skin is warm despite the water. He presses his forehead against hers. “What’s wrong?”

She lets out a shaky breath. “This was such a nice idea. But how are we ever going to enjoy ourselves from now on? No matter what we do, it’s always there. The outbreak. The infected. Everything just feels…” She swallows hard.

Brody tightens his arms around her. “We can still have a good time. We found each other in all of this. We’re still here. We can still spend time together. And I’ll keep you safe.”

Bailey rests her head against his shoulder, her breath evening out. The lake feels colder now, but in Brody’s arms, she feels steady.

Brody presses his lips to hers, and Bailey melts into him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Then, over his shoulder, she sees them.

Two infected, staggering along the far side of the lake. Their heads twitch with each uneven step, their waterlogged clothes hanging off them in damp, rotting folds.

She keeps kissing him, and her fingers slide into his damp hair. She turns his head in her hands so he can see.

Brody sighs. “Maybe we should go back to the junkyard.”

Bailey shakes her head. “No. I’m fine.” She looks at him. “And I won’t let them hurt you.”

Brody studies her for a moment, then nods.

Beyond the far reeds, the infected drift through the shallows, their feet dragging through the silt. Some stand motionless, water lapping at their knees, their heads tilting with the wind as if listening to something out of reach. Others shuffle aimlessly along the shore, their footsteps muffled by damp earth and thick patches of moss.

A few wade deeper, their movements sluggish, their bloated skin blending with the pale reflection of the fading sky. One stumbles, slipping beneath the surface with barely a ripple, arms flailing weakly before vanishing entirely. The others don’t react. They continue their slow, mindless march along the lake's northern edge, unseen and unknown to the two figures still standing in the water.